CHAPTER 7
Drake
“If you’re happy and you know it, clap your hands.” Clap Clap.
I had practically carried my adorable temp off the dance floor and now she was seated at the bar next to her sister, singing at the top of her lungs. Brock and I flanked them, stomping our feet on the next verse. More and more off key, she sung on.
“If you’re happy and you know it, shout ‘Hooray!”
“Hooray!” shouted Brock and Lulu along with Dee. Drinking another round of margaritas, they definitely looked happy. With his free hand, Brock was touching Lulu in all the right places and Lulu was loving it.
I pretended to be into the drunken fun the three of them were having, but I was more sober and pensive than I made out to be. I’d learned a lot about Dee on the dance floor. Not only was she a great dancer like her sister said, she was also a great kisser. And I learned something about myself: I liked holding her in my arms and kissing her. Who was I kidding? I more than liked it. She felt and tasted delicious. In retrospect, maybe I shouldn’t have kissed her, but I couldn’t resist.
“Whoo hoo!” shouted Dee, several decibels louder and brandishing her arms.
“Is she always like this?” I asked Lulu.
Lulu burst into laughter. “Never. She rarely drinks. I think she’s sloshed.”
That was for sure. Still singing at the top of her lungs, Dee reached for the margarita pitcher, but I stopped her midway.
“Boo!” she pouted, ruffling my hair. “Why’d you do that?”
“Because you’ve had enough.”
“Please, pretty please. With a cherry on top?”
“I think she needs to go home.” But I was speaking to deaf ears. Dee’s sister was back to making out with Brock. I wasn’t sure how my temp had gotten here. But if she had driven, there was no way I was going to let her drive home in her inebriated state. And if she’d come with Lulu, there was no way I was going to ask her to take her home and ruin my best bud’s good chance of getting laid. And the third alternative—putting her in a cab or Uber worried me as she wasn’t coherent and could end up in some gang-ridden neighborhood. So it was up to me.
Waiting outside the club for the valet to bring around my car, I clutched Dee by the waist in an effort to keep her standing. Shit faced, she’d grown even loopier, becoming very talkative and bold. She was vomiting words and that’s all I hoped would spill out of her mouth. The thought of her puking inside my brand-new Maserati Gran Turismo scared the shit out of me.
“How are you feeling?” I asked, hoping my car would get here soon.
“Do you have a twin?”
Balls. She was seeing double.
“He’s as hot as you are. Is his cock—hiccup—as big as yours?”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Shhh! Don’t tell him I told you, but mine is bigger.”
She glanced down at my crotch, her eyes sizing me up before darting to the “other” me. And then another hiccup. “I don’t believe you. I want you to prove it.” A hand flew to my fly, and as she groped my dick, my breath hitched with anticipation. Was she going to give me a hand job right here on the curb? As she began to fiddle with the tab of the zipper, the valet whipped around with my shiny black convertible. The top was down. My cock was up.
“C’mon,” I urged, ushering her into the car. “It’s time to take you home.”
“But I want to see your cock first. Please. Pretty please?”
“Later,” I replied as I buckled her in. Handing the valet a generous tip, I rounded the car and hopped into the driver’s seat. With a screech, I peeled off the curb.
Shortly into the ride, I managed to secure Dee’s address; her case of the hiccups didn’t make it easy. Fortunately, she didn’t live far away and given that there was little traffic, I could be there in about fifteen minutes. She was still talkative and tipsy. And totally adorable. She started singing again at the top of her lungs, totally off key and hiccupping non-stop.
“If you’re horny and you know it, unzip your fly…if you’re horny and you know it and you really want to show it…”
The hiccups kept coming. I wish she could get her mind off my cock. Though, to be honest, the thought of her lush mouth sucking it was making me hard again. My manhood throbbed.
By the time I reached Dee’s residence, she was totally conked out. I was relieved because it meant my car had been spared a barf wash. After parking it, I dipped my hand into her purse and retrieved her key chain. One of the many keys must be for her house.
Dee lived in a funky Los Angeles neighborhood known as Silver Lake. It was home to lots of artsy types and aspiring actors. Her house, a small quaint Spanish cottage that was probably built in the twenties, sat almost at the end of a long winding hillside road. The house next door, which seemed vacant, was for sale, and on the other side was a deserted lot. There were bars on the windows, reminding me that this wasn’t the greatest neighborhood for a single girl to live in. Or even a guy. Break-ins and car thefts were frequent. I put up my top and made a mental note to lock my Maserati.
After scooting out of it, I scooped my temp into my arms and had no choice but to throw her over my shoulder so I could unlock her front door. My other hand gripped her right below her perfect ass. I felt like Captain Caveman, one of the first animated series my father had created.
At the front door, I lucked out with the first key I tried. It opened easily with two turns and I carted Dee inside. Flipping on the lights, I soaked in my surroundings. I’d stepped right into her living room—typical of these vintage Spanish-style houses. My eyes darted from corner to corner. Her living room was smaller than the grand entrance of my parents’ house, and it was filled with boxes suggesting she’d either just moved in or was about to move out. The sparse furnishings were definitely flea market finds, my attention drawn to the whimsical paintings on the walls of big-eyed children. Knowing a little about art from my mother the collector, I decided whoever painted them was very talented.
A hoarse mumble cut into my thoughts.
“Need to call Tyson.”
Tyson? Who was that? Her boyfriend?
“Need to say goodnight.”
“Who’s Tyson?” I dared to ask.
“The love of my life.” The words came out in slurred one-syllables. My chest constricted. There was someone in her life. Boner downer. Glumly, I headed over to the couch and set her down.
Without warning, she grew agitated and began to cry. Desperate words spilled out of her quivering lips. “Need to call my baby…Say I love you from here to the moon…Give each other a big kiss.”
Ms. Happy and You Know It was a whimpering mess. I wasn’t too happy either. Red-hot jealousy shot through my veins and I wasn’t even the jealous type. I’d been played. Yet, despite my rising rage, her sobs were gutting me.
“C’mon. You need to go to sleep.”
On my next breath, I set her down on the couch and she curled into a fetal position. Her sobs continued to fill the room. “I miss my baby.”
There was no point in moving her to her bedroom, and I didn’t especially want to see the bed where she and this Tyson guy fucked. Searching the living room, I spotted an afghan on a rocking chair and retrieved it. Gently, I folded it over her heaving body as her sobs subsided. In no time, she was out like a light. A much as I wanted to kiss her goodnight, it was my cue to leave.