Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 91820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
And if I didn’t already know that the little Brit over there was drunk, I’d know from that little word fuckup and the slight slur to her voice.
I share an amused look with the bartender, who is already making a drink at my end of the bar for the couple seated outside.
Yes, I’ve been that bored. Even though this was the perfect place to come for some privacy and quiet time, I didn’t take into account the lack of shit to actually do here.
Well, I say I’m bored. But I’m not now that the gorgeous little drunk Brit showed up.
“Pretty sure he’s supposed to serve you, not drink you.” I put my bottle to my lips and tip it back.
The bluest eyes I have ever seen look my way.
I feel this strange tightening sensation in my chest. Weird.
She turns her upper body toward me, places her elbow on the bar, and goes to rest her chin on it but misses. I hide a laugh behind my bottle.
“I meant,” she enunciates the word, “drink me, as in give me a drink. You know, like beer me.”
“Maybe next time, go with beer me. It would’ve sounded way better.”
“But I don’t want beer. That’s why I said drink me. Duh.”
She rolls her eyes, and I can’t stop the laughter that time.
“You’re American.”
I lower my bottle to the bar. “And you’re English.”
“Yep. That’s me. English and all alone. Like that chick who sings that song in that film. You know who I mean?” She snaps her fingers at me.
“I literally have no fucking clue what you’re talking about.”
“You do! It’s … crap. What’s her name? That film from years ago …” She keeps on snapping her fingers at me. “She had shit luck with men … like me … Bridget Jones!”
“Never heard of her.”
“Ugh. You men have no clue.” She gives me a disapproving look. “In the film, she’s drunk and home alone, and she sings ‘All By Myself.’ Which is like me. Except I’m not at home. But I’m drunk and alone. Also, she ends up with that hot guy at the end, and that’s definitely not me. No hot guy waiting for me.”
Okay, so there’s no guy, and she is here alone. Which is a bonus for me. She’s fucking gorgeous, and I would definitely like to get to know her better. Okay, I want to fuck her. When she’s sober, of course.
I decide to ask her. Not to fuck. Not just yet anyway. But for confirmation that there is actually no guy. “So, you’re here alone then?”
“Yep. Alone, alone, alone,” she sings.
The bartender finishes up making the drinks for the couple and puts them on a tray and down at the other end of the bar for the waitstaff to take it over to them.
He comes over to my new drunk friend. “Sorry about your wait. What can I get you to drink?”
“Do you make cocktails?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Ohh, goodie.” She claps her hands together. “I’ll have a Long Island iced tea. That has a lot of alcohol in it, right?”
“Sure does. Gin, vodka, tequila, rum, and triple sec.”
“Perfect. And go light on the mixer. Please and thank you,” she adds as he turns away to start making her drink. “I hate it when people don’t use manners,” she says to me.
“Then, we have that in common.”
My mom instilled good manners into me.
“The prick never said please or thank you to anyone.”
“The prick?”
“My ex.”
“Ah. Gotcha.”
She climbs up onto the stool, two down from mine. It takes her a few attempts to actually get up on it. I’d offer my help, but it’s fun, watching her try.
“Where’s your other half?” she says to me once she’s got her sweet ass on the stool.
“My other half of what?”
“You know, your significant other. Wife. Girlfriend. Husband. Boyfriend.”
“Not gay. Not married. No girlfriend.”
She laughs. “No fucking way you’re single. You’re hot—like super hot—and super-hot guys are never single.”
Good to know she thinks I’m hot. Not that I doubted she would. I mean, I’m a good-looking bastard, and she’s not made of wood.
“Well, you know, sometimes, super-hot guys like me are single.” I put my bottle to my lips and empty the contents.
“You’re really single?”
“Yep.”
The bartender puts down her cocktail, and while he’s there, I ask him for another beer.
I look at the hot Brit, and she’s got her full lips wrapped around the straw, drinking down that cocktail like a champ.
Makes me think of something else I’d like her lips wrapped around and the happy ending I’d like her to swallow down.
Jeez, my thoughts are really straying off into the path of perverted. Which isn’t unusual for me. I love women. I love fucking them.
But this one really has me fired up. Maybe it’s because it’s been a while since I last had sex.
“This drink is really yummy,” she says to me.