Page 6 of Wicked Love

“Just before I puke. I hate puking; it’s gross. And it smells.”

I couldn’t keep inside the laugh that bubbled out. This girl was a walking contradiction. Sexy and confident enough to get all the guys here to notice her, yet innocent enough to sound like she needed saving. Never before had a girl amused me the way she did. “Duly noted.”

She raised a hand to wave at the bartender. “Two shots of tequila.”

“Tequila? You sure it’s a good idea?”

Her smile reached both ears. “I’m having fun. You chased away the dark clouds of my night. I wanna make the most of it.” She blinked, and when she stared back at me, her eyes flashed with lust. Something I bet my own eyes reflected. “Don’t you wanna just have fun and let loose?” She slid the straw between her candy-red painted lips, and I wondered how they would feel wrapped around me. Could this girl, with a wicked sense of humor and brutal honesty, cure me of my dry spell? My gaze traced the swell of her breasts once again, unable to resist the creamy flesh bulging right in front of me. Yup, I was cured. And I hoped it was permanent.

The bartender put the shot glasses in front of us.

“To avoiding parents and living our best life,” the girl cheered.

We both downed the liquor in one go and tapped the glasses onto the surface of the bar.

The sad girl with haunted eyes I spotted earlier had been pushed aside. Before me sat a girl with rosy cheeks and bright eyes in a drunken haze.

“Thanks for getting me out of whatever funk I was in earlier,” she told me, all traces of humor gone from her features. “And thank you for the company. I had a shitty day and an even shittier week. It’s fun to have someone to talk to. I feel mostly invisible, defective, or alone in this new house I live in. Other than to blame me, my mother doesn’t care about what I do or where I go. As long as I look the part.”

I rested my hand over hers and gave it a squeeze. Heat pulsed between our connected skin.

“You never told me your name?” I asked, trying to bring back the easy conversation we shared seconds ago.

“Oops.” She held out her hand. “Isla. Isla De la Durantaye. Nice to officially meet you, Joe.”

I met her palm and shook her proffered hand, more heat creeping up my arm. “De la Durantaye. It sounds French. Are you from Europe?”

“Canada. My grandparents. Long story. What about you?”

“My mom was from Maryland and my dad, from here. Nothing super exciting.” I moved to my feet. “Give me a sec? I gotta take a leak.”

She flicked her wrist. “Yeah. Go ahead. I’ll get more booze.” She flashed me a smile, and I couldn’t find it in me to refuse. Perhaps a hangover would make whatever my dad wanted to talk about tomorrow easier.

She pivoted on the stool, her attention fully on the bartender now as she gestured the order with both hands.

I gave a wry smile and walked toward the restroom, my heart thudding a little harder with excitement.

With one last look in the mirror mounted over the restroom sink, I took in the exhaustion shadowing my eyes and tightening my features. Since I’d graduated from college, I had been working like crazy. And now I could see the traces. With rehearsals for the new show that would go live next spring and three performances a day, I rarely banked more than five hours of sleep at night these days. But I loved what I was doing, so I couldn’t complain. I just needed a few days to relax and a good fuck, and I’d be brand new. The recessed light in the ceiling strobe and the plumbing made a sound only heard in horror movies. Dick’s Hole hadn’t gotten better over the years; that was for sure.

A knock on the door snapped me out of my thoughts.

After drying my hands, I unlocked the door, only to be met with brown eyes that twinkled in the dim-lit space.

“You?”

Isla strode forward and pushed my chest back with her tiny hands, forcing me to retreat into the not-so-clean bathroom, stumbling on my own feet.

My back collided with the wall, and she spun on herself, locking the door behind her.

When she turned around, we fixated on each other, neither of us blinking. Her irises shone with lust. And desperation. A need to forget. For a minute, a night, or maybe longer

I sucked in a breath, waiting for her to say something. “Care to explain?” I asked with a cocked brow, not drunk enough to do whatever she asked of me in here.

She pursed her lips, that begged to be kissed, and stalked closer.

My dick stirred in my pants.

“I’ve had time to think about it. And it is final. I want you to fuck me,” she said matter-of-factly as if she had just informed me about the weather.