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“Ready?” Lee asks when I set the dish back on the counter.
“Yup,” I add, clutching my purse under my arm.
On the count of three, we lick the salted rim, toss the glasses back, swallowing the contents in one swoop before sucking on the lime wedges. My throat tingles from the concoction, and I wince, letting out a loud breath. In unison, we each grab the taller glasses in a rush to wash away the aftertaste of the tequila.
It isn’t long before I’m feeling the effects of both drinks and begin to loosen up. Allowing the music to take over, I sway to the lyrics of Cardi B, singing along with my girls. One thing to know about me, I’m as conservative as they come, but Cardi is my spirit animal, person, or whatever you want to call it. Her words ignite things in me, which isn’t necessarily a good thing for a tipsy Jessica. A few guys approach us from the other side of the bar, squeezing their way between our circle.
“Hey, I’m Chris!” a tall, broody-looking fellow with deep-brown eyes says to me.
I accept his hand shake and introduce myself. “I’m Jessica,” I add, speaking in his ear.
“Nice to meet you! Can I get you another drink?” he yells over the music.
“Yeah. Two cran and vodkas, one Hennessy, and one pineapple and vodka,” I say, instantly realizing from the look on his face that he wasn’t offering to buy four drinks. That damn Cardi B, I think to myself. I’m about to rescind my order, but he leans for the bar.
“Five Hennessey’s, two cran- vodkas, and a pineapple vodka. Tab’s under West,” Chris says to the bartender.
Well, shit, thank you, Cardi, I say internally and turn away slightly with my brows raised. “Thank you!”
“No problem!” He finishes the last of his drink and places both my empty glass and his on the bar top. “Which ones yours?” He points to the freshly made cocktails.
“Pineapple.”
Chris hands me a glass, then grabs the attention of his friends who take turns passing out the remainder of the drinks. The music switches to Drake, and the volume rises as we all sing the words and dance in place. Chris wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me close. After a few more songs, I pause to catch my breath. Not once does my new friend skip a beat, he’s right there next to me smiling—hard.
I ignore his glances and take a peek at my friends. Catching Lee’s eyes, I tilt my glass, silently asking if they’d like another round. She checks with Ariel and Chante before nodding yes. Switching my purse from one hand to the other, I call our mixologist over. Before I can tell him what I’d like, Chris steps in, ordering another round for me and my friends. I protest, but he insists on doing so. One drink is fine, but I’ve always had this weird inkling that if a guy buys you more than one drink, he definitely expects to get laid at the end of the night. Lee’s voice plays in my head: If a man wants to buy your drinks, you fucking let him, and if you want to fuck him at the end of the night, do that, too. There won’t be any of the latter happening, but I guess the drinks will be okay.
As I nurse the next round, I force myself to engage in conversation. It’s not that this guy is boring, but my mind is just not here. The point of tonight was to let loose, and I did, but now drunk, all I can think about is my mystery caller. I realize I never responded to his message earlier and wonder what he’s thinking. Chris taps me on the shoulder, pulling me from my thoughts, asking me to dance. I decline and suggest he goes and has fun with Lee, because seriously, the girl has yet to slow down. Removing my phone from my purse, I open my texts and scroll to the unsaved number.
What are you wearing?I type, smiling at the nerve of myself. Almost instantly, my phone buzzes and his reply pops across the screen.
I feel like the right answer would be, nothing. But, unfortunately, I’m fully dressed.
Shame! I was finally going to tell you why you should be worried.I bite down on my lip to hold back the giddy feeling I have inside.
Oh really? Why is that?
I can’t tell you now. You needed to be naked for that.
Okay, so I don’t really have a reason for why he should be worried or be careful of what he wished for. This just seems like the thing to say. Before I can second guess myself, I hit send and shove my device back into my purse. In a few seconds, my bag vibrates under my arms, but I will myself to ignore it. A part of me likes how quickly he responds, and while I am eager to know what the message says, I think I’ll wait it out. Besides, there’s a hell of a chance he’s sent me something dirty, and I’ll need to be in the confines of my home to fully explore that possibility.
