"See, I knew you'd love a Tijuana Hooker. Now, let's do another one." Partly jealous that she has a dozen pairs of eyes watching her every move and partly because my lips are too tingly to protest, I nod my head in agreement. I'm already half cocked so if I'm going to do this, I might as well do it right.
"But after this, we really need to stop,” I say as I regain feeling in my lips. “Do you know how long it's been since I've drunk like this. I'm going to have a three-week hangover." I know I’m being a worrywart, but I can't help it. I'm a full-fledged, panties-in-a-bunch, Type A personality, ‘nervous Nelly.’ I think first and act second. Sometimes I wish I could be more like Quinn, who acts first and then worries about the consequences later.
Her head rolls back on her shoulders and she sighs dramatically. "Fiiiiine. One more and then we're done." She turns to look at me. "I'll let you pick, since it's your last shot."
"Ummm…how about something with Irish Cream? I love Irish Cream." She purses her lips in contemplation, then leans over the bar and snaps, "Yo, Mike!"
A beautiful blonde—I'll call her Barbie—walks up and rests her hands on the bar. I cock my head to the side, examining her face. I'm fairly certain I've met her before, but right now my brain is in an alcohol-induced fuzz and I can't really put my finger who she is. "Mike's busy. What can I get ya?" Damn, she's pretty. Her eyes are two deep blue pools of water.
"You can get me Mike," Quinn replies tightly, but Barbie doesn't miss a beat. I take it she's used to women asking for Mike all the time.
"I said—"
"I got this,” Mike says, resting a hand on Barbie's shoulder. "There's a guy down there you can take care of. Blue shirt." She rolls her eyes and walks away.
"What can I get you beautiful ladies?" he says, shoving the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbow, effectively putting on display the sleeve of tattoos adorning his left arm. Yup, not only does Mike have sexy-as-hell ink, but he's also got a shitload of charm. His bright blue eyes dance with trouble as he stares at Quinn. My eyes snap to her and I find her staring back. He grins. She grins. He leans forward, resting his elbows on the bar. She bats her eyes, which I totally didn't realize women could actually do, but she does.
My head continues to snap back and forth between the two of them. Okay…now I know I'm a little tanked, but if I didn't know better, I'd think that the two of them are having a conversation, promising each other all sorts of pleasure and other dirty things.
Good God, that's hot. Shit, now I'm kind of jealous.
I clap my hands between the two of them and Mike laughs, turning his handsome face to me. Quinn pipes up before I even have a chance to order.
"We'll take two Clit Lickin' Cowgirls." She raises two fingers and smiles suggestively. Mike flashes us a huge, white smile and turns to the bar.
Did she just say Clit Lickin' Cowgirls? Who the hell comes up with these shots?
"Okay. Who are you? What's a Clit Lickin' Cowgirl? And how do you even know what a Clit Lickin' Cowgirl is?" It's like a damn tongue twister…pun intended. I laugh softly at the little inside joke I just made, and Quinn stares at me like I’ve lost my mind before answering.
"I'm Quinn James, your BFF, and a Clit Lickin' Cowgirl is Butterscotch Schnapps, Irish Cream, Grenadine syrup, and…you don't want to know what else."
Mmmm…that actually sounds good. So far.
"I do want to know."
Quinn's eyes lock onto something over my shoulder and her face goes stone-cold sober. Her eyes flick nervously to me and she opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. What the hell? Turning in my seat, I look toward the opposite end of the bar and scan the crowd to see what caught her eye.
"Quinn, what are you loo—" The words clog in my throat when my eyes land on the beautiful Barbie bartender from earlier. She's leaning over the bar talking to…Tyson? I cock my head to the side, hoping to get a better look. I have had a few drinks tonight and maybe my eyes are playing tricks on me. Maybe I've been thinking about him so much that poof, here he is.
"Harley, come on. Let's go." Quinn grabs my arm but I pull it back, refusing to turn away. What is he doing here? He canceled on me because he had to work. If he got off and wanted to go out, why didn't he call me? Maybe he talked to Levi. Maybe he knows I'm here. I move to stand, intent on talking to him, when my whole world falls apart. Okay, maybe that's a bit dramatic, but well…I'm drunk and feeling a bit dramatic.
The scene in front of me unfolds in slow motion and my stomach plummets in defeat and embarrassment. A beautiful woman leans forward, peeking around the side of Tyson, and her eyes meet mine. She watches me intently for several seconds and her brows dip down in confusion, as if she's trying to figure out how she knows me.
My eyes jump to Barbie, who is leaning over the bar trying desperately to shove her tits in Tyson's face. I feel Quinn tug on my arm a few more times, but I'm frozen. Barbie's head snaps up and watches the girl next to Tyson, whose hand is now resting on his arm. She's looking up at him…lovingly? I'd give anything to hear what she is saying.
The movement of her hand catches my attention and I watch as she slides her arm across his back and grips his waist intimately. I'm hyperaware of every move the two of them make and the more I watch, the more I feel like I’ve been sucker-punched in the stomach.
"Alright beauties, here's your shots." Reluctantly, I turn my head and stare at the shot in front me.
I'm an idiot. Scratch that, I'm a fucking idiot.
Reaching forward, I grab the shot, taking it without waiting for Quinn. Emotion burns deep in my throat as I turn back around to watch Tyson and the woman who now has her arms around him. Maybe this is why he pulled away from me…he's with someone else. I don't know why I'm surprised. After all, he is the whole package. He's perfect and wonderful and…I can't do this to myself anymore.
I need to see this. I need to watch him with someone else so that maybe, once and for all, I can allow myself to accept that we simply aren't meant to be. Tyson isn't mine and he never will be. The realization causes something inside of me to clench and then break, causing hot tears to burn the back of my eyes.
The woman next to Tyson points in my direction and he twirls around. Our eyes lock and a small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. I can't smile back. I swallow hard, determined to make it out of the bar before I completely break down. Tyson's smile fades and he takes a step away from the bar and for a split second I have hope that maybe he's coming to me.
But that miniscule piece of hope is ripped away when a delicate hand grabs onto his arm. I watch as he looks at her hand and then turns his back on me. I don't have to say anything. Quinn watches me lose the fight as a lone tear rolls down my cheek. Wiping it away gently, she reaches down, grips my hand securely in hers, and leads me away from the bar, just as Barbie turns her back on Tyson. I strain my neck to keep watching—to keep tormenting myself, really—as Quinn pulls me deeper into the crowd.