2. HOT MESS
DOMINIC
Damn, the place is packed tonight. Clearly, everyone’s back in town—and they’ve dragged another batch of freshmen with them. After a whole day of chitchatting with clients at work, all I want is to relax. Smother has been my favorite hangout since sophomore year, and now I squeeze past the clusters of partiers on the way up to the bar.
As I grab the Corona cute bartender-girl Arriane holds up, my attention goes to a commotion at the end of the counter. Some fresh-faced chicks are giving a boost to a friend who looks pretty damn lit. The friend in question fumbles and grasps onto the wood, knees sliding against it before she wobbles to her feet above us.
“Yeah,” she mouths, and I swear her lips stretch into the word “Free!” Then, she starts dancing. When someone gives up a seat next to me, I sink down with my beer, watching.
She throws her hair back, slow waves reaching her ass as she does. I find myself grinning at her enthusiasm when she raises her arms above her head and does circles with her wrists. If it weren’t for her hips rocking, I’d say the girl was belly-dancing? All I know is that it’s fucking hot.
A skinny little goldilocks hops up next to her. She raises a glass with something green sloshing over the edge, tips up on her toes, and tries to pour the potion down Hottie’s throat.
Wow. They’re doing crème de menthe shots. Who does that? I mean, grasshoppers are one thing, but to drink that sticky syrup straight up is to ask for a two-day hangover from hell.
I laugh quietly; I learned that the hard way from our Spanish exchange student in high school. It was his poison of choice. Bare, or mixed in crazy cocktails. Crema de menta. Ugh!
Hottie gulps down the shot, brushes her hair away from her face, and sings along to the song. “Hot Mess,” she belts out. Christian, my bartender bud, shakes his head and ambles over to me.
“She’s had enough, huh?” I cup my palm to funnel the question over the music. He slides down on his elbows and squints in her direction.
“Yep, this is their first night in town, and she already considers herself a regular here. Lord, have mercy.”
“Freshman?”
“Need you ask?”
“Christian!” She’s sitting, a couple of wet napkins sticking to her butt. A concerned, Asian friend performs an expert, last-minute save of some empty glasses, as Hottie wiggles closer to us.
Christian steps over and leans into her loud whispers. She’s got the confidence of a drunk who’s aware of how beautiful she is, and today she has no worries. Tomorrow, though? I can’t help laughing at her hangover-to-come.
“Is your friend smirking at me?” she slurs to Christian. A long twirl of hair slithers over her nose when she speaks, and I might be a little mesmerized.
“Not sure. Ask him. Can I get you anything? Like water?”
“Water!” she huffs derisively. Then, she shrugs. “Yeah, I need water. Loootsa water. And them too.” She points in the general direction of her friends. The redhead and the Asian one both appear exhausted. The waif who joined her on the counter does not. She’s rock-scissor-papering some dude over his whiskey.
Hottie narrows her green gaze at me, suddenly serious. A splash of mascara has smeared into barely-there laugh lines at the corners of her eyes, and I think it’s how she’d look in the morning after a night in my bed.
“So who’re you, pretty-boy?” she asks me.
Pretty-boy. Great.
“I’m Dominic, and I’m not… that.”
Her eyes widen with enthusiasm. “Oh, no—you totally are, like, super-cute. You’re sexy too.”
Nope. Not even from a drunk chick…
The clientele shifts in front of the counter. I slip closer to her and flop down on a stool.
“You don’t know how edible you are?” Her pitch rises unnecessarily, and I calculate the potential number of crème de menthe shots in my head. Depending on if she ate before she started, I’d say anywhere from six to twelve.
“What’s your name?” I deflect while she blatantly checks me out. There’s no denying that she’s funny.
“Pandoraaaa’s her name!” Goldilocks’ face appears out of nowhere. She’s smiling big, and Pandora joins her. “And Mica is my sister-in-arms! Those”—she points at the tired girls on the ground—“are Destiny and Shannon. I think they’re sober. Aren’t they sober, Mica?” She nods as if to convince Mica.
“Yeah! They’re always sober!” The two of them crack up and hug each other. My cue to take my leave; I came here for a beer, and they’re bumbling teenagers. Why the hell am I even talking with them?
I’m about to say my goodbyes when Pandora brushes Mica away and dips into me. “C’mere,” she whispers, and some sort of exotic flower scent teases me. I’m curious of her intentions, so I stand up, facing her.
