I tug the jacket lower and try to channel one of my characters—an uptight businesswoman on the prowl for a night of fun. Except in my story, her suit is tailored, enhancing her figure, not hiding it behind a bulky sale-rack cut.
I already suck at dating, and I haven’t even started yet.
Olly reaches for my hand in the crowd and tugs me closer to him. Immediately a rush of calmness fills me, his touch confident and sure as he weaves a path toward the alcohol-lined wall.
Admiring looks linger in his direction, taking in his wild hair and inked lines peeking beneath rolled-up shirtsleeves, but it’s me that he winks at when he grins over his shoulder.
My body reacts instinctively, contracting and pulsing in all the places it shouldn’t for a boy who’s supposed to be just a friend.
He leads me to the bar, gripping the edge with one hand and squeezing me into the space beside him. Even with two sets of clothing between us, his body heat cuts through fabric, soaking into my skin and muddling my head.
Ignoring the uptick in my pulse, I smile at the bartender as he strides our way.
His grin meets mine, then his eyes slide to Olly, his smile widening in recognition. “Hey Olly and friend he’s been keeping all to himself.”
His eyes are back to me, and he winks.
“Back off, Blake,” Olly warns.
An unexpected thrill tingles up my spine at Olly’s possessive tone.
“Lacey, this is Blake. Blake, Lacey.”
Blake arches one brow at Olly as a look passes between the boys.
Before I can question it, Blake turns to me, dimples and a seductive smile drawing me in. “What can I get you, gorgeous?”
“Umm…” My brain seizes up in a panic. I’ve written scenes like this—flirty bartender and single female protagonist—but no matter how much I search for the sexual innuendo drink order, my mind is blank.
Am I really so lost in my own antisocial writing bubble that I need a seduction tutor and a lesson in how to be a college student?
“I’ll take a beer,” Olly orders. “And Miss Socialite will have an old-fashioned.”
He shoots me a cheeky grin—Lacey, the forty-something twenty-year-old.
I roll my eyes. Only a best friend would have my insecurities and idiosyncrasies on file for quick recall.
Blake slides a beer to Olly and hands me an amber-colored drink with an orange slice bobbing on top before moving further down the bar.
I grab my drink and gulp a mouthful before turning to my tutor for the night. “So, what are your moves?”
Olly’s hand stills, beer hovering just below his mouth. “My moves?”
I nod, looking around the room and sipping my drink, which is surprisingly good for a joke. “How do you approach someone you want to… you know.”
“Fuck?” He grins. “You can say the word, Lacey. You write it enough.”
He offers me a challenging stare as he lifts the beer to his mouth and swallows. Does his throat bob like that when he sucks cock?
“Is your kinky little brain plotting a new scene or recalling an old one?”
I almost choke on the orange peel swimming inside my glass.
He smirks at me over the rim of his beer.
I clear my throat. “Time to get to work. Show me how you pick up.”
“I like this bossy side of you,” he says. “You should tell me what you want more often.”
