I flatten my hands on his chest with the intention of pushing him away, because that's what I should do instead of allowing the continued tongue gymnastic routine. I note first, the solid wall of muscle underneath, followed by the softness of the fabric. Instead of creating space between us, I accidentally smooth my hands over the lapels, up past the collar where I'm met with warm skin. His hand shifts from my hip to my ass. Suddenly, I can feel a whole lot of something going on behind his fly. At my gasp he makes another low noise in his throat.
Before I can decide whether I should still shove him away or keep making out with him, a shrill, familiar voice cuts through Awesome Kisser's rumbling groan. It's close. Like right in my ear. "Ban-What are you doing?"
His tongue retracts from my mouth and his hand from my ass. Turning his head toward the horrific noise, his confused gaze flips between me and the bathroom selfie girl, and then he coughs, right in my face.
I make a gagging sound and use my shawl to wipe his spit from my cheek while Awesome Kisser apologizes-to whom I'm uncertain. He searches his pocket for something-a tissue maybe?
Bathroom girl gives me a look of revulsion and turns her angry gaze on Awesome Kisser. "This"-she sweeps a hand down, gesturing to her ultra-fit body wrapped in her tight dress-"could've been yours tonight." She spins on her eleven-inch heels, her hair fanning out impressively as she sashays past us down the hall.
"Brittany, stop! I thought she was you!"
Of course her name is Brittany. It's a common money name, like Tiffany and Stephanie and all the other names that end with an ie or any. Not that mine is any better. How I ended up with a name like Ruby, I'll never know. I'm not even born in July, so it has nothing to do with my birthstone.
The only similarity between Brittany and me is that we're female, with hair on our heads. Hers is close to the same color as mine in this awful lighting, but it's about eight inches shorter. We're also both wearing dresses. They're both dark, mine a deep wine color and hers black. Mine hits a few inches above my knee, hers barely skims the bottom of her ass.
Brittany spins dramatically to face her could've-been-bed-partner, her expression incredulous. She gestures a perfectly manicured hand at me. "How drunk are you? You think this bargain-basement-wearing slut looks like me?"
I huff. "Seriously? If your dress was half an inch shorter your vagina would be showing, and you're calling me a slut?" Mostly I'm jealous of how good she looks in it, but she's the one who started with the insults. Besides, I'm not at fault here. It's the amazing kisser who stuck his talented tongue in my mouth and subsequently ruined the hotness by coughing in my face.
Awesome Kisser steps between us, his wide shoulders almost blocking out my view of the angry skankatron. "Whoa, ladies, it's a simple misunderstanding, let's not get nasty." I note the barely imperceptible slur at the end, extending the s. He reaches out and puts a hand against the wall, as if he's barring a potential attack, except then I realize it's to steady himself. He's definitely drunk. Which would explain the accidental tongue-nastics.
"I don't know why I'm wasting my breath," Brittany sneers. "I'm going home. Delete my number."
He runs a frustrated hand through his thick, wavy, luxurious hair. And this man does not have plugs either, all that sexy is his. "Fuck." He turns and gives me a quick once-over. I take a quick look down and notice his shoes are black and polished, with no pointy toe. Confident and low maintenance.
I note a few important details while he assesses me, the error that cost him the hot sure-thing. First of all, his eyes are bloodshot and his focus is divided, which could very well explain his inability to discern me from the dark-haired Barbie doll storming away. His nose is a little red and he seems pale. His brow is also glistening just a smidge. I also note the very obvious lump jacking up the front of his dress pants. I feel some satisfaction that my kissing skills are decent enough to give him a woody.
Finally, and most important, this brick house of a man is smokin' hot, even if he is sick, based on Brittany's bathroom reports. Like on a scale of one to ten he's a seven million.
He clears his throat. "I'm really sorry I sexually harassed you and coughed on you. I've been popping cold meds like candy tonight and I think I had one too many scotches. I honestly thought you were her, even though clearly you're not."
Well that's rude.
He gestures to my body and then my face as he expels a quick breath. "I mean, you're, wow, just-hot."