Clean White Shirt

Major

I don’t really want to go out. I almost changed my mind. But the thought of the toffee-skinned beauty on her knees at my feet in aisle four of Target flashed through my mind when I was in the shower, and my enthusiasm was reborn.

The house is quiet as I re-iron a pair of black slacks and a button down white dress shirt that are fresh from the dry cleaner. My housekeeper, Edith, finished scrubbing the kitchen floor quickly when she heard me come in from my run earlier. She was humming a Spanish tune that I have heard her sing a million times before, but as soon as she knew I was home, she went on her way without a word.

I stand in front of a full-length mirror, slide my arms into the crisp shirt, and button each button, paying careful attention to the thread that was used to sew the buttons onto the shirt. I’m a stickler about loose threads. When I’m finished and there’s not a loose thread in sight, I slide my black slacks off the ironing board and step into them, making sure not to put a single wrinkle in them. I grab my pristinely shined loafers and head downstairs.

At the door, I slip on my shoes and stop to adjust a vase on the credenza in the foyer to the right just a smidge and find a few loose petals on the glass. Edith is going to have to make a more thorough inspection before she finishes cleaning the house tomorrow.

After sweeping the floor, gathering the petals from the credenza and cleaning the glass, I adjust the vase once more and head out to the Blue Water Bar and Grill.

The smell of fresh fish and beer is heavy in the air when I step inside the restaurant. It’s unusually busy as I make my way past the hostess.

“I see my party. I’ll show myself back,” I say when she shoots me a questionable look. Izzy nods her head when she recognizes me and turns away, immune to my good looks and charm. I don’t take it personally. I come here often, and I happen to know Izzy is gay.

“Major!” They yell and hold up what looks like shots of tequila. I take the empty seat where a shot is waiting for me.

“Garcia, Davis, thanks for waiting to order,” I say.

“We haven’t ordered yet. These are before dinner drinks so they don’t count. Sit down and have a couple,” Davis says with a slur.

I don’t drink the shot. I’m a whisky kind of man. Instead, I catch the eye of a beautiful brunette waitress and crook my finger at her. She approaches out of breath, balancing a full tray of drinks.

“Hi, is there something I can get you, Major?” she asks. I don’t drink here often, but I do enjoy dinner on weeknights when the place isn’t swarming with weekend partyers and golf enthusiasts.

She recognizes me and bends so that I can speak into her ear.

“I’ll have the usual, and if you’re available, I’ll have you later,” I say.

She blushes a lovely shade of red and smiles before she moves away. “Of course I can do that for you. I’ll have that right out, Major Steele.”

The guys are sitting with their mouths agape, eyes full of admiration. Watch and learn, boys. You’re with the master tonight.

“How do you do that, man? It’s so unfair. We’ve been sitting here for thirty minutes, and she’s gone by once to drop off our drinks. We haven’t even ordered our food yet, and you come waltzing in here and she’s like a dog in heat,” Davis says.

“She knows me, and I’m better looking than you.”

“Ah, no, you didn’t,” he says.

“See, Garcia? I told you we shouldn’t invite overachievers. They’re no fun,” Davis says.

“I dunno, Davis. I think I like being associated with Major. If I can go home with a piece of ass like that, I’ll wait for my dinner all night.”

“That ‘piece of ass’ is mine unless I find another one sooner. She isn’t off work until they close, and I’m not interested in staying out late if I don’t have to.”

“Damn, Major, you’re not playing around tonight, are you? Ready to drag one back to the cave already,” Davis says.

“Yes, well I’m not planning on hanging out with you jarheads all night. I’m an efficient shopper. I can find what I want pretty quickly.” Shopping reminds me of Target, and Target reminds me of that curvy brown mind invader. Why does that woman keep cropping up in my thoughts?

Wendy the waitress has proven in the past that she can keep up with me in bed, even after a long shift on her feet serving food and drinks. She knows the deal—sex and nothing else—and that makes her a good choice, but I’m keeping my options open tonight.

Wendy breezes by and arches back when a large group tries to barge past her. She expertly balances her drinks, and I reach out to place my hands on her waist to support her. She looks down at me, her big blue eyes full of appreciation and a glimmer of desire, and I wink.

When she turns, I politely remove my hands while she passes out our drinks, saving mine for last. She stands close to my side, chatting with the boys and getting their food orders. She absentmindedly adjusts my tumbler of Black Label scotch whiskey until it’s exactly where she knows I like it. I still move it a little to the left. That’s good service. I service her well, so she takes care of me.

