Thanks for the reviews! Hope you enjoy!
MERCEDES
The ring of my cell phone wakes me up. I open one bleary eye and look at the bedside clock. Its four minutes past six. In the morning. Who in the world would be calling me at such an ungodly hour? I look at the lighted screen of my phone. I don't recognize the number and I consider not answering. The fact that it is so early is what makes me reach for it. I always feel a little tingle of alarm when my phone rings at an unusually early or late hour.
"Hello?" I say, my voice hoarse even to my own ears.
Mercedes?" A shiver runs down my spine. It's Sam. His voice conjures an image of his handsome face, cocky smile, and sexy chest. Instantly, I feel all melty.
"Mercedes?" he says again. No, it can't be Sam. It must be Cam. It's too early for a club owner to be up. Sadly, I'm equally excited by the mental image and prospect of Cam calling me, too. I am so much more twisted than I ever realized!
"Yes." A deep rumbly laugh. So effing sexy!
"It's Cam . I'm sorry to call so early, but I'll be out most of the day and I wanted to see how things went at the club. Did you take the job?"
"It's no bother. Really. I appreciate you checking up on it. Um, actually I have an 'audition' tonight. Whatever that is."
"Ahhh," he says knowingly. "Sam likes for his people to be willing to entertain." For the first time, I remember that Sam is the one who supplied the stripper, and true horror sets in. Sweet Lord, I can't strip! I sit straight up in bed.
"He doesn't expect me to strip, does he?" Another laugh.
"No. Unless you want to strip."
"Good God, no!"
"I didn't think so, especially after your first experience at Dual." There's a smile in his voice. Sam told him! Dammit! I think a change of subject is in order.
"So what does that mean, then, 'entertain'?"
"Let's just say you can't be shy in front of a crowd. Are you okay with that?" Yes, I tend to be a little shy, but it's in no way debilitating. And frankly, I'm a little miffed that he might be implying that it is.
"Believe me, Cam, I can do what any of the other girls can do, no problem." Well, that might not be entirely true. But I'll be damned if I'll ever admit it!
"Then you won't have any problems. With your looks and personality, you'll kill 'em."
His comment pleases me. Even though he's not supposed to notice what I look like. But I'm so glad he does. It means that he's not immune to me, which is actually a bad thing, but one that makes me feel not so alone in my attraction. Still, nothing can ever happen. He's taken. Dammit. I hear a muffled beep, like Cam is getting another call.
"Speak of the devil. That's Sam calling now," Cam says. Then he mutters almost absently, "Wonder what he's doing up so early?" I think it's funny that I wondered the same thing. After a couple seconds, he clears his throat and continues. "Well, anyway, good luck tonight. That's all I really wanted to say. Go back to bed. Get your beauty rest. Not that you'll need it." I find myself smiling like a loon. I feel like giggling, but I quell the urge.
"Thanks, I will."
"Sleep well, Mercedes."
Even after he hangs up, the skin of my arms and chest is puckered with chills. I love the way he says my name. How in the world did he get my number? I think randomly. I lie in my bed for a long time, staring at the ceiling and thinking of Cam. Wondering what it would be like to be staring at his ceiling instead, wherever he's at, lying in bed beside him. My eyes drift closed as I think of him rolling over to cover my body with his, to feel his hips fit between my thighs. Those are the thoughts that usher me back into sleep.
Dual looks very nearly the same as it did yesterday, only tonight a few more lights are on and there are voices. Two of them, and one is raised in undeniable anger.
"So I get stuck training some newbie? This is such bullshit! I have the most seniority here. He should've at least asked me." I can see who the voice belongs to— a wisp of a girl with long blond dreadlocks and one arm full of tattoos. She's waving her hands in furious animation, shouting at a young guy who looks about as cool as a cucumber.
"Slow your roll, psycho," he says good-naturedly. I can only see the back of his dark head, but I know he's smiling. I can hear it in his voice. In fact, he sounds like he's trying not to laugh. "He said she's got experience. She probably won't need that much training."
