Speaking In Tongues

 

 

“And…er…blah…blah…kangaroo…hyagirf.”

I’m pretty certain I’m rivaling Scooby Doo, as its story time with Trent, aka jerk-off. He’s been chewing our ears off for the past twenty minutes about…I have no fucking clue what.

I’ve been on my best behavior, because I can’t believe this shitstain is who I’m up against. It’s fairly obvious Mary has gone insane and she needs to get her head back in the game. I almost feel sorry for him…almost—when he wraps his arm around her and draws her into his side, that remorse turns to rage. This gigantic shithead is going down.

Sure, it doesn’t help he looks like he’s carved from granite and that his perfectly symmetrical head is enough to make a grown man cry, but looks aren’t everything, and besides, what do Mary and him talk about? He may be pretty, but he sure as hell sounds like he’s chewing dog shit.

Finch is nodding, engaging in conversation, while Dixon looks as confused as me. He peers at me from across the table, raising his scotch in salute. The big fella is proud of me for keeping my cool. In response, I blow him a kiss.

Because I have been busy strategizing a takedown, I have completely ignored my date, who is sitting quietly beside me, picking at her roast like a sparrow. As far as dating companions go, I blow ass, and this is the reason why I don’t date.

Mary is sitting opposite Keira. It’s like looking at complete polar opposites. The polite, innocent blonde, versus the uncouth, impious redhead.

“How’s your course coming along, Mary? Aren’t you almost done?” asks Rachel as she cuts into her lamb.

Dixon wasn’t lying when he said Sebastian was a mean cook. He has prepared a feast fit for a king. There is everything one could ever want spread before us, but too bad my appetite is for shit, because the thought of eating turns my stomach.

Mary nods, her red waves bouncing. “Yes, thank god. I just have a couple more projects to complete and then I’m done.”

Mary is in her final year of interior design. From what Cherry Pie has shared, she’s a fucking genius, not that that surprises me. Look at her canvas—complete perfection. She catches me staring and narrows her eyes, her warning of catching me fantasizing about her being naked ringing loudly in my ears. On instinct, I cover my nuts. Her gaze flicks downward, and a hint of a smile plays at her pink lips. It’s gone before I can break out into a touchdown dance.

“What does that entail?” Sebastian sits at head of the table, seeing his guests are well fed. It’s still hard to believe one of his swimmers is to blame for bringing the she-devil into this world.

“My final assessment is transforming two spaces. Before and after, that kind of thing. The problem is finding someone who will be happy for me to gut their home and office and be in their face 24/7 for the next two months.

Maybe if Dr. Genius over here didn’t rent out his office and he worked full time, I could have used him as my lab rat, but I have a feeling it’ll take a miracle to revamp that place.”

Dixon pauses from cutting into his potatoes, looking over at Maddy for clarification. She raises her hands with a slanted smile, wanting no part of this conversation.

When Mary reads his confusion, she has no qualms setting him straight. Using her fork as a gesturing tool, she blankly states, “C’mon, Dix, that place screams old man cave.”

Dixon places his silverware on the edge of his plate and finishes chewing. “Old man cave? If by that you mean professional, with a touch of modernism, then yes, I completely agree.”

Reaching for my beer, I get comfy, because this is going to be fun.

“Old man cave is exactly that…an old’s man cave,” Mary explains without sparing his feelings. Dixon exhales in a long-winded affair, while Maddy turns into him and giggles.

“Oh, you agree with her then?” he teases, looking down at her as she attempts to conceal her uncontrollable laughter.

“Of course she does. She has to spare your feelings, that’s what people in love have to do, but me, I call ’em as I see ’em. Speaking of, I see a few extra pounds beneath that shirt, Dr. Dix. When was the last time you hit the gym?” Mary sits taller in her seat, pretending to look down her nose and scrutinize Dixon’s non-existent extra pounds.

