Page 40 of Lessons in Love
“My boobs hate being trapped by that cruel underwire, so I think it’s you who hates to see them carefree and happy.”
“Trust me, there’s nothing I hate about your breasts other than guys staring at them.”
Grabbing her coat and pulling it tighter to her, she laughs. “No worrying about that in winter. Hey, before you leave, we’re still on for Saturday?”
“I wouldn’t miss it.” I step closer, closing the gap. “I missed you.”
Surprised by the turn in my tone, she looks up in curiosity. “You said that.”
“I wanted you to remember it. I want it to be the first thing you think of when you think of tonight.”
Her arms slide around my middle and she squeezes as my arms come around her, holding her close. She says, “I missed you too.”
Our usual goodbye begins with getting her safely into a cab and sending her on her way. I grab a taxi to take me back to Brooklyn instead of waiting around watching her taillights disappear into the dark down the city street.
Right when I get comfortable in the back of a warm cab, I get a text from her:I miss you already.
Leaning back, I smile, then respond:I miss you too, V.
Chapter Thirteen
Saturday can’t come soon enough. I know. This is not real. Virginia’s made it more than clear that she wants another guy, but the next lesson is the one I’ve been waiting for. Well, besides the final lesson.
All sex aside, though I’ll use my skills to the best of my ability, she said being with me was easy. I feel like I’m always finding my way back to that word. As much as I’ve been saying it’s not easy being around her, it’s just because I want her in ways that she doesn’t want me. That makes it hard, literally all the time for me.
She’s right though. It’s easy to sit with her. It’s easy to talk to her. It’s easy to feel good around her. She makes me smile. She challenges me in ways that are unexpected—like the going without a bra thing. That befuddles me on a different level. It’s like she’s this vixen waiting to break free and has handed me the key to open the door.
Twenty-four hours until I put that key in the lock, but will it unleash her desires or set her free to be with another guy? It’s a risk she’s asked me to take without even realizing the risks involved.
Two lessons left to win her body.
Two lessons left to win her heart.
I will win the title, the grand prize, and all the blue ribbons. This is the Olympics of seduction, the final lap around the track. Do or die time. I’m determined to come out on top . . . or bottom, or from behind. I bet she’ll like it from behind.
***
Friday night at The Hideaway is always busy. The hookups are happening early and the crowd is spirited. Three of us—Romeo, Clive, and myself—are covering the bar and Eddie’s working the tables tonight—not something we usually do, but our bussing crew is late. Hiring more people is another thing on my never-ending list of things to do.
Cocktailing is fun. It’s entertaining. It makes money. It’s a skill that not everyone has. If they’re reading recipes, they need to go back down to the minors. We’re too busy to be looking up how much Angostura bitters goes in a Manhattan or white rum goes in a piña colada. Bartending is a profession and I expect my tenders to treat it as such. That is why I have low turnover. They are treated with respect and paid well. What they do on their breaks or how they get the customers back in the door is on them. As long as it’s legal, I’m good.
Clive lays down a line of lemon drops for a group of friends on a girls’ night. Romeo is down at the other end serving a group of guys out for a good time who are eyeing the girls. I hear him telling them to buy the ladies their drinks and then to introduce themselves before he has the pleasure. “Once they meet me, you have no chance.”
His arrogance is well backed by years of having it reaffirmed. He’s not called Romeo for nothing. His parents called it the minute they met him. The ladies have been falling for him ever since.
As for me, something’s got to change. I need to spend less time working in the front or less in the back, but doing both iswearing me down. I think it’s time to have a full-time manager come on board. Eddie’s always been my right hand man without complaint. I’ll meet with him soon to give him the news he’s been working for.
I check on the far end of the bar where two women have been waiting longer than I like. “Sorry about the wait. What can I get you?”
I’ve seen the light haired brunette before. Somewhere, though I can’t place it. Her lips are fire engine red and draw my attention. As her tongue dips out, she leans against the bar. Our eyes meet, hers looking me over before she asks, “What do you recommend?”
Normally I’d rattle off my standard for women with her hair—rum and coke, but I have a feeling she’s not looking for that drink tonight. Her confidence exudes the bright lip color, so I take a guess, “Vodka martini?”
“Extra olives?”
“You got it.”
Her friend wants the same, so I get to concocting their drinks. I overhear her friend talking to her about the latest episode of the reality show red-lips is on. That’s where I’ve seen her. I’m not one to watch a lot of tele but I have a few guilty pleasures and trash TV at 3:30 a.m. is the perfect sedative after a long shift. I put five olives in each glass and then pour the liquid over the top. When I set the drinks down in front of them, red lips says, “Extra dirty. Just how I like it.”
