Page 7 of Day

The glass was cold against my lips, and the burn of the alcohol stung as it ran down my throat. I was not much of a drinker anymore, but occasionally it was nice to lose myself in something strong. Like the sexy man beneath my leather-clad ass.

“What the fuck, lady?” He finally found his words, and what a mouth he had. His voice was strong, just like his body.

“My mouth was parched.  I needed a drink.” I stayed sitting in his lap, and my hand lifted up his glass higher as I finished off the rest of the liquid inside it.

“You’re paying for that,” he snapped, rolling his eyes and glancing around the room. People were staring. But once I turned my head to look at them, they all suddenly became interested in the partners they had brought to the floor instead of me.

“So.”  I turned my attention back to him and purred.

“What deep and dark secrets trouble you tonight?” I asked. He scoffed and ordered himself another drink. Something stronger than the one before.

“Oh, a mysterious dancer that drank all my shit. My little red wagon broke this morning; I’m pretty distraught about it. Now I’m going to sulk in my pain with my friend Jack here.” He held out his new full glass and took a sip. He was feisty. I liked that. I was quite the feisty woman, too.

When a small drop of his drink started falling from his lips as he pulled away from the glass, I leaned over and licked the bead from this chin.

I smiled wide and wiggled on his lap. Despite his inclination to think me crazy, the erection growing in his jeans told me he still liked it.

“Come on, strange and mysteriously sexy man who has now denied me of your attention twice. Spill what troubles you to a total stranger. I’m good at keeping secrets.” I rubbed my hands up his chest then back down. He was all hard muscle and rippling bumps beneath his shirt.

“Well, since you put it that way,” He drank more and then surprised me. Which rarely happened.

He started telling me the truth.

“My best friend, who I paralyzed back in high school, isn’t a candidate for a surgery that could have helped him get feeling back in his legs. So once again, I’m drowning my guilt and anguish away until I have to feel it all over again tomorrow.”

His words were real and completely raw.

“Well, then. To getting all black and blue then coming back fighting the next day.” I wrapped my hand around his and took a sip of his new drink. He didn’t even stop me. He actually smiled then enjoyed his own sip after mine.

He was good through and through. I could read people, and he was something special. It was hidden beneath the anger and resentment that created the sexy exterior before me.

We shared that glass until there was nothing left, and not once did he ask if I had herpes.

A special man indeed.