AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Throughout the entire first act, he stays behind me, moving to the beat of the music right along with me, causing a dull tingling to cover my entire body with his warmth. Especially when his hand, resting on my hip, gently squeezes every once in a while.
After the encore, the lights slowly come up, and I step away from him and grab Fawna’s arm. “I need to use the ladies’ room.”
I turn and look up at him. Seriously? He’s even hotter in full light. “Thank you so much.”
His smirk is adorable and not cocky as he nods.
“We’ll be back. Do you guys want drinks?” Francesca asks.
Oh, for God’s sake, I think because I’m sure that at least Chestnut Eyes, with his bulging arms covered in tats—my guy—would probably like to take off and find someone else to sway with. Someone who didn’t, just forty-five minutes ago, have a near panic attack.
Not wanting to hear the brush-off, I give Fawna’s arm a tug. “I gotta go now.”
“We’re coming, we’re coming,” Dromida says, catching up to us.
Holding hands, one behind the other, we stay in a line as Dromida leads the charge through the crowd to the restroom.
Once in the line at least fifty deep, I tip my imaginary hat to her. “Paint me impressed. That was fast.”
“Speaking of paint”—Francesca wags her brows—“yours has the most ink.”
“All four have ink,” I correct her.
“I’m telling you, I bet underneath those clothes, yours is sporting more ink.”
“So, you’re an ink expert?” I joke.
“Out of all four of us, I’d say yeah,” she boasts.
Fawna and Dromida agree, and at the same time, they answer, “Her father’s covered.”
“Your guy’s the most refined. I bet he wears a suit every day,” she tells Dromida. “He’s the sophisticated gentleman of the group. His style is classic with that collared shirt. His manners are more than likely impeccable, and his conversation would be engaging if you could hear him over the music. He’d want you to know he was intelligent and witty. Don’t you dare tell him you’re a doctor, or his performance anxiety will kick in before he sees that hot bod of yours. Wait till his dick is doing the thinking for him, not his fragile male ego.”
“Oh, he’s up.” She laughs.
Whaaaat is happening here? I ask myself as I realize there are at least ten women listening in on this conversation and not even hiding it.
Dromida does a little twerk. “Best way to tell if he’s even worth the effort. And if he’s packing, he’s filling me up and not searching for those spots to hit. He can just lie there, and I’ll basically get there myself.”
Francesca high-fives her then looks at Fawna. “Creative soul with an artistic flair. He has an unconventional but badass style that reflects his individuality. He kissed your damn hand before he let go of it—that’s sensitivity and depth. But how deep can he get?”
“Dromida’s not the only one who knows how to size up a man’s worth.” Francesca gives her a wink. “You know what I’m sayin’?”
When Francesca’s eyes land on me, I shake my head. “Oh, I’m not playing this game?—”
“Act two is coming up. You’d best take notes. Your guy’s physique is sculpted from hours of dedication to fitness, evident in the way his arm has been slung around your waist the whole time. He’s confident in himself and no doubt his ability. All you’re gonna have to do is lie there and enjoy. He is a perfect reintroduction to the D.”
I splay a hand over my face. “Stoooop.”
She doesn’t stop because we all met up at Fawna’s bar, O’Donnell’s Pub, three hours before the concert even began then took a car here. Apparently, even though we’re not in the privacy of any of our houses, this is like a normal girls’-night conversation, but out in the wild.
“The world’s all open again. It’s time to relax your knees, CeCe.” She wags her brows then continues, “Mine—tall, dark, and rugged with a chiseled jawline, piercing blue eyes, and a hint of stubble I cannot wait to feel on my thighs—might be the oldest, and with age comes experience. That tousled hair, with a few slivers of gray, gives him a casual look, telling me that he isn’t looking to impress every female he encounters. He knows what he likes, and he’s down to get filthy. Bring it on, big guy. Bring. It. On.”
* * *
Am I surprised they’re still in the same spot we left them? Of course I am. And after the hype session with the girls in the restroom and while in line for drinks, that has me on cloud nine. I’m as excited to see Gym Bro as the girls are to see Mr. Sophisticated, Arty the Artist, and Tall, Dark, and Filthy—these are the names we’ve given them. I refused the notion of rubbing my ass up and down him to size up his length, but I’m not opposed to exploring a kiss. If memory serves, kissing was always my favorite.
I watch as my double-fisted friends hand the guys the drinks we bought for them and follow suit. When I look up at him, I momentarily get stuck on his lips. They’re plump and appear soft, the bottom one more so than the top. The top has a perfect Cupid’s bow, and there’s a tiny scar above one of the peaks.
