“Anything else, guys?” the redhead asks us, but her eyes are glued on me. She leans over the table, her tits centimeters from my face, and reaches for the empty beer bottles. There’s plenty of space for her to maneuver around, yet she chooses to lean toward the very left side of the booth, right where I’m seated. She smells nice. Like clean linen and not the flowery-fruity shit most women overuse.
“I’ll take another beer. Thanks,” Bryson responds dejectedly.
“Me too,” I add. My eyes focus in on the two melons stuffed behind her black fitted, deep-cut shirt. The name of the bar, Wasted, stretches across her chest in big, bold white letters, and I let my stare linger for a few seconds. After all, she’s giving me a peep show. When I drag my eyes back to hers, she smiles shyly. She’s playing the innocent role now. There’s something to be said about a woman that plays bashful, especially when she throws her tits in your face. Lucky for her, I enjoy a good chase, so I play along by flashing a smile and giving her a wink.
She flings her hair off her shoulder, smiles coyly again, and then sways her hips as she leaves to grab our beers. “She so wants you bad, dude,” Santino blurts out with a mouthful of his loaded burger.
I ignore his remark by turning my attention to my cousin, who’s been sulking the entire twenty minutes since we arrived at the bar. “What the hell’s your problem?” I finally ask him. Bryson looks up. His lips twitch as if he’s going to speak, but he just shakes his head as a way to say, “Nothing.” But I know my cousin. Very well. “It’s that bitch again, isn’t it?”
He scoffs, “Seriously, Logan? Stop calling her a bitch.” He goes into full protective mode over the girl he’s been dating for the past year.
The waitress brings back our beers, but I pay her no attention. All of my focus is on Bryson now. Before I respond, I take a long pull of my beer, drinking down patience. “In my book she is.”
His nostrils flare. “Look. I know she can sometimes be a bit tough to handle, but don’t disrespect her. It’s bad enough she realizes that no one likes her.”
“What I don’t fuckin’ understand is why you choose to protect her.” I lean in over the table, squaring my shoulders, trying to keep the anger from distorting my features. “She’s a bitch, Bry. She treats you like shit all the time. She talks down to you and cheats on you. Then after, she cries for forgiveness and you take her back like a little bitch. And then she does it all over again. That, my cousin, is what I consider a mega-bitch.”
“She must have a golden pussy,” Santino interjects. His face twists in shock, like he can’t believe he actually said that out loud. Bryson glares at him.
If she does, it’s a wide, golden, disease-infected pussy, I’m sure of it. I wouldn’t touch her even if someone threatened to torch my dick until it incinerated and there were nothing left of it but ashes. I know it’d hurt like fucking hell, but I’d sacrifice my precious dick so it would never be near her. I wouldn’t care if we were the last two people on earth and the only way to save the fucking planet were to reproduce. My dick would not be touching her. Get the hint? I just don’t understand why, out of all the people I know, Bryson continues to put up with her bullshit. She’s no good, and my cousin deserves better.
“If we don’t change the subject, I’m leaving,” Bryson says in a pissy tone. He can be such a damn girl sometimes.
The last thing I want to do is piss him off. We’re family. Sure, we’ve fought lots of times growing up. Even roughed each other up here and there. But for some reason, Bryson has this strong infatuation with Mega Bitch. The last time we had it out over her, he didn’t speak to me for months. And we work together, so imagine how fucking awkward that was for everyone else. Especially Santino, who’s close friends with the both of us.
“Fine,” I say, but then I decide I can’t just leave it as is. “Let me say one more thing.” Bryson rolls his eyes but nods for me to go on and get it over with. “Mark my words. I will never be that strung out over a girl. Ever.”
Bryson shakes his head. “Whatever, man. It’ll happen to you sooner or later. And when it does, I’m going to have front-row seats as you pour out your little Logan heart for all to see.”
I snort. “That’s never happening.”
I’ve dated before, plenty of women. And every time a chick and I made our relationship more than just sex, I was never unfaithful. Why hunt for the meal when it’s already cooked and waiting for you at home? That’s my motto. But my exes know me. They know I’m not a clinger, nor am I the jealous type, and I couldn’t give two fucks what the hell they wear. I’m also not one of those freaky, possessive alpha-male types that demands to know where their woman is at all times. I consider myself laid-back. My exes consider me indifferent.
But that’s neither here nor there. All I’m saying is that—okay, maybe I didn’t give a shit half the time, but I was always faithful. Did I ever have a true interest in furthering a relationship? No. It just always turned out that way, more from convenience than anything else. It wasn’t that I didn’t like or respect my girlfriends, I did. I just didn’t really want anything more from them. So with that said, shouldn’t I at least get some type of honorary certificate or something? It can read, “This honorary certificate goes to Logan Reed, who’s not so much of a douchebag after all,” and I can pin that shit to my wall.
Santino mumbles something with his mouth full. I don’t understand shit he just said. “Come again?” I ask.
He guzzles back his beer to wash down his last bite. “What’s this new job we’re starting on Monday?”
Bryson cuts in; he knows more than I do. “The McDaniels’ property. We’re working on a two thousand-square-foot guesthouse beside a pool.”
Santino whistles. “I swear these rich people have so much damn money, they can’t think of anything else to do with it. Give me some of it; I can put it to good use.” He leans back in the booth, smiling at himself.
“Yeah, you’d use it all on girls, food, and booze,” I say.
Santino nods. “This is true. Maybe I should start playing the lottery.”
“Anyway,” Bryson adds, “they want their daughter, Jenna—I think that’s her name—involved one hundred percent. Supposedly, it’s a surprise for her twenty-second birthday in October. She doesn’t realize Mommy and Daddy are basically building her a house.”
