Page 10 of The Home Grown
“What about her?” I point towards a tall brunette making her way through the sea of tables towards us.
“Nah, she’s too pretty for you,” Danny says, taking another swig of beer.
While I should take offense, he’s right. I’m a five at best with my teeth in and, on a good day, I can bag a seven—all thanks to my winning personality.
“What about her then?” This time, my attention is on a cute blonde with six-inch heels.
Danny does his best ‘casual glance’ before facing me, shaking his head.
“Nah, again … too pretty. I think you need to invest in some glasses, Betts.” He surveys the bar, taking his time to sip at his drink. “She’s decent.” He gestures to another blonde about twelve feet away. “Still too pretty for you, but you could consider it a challenge.”
Short hair—maybe a little too short for my liking, and a face full of makeup that looks slightly over-the-top. Rochelle-type style…
“Nah, I think I need to switch it up. Because we both know what happened the last time I thought with my dick.”
Danny raises his eyebrows as he takes another swig. “If you say so.”
But we observe the steady flow of guys trickling past the table she’s sharing with some friends. I’m keeping tabs of who she dances with, how many guys seem interested in her … which fuels my competitive side—and the challenge Danny mentioned? Even if I don’t take her home, I can still talk to her, right?
“Let’s say hi,” I tell Danny. “Wingman?”
He grins, draining the rest of his beer, and I do the same—standard practice as it gives us the opportunity to ask the girls if they want a drink.
I flash her a grin, grateful that I put my teeth in, and she gets the message that I’m seeking her out by smiling back.
I stop next to the table—which is about the same time I realise she’s got really pretty eyes. Not so much like Rochelle, after all.
She looks to my right at Danny, checking him out maybe, I can’t tell, but since I’m funnier than he is, I stand a good chance.
“D-Eight?” I say, leaning down to talk into her ear.
The music is louder here, and I bend funny to get into the right position to speak with her since I’m easily half a foot taller than she is.
She sips her drink, sucking gently through the straw resting in a half-full tumbler of a something-and-coke before swallowing—it’s as if she’s trying to draw attention to her mouth.
“Is this the vending machine chat up line?” she says, raising an eyebrow.
“Nah,” I say. “I was referring to a chess board—I’m trying to make a move on my queen.” I cringe inside but break out a smile.
“That’s terrible,” she says.
“Give me a chance … I’m just getting started,” I say, trying to keep my confidence up.
“Go on then, give me your worst.” She sets her glass down before leaning back against the table, folding her arms over her chest.
I will my eyes to take even the smallest of glances downward to her boobs. Her dress is cut low and even though I’m definitely an ass-man, I typically can’t say no to tits either.
But the way she tightens her expression makes me forget how pretty her eyes are, and instead, forces me to think about Rochelle.
Rochelle and the absolute hell she put me through.
I know she’s waiting for me to say something, but my voice has frozen inside my throat.
Is this woman likely to do the same as Rochelle in several months’ time after she’s exhausted my generosity? Because that’s all I am. A good-time guy who’s dumb enough to be taken for a ride. Again and again.
But I’m realising my tank has run out of fuel.
“Are you okay, mate?” Danny nudges me, speaking into my ear.