Our food is delivered remarkably fast, and Wendy keeps the drinks coming at a steady pace. When we’re finished, we make our way into the packed bar, where the music is loud and the people are louder. There are a lot of Marines in the bar tonight. There are usually a lot of Marines in Oceanside, but they’re especially thick in here tonight.

Wendy blocked off a section for three at the end of the bar with a perfect view of the entire place. She’s an exemplary employee, one of Blue Water’s best. Davis, Garcia and I take a seat and the bartender takes our order.

“Damn, thanks for the VIP seats, Major,” Garcia says.

“You can thank Wendy for that. She takes good care of me.”

“I think every woman within a ten-mile radius takes good care of you,” Davis says, holding his fingers up to make quotation marks.

“Well, I’m charming. What can I say?”

I scan the bar and notice that it’s full of younger women tonight. They tend to not understand the rules, but if I find one who doesn’t seem too clingy, I’ll consider her. If she can deal with sex being just sex with no strings, no exchanging of phone numbers and no cuddling, she’s a go.

The phone number thing is imperative. I don’t even bring my phone into the hotel room anymore after a crazy stalker got into mine. She called herself when I was in the shower. I had to change my number three times before I finally got rid of her.

I like to spend a couple of hours exhausting a woman in bed until she’s sated and her legs are Jell-O. When it’s over, it’s over, and we never see each other again. Unless you work in my favorite restaurant as a waitress, that is. Wendy’s an exception to my rules because she plays the game so obediently.

I lean my back against the wall at the end of the bar and look out over the crowd. No one in particular is catching my eye, but I do notice some fucking asshole groping a young girl who is making it very clear that she’s not interested in his advances. They’re standing in a small alcove where he’s all but got her cornered like an animal, and people are just walking by, intentionally paying them no mind.

My blood boils in my veins and my heart hammers against my ribcage. I’m on my feet and cutting across the dance floor before Davis and Garcia have a chance to ask me where I’m going.

I squeeze through the bodies on the dance floor, raising my arms over my head and turning sideways when some of them get too close. I would have much preferred to go around and avoid all of these sweaty people touching me, but a sense of urgency is driving me. The petite blonde cries out when the asshole presses her against the wall, but no one is close enough to hear her but me. The music is loud, and he’s got his pervert hand over her mouth now.

This guy is going to regret scaring this young girl. He’s not going to like what I’m going to do to him. I slide my thick forearm around his throat from behind, putting him in a headlock. His back is against my chest and I have the overwhelming urge to bite this fucker’s ear off. I could easily kill him. I’ve done it before in Iraq, but we’re not in Iraq now, and I have to follow the law that protects everyone, even scum like this guy.

This poor girl can’t be more than fifteen. She’s trembling from head to toe and tears are welling in her big brown eyes, ready to spill down her cheeks any second. How did she get into this position? How the hell did he get her alone?

“Unless that’s your baby sister and you’re trying to take her back to Mom and Dad, you’d better take your fucking hands off her right now.” My words are calm, cold and heartless. His body becomes rigid, and then he does the dumbest thing he could have chosen to do. He lies.

“She’s my girlfriend, man, back the fuck off,” he says, but the girl’s eyes are wild with fear as she shakes her head back and forth.

“I’m calling bullshit on that,” I say and tighten my hold on his throat. He gasps and groans while I consider crushing his esophagus. Garcia and Davis appear behind me.

“Major, sir, he can’t breathe,” Davis says.

“He doesn’t deserve to breathe.”

“Maybe so, sir, but he’s turning blue. I think you’ve made your point,” Garcia says, and I turn my head to the side and glare at him. Garcia’s face morphs from concerned to fearful when he sees the black hate in my eyes. He steps back, and I swing the idiot asshole around by the neck and shove him toward the exit.

“Make sure that little girl is okay and get her back to her family,” I say to Davis. He turns to the girl and begins to talk to her in a soothing voice as I move away.

I’ve already dragged him to the entrance of the restaurant when the little cocksucker starts to come around. He hasn’t learned his lesson yet. He starts thrashing around like a fish out of water, yelling that he’s being attacked, when the manager approaches us with a security guard.

“Evening, sir, how’s your night going?” I ask as if I weren’t holding a piece of scum in a headlock.

“Fine, Major Steele. What’s going on here?”

“Oh this?” I say, looking down at the cradle robber. “Nothing, just putting out some trash that was stinking up the place.”