“What’s your name pretty-boy?” she asks again.
Women come after me all the time when they’re drunk, so this isn’t a surprise. Some lose their inhibitions. “The sluts are ready for the picking,” Christian reminds me on such occasions, which is fine by both of our standards. Now and then, though, you get a different vibe from a girl; there’s a pull.
“I’m Dominic,” I repeat as a small hand dances up my arm and meets the sleeve of my tee. Fingers grip around my bicep. They tighten.
“So… Dominic?”
“Pandora?” I stifle my amusement at her too-serious expression.
“You’re really strong! Whataya do—you a farmer?”
I burst out laughing.
Her lip juts out in a sexy pout. “You like to laugh at people, don’t you, Dominic?”
“Nah,” I say, “but we are in a college town with no farms within a couple hundred miles. What are the odds I’d be farming, babe?”
A small smile tries to ruin her pout. She’s really fucking cute. Now, she lifts her chin in defiance. “Pff—whatever. I’m not from here, now am I?”
“That pout might stick to your face,” I joke.
“You sound like Gramps. You’re funny.” Pandora grabs my shirt and draws me in between her legs. Who am I to object? I support my weight on my knuckles to each side of her thighs and examine her expression. She’s attracted to me, I can tell, but I’m not sure of her plan. Idly, I wonder if she has one.
Pandora doesn’t say anything else, just stares back, so I loop around her middle and press the heels of my hands into her ass, nudging her forward. She lets out one of those breathy giggles that tend to stir the lust in me.
“Panda, Panda,” I admonish.
“Gah, what a stupid nickname.” Judging by the intimate way she says it, she’s not upset. This could be how she sounds in the bedroom. I can imagine her now, under me.
“Yeah?” I skim the length of an artery on her neck with a finger. Another breathy giggle rewards me and has me hardening.
“Pan!” someone interrupts. “Time to head back home, all right? We’ve got tons of stuff to do this weekend, girl. Shannon? Mica! Hurry up—we’re leaving before Pandora stops using the last sliver of her brain that’s still working. Look at her!”
I’m inhaling her scent, and she’s not paying attention to her friends. Instead she leans her head to the side, giving me better access to her throat.
She smells amazing, and I randomly recall a documentary I watched once, something about the smell of certain people of the opposite sex being more attractive to us than others. Pandora’s scent has me considering the myriad of unspeakable things I could do to her.
“This is Dominic, girls,” she slurs out, and I get hand waves and a “hi” from one of them. “I’m gonna go tinkle, and then I’ll be ready.”
“I’ll come! I’ve got your purse,” Mica says, but Pandora shakes her head. “No, I wanna dance first.” Her eyebrows lower in a deep, yet short frown. “Uh, yeah, I can totally hold it. Right, Dominic, we were dancing?”
I shrug. The track playing is slow with a lot of bass. I don’t recognize it, but it suits me. “Don’t go anywhere, chickies,” she squeals over my shoulder as I lead her out on the floor.
Suddenly coy, she glances up at me. She collects her mane and twists it into a half coil on her back. It falls apart immediately.
“So,” she begins. “Hey, you.”
I don’t answer. Instead, I turn her so she faces me completely. Then I lock around her waist and pull her against my body. Someone steps backwards, shoving her into me, and I have a reason to squeeze this girl close. Just keeping her from falling, right?
Her boobs press up against my chest, giving me a peek of her cleavage. Round softness and delicate skin. I like what I see.
“I don’t want to talk,” she says.
I haven’t initiated any conversation. Her words are accompanied by her hands linking beneath my shirt collar and that pretty face tilting up to me. Her eyes…
“Sure, no talking.”
“Just dance with me,” she instructs, and I do.
It’s easy with this one. Pandora’s hips sway slowly back and forth to the beat. I match her moves, not worrying that she must feel me ready against her stomach.
“Like this?” I ask, leaning my forehead against hers. She closes her eyes, smiling. Nods into me. “Yeah. Like this.”
The room is crowded, hotter than I usually tolerate when I come straight from a workout. Still, I enjoy holding her close. Pandora’s skin is smooth, young, different from the missus at the spa. I’m not on the prowl like I used to be during my first years in college, but I’m no monk. Sometimes, I take what I’m offered.
