Page 5 of The Groupie

“Nothing like that. You from Boston?”

“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You would, but you’ve never been in here before.” He sweeps an arm up toward the sign that says The Tea Party.

“How would you know? You a regular?”

“It’s my second home.”

“You would sleep on the bar if they let you?”

“Exactly.”

“You a drunk?” I know he’s not. He’s far too fit and his eyes way too bright, but I’m not above teasing a guy.

He gives me his best panty-melter smile and puts one very large hand on my thigh. He squeezes, and I feel like I’ve been branded, the sting running through my bloodstream leaving a deliciously hot trail.

Liz, the server, returns with a smile and a tray holding two whiskey-filled shot glasses. She stumbles, crashing into Zak and spilling one of the glasses before I relieve her of the tray and put it down.

Zak stands, and it’s like he turns from a giant to a mountain as he helps the girl regain her balance. She turns and scolds some guy on his way out the door for shoving her. I’d swear she fell on purpose.

“I’m so sorry, Zak. I’ll go get you another shot right away.”

I pick up the un-spilled glass and hand it to him.

“No problem. We can split this one.”

He turns to me and lets go of the girl, sitting back down.

“Great idea.” Pulling out his wallet, he hands her a fifty-dollar bill. “Have a good night, Liz. We’ll be leaving after this.”

Liz leaves reluctantly and without bothering to wipe up the spilled shot glass, but I’m not calling her back.

“Sorry about that,” Zak says to me. He sips the whiskey and swallows like it’s not his first or even hundredth time. Then, with two hands, he pulls me and my stool close to him like I’m as weightless as whipped cream. Why am I thinking of whipped cream?Maybe because you want to squirt it all over his body and lick it off him.

“It wasn’t your fault.” I’m concentrating on the fullness of his lips and wonder if he’s a trumpet player. My insides tumble in that pleasant pre-sex warm-up way.

He slides his hands from the stool to my hips. The heat his hands generate picks up the branding process where he left off before the interruption.

“It sort of is my fault,” he says.

His words are puzzling enough to distract me from his lips and stray thoughts of branding and kissing. “How do you figure?”

“She has a crush, and I should stay clear of her.”

I nod. “That a common problem?”

“That, Rylee, is the kind of question that’ll get a guy in trouble no matter how he answers it.”

I shrug. “Call me unfair.” I think I’m smiling at him because he’s smiling back and doing all kinds of fun things to my belly, warming me up for more fun things to come.

He leans in, and my heart speeds up.

“Looking at you is unfair.” His voice is low and raspy. “Your eyes are showstoppers. I bet you have guys stumbling all over you on the regular.”

“All the time. I had to take out an extra insurance policy.”

He laughs. He raises his hand and runs a finger gently over my eyelashes. The gesture is heart-stopping in its simple reverence, and the sensation sends goosebumps everywhere. My pussy swells up, and I want to wrap him in my legs this instant.

But I don’t—of course not. That’s not something I do. It’s not even something I think of doing. This reaction to him isn’t normal, or at least not how I normally act with men. Sure, I like men, but—not like this. I’m not boy-crazy. Never was. I have things to do in life. I have no plans to attach myself to a man. Ever. Life taught me to keep relationships to a minimum and to stand on my own. Independence is the most important thing. I have my family, Mamma Cass and Suzie. That’s plenty to take care of for an independent girl with ambition.

I pick up the whiskey and put the shot glass to my lips, and he watches. My insides are already sizzling, but I throw the whiskey down my throat for its medicinal value. I stand to test the ankle, and I don’t feel a thing. But I’m not sure if it’s staring at him or the whiskey that has me so distracted.

“Let’s have some fun, cowboy.”

“Your place or mine?”

No way can we go to my place. Mostly because I’m staying with Mama Cass, and going there is out of the question. “Your place.”

He stands, but not without that tell-tale struggle, and my eyes go to the bulge in his jeans which might have grown larger. My thighs clench. He reaches out a hand and lifts my chin so my eyes meet his. “You game for a night of fun?”

“A night you’ll never forget,” I say while my heart thumps too fast, and I feel like I’ve swallowed a tennis ball.

“One night only.” He says and stares, not moving, as if there’s a question in his statement.

I shrug. “Of course.”