I can’t contain my laughter and burst into a gruff chuckle. “Well, he is in love, so I suppose it’s only fitting he gets love handles,” I counter, while fuck me dead, Mary giggles. When she realizes she just laughed at a joke I cracked, she bites her top lip.

But she did it, and it was the most glorious sound I’ve ever heard.

“All right, enough with the old man talk. You’ll offend Sebastian,” Dixon says, which has the table bursting into hysterics.

The mood, thanks to Mary’s wisecrack, is light, even Keira seems to be having a semi decent time. All in all, tonight hasn’t been a complete disaster. Or, so I thought. As I’m cutting into my dinner, I’m certain I’ve just been shot in the leg.

Grunting on impact, I lift the tablecloth to see what the hell just happened. And what just happened was Dixon kicking me under the table, because he does it again.

“What in the holy hell, you cocksmoking fucker?” I mouth, impressed Dixon can lip read so well, because he smirks.

He cocks his head to the right, eyes wide. I scrunch up my brow. Is he having an epileptic fit? When he does it again, but with more jarring and jerking, I’m certain he’s about to have a stroke.

He raises his eyes to the ceiling before reaching for his napkin and using it as a subtle shield to mime, “Offer your soul.”

It’s official. Dixon Mathews has lost his marbles.

“My soul?” I scratch my head, so fucking confused, my brain starts to hurt.

“Moan.”

“Moan?”

“Bone.”

“Bone?” I almost choke in excitement. Whoever he wants me to offer a bone to, I’m in.

An exasperated sigh leaves Dixon before he drops the napkin onto the table and turns to Mary. “Hunter could offer you his home. And office, in fact.”

It takes about three seconds before I catch up to speed, and when I do, I open my mouth in understanding. Oh…home. Maybe if his facial charades didn’t suck donkey dicks, I’d understand he was hinting I was to offer my home to Mary to redecorate. This plan is genius, and I’m surprised I didn’t think of it first.

“Isn’t that right, Hunt?” Dixon says, encouraging me to get my foot out of my mouth and speak. He pointedly looks at me, hinting I’m a dumbass for not offering myself. It’s not my fault I don’t speak idiot.

Returning the favor, I kick his shin before turning to Mary with an innocent smile. “Sure. Mi casa es su casa,” I say, attempting to act causal.

“You’re joking, right?” She doesn’t hide her distaste. “There is no way I’m going anywhere near your home.”

I shrug, masking my hurt. “Your loss. I hear McDonald’s is hiring.” When she glares at me, I cock my head to the side. “No? Taco Bell then?”

“Lamb, you should consider it. You’re running out of options. No offense, Hunter,” Maddy sweetly says, leaning forward to look at me.

“None taken.” I wave her off.

Mary looks jacked off because she knows Maddy is right, but doing this means she’ll owe me, and let’s face facts, I may quite possibly ask for repayment in the form of her dancing naked to the theme of Jeopardy.

“Well, I mean offense, because there isn’t enough bleach to decontaminate your walls. I’d have to be baptized first before I even considered stepping foot inside. No offense,” she sarcastically says, addressing Keira for the first time all night.

Keira shifts beside me, clearly uncomfortable with Mary’s jab that my home is on unholy ground. Thinking back to some of the things I’ve done in there over the years, she isn’t too far off the mark. But regardless, Keira is just an innocent bystander. However, what she says next has me almost falling off my chair. “Lucky for me, I’m already baptized then.”

If I wasn’t in a state of complete shock, I would high five Keira for thinking on her feet so quickly, but all I can do is grin a shit-eating grin.

Mary appears taken aback also, as her mouth parts, but then I see something damn frightening breed before my eyes—Keira has just bumped me from the top spot off Mary’s shit list. Mary has just been upstaged, making Keira public enemy number one.

I fear for Keira’s life when Mary snickers before leaning forward, ready to rip Keira a new one. Instinctually, I pull her into my side, helping her avoid any shrapnel, because I have no doubt Mary is seconds away from imploding.

