“Don’t worry, I’ll be there.” He wraps me in a bear hug, then unsteadily turns from the bar and disappears into the crowd.
“He’s cute. Kinda like a big teddy bear.”
“I’ll be sure to tell our VP you compared him to a stuffy. He’ll be thrilled.”
I reposition my arm on the back of her chair and lean in. “You enjoying that margarita?”
“It’s very good.” She takes another sip. “The perfect mix of sour and sweet.”
The last fuckin’ thing I wanna talk about is Marisol’s skills as a bartender, but I get the feeling I gotta take it slow with Martina.
“Hey, Diesel?” Chantel’s cheap, flowery perfume surrounds me, and I’m thinking I must be the unluckiest bastard on earth. “I’ve been looking for you all night.” She angles her body so her back is to Martina.
“Here I am.” I busy myself with pouring another shot of Jack.
“I can see that.” Her weirdly long, pointed nails trail along my thigh, then stroke over my cock. “I feel you’re ready for me.”
Little did she know my hard-on has nothing to do with her and everything to do with Martina.
She leans into my ear. “I have a very special gift for your birthday.”
“Ohhh yeah?” Maybe if I play along, Chantel would move on quicker.
She cups her tits under her tight bustier until her nipples pop out, offering them up like forbidden fruit. “But since my gift is so special, I was thinking we could use a little privacy.”
I shift, putting some distance between us. “I’m busy right now.”
“Busy?” She leans in, brushing her enormous tits against my arm. “With who?”
I shift again, forcing her to step back. Her eyes travel over Martina, and her lips twist like she just ate a lemon. “With her?”
Martina faces Chantel and smiles sweetly. “That’s right.” Like a slow-motion video, she tilts her margarita glass just enough so the ice-cold liquor drenches Chantel’s over-exposed tits.
Chantel jumps back and glares. “You did that on purpose.”
“What would make you say that?” Martina’s voice drips with sweet innocence.
“Bitch, you won’t get away with this,” Chantel threatens. “Just wait, you’ll get yours.”
She storms away, and I bust out laughing. “Fuckin’ perfect.”
“Just giving her what she deserves.”
“Like I said, fuckin’ perfect. That bitch needs a wake-up call every once in a while.”
“Please tell me you have better taste than that, and she’s not your girlfriend or ex-girlfriend.”
“I’m happy to report Chantel is neither my present or ex-anything.”
Martina eyes me. “I hoped you were smarter than falling for her obviousness.”
“Been around enough to know Chantel is trouble, big fuckin’ trouble.” I keep the fact I have two exes exactly like Chantel to myself. Bangin’ figures with smart-ass mouths who would take whatever isn’t nailed down. Fuckin’ ridiculous, but lesson learned. I obviously made bad picks when it came to women, so since I’ve been in Tijuana, it’s been nameless, faceless sex.
Except now. Martina places her empty glass on the bar, and I realize I’m breaking two of my rules. I actually know her name, and she’s a stripper at The Tropics. Another minefield I never entered.
“Hey, Marisol, give this pretty lady another margarita and keep them coming.”
Fuck, maybe it’s time to break a few rules. After all, it is my birthday.
