He shrugs. “Not much to do in the desert when you’re a teenager. When did you have your first drink?” He narrows his eyes toward my glass. “Is it tonight? Oh my God, it’s tonight, isn’t it?”
I purse my lips and roll my eyes. “No, it’s not tonight. I was a sophomore in college.”
“You escaped your entire freshman year without a drink?” Now his voice is a tad louder than it should be as he expresses his own surprise.
I lift a shoulder. “I’m stubborn, all right? I stood my ground hard.”
“What was the drink that popped your liquor cherry?” he asks.
“Boone’s Farm Strawberry Hill. Wasn’t that everybody’s first drink?”
He laughs. “Every chick I know, yeah.”
“And the boys?” I ask.
“I found a bottle of amaretto on the top shelf of my aunt’s pantry when I was twelve. Got wasted, slept with my head on a toilet seat, and never drank amaretto again.”
“Even to this day?” I ask.
He nods and chugs a few sips of his beer down.
“We’re changing that tonight,” I announce. I take a sip of my Long Island.
His brows dip down, and the way his face scrunches a bit is adorable and sexy all at once.
I raise my hand to wave the bartender over, and when he comes, he raises his brows.
“Two godfathers, please,” I say.
He nods, and I can’t help but wonder why I got two. It’s not like I’m going to chase a Long Island with the amaretto and whisky concoction.
“A godfather, huh? I don’t even know what that is.”
I laugh. “My grandfather used to drink them all the time.”
He picks up his phone to research what it is. “Amaretto and a good scotch whisky over ice,” he reads, and I nod. He chuckles as his eyes edge back over to me. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re hitting on me.”
My jaw drops with indignation. “What?” I gasp.
“You’re buying me a drink, and you got yourself one, too. And it’s a strong drink at that, which tells me now you’re trying to get me fucked up along with you.” He leans in a little closer and lowers his voice to a husky rumble, causing my heart to thump and my tummy to do a flip. “You know what happens when two strangers meet in a hotel bar and get fucked up together?”
A rush of something—maybe fear, maybe anticipation, maybe desire, or maybe all three—races through my chest. “What?” I whisper, my eyes locked on his.
He lifts a shoulder. “I don’t know. Let’s find out.”
The heat behind his words is enough to cause my thighs to clench together.
I take another sip of my Long Island in a futile attempt to cool myself down.
Unfortunately, it has the exact opposite of its intended effect.
Not only am I starting to get drunk with a stranger, but I’m starting to get drunk with a very hot stranger in a place I’m unfamiliar with.
This probably isn’t the smartest thing I’ve ever done, but sometimes life is more fun when we’re stupid.
CHAPTER 10: GAGE
This woman is going to be the end of me.
She’s so...different from the women I’m used to. She’s young and a little innocent and maybe even a little naïve, and I find myself wanting to be the guy who takes care of her, who introduces her to the dark side, who makes her come like she’s never come in her life and who makes her laugh, because fuck if that smile doesn’t speak directly to my dick.
This girl...the way she shuddered when I murmured that we should find out what might happen if we get drunk together made my dick pulse with need.
She’s a gorgeous girl, fresh and pretty without trying too hard.
The girls I know back home—they’re not like that. They wear too much make-up and show too much skin and use too much hairspray.
That was never a problem for me.
Hell, I use too much make-up and hairspray myself half the time, too.
But this is my chance at reinvention.
Starting with a lie about my career is probably not the best way to go about this, but let’s call a spade a spade. This isn’t likely to go past tonight, maybe tomorrow. At the latest, Sunday morning before I have to check out.
Why can’t we have a little fun in the meantime?
She might have plans, but she’ll cancel them when I charm her panties off.
That’s my goal, anyway.
Sales isn’t a total lie. I’m selling myself to the band because even though my meeting with them today lasted a mere eight minutes, I’ll do just about anything to win.
Once I’m a household name like the rest of those guys, women like the one here next to me will do anything to be with me—which is really just an added benefit to sliding into my dream career as if out of nowhere.
God, I want this.
A week ago, I didn’t even know this opportunity existed.
Funny how life can throw changes at you at a lightning pace and change everything in the blink of an eye.
The bartender slides our new drinks in front of us, and she holds up her glass. “To taking the edge off,” she says, and she giggles—a sure sign that she’s already feeling the effects of her Long Island.
“To getting fucked up,” I say, picking up the second glass and touching it against hers.
Our fingers brush when I pull my glass back, and her dark eyes widen just slightly—so slightly I might’ve missed it if I wasn’t studying her.
I take a sip and wince at the taste. She laughs.
“You like this shit?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “No,” she says, and she winces as she tries another sip. “It’s the only amaretto drink I’ve ever heard of.”
“So first a Long Island, which has tequila, rum, vodka, gin, and triple sec, and then this amaretto and scotch? I think you’re doing more than taking the edge off.” I lean in close again while I talk because I saw the way her pupils dilated with lust and her chest heaved with anticipation the last time I did it.
“You think so, huh?” she asks. She gulps down a bigger sip of the Long Island. “I guess we’ll see.”
It doesn’t take long. Once about two-thirds of her Long Island is gone, she starts to slur. “I haven’t had dinner. Have you?”
I shake my head.
“I’m starving,” she admits, and getting a little food on top of all that liquor is probably a good idea. “Barkeep!” she yells.
I laugh as I shake my head. “That’s not how you get a bartender’s attention, but that might be the funniest thing I’ve heard all night.”
“Then you do it, macho man.”
I wait to make eye contact with the bartender before I flag him over. “Can we get some menus?”
He nods and returns with them a minute later.
I’ll eat pretty much anything, so I settle on the first thing I spot on the menu.
She peruses the menu like this is some life-changing decision.
The bartender swings back a couple minutes later. “Need more time?”
She glances up at him. “Yeah. Which is better, the cobb salad or the southwest salad?”
“Southwest,” he says impatiently.