Three Juicy Pussies
Sophie
“James is hawt.”
“Sorry to break it to you, but he’s gay.”
“No way.”
“Yep.”
“I refuse to believe or accept that. He shall be mine.”
“Not going to happen, Ava.”
“Are you doubting my appeal? I’m smoking hot in this crop top, and you know it.”
“Irrelevant. You have the wrong anatomy. I talked to him a couple of months ago, and he casually mentioned his boyfriend’s cat.”
“I have a pretty kitty, too.”
“Oh, my God. You’re ridiculous.”
I chuckle as my friends bicker back and forth, my lips permanently sealed around the straw poking out of my cocktail glass. Ava and Zoey insisted on getting me schnockered after I texted them to tell them about last night, my failure at the auction, and my subsequent shit-canning.
We’ve been walking the strip, popping into casinos to hit the bars in our own Vegas rendition of the traditional pub crawl. We ended up here at The Black Hart’s casino floor bar, where Ava proceeded to eye-fuck the blond behemoth of a bartender between tossing out not-so-thinly-veiled pick-up lines in his direction. He’s been a good sport, playing along with her antics, but even I can see he’s not interested.
And I’m at least seven-point-five sheets to the wind at this point.
“Girls, girls,” I say, drawing the s’s out a little too long. “Don’t fight. We’re supposed to be having fun. Forgetting our troubles. And planning a murder.”
Even I can tell my words are slurred and barely comprehensible. And that bit about the murder was an accidental slip, causing them to look at me with incredulous expressions.
“Murder? You want to kill old man Hatfield?” Zoey asks, her hazel eyes wide.
“Nope,” I say, popping the “p” in an exaggerated fashion. “Not him. The other one. The asshole who stole that painting from me. This is all his fault.”
My tone turns weepy with that last bit, and Zoey lifts a palm to rub comforting circles on my back. Ava gives me an empathetic look, then lifts her cocktail into the air.
“Slice and dice his ass,” she shouts.
I lift my glass and, reaching across Zoey––who’s sitting in between us––clink it against hers before pulling it back and sucking the rest of it down. Rattling the ice gets James’s attention, and he heads over, stopping in front of us.
“Can I get you ladies another round?” he asks with a confident grin.
“How about some shots?” Ava suggests, then leans over to accentuate her kickass cleavage. “Three juicy pussies please.”
To his credit, his expression doesn’t flinch as he pulls bottles of Irish cream and peach schnapps from beneath the bar. Pouring a few ounces of each into a shaker, he adds pineapple juice before shaking it up and pouring the concoction into three tall shot glasses.
“Thank you,” Ava says, batting her eyelashes. “This will go great with the one I already have.”
I was already mid-drink, and at her words, half of it spews between my lips. Zoey groans in embarrassment while Ava casually downs the shot, never taking her eyes off the bartender. He shakes his head and chuckles before grabbing a towel to wipe up the mess I made.
“Sorry about that,” I mumble, then jerk a thumb in Ava’s direction. “And her.”
He opens his mouth to speak before his attention is snagged by something over my left shoulder. His eyes light up as his megawatt smile reappears. I look back to see a man in a dealer uniform weaving through the crowd.
He’s gorgeous, with dark hair, bright blue eyes, and a set of the deepest dimples I’ve ever seen. He slides onto the empty stool next to me, braces his feet on the foot rest, and pushes up to lean over the bar.