“Y’all talking about genitalia?” Samuel walks up to us with a bourbon in his hand and Emma on his arm.
Stevie turns her high-wattage smile on me. Bites her lip, cheeks going pink.
“Aw, yeah, y’all are definitely talking about genitalia.” Samuel sips his drink. “So what’s the verdict, Stevie? You enjoying those robust Beauregard—”
“Genes,” Emma finishes, sending Samuel a sassy warning glance. “Also, who uses the word genitalia?”
“Who do you think you are?” I ask. “A doctor? A perv who uses words that sound like scary skin conditions to describe people’s privates?”
Samuel wags his brows. “I’m a doctor of love, yeah.”
“That sounds fun,” Stevie says.
“It’s not,” Emma replies, but she’s got her hand on Samuel’s chest and she’s smiling. “I’ll still keep him, though.”
She’s tipsy. Samuel is too. I can tell by the way he leans down to peck Emma on the lips. It’s something I don’t think he’d do in front of me if he were stone-cold sober. Despite the time that’s passed, we’re all still tiptoeing around a perceived freshness of wounds.
I’m so tired of being careful. I’m sure Samuel is too.
Again, I don’t feel jealous. I don’t feel hurt or wronged or sad or angry.
Again, I do feel that echo. That longing. Not for Emma, but for something.
Turning to Stevie, I amend that idea: it’s a longing for someone.
With Emma, maybe I just wanted a warm body. Someone to start the life I’d always been dreaming of with. I’d been waiting for her to show up for so damn long, and I was tired of being patient.
Now I want someone like Stevie. As much as the waiting sucked, if it means I get moments like this one, it was all worth it. My heart’s finally beating again.
Goddamn, I’m gonna write a whole song by the end of the night.
Maybe Stevie can help me polish it up.
Later. When I get to take her home. Second to last night I’ll be able to do that. And then, I’ll put my nonexistent exit plan into action.
“I am absolutely enjoying the Beauregard genes,” Stevie says, smiling at me. “The Good Lord did see fit to endow y’all with big . . . hearts.”
“And heads,” Emma says.
“And genitalia,” Samuel adds.
“All right, Doctor Pervy, that’s enough bourbon for you.” I grab Samuel’s glass.
“Fair.” Samuel shrugs, tucking his free hand around Emma’s hip. “I don’t think I’ve heard y’all’s story. The real story—you know, what makes you guys nuts for each other.”
Stevie looks at me. I look back.
“It all began with aces and eights,” she says.
I nod, pulse skipping a beat as the memory hits me head-on. Her tits in that tee shirt. Helen the dealer. Tambourines and the scent of Stevie’s shampoo floating over the stale-cigarette smell of the casino.
Magic.
“And then it progressed to Stevie introducing me to my favorite beer,” I say.
“You flatter me,” Stevie teases.
“I don’t. Y’all tasted Lady Luck’s beer.” I nod at Samuel and Emma. “Is it not the best?”
Emma smiles. “It’s the best I’ve tasted in ages, Stevie.”
“It’s a big deal when Miss Master Sommelier over here says that,” Samuel adds. “Her tongue is a thing of wonder.”
“Paging Doctor Pervy,” Stevie says, and bursts into laughter. The silly, infectious kind, and suddenly we’re all laughing, just lubed up enough on liquor not to give a shit.
People stare. I spill Samuel’s drink all over my hand and shoes.
Spill it right onto Stevie’s sexy as fuck dress. A stain spreads just to the side and underneath her left breast.
“Shit! Shit, honey.” I immediately grab a handful of napkins from a passing waiter. I dab the spot, pressing the napkins against the fabric. “I’m sorry.”
Stevie lifts her arm and bends her back, arching into my touch. “Don’t be, baby.”
Baby. Did the word sound huskier than it usually does when she says it? Or am I imagining things?
Handing Samuel back his drink, I wrap my free hand around her other side, just underneath her right breast. I firm my grip and she arches some more, melting into my touch as I continue to dab.
“I don’t think you’re getting it,” Stevie murmurs.
“How about I grab some club soda—”
Stevie nudges me with her hip. “How about you use your mouth?”
I look up to see her lips twitching.
“It is good bourbon,” Samuel says. “Hate for it to go to waste. I’ll give you a hundred bucks if you do it.”
“I’ll bet a hundred bucks you won’t,” Stevie says, challenge in her eyes.
I level my gaze with hers. “Won’t that make more of a mess?”
“Yup.” She catches her tongue between her teeth. “That’s kind of the point. Well, that, and proving to your friends and family we’re not too proud to be caught wearing compromised garments in compromising positions.”
This.
Fucking.
Girl.
“You got that hundred on you, honey?”
Stevie taps the top of her breast. “Right here in my bra. If you do a good job, I’ll let you use your mouth to get that too.”