Scarlett
I’m chomping at the bit to know Austin’s story. I’ve been intrigued by him since we met and if there’s anything I’ve learned throughout my dating and relationship experiences, it’s to be patient. Anything that’s rushed never works out, not in my world, anyway. I figured if things were meant to be, they’d happen in their own time, and if I end up going home, it’s because nothing was going to happen between Austin and me. I don’t believe in fate. I just believe that someday I’ll end up in the right place at the right time with the right guy, which is ironic, since it’s difficult for me to be on time.
“Do you live alone?” I ask.
“No, I have a roommate.”
“Oh, what’s his or her name?”
“Waldo,” he answers. Mmmkay.
“Oh, how fun.”
“He gets out a lot.” I’m trying to figure out if he’s joking or serious, but I probably won’t know until I get there.
“So, answer me this, Austin Trace. It’s dawned on me from hearsay that you might be the most sought-after bachelor in this town. True or false?”
“I’d be cocky if I said true,” he responds.
“But, you’d be lying if you said false,” I correct him.
“Look, there aren’t many options here; let’s be real about this.” This is true.
“I met Laurie-Cate. Her parents are staying at the hotel, and she seemed quite intent on knowing your business.” Just throwing it out there to get a better read on who I should and should not be talking to.
“Aw shit, you met Laurie-Cate?” I look over and cup my hand over my eyes to see him through the glare. “She’s a nut.”
“Well, she seems fairly typical as far as the locals go.”
“Are you saying I’m nuts?” he asks.
“I wouldn’t know.”
“So, you’re coming back to my house with me, admitting you don’t know if I’m nuts, and that’s okay with you?”
“I’m a risk-taker, remember?” I tease.
“You’re full of it,” he snaps back.
“How would you know?”
“You’ve never broken a bone, had surgery or even stitches before you got here. That doesn’t exactly describe a typical risk-taker.” He has a point. Maybe there are just different types of risk takers, and he hasn’t met my type yet.
“Being risky is different when you live in a big city.” He doesn’t even know the risks involved with touching a handlebar on the T, our Boston subway system. “Here, I have an idea.”
“I’m afraid to ask what your idea is,” he says.
“Isn’t that the bar you … oh, how do you say it down here … ‘fancy’?”
“Dickles?” he asks.
Who the hell names a bar Dickles? Do they even know what it sounds like? “Yeah, that place.”
“I’ve been known to ‘fancy’ that bar on occasion.”
I cut in front of Austin, forcing him to stop short, and I walk right into the bar full of men. There wasn’t a sign that said Men Only, but I assume it isn’t a place that women here prefer to spend their time.
“What are you doing tonight?” Austin asks.
“Having a drink? What does it look like I’m doing?” I sit down at the bar, surveying the back shelf to check out what they have. “You know what I haven’t had in a while?”
“I feel like there’s a lot of ways I can answer that question,” he says.
“I haven’t had a nice stiff—” I hesitate as I look over at him because I feel like driving him nuts. He strikes me as the type to like the challenge of pursuit. Austin clears his throat, almost as if it were at my command. “Drink. I haven’t had a nice stiff drink in a while.”
“I’d be concerned if you answered that any differently,” he says, twisting around in his seat so he’s facing my side profile. “Are you stalling?” I think he’s asking if I’m nervous to go back to his house. No. Am I stalling? Yes, but for his benefit, not mine. Well, I guess that’s not entirely true either. It is a little bit for my benefit.
“I think I need to start with a shot. Are you down?”
“A shot?” he questions.
“You do have shots down here, right?”
“Yeah, bruiser, we have shots.”
“Good.”
“Jack,” he calls to the bartender.
“How y’all doin’?” Jack answers, reaching out his hand for Austin’s.
“Good, bro. We just stopped in to have a quick drink.” I’m pretty sure Austin just threw him a wink. Wow. I guess it doesn’t matter what part of the country I am in, men are still men. It must be like a universal bro-code to announce he thinks he’s getting laid tonight.
“You’re the new girl in town, right?” Jack asks me.
“That would be me. Scarlett,” I say, reaching my hand out to shake his, except he kisses my knuckles instead. Not weird. Not at all.
“Austin clears his throat. We’re ready to order, I think,” he says, looking at me so I tell him what I want.
I want to laugh before I order, but I’m able to compose myself. “I’ll have a blowjob and a Sex on the Beach.”
Jack drops the glass that he was drying. Austin nearly falls out of his chair, and I’m still trying so freaking hard not to laugh.
“Ah, did you just say—” Jack begins to repeat my order, but I’ll spare him.
“A Blow Job shot and a Sex on the Beach,” I enunciate each word, making sure Jack understands.
“Wow,” Austin says. “Interesting choice of drinks.”
“I mean, in Boston, we usually just call it a good night, but things seem a bit different here.”
“I’m thinking I should move to Boston,” Austin says.
“That would be a shame if I stayed here, wouldn’t you think?” I ask him.
“I don’t know. You do you and I’ll do me,” he responds.
“Hot,” I tell him.
“Okay … and that’s about enough of that,” Jack says, still waiting for Austin’s order. “I still have to work for the next five hours, so if you wouldn’t mind just spittin’ out—mannn—give me your damn order.”
“I’ll have what she’s having,” Austin spikes back.
“Oh, you want a Blow Job and Sex on the Beach?” I ask him, pressing my lips into a straight line across my face.
He leans in toward me, bringing his mouth to my ear. “Do you have any clue what you’re doing to me right now?”
“Why yes, I do,” I answer, matter-of-factly.
“You are a tease,” he says. His words tickle my ear, sending delightful pains down the center of my body.
