Not that it matters how good the women look. These assholes live for the business trips when they can put their wedding rings in the hotel safe and ply girls with drinks till they agree to come upstairs. Once they’re back home, everyone forgets it ever happened.
Because cheating doesn’t matter as long as nobody finds out, right?
I throw back half my drink, letting that sweet whiskey burn chase away my depressing thoughts. I’m not here to sulk—I’m here to get laid.
My eyes scan the pub patrons. Almost immediately, I spot a group of girls in tight jeans and low-cut tops, giggling around the pool table. They take turns bending over the table, awkwardly holding the cue while they stick out their asses as far as they can, looking around to see who might be watching them.
Well, I for one am happy to look.
A short, curvy woman in a bright blue sweater takes the pool cue next, her long blonde hair hanging in braided pigtails down her back. Her scuffed Chuck Taylors add a tomboyish edge to her style. Her make-up is natural-looking, nothing like Pippa’s bright red lips and black eyeliner.
She’s exactly who I need.
She lines up her pool cue, but it slips out of her grasp, barely grazing the cue ball. Her friends laugh.
“You’re terrible at this, Sydney,” one of her friends screeches.
“Yeah, I warned you when you handed me the pool cue.” She laughs. “You can take over for me, Jenn. I’m getting another drink.”
She grabs an empty beer glass and walks in my direction. Her eyes widen when she sees me looking at her, and she immediately stares at the floor. She’s shy—it’s cute.
I slide down the bar to stand next to her. “Lemme get the next one. I promise not to be judgmental if you order one of those hipster hoppy IPAs.”
Her cheeks turn pink, and her eyes raise so they’re in line with my chest. “What’s so bad about IPAs?”
“Apart from the fact that they taste like fresh-cut grass?”
“I guess I like grass, then.” She shrugs.
I lean over, letting my shoulder lightly graze hers. “Oh, sorry. I thought you were a cute girl. I didn’t realize you were a bunny rabbit.”
She finally gets over her shyness enough to meet my eyes. “My hair hides the floppy ears.”
I chuckle. Cute and funny. Then, to my surprise, she leans in a little closer so her breasts brush against my arm.
“I’m not really that thirsty,” she murmurs.
My eyebrows shoot up. She seemed too shy to be ready to go this quick, but I guess there’s a little Jessica Rabbit in this bunny.
“I’m Ryan.” I figure she should at least know my name before we get to the fun part.
“Sydney,” she says, sliding her hand into mine.
Leaving my blazer, I pull her over to the back of the pub. There’s a little stage they use for live music on Friday, just big enough to hold a few guitarists on stools. Behind there, I know there’s a little storage space for amps and mic stands. There’s no door to close so the other pub patrons won’t hear us, but it’s dark and shielded enough.
The longer I wait for another woman’s lips to replace the memory of Pippa’s, the harder it’s going to be to forget it.
Sydney giggles as I pull her back and press her against the wall. I don’t waste any time, bending down to press my lips against hers. She tastes like beer and bubblegum, a weird combination that doesn’t quite work. Her lips are soft and pillowy, but there’s not that instant chemistry there. Our teeth keep banging into each other, and the way she darts her tongue quickly into my mouth reminds me of a lizard.
The whole kiss just feels wrong, somehow.
Ignoring that instinct, I grab her round ass and pull her tight against me. Sydney moans her approval into my mouth, rocking her hips against my thighs.
My neck starts aching fast, having to bend down so far to kiss her. That wouldn’t be a problem if she was wearing Pippa’s shoes.
Shit. The whole point of this is so Iwon’tthink about Pippa.
Sydney runs her hands up my chest, and I open my eyes to look at her. She’s adorable, she’s willing, and she’shere.But when I see the neon green nail polish on her fingers, for some reason, I hate it. I’ve never given a shit about a girl’s nail polish before. Her pouty lips press hot kisses against my neck, but she won’t leave sweet cherry red marks on my skin.
