She rears back, clutching her hand to her imaginary pearls in horror. “That woman made you a bad man, Kenny. Your mother would never approve of such a filthy mouth.”
I point at the stack of papers where I see Josie’s application sitting on top. “Make sure everyone puts a stamp on it by Monday, or I’ll make sure that you never get your morning coffee in peace.” I press two fingers to my temple. “Have a good day, Mrs. Roberts.”
Walking outside, I take a lungful of fresh air—I don’t remember feeling so fucking good for a long time. Until my phone rings. The caller ID saysJustin. I pick it up.
After a quick talk, I feel even better.
* * *
Tonight is the night.
The night I’ll finally get rid of these memories of Josie’s ass in the air.
I walk down to the bar in the familiar setting. A poorly paved street between two brick buildings with bright neon lights. I get let in by the same bouncer I’ve been seeing here for the past three years when I used to visit and then head down the narrow stairs.
The blaze of loud music envelopes me in a buzzing cocoon when I open the door. I wince, completely forgetting how loud it can be—staying too long in a small town teaches one to appreciate the quiet. I barrel through the discomfort toward the bar and motion for the pretty bartender to get me a beer.
While she busies herself pouring my drink, I watch her movements. They’re precise. Efficient. And I find them lacking.
What the actual fuck? When have I ever found order lacking?
I slightly shake my head like a madman trying to get rid of an unwanted memory and force myself to stare at her ass. It’s good. Perky. Firm. Might be too firm.
It lacks roundness to it. A softness for my hands to grab onto.
She comes back, places a full, foamy glass in front of me, and leans closer, trying to talk over the loud music. “Need something else?”
Her tone is totally suggestive, but I’m too far gone on my quest to be strayed from it. “No, ma’am. But I appreciate the offer.”
Giving her a flirty wink to smooth out the rejection, I pick up my beer and take a sip.
… And nearly spit it out because I’ve clearly gone insane. There, right there, swirling with her loose black curls, can’t be Josie. Because she isnotthe same Josie I’m used to seeing around town, with long skirts and dresses and stylish blouses from the sixties. The thing is I knew she was going to be here, but I wasn’t prepared to see her looking likethat.
I blink a few times and squeeze my eyes shut for a second, knowing that when I open them, Josie will be gone because she’s clearly the product of my feverish imagination.
But she’s not. She’s still there. Wearing a short, black, sleeveless dress that hugs her body like a tight glove, showcasing the goods on the top and on the bottomat the same time, and my poor eyes don’t know where to focus. Her red shoes have red soles, and they flash every time she jumps. Her curls are wild and free, not like I’m used to seeing in her creative hairdos. I’m not even sure it was that wild after I fucked her on the table.
Damn it, it means the fuck for her wasn’t as good as I expected because no self-respecting sex can leave a woman’s hair the same way as before it started. And right there and then, I vow to myself that if the stars align again for us to fuck, she will not be able to walk after because her knees will turn into jelly. Her eyes will be hooded, and her lips swollen.
And just like that, my cock is obviously straining my jeans, pushing on the zipper, wanting to get to her pussy. Becauseitclearly packs some magic if she is all I can think about day and night. We haven’t even spent that much time together if I don’t count the bickering.
In the meantime, while I’m daydreaming about Josie’s pussy, she’s progressively getting more drunk. I watch her walk, or more like saunter to the bar without a care in the world, not noticing all the hot stares she’s getting from every man around. Once she reaches her destination, she leans her front on the counter for everyone to see. Then she enthusiastically waves to the same bartender who flirted with me, but she laughs and bumps another bartender’s shoulder to serve her. A male bartender.
While Josie is busy picking lime pieces from the glass in front of her and arranging them in some sort of a flower on a napkin, the asshole places his hands on the counter and spreads his arms wide, trying to appear larger like a fucking baboon during mating games. He says something to Josie, who throws her head back and laughs like it’s the funniest thing in the world. Even from here, I see the asshole’s eyes hood over as they dip in her cleavage, and he enters the dreamland where heallowshimself to undress her.
She points at something behind his back. He turns around, grabs a bottle, and comes back. He has two shot glasses. Tequila. The universal leg spreader. I know it, and he knows it.Fucker.
He pours two shots, nudges her to take one, and they both down it after clinking.
My right eye starts ticking.
His hands on the counter slowly crawl toward her. Inch by inch. While she’s laughing at his stupid jokes. She smacks the counter with her palm, throwing her head back again at something clearlyvery hilario—
“Hey,” someone yells into my ear.
I turn around toward the voice—Leila, with a shit-eating grin on her face, is standing before my very eyes.
I nervously look around. “What the hell are you doing here?” I knew Josie wasn’t here alone, but Leila? I didn’t suspect this one coming.
