drink?” Yes, I’m encouraging more alcohol consumption, but it was the only thing I could think of to say to get her to sit her gorgeous ass down, so the menfolk—me included—would stop watching her tits bounce and her tight ass move around.
“I will when the song ends.”
Okay, so that didn’t work.
“What song is this anyway?” I ask, having zero clue about the song that has her so hyped up.
“You don’t know this song?” She looks at me like I’m an idiot.
She’s right too; I am.
“That would be why I asked you what song it was.”
“God, you’re so sarcastic!” She rolls her eyes at me.
Is it weird that the eye-rolling turns me on even more than seeing her tits move?
She finally stops dancing and sits her ass back down on the stool. Well, after a couple of attempts.
She’s sweating, and it’s sexy as fuck because all I can think about is another way she could be sweating with me. Yes, I’m that sexually depraved. Sue me.
“God, it’s hot.” She fans her face with her hand.
“I’ll get you a water.”
“I’ve got a drink.” She wraps those lips around the straw again.
My imagination sends SOS signals to my dick. Down, boy. Not tonight.
“ ‘Cruel Summer,’ ” she says to me after swallowing another good amount of Long Island iced tea.
“What?” is my response.
“The song. You asked what it was called, and it’s called ‘Cruel Summer.’ ”
“Who sings it?”
“Bananarama.”
I laugh. “What?”
“Bananarama,” she repeats.
“That’s actually a real band name?”
“Yep, ’80s British girl band. My aunt Jenny loves them.” She grabs the glass of water the bartender just put down and gulps the full glass down.
“Thirsty?” I deadpan.
“No. I just want another cocktail.” She smirks at me. “Thank you for the water,” she says to the bartender. “Can I have a margarita now, please?”
“Nothing is gonna stop you from drinking tonight, is it?”
“Nope. I want to get drunk.”
“You already are.”
“Then, I want to get drunker. Until I forget.”
“Forget what?”
“That I’m actually unhappy.”
What am I supposed to say to that? A better man would ask why she’s unhappy, but I’m not a good man.
Thankfully, the bartender places her cocktail on the bar in front of her, distracting her.
She thanks him and immediately takes a sip of it. “God, that’s good.”
I decide to stop bugging her about drinking too much and let her get as drunk as she wants. I’ll watch out for her and make sure she gets back to her room safe and sound.
It’s not like I have any other plans for tonight.
“I’m considering changing my name to Eeyore. What do you think?”
“First off, I’ll have to ask what your name actually is before I can offer my thoughts.”
“What’s the second thing?”
“Eh?”
“You said first off, which always means there’s a second off.”
There are so many dirty things I could say to that, but I won’t. Well, at least tonight, I won’t.
“Tell me the answer to my first question, and I’ll tell you what the second thing is.”
“Fine.” She sighs. “My name is Dillon.”
“Like Bob Dylan?”
“Exactly like that. Well, minus the Bob. Would have been a bit shit if I’d been called Bob Dylan.” She laughs. “My dad was a big Bob Dylan fan.”
“Your dad sounds cool.”
“I wouldn’t know. He died when I was a baby.”
Shit.
The normal response for people in this moment is usually to say they’re sorry. But having lost my mom when I was fifteen, I know how much I hate it whenever people say that to me.
So, instead, I say, “That sucks. You never getting to know him.”
“I thought you were gonna say sorry. People always do.”
“Do you want me to say I’m sorry?”
“Nope. I hate it when people say that.”
“That’s what I figured.”
She stares at me for a moment, and I really like her eyes on me. I’d like other parts of her on me, too, but we’ll get to that later. But her eyes, they’re so fucking blue. A stark contrast to her dark hair. So dark that it’s almost black.
“Is your hair naturally that dark?” I hear myself asking her. I blink myself free from her gaze, feeling like a total idiot. I thought I’d upped my game since I was sixteen. Clearly not.
Not that I’m hitting on her right now. But I am laying the groundwork because I definitely want to fuck Dillon when she’s sober.
“You know I’m gonna ask why you’re asking me that before I answer, right?” She smiles.
“Your eyes are really blue, and you don’t see many dark-haired girls with blue eyes. Usually brown.”