The gesture was supposed to help Keira, but all it seems to do is piss Mary off further. She focuses on where my arm is wrapped loosely around her, staring at our union like it just told her to fuck off. I have no idea what it means, as I’ve never seen that look before reflected on a woman’s face when in relation to me.

“I’m going out for a smoke,” Dixon quickly says, intervening because he too can sense World War Three is moments away from erupting. He gestures with his head that Finch and I are to follow. Looking at Keira, still fearful that when I return, she’ll be missing a limb, she smiles and nods, giving me the green light.

I risk a glance at Mary, who appears to be challenging me with that unreadable look still slathered on her pretty face. Jerk-off chooses this moment to console her, whispering something into her ear.

When the apple of her cheeks turns a dusty pink, I have images of partaking in my own acts of violence, starting with cutting off his balls with the steak knife to his left.

“C’mon, dude.” Dixon slaps me on the back, hinting I’m to get up before this meal turns into a roast. With jaw clenched, I stand slowly, making a point to stare this koala hugging dickhole down. He doesn’t even seem to notice or care. But Mary does, and fuck me dead, I think…I think she likes it. But that makes no sense, right? Zero.

I don’t have time to think about this further because Dixon all but drags me out of the dining room and through the balcony doors by my collar. The cool breeze is exactly what I need to extinguish the fire burning under my ass.

Neither of us speak. Finch and I follow Dixon like two naughty kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar. Finch is guilty by association. Poor bastard.

When we’re far enough away from the house, out of range from prying ears, he stops and turns, shaking his head at me. I recognize that judgy look right off the bat.

“What?” I ask, a glutton for punishment.

Searching through his pockets, he finds his Marlboros, obviously needing a fix of nicotine before addressing my question.

As he takes a hit, I can’t help but quip, “Those things will kill you.”

He snickers, blowing out a ring of smoke into the air. “You’ll most likely get there first.” I could counter, but he’s probably right. He’s mulling over what to say, but he should know by now I only like sugar-coated donuts.

“For fuck’s sake, spit it out.”

He accepts the challenge. “How well do you know Keira?”

“Well enough. She completely owned Mary back there.” I hook my thumb toward the house, unable to get the moment out of my head.

Dixon, however, doesn’t seem to see the humor. “I’m sorry, man, but I smell a rat.”

I pull back, confused. “A rat? What the fuck? She’s a fucking saint.”

“Exactly.” Finch is no help, as he clearly agrees with Dixon, because he’s nodding like a bobble head. “Someone who looks and acts like her…” He leaves the sentence hanging, leaving me to join the dots.

It doesn’t take me long, and when I do, the picture I draw is one of my best friends stabbing me in the back. “You smell a rat because if a nice girl wants to date me, there must be something wrong with her? Is that it?”

“Yes,” Dixon replies without pause. I know I said I didn’t want him sugar-coating anything, but he could at least apply a little lube before he fucks me in the ass.

“Gee, fuck you too. That’s the reason you were eyeballing her earlier. You think she’s up to no good? Going to steal my billions? Try to fuck me into submission?” I offer, as he better pick one answer and explain what the fuck is going on.

He takes another drag of his cigarette before saying, “I’m sorry, but there’s something about her I can’t quite put my finger on.”

“That’s because your finger has been on and in one woman for far too long, and you’ve apparently lost your balls.”

“I agree with Dix. Sorry, Hunter.” Finch decides now is the time to pipe up and be in cahoots with Dix.

“No offense, but fuck you both.” I cross my arms in defiance, ready to shove that ember where the sun don’t shine.

But it doesn’t deter Dixon in the slightest. “I’m sorry, dude”—what he wants to say next clearly pains him, but he perseveres—“I’m sorry, but she just reminds me of…” He seals his lips, shaking his head like he’s about to hurl.

But fuck him. He started this, so he can finish it. “Reminds you of what?”

Swallowing down his revulsion, he simplifies, “It’s not a what, but rather a who.”

