Page 29 of The Little Black Book

Why is this young, gorgeous creature going out with me? I mean, I do realize I’m attractive to a large percentage of the opposite sex. I maintain a strong, muscled physique and my combination of light blond hair and even lighter blue eyes is desirable.

Jared doesn’t call me a living Ken doll for nothing.

But Abigail could probably get any guy she wants. Someone younger, in her age-set, who would have a lot more in common with her than someone like me.

What am I even doing here?

“Sam,” she says with a smile as I approach. “It’s good to see you.”

“You, too,” I say, leaning into her friendly hug before pulling back. “You look beautiful.”

“Oh, this old thing?” she coos, turning side to side so I can get the full effect. “Just don’t let me bend over. If I drop anything, you have to pick it up for me. Deal?”

“Deal,” I laugh, some of the tension inside me uncoiling.

She’s funny. I forgot she was funny.

Memories of us laughing together trickle through my mind, as well as some NC-17 make-out sessions. Though we didn’t get completely naked, we pawed at each other like a couple of teenagers on my couch one night until she had to leave because she had an early morning appointment the next day.

We had chemistry, and I choose to believe we still might.

I hold the door for her before following her inside. The bass beat of the music hurts my ears, but I pretend to love it when Abigail looks over her shoulder at me, offering a wide smile. I return it, and she reaches back to take my hand, pulling me behind her toward the bar.

I spot Zoey, her bright blonde hair shining like a beacon under the flashing lights. Ava sways to the beat beside her, her eyes roving over the bodies on the dance floor. They look amazing, two gorgeous bombshells waiting to be scooped up by some lucky bastards. I can’t stop my gaze from drinking in the sight of Zoey’s legs, her short skirt and high heels making them look a mile long and plump enough to take a bite out of.

I catch myself and quickly raise my eyes to her face. As if she senses my perusal, she looks over and smiles. I give her a little wave, then fan my face as I mouth the words “you look hot.” She grins and curtsies, then jerks her head toward Abigail, giving me a thumbs up.

Abigail pulls to a stop by the bar, turns to me, and asks, “Care to buy me a drink?”

“Of course,” I say with a warm smile. “What would you like?”

“Vodka, on the rocks with a twist,” she says, her gaze wandering toward the dance floor.

The bartender approaches, and I order the drink, plus a beer for myself. When I turn back to Abigail, her posture is rigid and her eyes are focused on the crowd dancing in front of us. Her cheeks look a bit flushed, and her breathing is labored.

“Hey,” I say, touching her shoulder lightly, “are you okay?”

My touch startles her, and I pull my hand away quickly with an apologetic look. She shakes her head, gives me a smile that looks entirely forced, and turns her back to the dance floor to face the bar. The bartender places her drink before her, and she snatches it up and tosses it back, chugging every drop before slamming the glass to the bar top and motioning for another.

“So, Sam, how have you been?” she asks, her voice sounding a little breathless.

“I’ve been good,” I say slowly as I watch her take the fresh drink from the bartender and press it to her lips, swallowing down nearly half of it.

I bite my tongue against the urge to tell her to slow down. She’s a grown woman, and I’m sure the last thing she wants is for me to startmansplainingthe need for moderation in a crowded bar. Picking up my beer, I take a small sip while she seems to visibly gather herself.

“Do you want to dance?” she asks, setting her half-empty glass on the bar.

“Sure. But let’s finish our drinks, first. We shouldn’t leave them unattended in a place like this.”

I hold my breath as I wait for her reaction. She seems agitated, and I hope my suggestion doesn’t set her off. I relax when she nods.

“You’re right,” she says, picking up the glass and slurping down the rest of her drink. “I’m ready, now.”

Shaking my head in awe, I pick up my beer and take a long pull before setting it back on the bar. I can get a fresh one when we finish dancing. Abigail obviously wants to get out there––right now––and I don’t want to ruin our date by prioritizing a beer over her desires.

She smiles and takes my hand, pulling me toward the floor. I catch Zoey’s eye and shrug at her concerned expression. She obviously saw Abigail pound those two drinks like she somehow needed the extra fortification.

When we get on the floor, Abigail immediately spins and backs into me, grinding her ass against my crotch as she rolls her hips seductively. Surprise bordering on shock spirals through me, and I back up a step. She only follows, bending at the waist to touch the floor as she pumps her ass up and down. Remembering the length of her skirt and her fear of showing the goods should she bend over, I quickly press forward, shielding her from any prying eyes.

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