Page 28 of Rum & Coke
“Of course I want to. Who wouldn’t?”
“Well, seal the deal, man. Bring her to my wedding.”
“You don’t even know when you’re getting married.”
“If it’s up to me, it will be soon.”
“Let me know.”
“I will.”
First Gabe got engaged, and now Paul was too? And I was starting to have feelings for a woman, too? What the fuck was in the water at Saddles & Racks?
The next Friday, Shelby booked an evening with me. She was my first regular client and lived in L.A., but she came to Vegas at least once a month. When she did, we both knew what the date was all about. We’d meet at a bar, have a few drinks, and then go back to her hotel room where I’d give her several orgasms before calling it a night. It was easy, familiar, and I knew exactly what she wanted and liked. It helped that we’d had arelationshipfor almost ten years.
Most of my other dates were a shot in the dark when it came to pleasing them in the bedroom. Some wanted to be in control; they knew what they wanted. Some wanted me to figure it out on my own and made me try everything until I got them humming. Others wanted shit that their exes or whoever would never do.
One chick told me her ex never went down on her because he didn’t like it. I told her that all straight men loved eating pussy, and it wasn’t because we were eating pussy. It was because it made us feel good to make the woman feel good. We were in control and making them squirm from the pleasure we were giving to them.
They say women are complicated, but when she was grinding against your mouth and holding your head against her pussy, you’d just figured out what made her tick, and it was only a matter of time before she came with the swipe of your tongue. Even though I’d never been in a relationship before, I knew that if I were to ever get in a fight with a chick, I’d just have to make her come with my mouth and the fight would be over. So, ladies, if a man says that he doesn’t like going down on you, that means he doesn’t like pussy.
End of fucking story.
I walked inside the Velveteen Rabbit in the art district. It had an eclectic vintage feel to it and was where I met Shelby every time. I spotted her in the back against the wall, sitting on one of the velvet couches. When she saw me approach, her eyes widened, and a smile graced her face.
“Hey,” I greeted as she stood, and I pressed my lips to hers.
Shelby was in her forties with strawberry blonde hair and blue eyes, with a little meat on her bones. Over the years she’d had many relationships, but none were the forever kind. It was better for me that way because it meant she’d keep coming back—and had. “Hey, Duane, I ordered you a Bacardi and Coke.”
“Thanks, honey.” I took the drink from her and then sat next to her on the couch, resting my arm on the back and turned slightly toward her. “How’s work?” Shelby worked as an entertainment attorney and did a wide variety of things such as labor law, intellectual property law, and reviewing contracts. Being in L.A., she worked with a few actors, filmmakers, and musicians.
She sighed. “Busy.”
I grinned. “Busy’s good, right?”
“Means I have a job.”
“Exactly.”
“What about you? How are things?”
I smiled, thinking of Tessa. “Things are good.”
“Who is she?”
I balked. “What?”
She snorted and rolled her eyes. “Come on. I’ve known you for at least a decade, and I’ve never seen you smile like that.”
“You’ve seen me smile.”
“Not like that.” She motioned with her finger at my face.
“Like what?” I took a sip of my drink.
“Your eyes twinkled.”
I threw my head back, laughing. “They did not.”
