Page 30 of The Summer Intern

"Paradise requires participants."I sucked down more sugary rum."Ever hook up with someone so frustrating you want to throat-punch them mid-orgasm?"

Kyle's eyebrow arched."Can't say I have."

"Well, if you do, I suggest you throat-punch them before..."I looked around the bar.“Ooh, a jukebox, let’s play something danceable."

"No one here to dance with," Kyle pointed out.

“What about that guy?”I asked, pointing to a man at the end of the bar.

Kyle snorted.“None of the regulars dance.But have at it, birthday boy.”

"Maybe you'd like a private show."The floor undulated like a waterbed as I stumbled toward the jukebox, and I had to give up halfway there, and fight my way back to the bench, muttering about how tricky walking had gotten.Kyle sighed and picked up a remote and put on one of my favorite dance tunes, but my attempt at body rolls dissolved into clutching the edge of the bar as my legs refused to obey me.

Stupid legs.

"Easy there."Kyle vaulted over the bar, calloused hands steadying my hips."Maybe hydrate?"

“Good idea.Another daiquiri?There's ice in it, right?”I said, clapping my hands as I clambered back up onto the stool, because dancing while seated sounded like a much better idea.He slid me a bottle of water, and I stuck my tongue out at him, then pulled out my phone, ignoring my brother’s increasingly frantic texts and clicking on Matt’s number.

Matt, who hadn’t bothered to do anything for my birthday.

Casey

Sex was mid anyway.

And I don’t want to know what your cock rings feel like inside me.

I’m having tons of fun and his name is Kyle.

I glanced at the bartender, who was talking to the man at the end of the bar.A bit old for me, but hot enough for a blow job, right?My thumbs moved like overcaffeinated spiders across the screen."Definitely," I announced to my strawberry daiquiri's tiny umbrella, "not even a little bit—" The send button blurred into three copies of itself.

Casey:

Newsflash asshole I’m not obsessed with you.

Capital NOT

Like ZERO PERCENT.Less than zero.

Why wasn’t he replying?I took another long drink, and the phone started to look a little blurry.

Didn’t wnat you at my brithday party anywya.

*anyway

The bar's neon Exit sign pulsed in time with my heartbeat.Or maybe that was the bass from the jukebox playing Shania Twain's *That Don't Impress Me Much* at approximately Chernobyl meltdown decibels.Kyle, the Medium-Hot Bartender leaned across the polished bar, biceps flexing as he confiscated my third empty glass.

"Don’t tell me you’re drunk texting your ex, Birthday boy."

"Worse."I hit send on another gem.

Casey

Your FACE isn't even in love with your face.

Mic drop.

“Worse than drunk texting your ex?”Kyle asked.

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