While washing my hands, my phone rings.
Killian.
Speak of the devil.
The sexy devil.
The swoony devil.
The green-eyed God of a man. Rawr.
I quickly dry my hands and answer it, face going hot and excitement buzzing in my veins.
“Hello-oh,” I sing out.
“Violet?”
“Hiya, stranger,” I drawl and then I check myself out in the mirror. My eyes are a little smudgy, so I use a knuckle to try to get some of the eye makeup off. “Where’ve you been all my life? I mean, all my week.” I giggle.
Whoa. Talk about a foot-in-mouth moment.
I give myself a smirk in the mirror.
“How you doin’?” I use my best Joey from the show Friends impersonation.
“Are you drunk?” he asks.
“Am I?” I sway on my feet a little. “I might be,” I point at myself and ask the mirror. “Are you drunk, Violet?” And then I nod. “You sure look like you are.”
“What the fuck?” he asks.
I smile at myself. “I’m out for the girls-after-work Friday thing for a few cocktails that I never go to but always wanna and so I said yeah this time. I said hell yeah. Don’t worry; I’m not driving. Are you back then? At your place?”
“I’m picking you up,” he informs.
“You’re what?” I inquire.
“I’m picking you up, Violet.”
“You don’t need to do that. I can take a cab. Plus, I’m not done having fun yet anyways and when I am, I can take a cab.”
“How much more fun do you need?” he asks.
He sounds surly. I decide to tell him that.
“You sound surly. And lots of fun. Tonight is fun night, don’t ‘cha know? It’s hell yeah night.”
He says nothing.
Tara comes in and waves.
“Hi!” I greet with enthusiasm.
“Who are you talking to?” Killian asks.
“My friend from work.”
“Which friend?” he asks.
I shake my head. “Why are you calling me?”
“I’m coming to get you. We’ll talk then.”
“I don’t need you to come get me,” I inform.
“Yeah, sounds like you do.”
He’s being awfully bossy.
“You’re being awfully bossy,” I tell him.
“I’ll be there soon.”
“That’s okay, I can get a cab. Or… maybe I’ll sleep over at Susanna’s. It’s the weekend.”
“I need to see you,” he states.
And at that, my heart skips a beat. At the words. At the way he says it.
“Why?” I ask. “What happened?”
“Nothing happened. But I’m on my way. Be there soon. Half an hour long enough for you to have one more drink with your friends?”
“Wait. Be where soon? Do you even know where I am? Do you still have a spy on me?” I gasp. “You’ve got a spy on me! Did they tell you what I said about your hip bones? Is that why you’re calling me now?”
Shit. I said the hip bones thing.
“I’ll be there soon,” he tells me. “Don’t you dare leave.”
“Don’t I dare leave?” Now I’m a little annoyed. “Maybe I’ll leave if I wanna leave,” I threaten.
“If you leave after I’ve just told you not to, you’re gonna be over my knee, Violet.”
I stare at the mirror, dumbfounded for a second. And then I flinch as what he just said penetrates. “Over your… Are you threatening to spank me?”
“See you in half an hour.”
I laugh. “You are. You’re threatening to spank me. Oh goodie.”
“Or less,” he amends.
The call cuts off and I’m bracing myself with my hand on the counter, staring in the mirror open-mouthed.
Tara flushes the toilet and comes out of the stall, smiling. “What was that?”
“That was…” I blink a couple times. “That might’ve been the hottest conversation I’ve ever had. Or maybe I’m the drunkest I’ve ever been. Did that just happen?”
She finishes washing her hands and grabs me. “Sounded like it did. C’mon. Let’s go dance. Susanna requested some songs specifically for you.”
***
A drink is put in my hand by Debbie and we’re all dancing to Magic Stick.
I take a big sip and set my drink on the sidebar beside the DJ booth where a bunch of drinks and purses are lined up and being guarded by the DJ. I know this because the girls at work talk about how at McHop’s on Fridays, the DJ takes care of them by watching their stuff while they dance, making certain no one messes with them.
Friday nights are dance music nights after nine o’clock. It’s not nine yet, but I think someone told them to pretend it was.
“Violet can’t hear 50 Cent and not be up dancing,” Susanna shouts. “That’s why I requested this. The DJ thinks you’re hot, too, Violet.” She winks. “So, you’ve got your pick.”
I shake my head. “You’re crazy.”
“Who’s it gonna be?” Debbie asks, pulling the elastic out of her long, raven hair and shaking it free. “Corey, the bartender with the blond hair and chocolate eyes, or Jerome, the chocolate DJ with the giant muscles?”
I laugh again and twirl around with my hands up in a shrug posture.
“My money’s on the guy on the phone who just threatened to spank her,” Tara calls out.