"If she's gonna be working with me, either she'll be the best or I won't work with her."
"You're such a sweet, agreeable beer wench, you know that, Taryn?" The girl, Taryn, who had turned away to fill up something behind the bar, whirls on him so fast I can hear her dreads slap his face.
"What did you call me?" The guy tips his head back and laughs. Hard. I fully expect to see the girl go for his eyes, but instead, she surprises me and grins. And just like that, it's over. "Are you gonna try to get off and go to the concert with me?" she asks congenially.
Their voices drop into a more conversational tone that I can't hear as clearly and feel guilty for listening to. Time to either get the hell out of here or make my presence known. And trust me, it's no easy decision. Just the thought of working with someone like this girl Taryn gives me heartburn. Before I can give much consideration to backing out, I reach down for every last ounce of bravado I possess, clear my throat, and start making my way toward the bar. Both heads turn to watch me as I approach. As I get closer, I can see that, although obviously in possession of one hellacious temper, the girl is quite beautiful with her wide almond eyes and full ruby lips. And the guy is… wow! He's quite beautiful, too. He looks exotic. Maybe Hawaiian or Cuban. He has light caramel skin, jet black hair, and eyes to match. And the smile he turns on me? Holy shit. What is this? The land of misfit models? I try not to be self-conscious in my outfit. It's not very revealing, at least not uncomfortably so, but I still feel… nervous. The pants ride low, showing off a decent-sized square of stomach, and the tank top is probably a size smaller than what I'd normally wear, revealing a healthy shot of cleavage . All in all, it's nothing trashy, but it'll get me plenty of attention, I'm sure. That's what makes me nervous. I don't fill my shirt out nearly as well as Taryn, whose buoyant boobs are undeniably artificial. She's skinny everywhere else, though, which makes me kinda proud of my curves. If there's one thing I've got, it's junk in my trunk. I smile widely and stick out my hand.
"Hi. I'm Mercedes. You must be Taryn," I say, addressing the girl first. Evidently, if there's anyone I can expect to have trouble with, it'll be her.
"I would say I've been expecting you, but I just found out I'll be training you, so…" She's prickly, yes, but not overtly hostile. I take that as a good sign and go in like a linebacker.
"I'll try my best to catch on quick. Luckily, I have plenty of bartending experience, so…" I say, trailing off like she did. She nods, but her smile is clearly doubtful.
"We'll see."
"Great!" I say exuberantly. "I look forward to it." Quickly, I turn to the guy, aiming my hand in his direction. He's still smiling.
"Mercedes."
"Marco," he says smoothly, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
Every now and again you meet someone you just know is immediately attracted to you. There is no doubt in my mind that Marco is attracted to me. He's not even trying to hide it. And why would he? There's probably not a female on the planet who could resist the charms of someone like him— dark, hot, easygoing, killer smile.
"My night just got a whole lot better." Oh, he's gonna be a handful!
"Maybe mine did, too," I reply with a playful grin. My ability to flirt with him is the biggest indication that nothing will ever happen between us. It's the guys who tie me in knots, like Cam and Sam that give me reason to worry.
"Turn that cutesy smile of yours on some customers and maybe you'll do all right, but you still better be able to sling some drinks," Taryn says sharply as she walks away. Marco makes a shooing motion with his hand and rolls his eyes.
"Just ignore her. She's in a constant state of heightened PMS. She gets a little better once the place fills up." I smile and nod, but I'm thinking, Oh, thank God!
"Maybe her dreads are too tight," I mumble. Marco laughs.
"Damn! Beautiful and funny. I can't wait to see what else you're hiding behind that sexy smile."
"Nothing as charming as what you've got behind yours, I'm sure." Marco starts nodding, his smile never faltering.
"Oh, yeah. We're gonna get along just fine."
SAM
I rarely dread work, but I usually don't look forward to it quite this much, either. I give the room enough time to fill up and then go out to check on Mercedes's progress. I've made a point to give her time to adjust before showing my face. I figure that might make her nervous. I know she wants me. Or at least I think she does. I just think she doesn't want to want me. That alone piques my interest. I don't mind the cat-and-mouse thing we've got going on. I'm willing to play a little to get her into my bed. I've got good instincts about women most of the time, and my gut tells me she'll be worth the wait.