He lifts one eyebrow and juts his chin toward the door, giving me his blessing, and I take the piss ant out and throw his ass down on the grass.

“Keep your hands off little girls, or I’ll cut them off. You’ll never touch one again or jerk off looking at their pictures on the Internet, you fucking pervert.”

He rolls over in the grass and groans with his hands around his own neck, panting. I’d like to kick him in the balls, but I don’t. I am a Marine. I have been for twelve years, and I am disciplined. I can keep myself in check, although this guy is really testing me.

I walk past the manager and his ‘security’ guard on my way back into the bar. “Keep an eye on him and don’t let him back in. He had a young girl cornered in the bar, manhandling her.”

I don’t stop to chat about what happened or give any details. I just join Davis back at the bar.

“Damn, Major, I thought you were gonna snap his neck,” Davis says.

“I wanted to,” I say. “Was she all right? Did Garcia find her parents?”

“Yeah, they were in the restaurant lobby looking for her. They were just about to announce that she was missing over the PA.”

“I should have made sure the manager called the police. That man is dangerous, and I don’t even want to think of what he would have done with that girl if he’d made it out of here with her.”

I’m a hard-ass fighting machine, but when women and children are in danger of being victimized, it makes me nauseous. I have a younger sister, and we had a very difficult childhood, to put it mildly. I was protective of her because I had to be. We weren’t even safe in our own home.

Garcia approaches, grinning from ear to ear, “You’re the man, Major. That guy nearly shit himself out there. They called the cops, but he ran off. I don’t know if they’ll find him. If he’s got any brains, he’ll run home to his mama and never show his face here again.”

The bartender appears and asks me if I need another drink and tells us all our drinks are on the house tonight. Davis whoops and Garcia orders two expensive foreign beers for himself.

“I’ll have another scotch—make it a double.”

“You got it, Major. Coming right up.”

“This night just got interesting,” Davis says.

This night just got dangerous. The adrenaline in my veins is still pumping, and I’ve had more to drink than usual. I’m not drunk—far from it—but I do need to relax and try to forget about the piece of trash that most likely got away. If he tries to hurt another innocent girl, it would be partially my fault. If I hadn’t wanted to break his neck so fucking badly, I could have waited for the police to arrive.

The bartender slides my drink across the bar and then a napkin with writing on it that says, I love a hero. Dance with me?

“It’s from the lady at the other end of the bar,” the bartender says, and I look up to see where he’s pointing.

Standing with a couple of other women is a tall blonde who, by the world’s standard, is stunningly beautiful, but to me, she’s average. I prefer my women a little thicker and brunette, but she’s inviting me to dance and she appears to be available now as opposed to three a.m. when Wendy will be off work.

I lift one corner of my lips and wink at her, taking her up on her offer.

“Later, guys,” I say when I get up and make my way to the other end of the bar.

“Good luck,” Garcia says, and I stop to give him a look of disapproval.

“The Major doesn’t need luck, stupid,” Davis says, punching Garcia in the arm. I turn and leave so they can watch the master at work.

I tip my glass up and down my drink. It burns going down in the best way. I place the glass on the bar when I reach Blondie. A hush falls over her friends when I approach. I don’t say a word. I just take her hand and lead her to the dance floor.

I take her into my arms and pull her close. She starts to say something, but I place my pointer finger over her lips to quiet her.

J.T.’s Cry Me a River overlaps with another modern pop song, and the D.J. announces it as a blast from the past, making me feel much older than my thirty-two years. Blondie’s eyes light up, and I hold her close, rolling our hips together and pressing my semi-erect cock against her belly when someone bumps into me from behind.

A cold drink saturates the back of my shirt. This is why I fucking hate bars—sloppy drunk ass people not paying attention to what they’re doing. I turn, irritated and ready to give the klutz a piece of my mind, but before I can speak, I’m rendered silent at the sight of none other than the Target girl.

She’s standing in front of me with her arms suspended in the air, holding two empty martini glasses. Her thin white blouse is soaked to the skin with pink alcohol. She’s wide-eyed and ready to be apologetic until she sees that it’s me.

“It’s you,” she says accusingly.

“Yes, and it’s you,” I drawl. “You seem to have a bad habit of running into people, don’t you?” I say. Blondie peeks around to see what’s happening.

“You ran into me at Target, mister, not the other way around, and now you’ve danced right into me and our drinks,” she says. The hair on the back of my neck stands up when I hear her say ‘our’. She’s here with a date.

“Do you enjoy arguing?” I ask.

