There’s no way she can know how rare it is for other people to buy me anything. Especially women. I’m used to picking up the check for my entire group of friends whenever we go out and the women I’ve dated expect flowers, jewelry and expensive gifts.
My lips curl up at this unexpected turn of events.
“I would love for you to buy me a drink. But it’s probably best if I don’t take a drink from a stranger. Andre.” I hold out my hand.
She accepts it with a firm handshake. “I’m Casey. Nice to meet you. Again.”
6
She is enchanting.
After buying me a drink, she asks me how I like the city and we haven’t stopped talking since. It’s strange because I’ve never found it this easy to just chat to a woman before. Usually they want to know which celebrities I know and whether or not I can take them to the newest club or hottest nightspot. But Casey is just asking about me.
I’m drunk on her undivided attention.
“So, I suppose it’s a little late to be asking, but what are we celebrating?” I ask while taking another sip of beer. The brew really is good, light but complex. Not my usual thing but it seems fitting since this is my night for trying new things.
“Actually the day I met you, I was on my way to a job interview. That’s why I said you were a good luck charm. I got the job! Now, I’m here to check out whether I want to apply for a second job here. So seeing you is probably a good thing. Maybe it means I’ll get hired here, too.”
I raise my glass. “Well, let’s toast to your new job. Congratulations. I hope it’s the start of something great.”
“I hope it’s the start of something great, too. I could use some good news for a change. Tell me more about you. What do you do?”
Oh shit. My brain screeches to a halt.
This is what Jason warned me about. It’s time for a version of the truth that doesn’t hide anything but also doesn’t tell her the whole truth. Although the reason behind keeping my identity under wraps makes total sense, there’s a part of me that doesn’t like the idea of lying to her.
“I work in… retail. Selling men’s clothes.”
She looks slightly surprised at first but then gifts me with a small smile. “That must be fun.”
“It can be. It can also be really demoralizing. Not that I’m complaining. I have a great life.”
She covers my hand with hers and the warmth immediately envelopes me. “You’re not complaining just being honest. Nobody has a perfect life. We all have good things and bad things we’d love to change.”
Usually when people ask me about my life, my first response is to tell them what they want to hear. Yes, being the head of my own company is a dream come true. Being famous has given me amazing opportunities that many other young designers don’t have. But I never feel open to discuss the downsides. The immense pressure to always appear in control. The fatigue of working such long hours because I have everything on the line. And most of all, the emotional damage that comes from being in the public eye. From being judged and scrutinized every moment.
“Yes, that’s it exactly. I’m so grateful for the good things. And I love… clothes. So I’m truly happy with where I am.” I take another sip of beer. I almost told her I’m truly happy designing clothes. Talking with her feels so natural that I forgot to hold back.
“That’s exactly what I want. In my career, I mean. Clearly I’m not talking about clothes. I’m not so good with clothes.” She gestures vaguely to the halter top and jeans she’s wearing. Not that it makes sense to me because the soft swells of her breasts are doing things for the cheap cotton that nature never anticipated.
“You look great,” I shout over the rock song that is suddenly blasting from the nearby speakers. “Very comfortable.”
That makes her chuckle. “Just what every girl wants to hear. Although you can get away with saying that in your accent. You could probably say ‘hey you look like shit’ and it would sound elegant.”
Now I do laugh. “My family roots are French, Italian and some English that my mother refuses to admit to. But I’ve traveled so much in recent years that my accent has become a bit muddled.”
“What was that again?” She leans over to hear what I just said.
The bar has gotten so loud that she probably won’t be able to hear me even if I yell. Just then I’m aware of her breast pushing against my arm. I shift uncomfortably on the bar stool as my dick stirs, thickening behind the zipper of my jeans.
Fuck, I don’t want her to look down and catch sight of what’s happening below deck and think I’m some pervert. But it would take a saint not to react when she’s leaning so close and smells like a cupcake. I take a quick glance at her curvy little body perched on the stool next to mine.
Yeah, she’s a treat all right and if I had the opportunity, I’d take my time licking her up.
Our eyes meet and I still, caught in the act of blatantly checking her out. But she doesn’t seem upset. Her eyes hold mine boldly, darkened by desire. Considering how she argued with me when we first met, I shouldn’t be surprised that she’s so direct but watching her check me out is sending my testosterone levels through the roof. She bites her lip, rolling the flesh back and forth a few times before releasing it.
“The music has gotten really loud,” she yells. “Do you want to get out of here?”