Page 7 of Her Pucking One Night Stand

I look away from them and toward the colorful display of liquor bottles propped up in front of the mirror behind the bar. I’ve always loved this part of Bigelo’s décor, and taking it in gives me a fleeting distraction. I consider going with them because well, what do I have to lose? Or I can be smart and hunt down my bestie, interrupt her make-out sesh, and demand we go home.

I decide I need a little more data for this experiment, so I shove my nerves aside, set my coffee cup down, lean in, and press my lips to Odds'. The kiss is soft at first, then he pulls me in deeper, his lips coaxing mine open in a slow, teasing manner, ending it with a sharp nip that sends a shockwave of heat straight down to my core.

Then, I turn to Spandex. His kiss is nothing short of commanding, pouring all his concentration and dominance into it. It’s a kiss that doesn’t ask—it demands. He takes control, and I melt into him, every nerve alive, my body trembling under the force of it.

Then, I turn to the blonde guy—I need to find out his nickname—and his kiss is instant passion. His lips claim mine with urgent hunger, deep and relentless, like he’s memorizing the taste of me. His hand slides into my hair, tugging it slightly,as if he can’t get enough, devouring me until I can barely breathe.

Each kiss leaves me breathless, each one different, each one leaving me reeling for more.

“A one night fling?” I ask, still wondering when I became so bold.

“All fun and no guilt,” the blonde promises, his crystalline blue eyes locking with mine—eyes the color of glaciers, cold and unyielding, yet stoking a fire inside me that has me aching to drop his pants and hike my skirt up right there on the table.

I swallow, thinking about what it was like to witness the massage room that day a few weeks ago. I heard noises that were unusual, and worried, I knocked. No one answered, and the sounds continued. Curiosity burning, I pushed the door open just enough to peek through the crack. There she was—a pretty little blonde rising from her knees, her hands guiding Dean onto the massage table. In one fluid motion, she climbed on top, straddled him, and rode him like a cowgirl. Him being unfaithful probably shouldn’t have shocked me, but it did. It was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

So tonight, I need to forget about Dean—his opinions, his rules, my struggles—and just let go. I need to feel something, anything, that isn’t tethered to all the weight I've been carrying.

With that, I’m throwing caution to the wind.

“I’m in.”

4

AVA

I’m in, but onlyafter I’ve texted Leighton. I can’t just ditch her after she brought me to her bar while off-duty with the express intention of bolstering me after my disastrous day. She’s been out of sight, but I catch a glimpse of her as she and her boy toy reappear from the shadowed hallway near the restrooms, her lipstick now missing. She twists her head toward me after reading what I’ve sent her, her jaw practically hitting the floor.

Ava: You good if I head off with these three tonight?

I can’t help but blush as she reads those words.

Leighton: OMG. That’s kinda hot. You sure about this, though?

Ava: Yeah. I’m breaking free, even if it’s only for a few hours.

Leighton: Ok. Do you. But keep your location tracker on for me.

Ava: Already on.

I’ve been sharing my location with my bestie ever since things started to go south between me and Dean. If that doesn’t explain how horrible things have become between him and me, I don’t know what does.

Leighton: I’ll be spending the night with my new guy, so mine is, too. Call me if you need me.

Ava: You, too.

Leighton: Love you… and be careful.

Ava: Xoxo.

My nipples perk with excitement, but I’m shocked as hell at my daring choice. Maybe it’s the heat of the moment, or maybe it’s the fire they’ve awakened in me—one that had been lying dormant, burning beneath the surface, waiting for the right spark. My hand finds the blonde man’s arm, fingers curling into the solid strength of him as I steady myself to rise from the seat.

“What’s your handle?” I ask, my voice dropping to a low, teasing murmur, the words a challenge as much as an invitation.

But before he can answer, Odds cuts in, his eyebrow arching with a wicked gleam, tone needling. “He’s Doggie. Now ask him why.”

I don’t, though. Instead, I make a guess. “Because he loves dogs.”

“Oh, he does, all right.” Odds claps Doggie so hard on the back it can be heard over the music and noise of the bar. “But that’s not the reason.”

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