“I’d only be a tease if I didn’t have good intentions, Austin.”
“And we’re going to sit here and sip on drinks?”
“Isn’t that how you drink down here? Slow?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer. He turns his stool toward the bar and adjusts his pants while doing so. I’m pretty much turning myself on at this point, and I don’t think I’ve ever played this game as well as I’m playing it right now. I know I’m just as guilty for not contacting him these last two weeks, but clearly, he was testing me, just as I was testing him.
Jack returns a couple minutes later with two shots topped off with whipped cream and the two cocktails.
I wait and watch as Austin reaches for his shot, lifting it up and holding it toward me to clink glasses.
“Have you ever played soccer?” I ask him.
“Of course I have. What does that have to do with alcohol?” He’s totally confused, so I guess we do shots up north differently too.
“What’s the number one rule everyone knows about soccer?” I ask.
“I dunno, no hands?” he replies.
“Same goes for Blow Job shots,” I tell him. “It’s a rule.”
“Says who?” he asks.
“Whoever came up with the shot? I don’t know.”
“Well then, why don’t you go ahead and show me how it’s done since you’re obviously more experienced with this than I am.”
The looks I’m getting from every other man in this bar are hysterical. I’m not usually one for wanting attention, but this is funny.
Austin centers my shot in front of me so I don’t have to use my hands, which I appreciate since it would ruin the effect.
I twist my hands behind my back and duck down, wrapping my mouth around the tall shot glass. I suck it in, pick it up, tilt my head back, and swallow the liquid with the whipped cream, all without choking. I always choke on these shots, especially when I’m trying to be funny, so I’m glad I held it together today. I have to play the part.
“Oh my … damn,” Jack says from a few feet down the bar.
Being the competitor Austin has proven to be, he places his shot in front of him and dives right in to reenact my perfect shot-taking abilities.
He gets the shot glass up in the air and swallows most of it, but the whipped cream gets him like it usually gets me. The glass falls, rolls toward the edge of the bar, and the whipped cream shoots from his mouth with a choking cough.
“We got a spitter,” Jack yells.
Austin rights his shot glass and snaps his head toward me. “You’re going down, princess.”
“How so?” I ask.
“I didn’t mean like that,” he tries to correct himself.
“Tequila, Jack. Two. Oh, and bottom shelf. No lime or salt.”
Jack rolls his eyes and grabs the bottle to pour two shots. He places them down in front of us and raises a brow. “Should I call a winner at the end?”
“Ready?” Austin asks, looking at me.
I grab the shot glass and look back at him. “Whenever you are.”
He lifts his glass and I follow. This is going to be nasty and we’re going to need a chaser, which means I’ll have to just grin and bear it. I won’t be the first to grab my drink. I refuse to lose this competition.
We take the shots, and dammit to hell this shit burns all the way down. I don’t know what bottom shelf means here, but this tastes like sewer water. Austin immediately grabs his Sex on the Beach to chase it. Just after he takes a swig, he looks over at me, and I smile. I might puke all over him, but I smile.
“You’re kiddin’ me,” he says.
I take my drink and guzzle it down like he is, but I let him finish first, so he can take that bit of pride home with him. As soon as he places his empty glass down, he waves Jack over. “Put it on my tab.”
“No problem, bro. Enjoy your evening, ya crazy kids.”
We leave the bar, and I’m drunk. Like, I shouldn’t have had the second shot kind of drunk. I’m not a big person, and I don’t have a high alcohol tolerance. I’m usually able to hide it well, except I didn’t down any water in between my fun tonight.
Austin seems unaffected by the alcohol since he’s walking in a straight line and all, which means it won’t be long until he figures out my state of mind. “You—” he says.
“I’ve been called worse,” I reply.
“You’re fucking hot as hell.” I wasn’t expecting that. “No chick has ever out drunk me like that.”
“That’s sexist,” I tell him.
“I know. Sorry.”
“It’s fine. I’ve met a lot of the ladies down here. They’re all sweet like delicate flowers.”
“That’s why I like you,” he says.
“You like me, huh?”
“I like you a lot.”
“Good,” I reply.
“That’s all you’re going to say? Good?”
“Tell me what you’d rather I say?” I counter.
We’re coming to the end of a block where a small alley leads off to the left, or we can continue in the same direction to where everyone in the town lives. I’m not sure where Austin lives, but he pulls me onto the dark street. With a hand on my good arm, he shockingly pulls me into him, lifting me up so my legs tangle around his waist. “I’ve never needed anything so badly in my life,” he says with a guttural rasp.
“That’s what you’d rather I say?” I ask in a hushed whisper.
His lips are on mine, and I taste the tartness of his drink, the bite of the tequila, and the fresh scent of his skin. He’s holding me so tightly, I feel like I’ve molded to his body. His breaths are erratic, completely out of control, and I give in. I don’t think I can be any other way but weak within his hold. I like him. I realllly like him. The way he kisses is like the way I’d imagine he’d lick whipped cream off a strawberry—craving the sweet before the tart; the sensation that makes a mouth beg for more. Everything outside of our kisses is gentle, but this is far from being careful. This is a matter of feeding hunger. His hand caressingly slides up the back of my shirt, and the heat from his hand sends shivers through every sparked nerve ending in my body.
He parts his lips from mine with a look of aggression dancing through his eyes. “You think everyone is slow moving down here, don’t you?”
“A little,” I tell him.
He carefully tosses me over his side and onto his back, making sure my arm is protected from the movement. “There’s no way in the world you’d move fast enough for me right now, and if you tried, you’d probably fall into a hole or something, so we’ll go back to my house my way,” he says.
“Horseback?”
“Shush your mouth, smarty pants.”