Pandora seizes my head clumsily and edges me down. Then, she brushes her lips to my ear and says, “I like you… Dominic.” My name is an afterthought, which doesn’t bother me.
She’s the one initiating this. She’s the one angling my face so that our mouths meet. A warm gust of mint bursts from this freshman I should’ve left behind an hour ago as she latches on to my lips and makes the room fucking swirl.
What the hell?
I kiss her back, and the girl applies suction to the kiss. It’s wet, unapologetic. It’s all the way. Despite the whoomp of the music, the vibrations from her moan tickle my tongue, and I want to—
“Pandora, ready to go?” It’s the redhead this time. She’s standing next to us as if she’s been there for a while.
“You should go with them,” I mumble halfheartedly.
“Sure, let’s meet up after, Shannon. He’ll get me to the ladies’ room first. Right, Dominic?” She flutters her lashes at me, and I don’t care as long as I get another taste.
“Done deal,” I agree.
“No, I’ll—” her friend starts, but Pandora cuts her off.
“Seriously—don’t be my mother. Why did we move again?”
“Geez, you’re using your trump card already. That was fast. Listen, I’m getting Mica and Destiny. Hang tight—we’ll be right back.”
When her friend leaves, something strange happens: Pandora leans toward me like she trusts me. She buries her face into my chest as if she’s hiding.
Over her head, I meet Christian’s stare. His eyebrows shoot up, and I know what he’s telling me: I’ll keep Looney busy until you’ve split.
Only I’m not ready to leave her.
“So, restroom, or are you waiting?” I ask.
She shakes her head, a small smirk gracing her features, and her tiny nose wrinkles at the bridge. “Not waiting. Bathroom!”
I rest a hand on her hip and guide her through the throng of people. Pandora laces her fingers around my neck and uses me for support. It would be an awkward walk if we weren’t moving so slowly anyway. The crowd hardly budges, so we kiss and walk in a sluggish embrace to the restroom.
“I’ll wait for you,” I say against her ear, but she shakes her head.
“You want me to leave?”
“No, come with me.”
“Mmm.” She’s got me on this one. “Where—inside?”
She doesn’t reply because she’s busy pulling me with her past the girls in line, past the two sinks. Pandora’s smile grows, and I’m going with the flow, here, ready to please her.
“See?” she says as if I should understand by now. “Gimme a boost.”
She’s staring at the bathroom window. It’s wide, but a little higher up on the wall than in most buildings. “So. You’re making your escape?”
“No, silly, we are,” she explains in the gravelly tone of a drunk. An insanely cute drunk.
The other women whisper behind us, but I don’t pay enough attention to hear what they’re saying. The window latches give easily, and I push the glass up against the starlit sky.
Thankfully, we’re on the first floor. I turn the paper basket upside down and scoot it over for her to use as a step stool.
“I’ll go first, then I’ll catch you, babe,” I tell her. When I do what I promised, she laughs the airy laugh that makes me harden… and she better stop doing that.
Once I’ve set her down, she breathes “Closer” against my cheek. Yeah, Pandora isn’t just attracted to me—she wants me—which is the last straw for me.
I shut the window and pin her to the wall. Kiss her. I press my body into hers. Pandora’s crème de menthe breath is delicious. Hell, I’m pretty sure she’s delicious.
“So—we used this exit because?” I murmur against her mouth.
“Obvious, isn’t it? My BFFs are like guard dogs. They think I need to be saved from myself.”
“You do,” I explain, showing her why with my hands on her skin. “You don’t know me, and now you’re in a pitch-black side alley with no one but me. I could do whatever I want with you.”
“Please.”
What is wrong with her?
“Shut up, Panda.”
“Take me home with you.” She has a hard time saying the words, she’s so drunk.
“No, I’ll get you back to your apartment.”
“Aw?” she gasps, her eyes rounding. “You’re dropping me off with the moms? Meanie!”
“We’ll talk tomorrow. It’s the right thing to do—” I begin, making her even less happy with me.
“‘The right thing to do,’” Pandora mocks. Her voice is a bad imitation of mine before she changes back to her own pitch. She’s all business now.
“Quit being a wuss. Take me to your place… Dominic.”
I check her expression to gauge if she really is serious. Her eyes glitter with a mixture of determination and heat.
Again. Who am I to deny a request from a lady? I aim to please.