The Baddest Bad Boy

Most of the time, my nights on the town are better. I tend to be good at judging people at first glance, and honestly, when I met Sharon in the airport lounge, she seemed like a decent person. I didn’t expect her to be so shallow the entire evening. She doesn’t even seem drunk to be honest. Not that that’s an excuse because I think that this is just the way she is. Vapid and unforgiving, not to mention totally into herself.

I sigh internally. Maybe Lebanon isn’t as amazing as I remember. It’s been a year since I was here, and a year since I last saw Sharon. Things can change in a short amount of time. Meanwhile, my companion continues to prattle.

“It’s truly impossible to find good help these days. How hard is it to keep a wine glass full? You’d think it’s rocket science, the way that kid can’t handle it.”

I don’t bother saying anything because Sharon is the kind of person who sees what she wants to see, and there’s no changing her mind. Oh well. It’s the price I pay for being an idiot. Fortunately, my phone chimes with a text, providing a distraction. Discreetly, I pull it out of my pocket to check the notification. My date doesn’t even seem to notice, seeing that she’s now discussing the tablecloths and silverware at the restaurant. That’s fine, but I’m not interested.

My eyes bulge a bit upon seeing the sender of the text, as I wasn’t expecting to hear from her. Cammie Forster. What a woman.

I met Cammie a while ago at my brother, Travis’s, house. She’s best friends with my sister-in-law, Cait, and damn is the woman gorgeous. She’s got curves that go on for days, curly brown hair, and huge chestnut eyes that a man could drown in. We hit it off immediately, and I got her number, but the fact is that she’s too sweet and innocent for me. Travis would kill me if I tried anything with Cammie, seeing that she’s his wife’s best friend, and the truth is that I’m not a relationship guy. I fly constantly in and out of different cities, and Cammie deserves better.

Then again, it’s pretty rancid for me to be thinking of another woman when I’m on a date. I tune back into Sharon for a second, and immediately regret it.

“Honestly, if I can walk a runway, the waiter can walk back and forth with my wine. I don’t understand why he’s having so much trouble keeping my glass filled. Where is he? He doesn’t deserve a tip. In fact, I’m thinking of calling management.”

I sigh.

“It’s fine. I see him over there with another table. He’ll be over shortly.”

“Oh good,” Sharon says with a sharp glance over her shoulder. “Because I am absolutely parched! Can I girl get something to wet her throat around here? I swear that he needs …”

The rest of her words melt into a vague droning sound as I turn back to my phone. If Sharon’s going to be a bitch, then I’m not going to feel bad texting Cammie while she rants.

The problem is that when I open up my messages, it’s not a text at all. It’s a picture and my eyes go wide as my mouth opens. Holy shit! What the hell is this? Not that it’s bad because in the photo, Cammie’s lying on her bed wearing absolutely nothing. Those big breasts are out and she’s got her knees spread, showing me a sliver of sweet pink. The curvy girl’s batting her lashes at the camera and cupping one of her tits suggestively. It’s huge, and my mouth goes dry, dying to suckle at that hard pink tip.

Then, my phone chimes again and a second picture joins the first. Holy shit, this one’s even more suggestive than the first. In this photo, Cammie’s balanced on her elbows and knees, her bottom pointed towards the camera. Her thighs are parted and once again, I have a perfect view of that slippery pink. Except this time it’s even better because Cammie’s slipped a finger between her legs and is holding her pussy open, revealing that huge, throbbing clit and gleaming hole.

My member goes hard immediately, stiffening into pure stone. Is this really happening? Did a sweet, innocent girl whom I spent an enjoyable evening with just send me two X-rated snaps? Why now, of all times? I never called her after that night, so it’s not like we’re anything more than acquaintances.

But it doesn’t matter. This date needs to end so I can get back to my hotel and enjoy these photos with my hand. Sharon continues to blabber about something or other, but I don’t even pretend to listen anymore. Instead, I gesture for the waiter to bring our check. He nods politely, immediately going to the serving station, and then I turn back to my date.