“What?”
“Zeke Declan is finally hung up on a chick.”
“Fuck you,” I say but hear the crack in my voice.
“Come on,” she says curling the bottle into her chest, swaying back and forth with a huge knowing grin. “Tell me.” She leans in then stops, eyes wide and waiting. “Who is she?”
“You’re crazy,”
“No, I’m not.” She stands up straight. “It’s the redhead who was in here the other night, the one who shot you down. Just admit it. I’m right, aren’t I?”
“Yeah, right.” I laugh it off. “Sorry, my beautiful carpet-muncher, but you have a better chance that half of the women in here are bisexual then that being true. Think about it, Rusty. Think about who you’re talking about here.”
“Uh-uh, that shit doesn’t work with me, asshole. I know you. You’re a romantic at heart. You believe in love. You just act like you don’t know how to commit.” She pauses, and I smile at her. “But we both know that’s not true. You got no problem with commitment. You’ve committed to being a player for most of your life.” She gazes at me for a second. “It’s something else that holds you back from letting anyone love you, bitchmeat. And while I may not know what it is, you do.”
Like all the other times that Rusty has tried to get me to open up to her, I give her my biggest fuck-you grin to shut her down. No one knows the reason as to why I am the way that I am. No one will ever know the truth. I don’t want to think about it. I don’t want to remember. I don’t want to relive or feel it. But no matter how hard I try, it still haunts me. The recurrent nightmares remind me of what I have lost and why. I’m an omen. I’ve accepted it. Fortunately, the people who do care about me, like my brothers and Rusty, well, they haven’t been affected by it. Still, I’m not taking any chances with anyone else.
“I gotta take a piss.” I stand up from the stool.
“Yeah.” Rusty grabs my shot glass from the counter. “I’m sure ya do.” She smirks at me, letting me go. That’s what I like about her. She doesn’t push. She’s cool like that.
I head into the bathroom, do my business, and walk out to find fuck-me-now waiting for me. With her back against the wall, hungrily gazing at me through long lashes, she takes a slow sip from her straw. A woman looks at me like that for only one reason. I walk up to her, place my palms on either side of her on the wall, and lean in close. “Jenny, right?”
The straw slips from her mouth. “You remember my name,” she says in a sweet, high pitch.
“How could I forget it?” I smile, playing the game as I assess her glossy lips and try to imagine them wrapped around my cock. They’ll do.
She giggles, batting her lashes. “I, ah,” her big blue eyes flash up at me, “heard about your rules.”
I bet she has. It’s not the first time a woman has opened with that line. Fuck enough women and word gets around. Fuck enough women real good and they will come− come to you and then with some tenacious persuasion, come for you. I lower my head until my mouth is nearly touching hers. “Is that right?”
“Yes,” she says in a breathless whisper.
Her fruity lip gloss fills my nose. Chicks smell so delicious. Normally, that shit turns me on, but my dick lays limp in my jeans. Damn Jameson. Right, as if the Jameson is what broke my dick tonight. This is bullshit. I just gotta go for it and taste her lips. Maybe that’ll give my flaccid cock a jolt. I ebb forward and my phone vibrates in my pocket. My cock jumps. I sway back, reach in, and take out my cell. I glance at the unfamiliar number.
My dick jumps again, hoping ...
“Sorry, babe,” I give the cute blonde a false grimace, “but I gotta take this,” I say and head for the back door. My cell continues to ring as I make my way through the back entrance into the hallway. I kick the door close behind me and swipe the screen. “Hey, Picasso.”
“Zeke?” Like a gentle tug on my cock, her soft voice reaches through the line. “How’d you know it was me?”
“Told you, sweetheart, I don’t give out my number and very few people have it. So when the number popped up on my screen, I figured it had to be you.”
“Oh,” she says and then the line goes silent.
I know that I need to keep this going. “So you calling for my services?”
“Yes, the platonic one.” I hear her resistance and her surrender weeded into every word.
“Tomorrow, eight am, I’ll pick you up. Be ready.”
“It’s a date.” I hear the smile in her voice.