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He’s trying to remain as professional as possible unlike Mr. Graduated From Frat Boy To Fuck Boy who keeps dropping things just to have me pick them up.
Considering the cost being spent for my mere presence in this space, I’m letting it slide.
Men stare at my ass all the time.
It comes with the gig.
Now, if he puts his hands anywhere, they don’t belong?
Then we’ll have a problem.
A real problem.
“You do have exclusivity in here,” I professionally inform while gesturing to the right. “You have a private bar that will come with a private bartender prepared to serve your samples along with anything else your guests may desire.” My other palm waves to the left. “You have a private entrance and exit that leads straight to the member’s only lot.” Lastly, I sassily point inward, “And you have a private attendant for the duration who is very well versed in putting things in people’s mouths.”
J.T. suddenly chokes on the bit he was swallowing causing me to wickedly smirk.
That’s what he gets for giving me a ride to work just to advocate for the asshole he calls a best friend.
No part of me wanted to hear him plead for me not to take Wes’s ornery ways too deeply to heart nor did I want to listen to him insist on extending more patience and understanding and compassion to the man he claims has already began to change for me.
No.
What I wanted to do was the word search I idiotically left with Captain James. T. Kirk of the USS Dickerprise.
I even considered downloading an app version on my phone, but it wouldn’t be the same.
I like holding the pen.
The paper.
Circling and doodling and admiring the gorgeous round mess of victory when it’s over.
I’ve also come to like finding notes from Wes.
Leaving my own.
It’s almost like our version of texting since I rarely check my cell – or typically know where it is – and he’s more often than not working on his.
I honestly…liked what we were building.
I just didn’t like that it could only exist in an aquarium, never in the ocean.
“Let’s talk more about putting you in my mouth,” Aleksei brazenly flirts yet pretends not to. “I mean about what you can put in our guests’ mouths.” He shifts himself back to a complete standing position. “What will you be offering?”
“Gurkha Black Dragons are presidente rolled and rich with hints of earthy as well as sweet spices that will pair with your more traditional whiskey.”
Aleksei attempts to challenge me. “Origin?”
“Honduras.”
“Price?”
“Reasonable.”
“That doesn’t sound like a dollar amount.”
“That’s because it isn’t,” is delivered with a saucy wink.