When I step onto the floor, I look across the ocean of moving heads. My eyes go straight to the bar. To Mercedes. I have a clear shot of her, partly because I stand a couple inches over the tallest person between us and partly because there is a little bubble of men around her. Already. She's smiling at a customer as she mixes a rum and Coke. I watch her take his card and run it through the machine at the register, like she's been doing it every day for years. She's good. And I'm pleased. I would've kept her, anyway, but it's nice to know she's worth it. Oh, she's worth it, all right.
My mind wants to drift off to visions of laying her out on the bar when the club is empty, of peeling her clothes off and licking her smooth skin. Ruthlessly, I wrangle my thoughts and bring them back to the matter at hand— her audition. She never needs to know that it's unnecessary. She'd be hired regardless. But I'm having her audition, anyway, more for my pleasure than anything else. I shoulder my way through the crowd, making my way to her end of the long, straight bar. I stop at the edge of the semicircle of guys surrounding her and wait until she looks up and sees me. When she does, I see her pause. It's nearly imperceptible, so much so that I doubt anyone else notices. But I notice. And that's all that matters. She licks her lips nervously and smiles. I wink at her, just to see what she'll do. She pauses again, but then she looks away. She frowns for a second. I don't think she even realizes she's doing it. Damn, I love that! She reacts to me even when she doesn't want to. I don't know why she tries so hard to resist me. I'm not such a bad guy. I'm fit and healthy, a successful business owner, I'm not in debt, and I'm pretty damn good-looking. Or so I hear, anyway. I move in closer to the bar, leaning one elbow on it as I turn to the group of guys.
"So, what's it gonna be, boys? We've got a new bartender to audition." Cheers go up all around me.
Mercedes's got a fanbase already. She's gonna make me a killing. I hear terms like bar dance, sing-along, and crowd crawl being tossed around, but then two words rise above the rest and soon everyone has joined in to chant them.
"Body shot! Body shot! Body shot!" Mercedes is watching with interest as her fate is decided.
"Body shot it is!" I shout. I look at Mercedes and raise my hands, palm up. "The bar has spoken." She gives me a nod and a small smile as she wipes her hands on her jeans. "Pick your victim."
She bites her lip as she looks across the bar at all the guys watching her. I know without a doubt each one is wishing they could be the lucky guy, but she's a smart girl. She knows there's more to this "audition" than meets the eye. She's weighing her options and thinking about an appropriate response. Having worked in a bar before, she has to know that drinking on the job is strictly forbidden, which excludes Marco and Taryn. She probably also knows that engaging in something like this with a customer is frowned on as well. She's thinking it through. Smart girl. An audition at my bar is always about finding a way to keep the people happy without breaking any rules. I'm a rule breaker by nature, but I'm strict with my employees. This bar is my Livelihood, after all. I can't afford lawsuits, injuries, and brawls.
I watch Mercedes as she assesses the situation. When her eyes fall on me, I know she realizes I'm her only viable option. I'm not sure if I see a flicker of excitement cross her face or if it's just my imagination. What I'm certain I see, however, is her reaching for that bravado again. And it's just as sexy as it was before. She turns to the guys around me and treats them to a beguiling smile.
"Think my boss here will man up and do it?" Some good-natured ribbing begins as I get playful pushes and slaps on the back. There's lighthearted jealousy and lots of encouragement as I nod to Mercedes.
I offer my hand across the bar. She looks at it, takes a deep breath, and then slides her fingers over my palm. I help steady her as she puts a knee on the ledge and climbs onto the bar.
"Clear the bar," I say, and all the guys reach for their drinks, making a space for Mercedes to lie down. "Marco, one Patrón body shot!" I call down the bar. He quickly disengages from the girls he's entertaining to pour the shot and bring the salt dish and two lime wedges down to us. Rather than leaving it, though, he smiles at Mercedes.