“Who? Who the fuck who?” I bark. He has three seconds to explain what the holy hell is going on before I…

That threat is never delivered because my brain finally plays catch up, and when it does, it goes into meltdown mode. “Don’t you dare jinx me. You take it back,” I demand, scolding him with my finger.

When both Finch and Dixon remain quiet, I know neither has any intention of revoking their claims, because both believe that the innocent, sweet, wouldn’t hurt a fly, Keira is the spitting image of the antichrist in heels—Juliet Harte.

“Dixon has a point.”

“No, Finch, Dixon has clearly gone insane because Keira is nothing, nothing like that queen cunt from Cuntsville. You will give her a perpetual state of bad luck now. I hope you’re happy.”

Finch blanches when I use his most favorite word, but desperate times call for desperate measures. And besides, if he’s still offended by the word cunt, then it’s probably best we’re no longer friends.

I can’t believe Dixon would even suggest this. Sure, she’s blonde and has a killer ass too, but c’mon, this is blasphemy.

Dixon flicks his cigarette, butting it out with his boot. “Just be careful. I got sucked in by baby blues and killer curves—I’d hate for you to suffer the same fate, because believe you me, it is not fun.”

“If it makes you feel any better, we just met, like literally. I’ve known her for less than twenty-four hours, so I’m sure once she sees the real me, she won’t be coming to anymore dinners, so stop worrying that pretty little head of yours,” I bark with a little bite, because deep down, I know he’s right.

If Keira knew the real me, she’d be requesting a transfer to India. Nice girls like Keira Celly just don’t end up with manwhores like me. It was nice to pretend, but Dixon is right—again. But her comment earlier to Mary, maybe she too is hiding the real her.

“What is going on with Mary?” Finch asks, in tune with my thoughts.

The mere mention of her name has my cock tingling. “She’s got it going on,” I reply, needing to lighten the mood.

“I thought she hated you?” Finch states, which has me wondering where he’s going with this.

“She does,” I affirm, but Finch shakes his head.

“For someone who’s a massive know it all, sometimes, you know jackshit.” I choke on air, because whenever Finch uses profanity, I know I’m in trouble.

Dix nods, giving Finch the floor. “As frightening as this is, I think Mary is the female version of you.”

“What are you smoking, Finchy, because I want some, pronto.”

He ignores my wisecrack. “I can’t help but think she’s hiding something.”

“Yeah, an ice-pick under her bed,” I mumble, visions of Sharon Stone’s hoo-hoo flooding my brain.

“Joke all you want, but you’re both hiding behind punchlines, too afraid to face the real world because you’re scared of getting hurt,” he concludes. Dixon smiles proudly.

“Last I checked, you were supposed to be my friends. I think it’s time I found new amigos,” I state with a smirk, because Finch’s theory, although slightly confusing, does give me hope that maybe I saw what I thought I saw earlier.

I could have sworn Mary was happy I was ready to beat jerk-off into a bloody pulp for touching her. At the time, I thought it was wishful thinking, but if there is any truth to what Finch says, then this is a game changer.

“You’d be the poster child for VD if not for us,” Dixon candidly says. I don’t argue. “Just be careful with Keira, and as for Mary…” I wait on tenterhooks. “I agree with Confucius.”

“You what?” I choke for the second time in the span of a minute.

“She was ready to claw out Keira’s eyes and use the empty sockets as a toilet.”

All my birthdays come at once. “I love it when you talk dirty,” I wheeze, attempting to catch my breath. “So what am I supposed to do about it?”

Dixon smirks, running a hand through his hair. Fuck him. He’s so enjoying this. “Let nature take its course. C’mon, let’s get back.” Is he fucking serious? When he treks up the hill, I know the answer is yes.

I amble behind, my mind going a million miles a minute. They’ve just dropped this bombshell and now I’m supposed to sit around the table and have scones and tea. How am I going to look at Mary and not walk through the door with a raging hard on? Now that I know there might be a slight chance she doesn’t hate me as much as I thought she did, I don’t know how to act. My palms begin to sweat and I wipe them onto my pants.

