In a desperate attempt to enjoy the last morsel of my beloved beverage, I tilted the bottom of the glass higher and higher until I sloshed what little remained all over my face and neck.

Franky shook his head and tossed me a towel. “Here.”

“I spilled most of that, can you get me another?”

He chuckled. “You drank the whole damned thing, and then slopped the remnants all over your face when you tried to get what was left in the little divot at the bottom of the glass.”

I peered inside the empty glass. In the center, directly above the stem, was a shot glass-sized depression.

“I don’t even know why that thing’s there,” I murmured. “It’s stupid.”

“Makes it tricky to get that last drop, doesn’t it?”

I pushed the glass to the side. “Kind of. It should be smooth on the bottom.”

“The cheap ones are.” He picked up the glass and admired it. “I prefer quality.”

In a childlike display of emotion, I flopped onto the edge of the bar and laid my drunken head in the palms of my hands. After receiving no attention for my juvenile outburst, I lifted my head slightly and pried my eyelids open.

When Franky came into focus, I asked the obvious. “Why are you interested in me, then?”

“I think you’ve got potential.”

“Even after bringing those guys over and trying to talk you into a threesome?”

He lowered his head to my level. “Especially after bringing them over.”

“Why?”

He took a step back and grinned a shallow smile. I drooled a little as he dragged his fingers through his thick mop, partially due to being drunk, but more so because he was sexy as fuck.

After teasing his hair into a perfect mess, he met my gaze. “I’m slowly figuring you out, Lou, and I like what I see.”

I was intrigued. Well, as much as I could be, considering that I was so drunk I would probably need to be carried to the SUV that was waiting to give me a ride home. “What do you mean?”

“What do you mean, what do I mean? I’m figuring you out. The day we met, I thought you were gorgeous, had a great personality, and a fabulous smile. After a few more visits, I decided you were attractive far beyond your looks. As time passes, you’re revealing more and more of yourself. I may not always like what I see, but it’s nice that you’re leaving little to the imagination.”

I cocked my head to the side. “Huh?”

“In summary, your true self is shining through.”

“I don’t even know who she is. Tell me about her.”

He flipped the rag over his shoulder, wrung his hands together for a moment, then met my pickled stare. “She’s a beautiful woman who masks her feelings with margaritas, and only an attentive eye with the ability of insight will see through her façade. She’s willing to sacrifice everything to get what it is that she seeks. The funny thing is that she doesn’t really know what it is that she’s after.”

I arched an eyebrow. “And what might that be?”

“Love.”

“What about me asking you to have a threesome makes you believe that?”

He slid the towel from his shoulder, flicked it under the counter, and then leaned over the edge of the bar. “You’re seeking acceptance through your actions. You’re trying to win my heart by offering whatever you think I might find interesting or valuable. You met my offer to have you bring them across the street because--”

He was dead wrong, and I couldn’t allow him to continue down his ego inflating thought process. “No. You’re wrong. I wanted to do that because I thought it would be cool. It’s been on my bucket list forever. I was thinking two or three cocks must be better than one. It’s a no brainer.”

His face washed with disbelief. It may have been a shock. Either way, he stared at me blankly and blinked a few times.

I lowered my head in feigned shame. I wasn’t sorry I tried for the ménage, I was only sorry he didn’t agree. After wallowing in pretend self-guilt for a few seconds, I looked up. “I’m sorry. It was sheer sexual greed.”

His eyebrows raised slightly. “Was it?”

“Uh huh.”

“I was thinking it was you trying to satisfy me.” He looked to the side and raised both eyebrows. “Maybe I was hoping that.”

I coughed a drunken laugh. “If I was trying to satisfy you, I would have brought two women over. Instead, I brought cocks.” I raised my hands, held them eight inches apart, and looked at the space between them. “Big gay cocks.”

“If it had to do with the show, it wouldn’t matter who you brought over. I tried to explain that to you when you asked. Things like that shouldn’t be done out of a feeling of necessity or at someone else’s prompt. They should be spur of the moment decisions made in the heat of passion.”

I rested my forearms against the edge of the bar and let out a sigh. “You’re probably right.”

“I am right.”

It wasn’t the botched threesome that was really bothering me. It was knowing Eric was going to arrive in a matter of hours, and that I didn’t want to spend two weeks with him. In fact, the mere thought of spending any measurable amount of time with the remaining four men made me cringe.

I wanted the show to magically end, and then they could pay me half a million dollars. After that, everything would fall together, and I would live happily ever after.

“Okay. You’re right.” I looked up. “So, what am I going to do now?”

“Now? Like right now, or--”

A dramatic sigh escaped me. I twisted my hair into a messy bun, and then rested my head on my open palm. I tried to look innocent and sweet, but it was anyone’s guess what I accomplished. “Eric’s coming.”

“The next guy?”

I gnawed on my margarita straw and muttered my response against my palm. “Uh huh. And, he’s got a really big dick.”

I couldn’t believe I said it. I damned sure hadn’t intended to, but somehow the words spewed from my mouth.

“What?” he gasped. “Did you say he has a really big dick?”

“Uh huh” I raised my head. “In his bio pics. I mean. It was just. Huge.”

“You saw it in his bio?”

“Not it. But yeah. He had on jeans. Tight jeans. It looked like he was trying to smuggle a cucumber out of the grocery store.”

“You’re stuck with Mr. Pickle Pants for two weeks.” He shook his head. “Great.”

I could tell he was starting to get about as frustrated as I was with the entire situation. “Yeah, it was gross,” I said, hoping he couldn’t tell I was lying. I let out a long sigh. “I don’t know if I can do it.”

“Do what?”

“Fake it any longer. It sucks.”

“What are you faking?” he asked.

“I want you, Franky. Not them.”