Santino squints. “In their backyard?” He laughs. “That’s not really letting her spread her wings. Is she at least hot?”
Yeah, she’s hot. I’m instantly reminded of last night when Jenna and I tongue fucked on her front porch—after I saved her life and she basically bitched me out for it. In a weird way, it was kind of hot. Having a sexy woman in a bikini tell me off and then beg for a kiss? Hot. First impressions are very important, in my opinion. And she put down the fucking wild card on that one. I didn’t know what to make of her, but after she implied that I was gay, I had to show her how straight I truly am—nothing against gay guys and all. Everyone has their preferences, and mine are simple: women.
And Jesus Christ, can Jenna kiss. I can still taste and feel her lips. I did it to prove a point, but after our lips made contact I was done for; I couldn’t control myself at all. She was hesitant at first—even though it was her idea. She got the push she needed, though, when I shoved my tongue into her mouth. She let out a slight moan, which only fed my fire. My hand found its way to her perfect little ass, and the rest—well, let’s just say if that douche, Matthew, never interrupted us, I probably could’ve gotten her past a few bases right there on her front porch.
“Yeah. She’s hot,” I answer Santino.
Bryson looks at me. “How would you know? You weren’t at the meeting with Pop and me.”
“Your father asked me to pick up the toolbox you left behind. Let’s just say I was properly introduced to her.”
“Ooh,” Santino lets out excitedly. I nod at him, letting him know that whatever thoughts he’s thinking right now may or may not be true, depending how far his thoughts are going.
“Logan, you know the rules.” Bryson kills the slight buzz I have from my third beer. He always has to turn his ethical-professional-bullshit cap on.
“Yeah, yeah.” I wave him off. This night is going nowhere. I look around the place and spot the redhead, who’s leaning against the bar, staring directly at me. She waves with a smile. I grin back and stand. “I’ll be back,” I tell Bryson and Santino and head her way.
“I can’t help but notice we have a problem.” I slide onto a stool right next to her and get an eyeful of those big—
“Oh? And what is that?” She says in a sexy tone, looking straight ahead.
“We can’t keep our eyes off each other.”
Redhead’s back is flush against the bar. A smile creeps up the corner of her lips. Turning her head, she looks at me. “That is a problem. What are you going to do about it?”
I lean in closer. “I think I have a few things in mind. What time does your shift end?”
She doesn’t blink. Leaning in fully to me, her lips almost touch mine. “In a half hour,” she breathes out.
“A half hour it is then.”
“Your orders are ready, Tammy,” Tony says from behind the bar. Redhead, who now has a name, turns around and grabs the filled tray. She winks and then carries on.
I check her out as she walks away before straightening in my seat to face Tony. Tony is Uncle George’s good friend and owner of this small bar. Tony shakes his head at my victory grin. “You’re in the wrong business, son.” He tosses a towel, aiming for my face, but I catch it in time.
“Yeah, and what kind of business should I be in?”
His stubby hands lay flat on top of the bar. “Male escort.”
We both chuckle at this. It’s ridiculous. “You have to be a pretty boy for that shit. I’m far from it.”
“You’d be surprised. More and more girls are into this.” He waves a hand between us, shrugging in the process. “Scruffy, bad boy, tattoos. It’s a cliché role.”
I snort. “Is that what I am? A walking cliché?” I shake it off. “I have sex for pleasure, not for money.”
“Touché. How are you guys getting home?” he asks while removing the cap of a summer lager. He passes it to me and I tilt the bottle in salute to show my gratitude before taking a sip.
“Santino drove with Bryson. I have my truck.”
“Are you guys all right to drive?” I grip the beer bottle, trying to mask my irritation.
I was in a good mood until he asked that question. I know this is what Tony does. He makes sure we’re okay. He’s been here for most of our lives and cares for my family—especially Bryson and me—as if we’re his own. But with the two-year anniversary of my brother’s death right around the corner, I feel offended. Maybe it’s the three beers kicking in or the fact that I’m still fucking annoyed due to the mega-bitch convo with Bryson. I’m not exactly sure what it is, but my emotions are quickly stirring. “I’m not Sean,” I finally blurt out, staring straight ahead and clenching my fist on the bar.
Tony’s features transform into shock. “I didn’t mean it that way, son. You know I wouldn’t. I’m just looking out for you guys. I would never cross that line, Logan. I hope you know that, right?”
Fuck me. I feel like an even bigger douche bag. I guess I don’t deserve the honorary certificate after all. I wave my hand. “Yeah, I know. Don’t worry about it. That was out of line for me to say. I’m sorry, Tony.”
I thank him for the beer again, return to the booth with the other guys, and sip on the rest of my last beer until Tammy’s shift is over.
What the hell! This time I royally screwed up. My uncle is going to kill me. Even after the long speech he gave me a few days ago, I just can’t listen, can I? “You have to be more responsible,” he said. “You can’t have your cake and eat it too,” he said. “Simply put, you need to grow the hell up, Logan.” I’m sure drinking the entire weekend and picking up a girl from the bar—who I fucked until she’d forgotten her own name and is currently sleeping in my bed at this very moment—was not part of his let’s-save-Logan speech.
Grunting, I run a hand over my face, hop out of bed, and toss on jeans and the first T-shirt that doesn’t smell. Tammy, from the bar, is still here. I’m already late, so I quickly prod at her shoulder. “Get up.”
She stretches with a yawn. “What time is it?”
I walk back into the room with her clothes. “It’s time for you to leave,” I say, tossing her things on top of the bed.
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