Dixon turns over his shoulder and bursts into a gruff laugh. “Welcome to my world, Hunter.”

I’m in the midst of flipping him off when an angel comes into view. As much as I know things between Keira and I can never eventuate, I can’t help but admire her because that’s what any hot blooded American male would do.

Finch has other ideas and nudges me in the ribs. “If it looks like a duck…”

“Walks like a duck…” Dixon adds, drawing attention to Keira’s swagger.

“Then it’s one fucking…hot…duck,” I conclude. Their analogy can suck a dick.

Dixon doesn’t bother stopping to engage in small talk and instead gives her a stiff upper lip smile. Finch being Finch is more accommodating, and asks if she’d like his jacket. She politely declines. The boys head toward the house, while I stop, wondering if everything is okay.

“I’ve had a really nice night but…” And here it is—the inevitable ‘but you’re a creep’ speech. “But I have to go. I…”

I cut her off however, because she doesn’t owe me an explanation. “It’s cool, Keira. I get it. No need for messy goodbyes.” She purses her lips, clearly mulling over what I just said.

Brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, she toys over her pulse timidly. “I was going to say I have to go because Mr. Gail asked me to grab a file off his desk and drop it in his mailbox, but I’d love a raincheck, and maybe get to know you better over dinner, just you and me.”

Well, holy fuck me, Jiminy Cricket. I was not expecting that at all.

“But we’re clearly not on the same page. I’m sorry for jumping to conclusions.” When she sniffs, I swear an angel somewhere dies.

Suddenly, I feel like the world’s biggest asshole, which is ironic, considering I was giving her a get out of jail for free card. “I just thought after tonight, you’d want to…”

“Want to what?” she coaxes, stepping forward and surrounding me with her floral perfume.

“Want to exercise the first amendment,” I reply, her magnetism luring me as I gaze into her blue eyes.

“My freedom of speech?” she questions, her button nose crinkling.

I nod, falling deeper under her spell. “Yes. The freedom of telling me what you really thought of me, before flipping me off and hitting the highway. I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”

“Why would I do that?” Even her questions are laced with innocence.

“Because…” I lick my lips, stepping forward. “Because I haven’t exactly been a stellar date. And my friends haven’t really welcomed you with open arms.”

She is so incredibly small. Pocket-sized. But when she grins a slow, sultry smirk, I know she’s a pocket rocket ready to explode. “I’m not here for your friends.” Hot tamale. My cock twitches, but I’m saved by the flaming redhead about to cut off my balls.

“Sorry to interrupt this cozy reunion…” Both Keira and I turn, looking at Mary who is feet away, her hand cocked to her hip. She is so not sorry. “But if you want dessert, break it up. We’re all waiting.”

I take a step back, suddenly feeling guilty, which is asinine. But regardless, I put as much distance between Keira and I. I’m waiting to see a change in Mary’s face. Maybe happiness for showing where my loyalties lie, but all I get is a curled lip and a blanket of boredom in response.

Keira isn’t silly and can clearly see the change in body language. “I’m not staying.” I know she wants me to say something, anything, but I don’t. She may not know it, but I’m doing her a favor. She’ll thank me one day.

With one final heartbreaking look, she sighs, and nods her goodbyes. She bypasses Mary, which is perhaps a good idea, because I have no doubt Mary would push her into the dirt, face first.

Once Keira is gone, I stand still, knowing that I should move, but I don’t. This is the first time Mary and I have been alone together. She calls to the full moon because it comes out of hiding, illuminating her like the goddess that she is.

Finch’s speech plays over and over in my head. Do I really have a chance with her? I thought the chances were slim to none.

Her feet shuffle as I make no secret that I’m checking her out, and on most days, she’d flip me off before storming off. But tonight, she does neither. She does something that she’s never done before. She initiates conversation. “Your date finally came to her senses.”

