“No,” I answer.
“Fucking anyone?”
Wanting to be transparent, I say, “Not recently, but yeah, I’ve fooled around with a few women.”
“Anyone good?”
I shrug because no one truly blew my mind. It was just sex, nothing spectacular.
“Well, that’s sad. A man like you.” She moves her hand higher up my thigh. “All these muscles, you would think you’d be having ravenous sex every night.”
“Haven’t found the right person yet.”
“You looking?”
“Not really, but if the right person came along, then I’d be willing to take that next step.”
“And who exactly would be the right person?”
I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear before answering, “Someone with a smart mouth, a know-it-all attitude, who has no problem telling me like it is. Someone who makes me laugh, pushes me out of my comfort zone, and knows how to drive me crazy with one lick of their lips. Someone with fucking sexy thighs, an ass I could spend hours gripping, and tits that don’t quit.” She smirks. “You know . . . just the perfect girl.”
“Hmm, seems like she would be a difficult one to find.”
“Nah, I think she’s a lot easier to find than you’d think.”
“Bisley Balls, it seems you’re trying to get into my pants.”
I chuckle. “Just trying to let you know I’m interested.”
“Coming on pretty quickly, don’t you think? It’s been a few years since we’ve seen each other. Don’t you think we need to get reacquainted first?”
“Okay, tell me two things that have happened over the past few years. And I’ll tell you two.”
“You think two things is good enough?” she asks as her thigh rubs up against mine.
“It’s a good start.”
“Well, if you think so, then let’s see.” She cutely taps her chin. “Well, I’ve gained about fifteen pounds, so I’m not sure if that’s a turnoff to you.”
“Myla, I would fucking eat you right on this goddamn dirty-ass floor if you’d let me. Trust me, I’ve been fully turned on since the moment I saw you.”
She smiles softly and then says, “Uh, I have zero aspirations in life at the moment. I’m just taking everything day by day. I had a job opportunity in early childhood education, which is what I got my degree in, but I turned it down because I didn’t like the idea of being restricted to a regular job. I like the flexibility of being a server. Oh, and I now have over two thousand fans who like my feet, but I’m shutting down my Only Fans account soon because the demand is too high. And last year, when I moved to Chicago, a guy on the street tried to steal my purse, but I donkey-kicked him right in the penis. Two citizens helped me detain him until the police arrived. I know that’s more than two things, but they kept coming. But I mentioned the no aspirations thing because I bet that’s a big turnoff to someone like you.”
“Not in the slightest,” I say. “All I care about is that you’re happy. And are you?”
“I am. Now tell me two things I need to know about you that happened during our hiatus.”
I scratch the side of my jaw. “Well, I looked at your profile often, wondering if you’d ever post a picture of your face. I slammed my finger shut in a door at the stadium and was out ten games because I couldn’t grip a bat. I once did this fundraiser for the firefighters here in Chicago and ended up accidentally setting a building on fire. Thankfully, they put it out very quickly. And despite being on the top of my game, I don’t think I’ve truly smiled until tonight when I spotted you.”
“That was more than two things.” She draws a circle on my thigh while avoiding eye contact with me.
I place my fingers under her chin and lift her face until her eyes look into mine. “Yeah, because I wanted you to know I’ve never truly stopped thinking about you. Even though I might look like I’m happy from the outside, a part of me is not. I’m lonely. That’s where you come in.”
“Well.” She smacks her lips together. “Seems as though you’ve also done some flexing since we’ve last seen each other because you sure as hell know how to say the right thing.”
Myla twirls the gift card through her fingers while smiling at me. “Go ahead . . . say it.”
Rolling my eyes, I set my third beer down—I know I said I’d only have one beer, but that changed quickly once Myla took off her sweater, leaving her in a low-cut tank top. Not to mention her ability to get me to focus on something other than baseball—my comfort zone. “You’re not going to let me ever live this down, are you?”
She shakes her head. “Never.”
Letting out a long, drawn-out sigh, I say, “Myla, you are easily the best competitor I’ve ever seen during a trivia night.”
“Best and . . .”
“Prettiest,” I answer.
Her smile stretches from ear to ear. “Ooo, I should have recorded that. Sounded like music to my ears.”
Nichole and Banner left about twenty minutes ago. Thankfully, we thought to claim they went to the bathroom so we weren’t disqualified. Not sure what Myla would have done if we weren’t allowed to compete anymore, especially since we were so far ahead in points compared to the other teams.
“Care to get some ice cream with me—my treat—or do you have to go tuck yourself in?”
Technically, it’s way past my preferred bedtime. I don’t ever stay up past eleven, but here I am, sitting in a bar at eleven fifteen, thinking about getting ice cream.
“Is Cold Stone still open?” I ask.
She tucks her gift card in her cleavage and says, “Oh, you’re so cute, Bisley. You thought I was going to let you use my gift card?” She shakes her head. “No, that’s just for me. But there is a convenience store around the corner that sells Drumsticks, and I have a hankering for one.” She hops off her stool. “You game?”
I should really get back to my apartment, but this evening has been about having fun. Hell, she looks so fucking good, standing there in her black jeans and black tank top with her sweater tied around her waist. I don’t want to go “tuck myself in” just yet. I haven’t seen this girl in four years. Sure, I’ve been out with, dated, and fucked other women, but a small part of me has always wondered what would happen if I messaged her again. Every time she made a new drink post, I thought about commenting. I thought about asking her how she was or if she ever considered visiting Chicago, but I held back because she’s always seemed so aloof. Like a butterfly that could never be caught.
So now that she’s standing in front of me, wanting to spend more time with me, I know exactly what my answer is.
“I would love some ice cream.”
“Good answer,” she says with a smile.
And then to my surprise, she takes my hand in hers and guides me out of the bar, her short frame leading the way. When we exit into the humid night air, she doesn’t release my hand but rather leans in closer to me.
“Are you a Drumstick fan?” she asks.
“Yeah. Never can go wrong with a Drumstick.”