"Stretch out, beautiful. I'll get you ready."
Normally, the bartender would do just as Marco is doing. But then again, I'm not usually involved. And for some reason, I wanted to prep Mercedes. Mercedes lies down and wiggles to get comfortable on the hard surface of the bar. I smile tightly as I watch him drag one lime wedge across her bare stomach, circling her navel several times. She's looking up at him, grinning. He's looking down at her, practically salivating. I grit my teeth against the little stab of jealousy I feel. What the hell's that all about? Anyone will tell you I don't have a jealous bone in my body. There are too many willing women in the world to get all bent out of shape over one. Envy is just not in me. Not usually.
Marco's taking his sweet time, wetting her skin and sprinkling salt on her. Taryn switches on the body shot music, which is always "Pour Some Sugar on Me" by Def Leppard. It gets the crowd into it and lets everyone know what's going on. I've never paid it much attention, but as far as mood music goes, tonight I'm really feeling it. I'd like to pour something sweet all over Mercedes and then take my time licking it off. I'm about to hurry Marco along when he finally goes to hand her the shot glass and stick the second piece of lime in her mouth. I can't help but grin when Mercedes takes the wedge from his fingers and does it herself. Maybe the attraction I see in Marco's eyes goes only one way. I feel smug. Mercedes turns to look at me, her eyes wide and alert. I bend to whisper into her ear.
"If you're really uncomfortable with this, you don't have to do it."
I hold my breath as I lean back to get her answer, hoping the brave one will win out. And it does. Slowly, Mercedes shakes her head and wiggles a little closer to me on the bar. Her eyes are sparkling with determination. And challenge. And it makes me jerk in my jeans. I grin at her.
"All right. You asked for it," I say, just loud enough for the guys around me to hear. They cheer me on.
Moving down to stand in front of her waist, I bend and put my tongue against the skin of her stomach. I feel her muscles contract. The salty and sour flavors cause saliva to gush into my mouth, so I close my lips and swallow, kissing her stomach before continuing to lick my way around her navel. She lies perfectly still as I lap up all the salt. When I'm done, I lift my head just a little and I see her strain toward me. It's a small movement. Probably nothing anyone else even noticed. But I noticed. Draping one arm across her hips to hold her still, I dip my tongue into her belly button. She twitches beneath me and I could swear I hear her gasp, even above the music. When I lift my head, my eyes meet hers and in them, whether she would ever admit it or not, is desire. Lots of hot, sweaty, pin-me-up-against-the-wall desire.
Without looking away, I reach for the shot glass and down the Patrón. I see her chest rise with the deep breath she takes as I move toward her head. Cupping the back of her neck, I pull her face to mine. I wrap my lips around the lime wedge she holds between her teeth and I suck every last drop of juice from it. The thing is, she never once loosens her hold on it. I can't help but wonder if she's imagining the same scenario with a deserted bar and nothing between us but heat. When I lean back, I notice she looks as…bothered as I feel. I think if we were alone, she'd have a hard time saying no to anything I wanted to do to her. Marco interrupts the moment.
"Welcome to Dual!" Again, cheers go up all around. Mercedes' smile is a bit vague as she switches gears from our hot encounter to the fact that there's a bar full of guys vying for her attention. But she recovers quickly, taking the lime out of her mouth and holding it up in victory. She tosses me a cheeky grin and then spins around to jump off the bar and resume her position as an employee behind it.
"All right, guys, who needs a refill?" And just like that, she's in full swing as a bartender at Dual. My only concern now is keeping Marco away from her.
MERCEDES
My first thought upon waking is of Sam. Licking my stomach. Tonguing my navel. And then looking so hard into my eyes. God, I could've devoured him right then and there! Damn those bad boys! I blame everything on my inherent weakness for them, because my head tells me I should be looking for someone much more suitable. Someone like Cam. Cam. In my head, I even sigh over his name. He's every bit as delicious as his brother. Obviously. They're twins. And even though he's got less of the edge that seems to draw me in like a bee to honey, he's got so many other things I love. My phone rings. I look at the Caller ID and no name pops up with the number, which means I don't know the caller. I consider not answering, but I'm already awake so I might as well.