She wrinkles up her forehead and frowns. “Of course not.”

“Then why do you keep insisting that I am the one running into you—on two occasions now—when it’s so obvious that you’ve been bumping into me?”

“Us,” Blonde pipes up, and I give her a mind your own business look and she does just that. She turns around and blends into the crowd. Shit, there goes dessert. Oh well. There’s always Wendy.

“Hey, you look like you need some help, Miss. Let me show you to the bar where we can get something to clean your shirt,” Garcia says, popping up out of nowhere. I watch him slide a hand onto the small of Target girl’s back and I bristle when he begins to steer her away.

“No, Garcia, that’s gracious of you, but we know each other. I’ve got this,” I say.

I let her slip away this afternoon, but not again. I want to see what it is about this woman that piques my interest.

“Okay, sure, Major. No problem,” Garcia says.

I nod and remove his hand from her back, replacing it with mine. I begin to move her toward the door just beyond the bar that leads into the kitchen.

“Oh no, I’m not going back there with you,” she says, stopping short.

“I’m not planning to bite you.”

Yet.

“I’m just going to help you clean your shirt.”

“Because you bumped into me and spilled my drinks?” she asks.

“Nice try, but no. I really just don’t want Captain Garcia to see you without a shirt on,” I say and wink.

“Why on earth would he see me with no shirt on?” she asks.

I turn her toward the mirror behind the bar so she can see how transparent her blouse is now that it’s wet, and she gasps.

“Oh my God, I didn’t know this shirt was so see-through,” she says, crossing her arms over her perfect breasts.

I take the empty martini glasses from her hands and set them on the bar. I can see her watching my every move out of the corner of my eye, but I don’t make eye contact with her. I just guide her into the kitchen and down the hall into a small bathroom.

One of the waitresses showed me where this bathroom is a long time ago because I refuse to use a public toilet. This one is only for employees, making it minutely better, but better just the same.

When the door is closed and the music muffled, I introduce myself.

“I’m Major Sawyer Steele with the United States Marines.”

“I figured as much,” she says while I rummage under the sink for a clean washcloth.

“Why is that?”

“Just a hunch—oh, and your wingman out there called you Major.”

“Observant.” I roll my eyes. “What’s your name?”

I wet the washcloth and turn to tug her blouse from the waistband of her skirt.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she asks without stopping me.

“You have alcohol all over your shirt. If you don’t get it off right away, it will be ruined.”

Her jaw is tight, and she blinks as she slowly looks me up and down like she’s checking me out.

“Like what you see?” I ask.

She rolls her eyes. “Actually, my mother thought you were handsome. I was just looking to see if she was right.”

“What’s the consensus then?” I prop my ass on the sink behind me so I’m eye level with her in the tiny bathroom.

“You’re all right,” she says, looking up and away from me—typical body language of someone who’s lying. She thinks I’m more than all right or she wouldn’t be here.

“So?”

“So what?”

“Your name?”

“Oh, it’s Violet.”

That is the perfect name for this gorgeous, curvy, toffee-skinned beauty. It’s delicate like the flower, but wild and free-spirited.

“That’s beautiful. I’m taking your blouse, Violet.” I slide the thin material off her shoulders and stop to admire her. She makes no effort to stop me. This beautiful woman is standing inches from me in an ultra-thin silk bra. Her hard nipples strain against the expensive material, and she knows I’m taking her in, but she stands her ground, never covering up or shrinking away. I like that.

“Thank you, Major Steele. Are you going to stare at me all night or clean my blouse?” she asks, placing a hand on her perfectly round hip.

“I’d like to do more than stare at you, Violet, but I’m a gentleman. I will clean your blouse and let you be on your way if you’d like.”

She nods, and I turn to rinse her shirt in the sink. It’s a mess. I thought I could dab the pink color off, but I can’t. I’ll have to wash the entire thing.

She leans around me to look into the sink when she realizes I’ve filled it up and submerged her entire blouse in the water. Then she catches my eyes in the mirror.

“How am I going to wear that back out into the bar soaking wet?” she asks, and I turn and point at a hand dryer.

When I’ve got all the pink out, I drain the sink and wring most of the water from the material. I press the button on the hand dryer and hold the delicate piece of material under the blower and move it around until it’s dry. The dryer pops off automatically, and I hold up her clean white blouse.

She purses her lips on one side and nods her head up and down. “I’m impressed. Thought you might leave me hanging there for a minute, Major.”

“I’m a man of my word.”

