Friday
March 19, 2021
“Another,” I call out to the bartender, slamming a five down when she slides my shot of Silver over.
“Anything else I can get you?” The no-name bartender asks, leaning over the counter, so her plastic tits spill over the torn collar of her shirt.
I let my eyes sway down for a moment, eyeing the sliver of nipple that peeks out from her lacy satin bra.
“Yeah. Another,” I say, tossing back my third shot, unimpressed by the amount of effort she’s putting in with the hope of sucking me off in the parking lot.
“Why don’t you meet me out back, and I’ll bring us an entire bottle?” she asks, sucking in her lips in what she thinks is a seductive manner and crawling her pointed, vibrant pink nail up my tattooed hand, trying to slip under the cuff of my jacket.
“Why don’t you just bring me another shot?” I growl, tearing her hand off my skin before it sizzles away from my bone.
She sulks, an annoying, mewling whimper coming from her pouting lips. “I can make you feel better than that bottle ever could, handsome.”
She tries again, this time a little more assertively, wrapping her bony hand around my wrist.
It takes everything in me not to take her fingers in my palm and snap them off, infuriated that she had the fucking nerve to touch something that doesn’t belong to her.
I want to rip the skin off my wrist so Amira doesn’t smell the bartender's putrid scent of cotton candy and booze staining my skin, but I don’t feel like making a mess of my flesh tonight. So instead, I settle for leaning back and away from her prying fingers, not wanting to draw any negative attention to myself.
“How about you just get me another fucking shot.”
She mutters what a dick I am before pouring my shot and moving on, looking for the next guy to get her rocks off with in the parking lot.
Downing my fourth and final shot, I slam the glass down and take a sip from the untouched, condensated water I ordered an hour and a half ago.
“You fucking done now?”
Caught off guard, I look over my shoulder to see a smirk plastered on Ash’s face.
“Amira tell you I was here?” I ask, drowning myself in my water until it’s finished.
“Amira didn’t tell me shit because she said she didn’t know where you had gone,” he says, dropping on the stool next to me, signaling the bartender for another round.
I guess I wasn’t finished at four, but at least the bartender is done trying to get into my pants, choosing to move on to Ash.
“Two more shots and a couple of waters, sweetheart,” he drawls, making her practically cream her pants on the spot.
I roll my eyes when she comes skipping back, her smile giddy as she passes Ash her number.
Once she’s out of sight, he sticks the note in his pocket, nursing his shot before throwing it back.
“You gonna hit that?” I ask, jerking my head in the direction of the bartender, who can’t take her eyes off Ash’s head.
He shifts his gaze to gawk at her spilling cleavage as she bends down to retrieve more ice, palming his dick when he catches sight of her lace G-string.
“Yeah, probably.”
I laugh, tossing my glass back before sliding it across the bar. “I didn’t think redheads were your type.”
“Women are my type, brother. Redheads, brunettes, blondes, Asian, Black, White, Hispanic. Fuck, they could be fucking neon green, and I’d still love them. If God didn’t want me to enjoy their company so much, then he wouldn’t have made women so damn pretty.”
I don’t agree with that sentiment. Amira seems to be the only woman ever to keep my eyes on, but I respect his assertion.
“Well. You have a good fucking time with that,” I mutter, a little envious that he can stick his dick in whatever he wants, and months after my release, I still haven't gotten past second base with Amira.