"Hello?"
"Good morning," a gruff voice growls at me . Within a fraction of a second, I not only recognize the voice, but I react to it. My stomach flutters in pleasurable excitement.
"Good morning," I return. It's Sam.
"I was hoping to get to talk to you before you left last night." His comment brings up an unpleasant thought from the previous night.
Just before the last of the patrons were herded out of the building, Taryn had disappeared through the same door I'd seen Sam use, and neither had come back out. Marco had shown me how to close up and, when we were done, he offered to walk me to my car, so I let him. I was irritated and had no intention of waiting around for Sam like a puppy dog. Even if he is my employer. It's the principle of the thing. I remember thinking that he's just like all the other bad boys. Fun-loving, exciting, and, ultimately, unfaithful. Not that it seems he has anyone to be faithful to, but I wouldn't be the least bit surprised if he did. Shaking off the thoughts, I remind myself that I don't care about Sam. He's my employer and that's it. End of story.
"I didn't want to interrupt you and Taryn," I explain, hating the waspish bite to my tone. I soften it a bit with, "Marco showed me everything I needed to do, anyway. No big deal."
"Marco, huh?" Is it my imagination or is there some venom in his voice now?
"Yeah. He's great." He humphs and then pauses for a second before continuing. "Taryn had some concerns she needed to address with me before tonight, which is why I'm calling you." I'm relieved. Instantly. And I hate that I am. It irritates me. But more than that, now I'm worried. This call seems ominous.
"Is there a problem?"
"Look, I'm not the type to beat around the bush or to get involved in petty rivalries, so I'm just gonna be straight with you. Taryn isn't particularly interested in training you. She doesn't have a specific reason; she just isn't. I won't tell you what I think it is, because it doesn't matter. What matters is that I want you working at Dual. I know you need a specific shift. If she can't work with you, that's her problem and she can find something else that might make her happy."
"So, what does this mean? What are you saying?"
"Well, when given those options, Taryn decided that she'd rather stay. So, I'm leaving your training up to you. If you want Taryn to train you, she will. If not, then I'll do it." My pulse speeds up just thinking about spending so much time with Sam. And in such close quarters.
"Can't Marco train me?" There's a protracted pause before Sam answers. When he does, his tone is clipped.
"No. That's not Marco's job." My mind is racing with a thousand thoughts, not the least of which is that it makes me smile to think Sam might be a tad jealous of Marco.
"I don't know what to say. I mean, I don't want Taryn to think I'm backing down from her. I'm not going to let her run me off. But at the same time, I don't want to put her in a bad position if she's got a problem with me."
"Her job is not to like you, it's to train you. You aren't putting her in a bad position." My hesitation is minimal. Regardless of my feelings on the issue with Taryn, I know it won't bode well for me if I let Sam train me. I just don't trust myself around him. Not completely, anyway.
"Then I'll let her train me."
"Okay. But if she gives you a hard time, I want you to come to me immediately."
"I will," I agree, having no intention of doing any such thing. No, I'll have to sort out things with Taryn on my own. We'll either learn to get along or learn to work with someone we hate. I drag a hand through my tangled hair. I hope it's the former rather than the latter. Working with someone who hates me will be stressful in a big, big way.
"She's asked off for tonight, so you won't have to work again until next weekend. Unless you want to pick up an extra shift Wednesday night when she works." Actually, I need the money. And my classes don't start until eleven o'clock on Thursday, so I could probably swing that, as long as it doesn't become a habit.
"Wednesday's good. I can do that."
"Good," he says. I think I hear a smile in his voice. I'm glad he didn't take it personally that I don't want to be trained specifically by him. I bet his ego is so big he didn't give it a second thought. "Well, if there's anything you need, give me a call. I've always got my cell phone with me."
"How did you get my number, anyway?"
"Some asshole named Cam."
"Asshole?"