Before I help her back into her clothes, I can’t help but run a finger along her bra strap and wonder how it would feel to push down the cups and suck on one of her hard, dark nipples.

Her breath catches when I arrive at the lace edge above her left breast, and she reaches out to slide her arms into the blouse. I’ve affected her. Good.

The lighting in this room is shitty at best, but I’ve seen enough to know I need to have her under me writhing and screaming my name tonight.

I take her hands and stop her fingers from buttoning her blouse. I silently move them to her sides, and she lifts her gaze. I take up where she left off and button it to the top, leaving one open at her throat. Her full lips are parted, and I can feel her quick, short breaths against my skin.

Holding her deep, dark brown eyes, I slide my hands over her breasts and brush my thumbs over her taut nipples. She inhales a sharp breath and begins searching for the doorknob behind her. When she’s found it, she opens it and steps out away from me. I don’t allow her to look away from me as I shut the light off in the bathroom.

I wasn’t expecting her to pull away, but I don’t give up that easily. She’s forgotten how we got where we are, so I step in front of her to lead the way.

“Oh my gosh, your shirt is worse than mine,” she says, touching the damp material.

“I have a spare in my car,” I say over my shoulder.

“You keep spare shirts in your car?”

“Yes.”

“Does this happen to you often?”

“Do gorgeous women spill drinks on my shirt? No, but you never know what’s going to happen and I like to be prepared.”

“Oh, okay,” she says, seemingly satisfied with that answer.

When we’re back in the bar, I maneuver her into our area at the end of the bar.

“Captain Garcia, Captain Davis, this is Violet,” I say, introducing her. Both men are on their best behavior when they shake hands with her.

“Hey, Violet. I see the Major got your shirt all cleaned up,” Garcia says, dropping his polite gaze to Violet’s chest until he feels me glaring at him. He quickly looks away, making the moment even more uncomfortable.

I’d punch him if he weren’t so drunk, and I also know how hard it is to keep your thoughts clean looking at Violet. She looks so sexy in her almost sheer sleeveless blouse and short black skirt with heels that accentuate her strong calf muscles. She’s petite at no more than five foot one or two, but she’s lean. She’s in great physical shape, silky smooth and curvy in all the right places. Poor Garcia.

“I’m going out to the car to change my shirt. Order her some drinks to replace the ones that were spilled.” I look at her directly when I say ‘the ones that were spilled’, making sure she takes note that I am not taking the blame for the accident. She rolls her eyes.

“I’m fine. I can get my own drinks. I really need to get back to my group.”

I motion to the bartender, and he approaches.

“What can I get you, Major?”

“Two of whatever this is,” I say, turning so he can see the back of my shirt. He narrows his eyes to look at my shirt and then back at Violet for a second before pointing his finger at her.

“Red velvet martinis,” he says, and Violet smiles and nods her head up and down in agreement.

“I’ll be right back.”

It’s a big risk, walking away from her. She could disappear, she could leave, or she could be swept up by one of the guys in this bar—many of which are handsome Marines—but I’m confident that I’ve given her something to think about. I also cannot tolerate the sensation of my shirt sticking to my back any longer.

Outside, I open the back of my SUV and slide out the drawer of a built-in, custom-made miniature chest of drawers. It was ridiculously expensive to have installed, but the time saved and the convenience of always having a perfectly pressed set of clothes is worth it to me.

I slide off my wet shirt and take a step away from the vehicle to toss it in a trash can near a lamppost when I hear her voice. It’s Violet, and she’s upset. I look down the street and see that piece of scum pedophile that I threw out of the bar earlier pawing at her like a fucking animal. Goddamn, this guy doesn’t learn. The rage that builds in my chest is so powerful, even I worry for this creep’s life. I storm down the sidewalk and take him by surprise, snatching him up by the back of his collar.

“Hey, what the fuck, man?” he yells.

“You’re not very smart, are you?” He stops struggling at the sound of my voice.

“Dude, you’re choking me,” he says, raspy and oxygen deprived.

“You’re lucky that’s all I’m doing,” I say through my teeth. I catch a glimpse of Violet in my peripheral vision and notice her terrified expression. It’s funny that her fear of me killing this asshole is the very thing that saves his life.

“Major, please, just let him go,” she says. She appeals to the tiny sliver of sanity that I have left, and I release him and step protectively in front of her.

