Passion & Ponies (Chocoholics 2)

“Jesus f**k, she scares me,” I mutter before turning back to face Charlotte.

“I swear she can read minds or some shit,” Charlotte adds as I pull off my jeans and slip into the skirt. “Did I tell you the other day I was looking all over the place for a twenty-dollar bill that I swore I left on the counter? My phone rang while I was tearing the kitchen apart and when I answered it, all she said was ‘It’s in the pair of jeans on your bathroom floor’ and then she hung up. I think we need to ask mom just how much pot she smoked when she was pregnant with her.”

Pulling up the zipper on the side of the skirt, I walk over to the full-length mirror hanging on the wall across the room.

“I’m sure our sister doesn’t have special powers. She probably just has your house bugged,” I say with a laugh as I check out my reflection. “Now, go get me that shirt. Or do you need some extra muscle to lift that giant box of dildos down off the shelf?”

Charlotte curses at me before getting up from the bed and walking out of the room. She comes back a few minutes later with the top. I slide it on and put the finishing touches on my make-up before blowing her a kiss and telling her not to wait up for me.

“So, what do you say we get out of here? My van is parked outside.”

Gulping down the rest of my vodka and Seven, I slam the glass on the top of the bar and turn to face the douche bag sitting next to me.

“Your van? What is this, 1987? Get your hand off of my thigh before I break your fingers,” I tell him.

Why did I think going to a bar alone would be a great way to forget about my troubles? As soon as this guy sat down next to me I thought, perfect! A hot guy! And then he opened his mouth.

“Awwww, don’t be like that, baby.”

Alright, that’s it. No one calls me baby.

Clenching my hands, I take a deep breath, not even caring that I’m most likely going to be kicked out of here the moment my fist connects with his face

I turn my body on the barstool right as he lifts up his glass of beer, signaling to the bartender to get him another. He’s so drunk that he can’t hold his hand steady and the amber liquid in his glass sloshes all over the place while he waves his hand in the air. I watch in horror as beer splashes all over the top of my teal Taylor leather Bette Mini Coach tote.

“You got beer on my Coach,” I whisper, unable to take my eyes off of my brand new purse.

“Yo! Bartender! Another beer!” douche bag shouts, completely ignoring me.

“YOU. GOT. BEER. ON. MY. COACH!”

My voice is much louder this time as the rage washes through me. It’s one thing for this guy to grope me and talk like a moron, but no one defiles my Coach purse.

“Calm down, baby. It’s just a purse-”

My arm flies out before he can even finish his sentence, my elbow connecting with his throat. He drops the glass, both hands flying to his throat and he clutches tightly to it while he coughs and sputters.

“You bitch!” he manages to shout in between coughs.

Before I can even think about threatening to cut off his balls, a hand shoots in between us, grabs onto the front of the guy’s shirt and hauls him off of his barstool.

Swiveling around on my seat, I see Tyler pull the guy’s face right up to his own and speak in a calm, cool manner.

“Apologize to the lady.”

Douche bag looks over at me and gives me a dirty look.

Tyler’s hand clutches tighter to the front of the guy’s shirt and he roughly yanks him closer. “I said, apologize to the lady, before I shove my knee in your balls.”

I should be irritated that Tyler just waltzed in here and took over a situation I could easily handle, but right now, watching him be this big, bad ass protector is making me so hot I can’t sit still.

“Sorry,” douche bag mumbles.

Tyler shoves the guy away and he stumbles backwards, tripping over his own feet and bumping into a couple of customers. Tyler turns to face me and closes the distance between us, sliding in between my thighs. Without a word to me, he grabs the drink the bartender refilled during the commotion and chugs it. I stare at his throat and watch his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallows, biting my lip to stop myself from leaning over and licking his skin.

I will not have sex with Tyler, I will not have sex with Tyler.

“So, what’s the deal? Were you on a date or something?” he asks, placing the now-empty glass back on the bar.

“Were you following me? I was doing just fine on my own, I didn’t need your help,” I snap, wincing when I hear how bitchy I sound.

He just shrugs, his hand reaching towards my face. I jerk back right before he touches me and give him a dirty look.

“Relax, princess, I was just going to move a piece of hair off of your cheek.”

I hate it when people call me princess. I really hate it when Tyler calls me princess. So why the f**k do I feel like I’m on the verge of a spontaneous orgasm?

“And no, I wasn’t following you. I had a bad day and didn’t feel like going home. My parents are most likely there doing weird as f**k sex therapy shit and I’m not in the mood to see them,” he explains. “Also, I know you can handle yourself. I stepped in for that dude’s protection, not yours. I did it for my own sanity, too. I was afraid you’d break a nail on his face and then I’d have to listen to you bitch and moan all night long about your manicure.”

I stare at him for a few minutes to see if he’s telling the truth. When his gaze on me doesn’t waver, I sigh loudly. “Well, I wasn’t on a date. My mom pissed me off so I packed a bag and went to stay with Gavin and Charlotte. They were most likely getting ready to do some weird as f**k sex shit and I didn’t feel like sticking around while Gavin licks my sister’s ass.”