Page 20 of Not Your Average Vixen
“Thank you, Birdie. I’ve got a lot on my mind,” Lori said.
“Don’t worry about the wedding. Everything is planned and ready to go.” She paused. “Is there something else on your mind?”
“Um…no, no! It’s an emotional time, that’s all. It’ll be good to see you, Birdie. It’s been too long.”
She wasn’t wrong.
It had been ages since they’d had some one-on-one sister time. While they talked and texted every day, with Lori in Boston and her in Texas, they’d only seen each other a handful of times in the last several years. But now, she needed to be Lori’s rock.
“All right, little sis,” she began, channeling a pepped-up cheerleader. “Go enjoy yourself and knock out another orgasm with your fiancé—only spare me the details.”
“Same goes for you! You don’t have to be Bridget Dasher tonight. Find that sexy bar guy and have some fun,” Lori replied, sounding more like herself.
“I could be a vixen,” she said, thinking back to the little girl’s slip of the tongue the other day.
Bridget Dasher. Not your average vixen—at least for tonight.
“Hell yes, you could,” her sister agreed.
Bridget bit her lip. It had been ages since a man had made her toes curl.
Scratch that. No man had ever made her toes curl.
“Hey, Birdie, Tom just got back to the room, and I think we’re going to go for orgasm number four,” her sister whispered.
“Lori, you’re killing me! Four orgasms in a day? I don’t think I’ve had four orgasms in a month! God, maybe longer!”
Her sister giggled as Tom’s muffled voice hummed in the background. It was good to hear her laugh. The last thing she should be doing the week of her wedding was worrying about some douche of a best man.
“I’ve got to go, Birdie, but I want to hear all about your night! Do not back out of this! You deserve to have some fun. Be the vixen!” Lori coaxed.
Be the vixen.
Bridget traced her fingertip around the rim of the wineglass. “I can’t promise anything, but I’ll let you know if something happens.”
She ended the call, then took a sip of wine. This was it. She’d lift her chin, look his way, give him her best come-hither bedroom eyes, and demand her handsome stranger’s attention—like the vixen she was. Or at least what she assumed a vixen would do. She was literally making it up as she went along.
Slowly, she turned and peered across the bar to find…
An empty barstool.
Her hotel hottie had vanished.
She shook her head and chuckled. Who was she kidding? When had she ever taken a chance like that? Still, a thread of longing wove its way through her heart. But before disappointment could set in and she could head up to her room to binge on late-night TV, the man seated on the barstool next to her placed his meaty hand on her leg.
She gasped at the contact, then found herself eye to eye with one of the smarmiest men she’d ever laid eyes on. Balding with a bad comb-over, the man licked his glistening lips as his gaze raked the length of her body.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she cried.
The man grinned, revealing a mouthful of pearly whites speckled with salsa.
Who was this Mr. Smarmy Salsa man?
He licked his lips again. “That was a pretty hot conversation, baby.”
“Baby?” she echoed, brushing away his hand.
Oblivious to her disgust, Mr. Smarmy Salsa leaned in and made an attempt to squeeze her knee. “All that talk about multiple orgasms got me so hot. I know when a girl is trying to seduce me. You’ve wanted to get my attention all night.”
