Lee's eyes were pleading. “Maybe he's sex-starved, and you're the only answer to his famine!”
Fat chance. I doubted he had trouble getting laid. Women had to be eating him up. If he was hard enough to be mistaken for a wall, I couldn’t imagine how hard other things were.
Enough. I shook my head, snapping out of it. “Or maybe he's an asshole.”
“A sexy asshole.” Lee cackled, grabbing Barrett’s attention across the room, and in an instant, we locked eyes.
We remained trapped in one another’s gaze until he broke contact, his eyes scanning over my body. They burned everywhere they touched, drifting where they pleased, resting on my exposed cleavage.
It was then that a frigid wave spilled across my chest, the sheer iciness earning a screech. “Are you kidding me?” I whirled to meet a horrified, curly-haired man.
“I am so sorry!” He fumbled with napkins, trying to sop up alcohol on the bar.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spied Barrett snickering, which calmed my anger, reminding me of our previous run-in. The guy made a mistake as I had.
“It's okay. Accidents happen.”
“Oh my god! Look at your shirt!” He handed over fistfuls of napkins.
“It's fine. It's only a shirt. It'll wash out.”
“Oh no... that will stain! I'll pay for a new drink and your dry cleaning!” he assured, turning redder with every word.
“No need...” I muttered, dabbing my chest. My luck was something else. I had boozy boobs in addition to my coffee baptism, transforming into a walking beverage cart.
“No, no. I insist. Bartender, can you please give her whatever she had? Put it on my tab.”
“Will do, my man!” Tommy called, readying a replacement.
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Barrett tense back into his usual rigid stature. His attention was turned back to the game, leaving me in the dust.
* * *
Barrett stayed glued to the television, and I left him there when Lee and I checked out around ten. He hadn't bothered to look my way again, not that I was expecting it.
Guys checked out chicks’ chests regularly. It was in their DNA. Looking at mine didn’t mean he was attracted to me. It just meant I was showing the attributes of a mate according to basic human instincts.
Once home, I took a hot shower, disgusted with everything. I washed away the funk of Thursday. I was more of a bath fan, but the apartment only had a space pod of a shower, a slick-bottomed tube that made leg shaving a life-or-death experience.
When I emerged from my self-made sauna, I curled up in bed with Hank and my cell, ready to watch cat videos until I drifted off into dreamland. I was surprised to see a notification from Privately.
The app was all over television with success stories clogging up morning shows. Its anonymity and lack of photos had my attention since other apps were overflowing with dick pics. Don’t get me wrong — dicks were great — just not flopping around by the dozen in your messages.
One week on another site left me dreaming of peen and not in a good way. Try getting chased by a thirty-foot schlong through the streets of Brooklyn in heels. Talk about a nightmare.
I had been chatting with a guy for a few weeks, but we had yet to meet. Going by Bear as his username, he restored my faith in the app since he wasn’t quadruply divorced or living with his parents like others I’d heard from. He lived alone and worked in executive management, likely at one of the local tech companies.
I swiped the notification to see a greeting from my ongoing suitor, relieved it wasn’t someone new. So far, he’d been the only normal one.
After the miserable day I’d had, I was ready to have something to look forward to. I fired off a flirty reply.
Any reasonable person would still be licking their wounds after a canceled wedding, but there I was trying to hop back on the dating bicycle without a helmet. Bruised ass and all.
Jason
If looks could kill, Marty Radwell would have been dead twenty times over in a five-minute span.
The babbling fool botched another sales call, forcing me to put aside a thousand-line LTA review to smooth things over with the buyer.
I needed Braxton Systems as a customer. They recently signed a government contract worth billions to upgrade the missile defense system. Our products fit in most of their builds and could net us millions in sales.
I couldn't fathom what was so hard about a rudimentary call for a seasoned professional. He had been with the company for nearly as long as I had been on Earth yet couldn't make a simple sales pitch.
I tuned him out as he rattled on, unable to deal with his mindless chatter. I was still hungover from the bar the night before, having downed too many beers while watching the game.
Luckily, the place was within walking distance to the hotel, so I found my way back on foot but was drunk on a weeknight for the first time in years.
I blamed it on Croft and its never-ending bullshit. I also blamed an ever-present brunette in a plunging top across the bar. The same one I was avoiding like the plague all day.
Maybe I checked out her tits, so kill me. They were out in the open and incredible. Looking didn't hurt. She caught me, which I wasn't expecting, but shit happened. I vowed she was a danger, and I had to stay away, more so than ever.
So far, I was successful, though a late-night date with my hand had been essential in clearing my thoughts.
Only five more months to go...
“I think it was a miscommunication...” stammered Marty, interrupting my thoughts of Elena. As much as I hated to admit it, I welcomed her as a distraction when his mouth opened, and the shit came spewing out.
“Marty, you handled it like a rookie cold call from the