She did just insult me in a roundabout way, but like a dog begging for scraps, I’ll take whatever she wants to give. “Too bad your date hasn’t done the same.” She remains unaffected, watching me as closely as I’m watching her. “FYI, I’m pretty sure your date was speaking in tongues.”

Something amazing suddenly happens— she smiles. Strike me dead. She smiled because of something I said. Why do I feel like the luckiest man alive?

“He’s Australian,” she explains, her lips still twitching.

Pulling it together, I casually raise my shoulders. “Still, I’d burn some sage just to be sure.” And this would be the moment she tells me to go fuck myself before storming off and announcing to the world what an utter dick I am.

But she doesn’t.

She continues standing and staring and waiting…waiting for what, exactly?

We’ve never been alone with one another for this long, so I don’t know what the proper protocol is. Does she want me to make conversation? Or maybe my fly is undone and she’s waiting for me to notice so she can ridicule me. I check just to make sure. All clear.

D2 comes out of hiding and whispers, “Talk to her.” That’s great, you pussy, but talk about what?

Thinking about what D1 suggested, I decide to go with that. “I meant what I said earlier.”

My words seem to snap whatever haze Mary is in and she shakes her long red mane. “You said a lot of things, most of which I tuned out for.”

My dick punches a hole straight through my pants because her smart mouth is like a drug to me. “About my home,” I reply, acting cool. “My door, bedroom and others, is always open.”

The breeze picks up speed, delivering a shot of strawberries and cream straight to my guts. There is no mistaking this delicious scent is coming off of Mary’s flesh—flesh I want to worship from head to toe.

She folds her slender arms across her body, hugging her torso as she weighs up my offer. Holy shit, could this really work? No wonder they call Dr. Dixon New York’s finest shrink. I owe him a bottle of scotch or two.

Just as I’m about to give Mary my address, she smirks, but the sight has me kicking myself for ever listening to that prissy ass pussy. “I would rather flunk than owe you a favor, because I know it’ll come back to bite me in the ass.”

“No strings.” It’s out before I can stop myself, and what’s more surprising is that I actually mean it, and I didn’t comment about her fine, apricot shaped behind.

She laughs sarcastically. “There’s no such thing with you. If I thought I could enter your home without being visually molested, then I would maybe contemplate it. But I don’t want to dangle a carrot in front of a very horny, sex-starved donkey. That would be mean,” she adds smartly.

“Excuse me?” I need her to draw me a diagram because I can’t move on from the words carrot, dangle, and sex.

She radiates complete confidence as she accurately declares, “You want what you can’t have.”

My mouth pops open for so many reasons, but at the forefront is the fact she thinks I’m some desperado, peeping into her window at night, desperate for her to throw me a freaking bone. I’ll have her know I’m not short of female attention. Yes, they may not be who I want, but I’m not sitting at home, knitting a fucking scarf for my cock.

And what’s with this wanting what I can’t have? That’s a little presumptuous, no matter how true it may be.

She obviously thinks I can’t control myself when it comes to her, which is a safe assumption to make given my track record, but regardless, she’s just taken a giant Cleveland Steamer on my ego. My survival instinct kicks in and my pride gets jacked up to testosterone overload. “Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart.”

“It’s true, isn’t it?”

The more she speaks, the more incensed I become, because although she’s right, no one likes their faces rubbed in their failures, and that’s what Mary Mitts is—my failure. I don’t know how to impress her because I’ve never wanted to impress a girl before. But with Mary, I want the whole hog.

But as she stares at me with that cocky smile plastered on her supple lips, my bruised ego takes charge and decides to give Miss Mitts a taste of what she’s missing.

Strolling toward her with no real hurry to my step, I watch as she stands her ground, refusing to be intimidated. Her confidence drives me on. I stop a hair’s breadth away, peering down at her because I dwarf her small frame.

