“That sounds fun and suuuper masculine,” she states, turning to face me. Her blue eyes drop down to my lips, then she quickly looks away.
I frown and shift to face her more as well. “What about you?”
She exhales heavily. “Oh, I’ll probably do some more writing. Maybe check out a real coffee shop.”
I gasp dramatically. “But you’d have to actually pay for your coffee.”
She deadpans, “I know, but Tire Depot doesn’t have a suggestion box for me to ask if they’ll start offering weekend hours.”
“I’d rip that suggestion right up,” I retort with a serious tone. “I like my weekends. Don’t encourage them to mess with my weekends.”
She smiles, and I get a flash of that dimple in her cheek. “Fine, go. Be a man. Catch some fish. Get some dirt all up in ya.”
Her eyes drift down my body, and she pulls her lower lip into her mouth. Her brows pinch together in the most adorably intense way. Goddamn, she’s cute. And if I could read her mind, I’d swear she’s picturing me naked. I sure as hell have pictured her naked about eight times a day since the moment she collided with me in the alley. But I’m a dude, we do those things. Girls are usually a lot less obvious.
That’s why I’m ninety percent sure she writes erotic books. I get the feeling that she has a dirty mind, and I really fucking dig that. I tried googling the author name Mercedes, and with only a first name, I didn’t find anyone resembling her. And if I asked for her last name at this point, I’d be too obvious. So for now, I shall respect her wishes and not push for intel on the writing part of her life. Especially because she asked me not to.
“Well, you have a good weekend,” I state. Leaning across the armrest, I kiss her on the cheek. I pull back and freeze, staring into her wide and clearly surprised eyes. She smells like fucking flowers, but that’s besides the point. “I have no idea why I just kissed you on the cheek.”
“Me neither!” She giggles, her cheeks and neck turning a rosy hue before my very eyes. “You know, since we’re basically co-workers, this could be grounds for a sexual harassment claim.”
I groan and stand, running my hand through my hair with embarrassment. “You should. I’m pathetic. And horribly inappropriate.”
“You’re not pathetic, and it’s too soon for me to tell how inappropriate you really are.” She smiles and waggles her eyebrows mischievously at me. “If you knew the dirty thoughts that run through my mind every day, you’d know I’m certainly no victim.”
“I knew it!” I laugh and snap my fingers in triumph, reaching out and stretching my arms out wide. “There’s something about you that screams…dirty mind. I think it’s your red hair.”
She bites her lip and eyes my torso, her gaze slowly falling to my groin area. My dick does a jump. More like a thump considering the fucker has its own pulse right now.
With a simple shrug, she replies, “I blame a lot of my problems on the color of my hair. Redheads have it rough as kids.”
“Your hair is fucking gorgeous, and little kids are pricks.” I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose, grateful no one else is around to hear me make a damn fool of myself right now. “On that note, I’m going to go, and I swear to you that I usually have way more game than this. I hope this interaction doesn’t negatively reflect on my book boyfriend status in your mind.”
She laughs heartily. “Don’t worry about it, Miles. Your book boyfriend status is still very much secure.”
With a big smile, I turn and head out, calling over my shoulder, “See you Monday, Mercedes.”
“See you around the coffee machine, Miles.”
“What are you fucking waiting for, bro? She tells you she has dirty thoughts and you don’t think…‘yep, I’m gonna tap that’？” Sam shouts, slamming his beer down on the bar and running a hand over his blond buzz cut.
“Nah.” I shake my head adamantly and shoot a dirty look at the dude pressing up against me to order a drink. It’s Friday night, so The Pearl Street Pub is packed, but that doesn’t mean I need to be able to smell this guy’s deodorant. The dude smartly takes a hint and gives me some space. I turn back to Sam. “I can’t tap that, she’s too cool. Then I’d have to see her every day in the comfort center. It’d be awkward as fuck.”
“You wouldn’t have to see her. Just don’t go in there anymore after you bang her. Problem solved.”
“I like seeing her,” I reply and frown over the fact that seeing her is one of the best parts of my days.
“You’re so lame,” Sam says, pulling his phone out of his pocket and checking the time. “Shit, we’d better get going. My buddy goes live at eleven, and I don’t want to end up stuck in a line.”
We pay our tabs and walk the two blocks down Pearl Street to The Walrus Saloon. It’s a dive bar that’s partially underground and usually swarming with college students, but since it’s summertime, it shouldn’t be too bad. Plus, I’m single. It’s good for me to hit the meat market venues on occasion.
I don’t necessarily dig younger chicks, but I’m guilty of taking home a college girl once last year. I could tell she was a lot younger than me, and I was so fucking paranoid that I asked to see her ID before we left the bar. I’m not proud, but I needed someone to help get over the final breakup of many with Jocelyn.
That girl fucked me up.
Ten years of ‘will they or won’t they?’ We were worse than Ross and Rachel. And the mind games she played will stay with me permanently, I’m sure. Whenever we were broken up, which was a lot, she would find out what bar I was at that night and show up just to make out with a random dude right in front of me. She was fucking nuts. I’d probably still be living that sweet hell if she didn’t get knocked up by some rich prick during our last “break.”
After some dark days, I’m in what I like to call my ‘bang and bail’ period. One night. No repeats. No strings. Time to add some long-neglected notches on my bedpost.
Tonight, I’m looking forward to finding a girl who will help take my mind off the redhead I know I shouldn’t bang.
The music is loud as we make our way down the stairs to the Walrus Saloon. It’s got a dark, grungy feel to it, but it’s the only place in Boulder that offers any kind of real dance floor. My boots crack on the peanut shells scattered all over as Sam and I head to the two newly vacated stools at the end of the bar.
Sam works on flagging down a bartender while I stand behind my stool and do a sweep of the bar. It’s mostly dudes except for a big group of girls hoarding most of the dance floor already. They are all surrounding a girl in a little white dress with a veil tucked into her hair. Bachelorette parties are usually a good time, and I tip my chin to a couple of girls who are eyeing me and whispering to each other. Being big and tall is always a draw for the ladies. And the fact that I’m not ugly makes it pretty easy to take my pick of a group like that.
I pass over another group of girls collectively sucking blue liquid out of a giant fishbowl-sized drink and think I see one that might interest me when a familiar shock of red catches my eye.