He wipes his face and slams back another drink, “Alright. Hear me out. We all know you are lacking in the department of getting some.” He immaturely makes a thrusting action with his hips before he leans on the bar top and whispers, “How about we flip a coin for it.”
“How is flipping a coin going to help me in the department of having sex?” I ask biting into another nacho.
“Heads we do it, tails we don’t.” Ben says completely serious.
I practically choke. Never once have we ever talked about us doing that! We have been nothing but friends since the day we met. Besides, it doesn’t even make sense. Why would Ben want to sleep with me? I am a tiny brunette with small boobs and a brain, while he is more into sleeping with tall blonde models that don’t speak the English language.
From my perspective, it is not like I don’t find him attractive. Matter of fact, he has totally changed over the years from a sweaty pimpled teenager into a tall, broad and gorgeous man. The way he rocks a five o’clock shadow is breathtaking and his tanned skin is flawless. His dark eyes suck you into their mystery and even wrinkle around the edges when he smiles. His teeth are perfectly straight and pearly white, not to mention his spectacular physique.
“Come on.” I laugh and playfully punch him in the shoulder.
“No I’m serious.” he says and waves over the big-breasted bartender for us to order another round.
Suddenly, I am starting to feel the four or five vodkas I slammed back in the last hour rush to my brain. Ben has always been known to get me to drink way more than I should. But for some reason, even though I know this is a bad idea, I can’t stop myself when I ask to amuse his bet, “Can I flip the coin?”
“Sure.” Ben smiles and leans back in his chair.
“Are you sure you can handle this?” I joke, suggestively rubbing my hands down my body.
He strokes his chin and takes a sip of his drink, “Oh, Megan Daniels you are too much.”
“Oh, Benjamin Romano, I think you have yourself a coin toss.”
Chapter 2
Ouch! My temples are pounding! I roll onto my side and put both hands to my head. I apply pressure to prevent my brain from exploding due to my vodka hangover, and it doesn’t help matters when persistent beeps blare from my alarm clock. With much effort, I whack the snooze button and groggily sit up on my bed. The neon lights flash five-thirty in the morning and cause me to let out a monstrous moan. Great. I have to be at the airport in less than two hours. I flip off my covers and gasp when I realize I’m naked. I whip my head around, hazily remembering the events of last night.
Please don’t let him be here. Please, Please, Please.
I rip away my sheets and wrap myself in a cocoon of silk. I am stunned silent when I see Ben lying on my bed in nothing but his birthday suit. His muscular back stretches down from my pillow straight into the middle of my mattress. I stand over my bed, frozen and unable to move. My stomach churns as I watch him peacefully sleeping with his arm draped over the side of my bed.
I exhale and force my eyes shut, trying to shake away my thoughts – this was a big mistake. I rarely make such irrationally impulsive decisions, for the exact reason I would never want to be feeling what I am right now. Regret.
More than anything I want to rewind the events of last night and erase them forever. But I know it is too late. My whole life I prided myself on not being “that girl” who had meaningless one night stands. Instead, I restricted my love making abilities to serious boyfriends only. Even amongst our group of friends, they pinned me as the mother hen and the girl with her head on her shoulders. I was proud to say at twenty-four years old, I had only slept with three men (all serious boyfriends) and nothing in between. Unlike my other two girlfriends, Stephanie and Michelle, who went through more men than underwear, I never once had a random drunken sexual encounter. But even though it was petty, I felt like I had accomplished something they hadn’t.
When my last boyfriend, Marco, dumped me, my friend Stephanie suggested that to