No words are spoken, but our silence speaks volumes. I make no secret of the fact that I’m combing over every inch of her flesh, admiring what I see. I linger on her swelling chest, which rises and falls with every raspy breath she takes.

If I were a sentimental fool, I could talk myself into believing that she is affected by me as I am by her, but I’m a realist. Finch and Dixon’s theory is as wrong as wrong can be and it was nice living in a fantasyland for a while, but now it’s time to put this puppy to bed.

Completely ignoring her personal space, I lower my face to hers, her strawberry scented breath bathing my cheeks with its sweetness. I want a taste, but I can’t. She’s made her feelings perfectly clear, and now it’s time for me to do the same.

With a coiled smirk, I very plainly state, “It may be true, but we both know…you couldn’t handle me. I would make you beg until your throat was raw, and the only reprieve would be you on hands and knees, sucking my cock to soothe your burn.”

Her eyes widen before the tip of her pink tongue shoots out to lick her sudden dry lips. “I don’t beg. Ever,” she states with conviction, but it’s a challenge.

Game on.

Smirking, I never break eye contact, pinning her beneath my unforgiving stare. “That’s because all the little boys you’ve fucked in the past wouldn’t know how to handle a livewire like you. All this delicious, milky flesh”—I risk losing a finger as I run my pointer along the slope of her soft neck—“is ripe for the picking. It’s such a damn shame you don’t beg, because Shortcake, you’d enjoy it as much as me.”

And just like that, a nickname is born.

“Shortcake?” she asks, her bravado dimming. I can’t stop myself and circle over her pulse. It’s strong, flighty, and quickened.

“Yes.” Seeing as I didn’t lose a finger, I decide to test my luck and lean in close, inhaling deeply. She smells unlike anything I’ve ever inhaled before. She’s an untapped fragrance and I’d do anything to lose myself in her perfume. My tastebuds salivate, desperate for one taste. “I can smell your strawberries and cream.”

Her intake of breath leaves me with more than a little wood, but I quash down the urge to stake my claim. “Is this the mo-moment I’m supposed drop to my knees and beg you to f-fuck me into tomorrow?” Her falter highlights my win because she can deny it all she wants, but she’s turned on.

Lifting my chin, I almost come in my pants, because my lips are mere inches from Mary’s. Her full mouth parts and it takes every shred of self-control not to dive inside and drown. “My schedule is booked solid until next week, but I can let you know if a vacancy opens up.”

“Cocky much?” she retaliates, but it’s weak. Her cheeks blush a dusty pink and the sight is akin to a sucker punch straight through my chest.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” I counter with a wink.

I can see her big, bold bravado slip into place because Mary doesn’t like to be undermined. “Save your breath for when you have to blow up your girlfriend tonight.”

Points for creativity, but it leaves me with an even bigger hard on. “Bye, Shortcake. As always, the pleasure is all mine.” Yes, that’s a complete double-edged sword, and if she wasn’t such a hardass, she could be on my sword, but it appears she much prefers to march to the motto: glass, or sex life half full.

I walk past her, ignoring the stabbing of betrayal, because regardless of how that conversation ended a little pear-shaped, it was a conversation nonetheless. It was progress. I have no idea what happens now, but I can ponder life mysteries over a glass of scotch.

On my hunt for some booze, I charge straight into Keira, who is clearly anxious to leave this train wreck behind. “Sorry, I was just leaving.” She won’t look at me, not that I can blame her.

“How are you getting back?” I ask, my hand still attached to her bicep.

“I called a cab.” When she finally makes eye contact, I feel like I clubbed a baby seal to death. It’s not her fault I’m the world’s shittiest date.

Whether it’s my very vivid imagination, or wishful thinking that Mary is currently eyeballing the bejesus out of me I’ll never know, but I decide to give her a teaser to how most of my nights start and finish.

“Don’t be silly. I’ll drive you.”

When she bites her lip, peering over my shoulder, I can’t help but smile. “Okay.”

Winning has never felt this good.