“I’ve allowed you to live twice today, you piece of shit, and that’s more compassion than any man with your morals has ever received from me. If you value your life at all, you’ll leave right now. RUN!” I yell. He jumps at the sound of my voice and trips trying to turn around. The little weasel is quick, though. I’ll give him that. He scrambles to his feet and takes off down the street.

Blood boiling and adrenaline flowing freely, I almost forget Violet is standing behind me until I feel her cool hand on my bare shoulder.

“Are you okay?” she asks in a soft, steady tone like the one psychiatrists use with their craziest patients.

I turn, and she drags her hand around my bicep as I do so.

“Am I okay? Are you okay? I threw that imbecile out earlier for doing the same thing to a little girl. He’s lucky I didn’t smash his face in.”

“A little girl, really? That’s horrible.”

She shivers and shakes her head in disbelief. Her hand drops from my arm, and I instantly miss the warmth and pressure of it.

“Come with me. I need a shirt,” I say, taking her hand and leading her to the rear of my open SUV.

“Why are you out here anyway?” I ask.

“I—I’m not really sure.”

She stares at the hatch door that’s standing open and then at the custom dresser, but I don’t think she’s really seeing anything. She’s still in shock. I take a shirt from the drawer and cringe at the thought of putting something on that hasn’t been freshly pressed. I slide my arms in and button up quickly so I can get her back inside.

“You … left your car open,” she says, sounding a little dazed and confused.

“Yes, I had to. You were in trouble.”

“And you have a . . . built-in dresser in there?” she asks, nodding toward my vehicle.

“Yes, I do. Are you sure you’re okay, Violet?”

“Yeah, that’s just really . . . weird.” She waves her finger in a circle in the air toward my dresser.

“Not really. I told you I carry extra clothes in case of an emergency.”

“If you have enough emergencies to require a built-in dresser in your trunk, then you have too many emergencies,” she says with her hand on her hip. Her sexy sassiness is back. She must be over the shock.

A couple walks by, watching me button my shirt and listening to Violet scold me. Violet notices she’s lost my attention and turns to see what I’m looking at.

“Good evening,” she says in a sweet voice, and the couple looks away, embarrassed to be caught staring. Sassy and saucy. I love it.

“Aren’t you shaken up by that creep?” I ask when she turns her attention back to me.

“No, should I be?”

“Yes. He could have attacked you.”

“Major Steele, my daddy was a Marine, and so is my brother. Believe me, they taught me to grab balls and scream. I was more afraid you were going to kill him.”

“You’re from a military family?”

“A Marine family, yes.”

“So you didn’t need me back there?” I say, closing the back of the SUV and pressing the lock on my key fob.

“Oh, I appreciate the help. He was nasty. I didn’t want to have to squeeze his nuts off, but I would have if you hadn’t been here.”

I laugh when I realize she’s not a damsel in distress. Damn it.

“Well, I’m happy I was of assistance to you then. I’m sorry I almost killed a man in front of you, though,” I say with a wink.

“Apology accepted.”

“So why did you really come outside?”

She looks away from me, but I catch her hand and stop walking.

“What is it?”

“I wanted to see if you were leaving.” She chews on the inside of her cheek and pretends to watch a car going by.

“Why would I leave?”

She shrugs and continues to avoid eye contact. I don’t want to push it, so I let it drop.

“I’m not leaving. I told you, I’m a man of my word. Now come on, let’s go inside.”

I let go of her hand and slide my arm around her shoulders, pulling her into my side. She fits perfectly tucked under my arm, and she feels good there as we walk back into the restaurant.

When we return, our drinks are waiting on the bar and she makes no attempt to leave with them. If she’s here on a date, I pity the man who orders a red velvet martini and allows a woman like this out of his sight. She’s got to be here with girlfriends.

“I’ll help you with your drinks,” I say, scooping up the martinis.

“Oh, that’s not necessary. I can make it on my own as long as no wild dancers butt in front of me and knock them out of my hands again.” She smiles a sly smile, and I bite my tongue to keep from arguing with her about it. She obviously ran into us. We were on the dance floor dancing, which is what you do on a dance floor. She was cutting across to save a few steps, plain and simple.

“Which way?” I ask, holding up the drinks. She hitches her thumb to the right.

“It was nice to meet you both,” she says to Davis and Garcia.

“Likewise,” both men reply, nodding their heads.

She slides past me to get out of the tight corner space and brushes her round ass against my cock. I swear, I see the hint of a smile on her lips. I’m going to enjoy wiping that smile off her pretty face later when she’s screaming my name under me in a sweaty mess of tangled sheets.