"Yeah, asshole. Don't tell me you don't think he's an asshole!" I laugh uncomfortably.
"Um, no I don't think he's an asshole. He's always been nice to me."
"Of course he has. You're gorgeous. What man wouldn't be nice to you?"
"Plenty."
"Assholes, all of them," he teases.
"They're assholes, too?"
"Yep."
"Is everyone an asshole today?"
"Yep," he repeats. "Word-of-the-day toilet paper." I laugh, genuinely this time.
"Is that right?"
"Yep. You don't even want to know what yesterday's word was."
"I'm sure I don't. It would probably make my ears bleed." His voice drops into a lower, softer range.
"No, but it would probably make you blush." I pause. My face feels warm, but pleasantly so. It occurs to me that no matter how much I avoid him, no matter how wrong I know he is for me, he is going to be nearly impossible to resist. Dammit! "Enjoy your day, Mercedes. I'll see you on Wednesday."
With that, he hangs up, leaving me lying bonelessly on my bed, lost in thoughts of what it would be like to stop fighting it. I hear voices as soon as I get out of the shower, which is unusual. Marissa's screech is easily and disturbingly identifiable. The raised voice that surprises me, however, belongs to Cam. I creep to the door and crack it the tiniest bit, turning my head and pressing my ear to it. You are a shameless, creepy eavesdropping hussy. I stifle a giggle. Apparently I don't cut myself any slack. I pulled out the hussy card.
"You can't just spring something like this on me at the last minute! I already made plans and I don't even have a new dress!"
I can tell she's still trying to keep her calm, which is a testament to how much she likes and, therefore, tries to deceive Cam. I'm not sure how much she's actually deceiving him, though. It would be interesting to see how long he'd stick around if she started showing her true colors.
"If I'd known I would be back, I would've said something sooner. I wanted to surprise you." Cam's voice is raised only enough to speak over Marissa's loud whining.
"Well, now what am I supposed to do? I can't cancel on Daddy. He's already—"
"It's not a big deal," Cam offers soothingly. "I can take someone else." There's a long pause filled with enough tension for me to perceive it through a mostly closed door. Back up, Cam! She's about to blow!
"Who did you have in mind?" Her voice is like ice. I wonder if Cam knows that sound and what it means.
"I didn't have anyone particular in mind, as I had no idea you wouldn't be able to go. I'm sure I can find someone last minute, though. No need to worry."
I almost laugh out loud. No need to worry? I bet Marissa is fuming. I can almost smell the smoke from her overworked brain as she tries to think of someone who will be zero competition for her, someone who is trustworthy, but also someone who is enough of a loser not to already have plans on such short notice.
"What about Mercedes? I'm sure she'd be happy to go, especially since you've done so much for her." I know my mouth is wide open and there is a look of grave insult on my face. I can feel it. Ohmigod! I'm the loser!
"I appreciate the suggestion, but she works weekends, doesn't she?"
"If she took the job with Sam, who knows what her schedule will be?"
"Well, I'm not waking her up to ask her. I think she worked last night, didn't she?"
"Yes, but she won't mind. I'll ask her." I hear Cam start to say something, but the way it's cut off makes me think Marissa has already walked off. I close the door silently and haul ass to the bathroom, as though I've just gotten out of the shower, which I technically have.
"Mercedes?" Marissa calls, knocking once loudly and then entering. She doesn't even wait for me to give her permission. I bite back a snarl. Witch!
"In here," I call sharply. The door is cracked and I see her practically stomp across the room. She pushes the door open. There's a nasty look on her face. She wastes no time with niceties.
"Do you have to work tonight? If not, I need you to go to an art exhibition with Cam. You owe him."
It's just like Marissa to jump right in with the heavy artillery, like guilt and extortion. I'm so proud to be related to the devil's mistress. Carefully suppressing the urge to snort, I answer her.
"As a matter of fact, I'm off tonight. I can't go, though. I'm sorry, but I don't have anything to wear to a fancy function like that." She brushes me off with a wave of her hand.
"You can wear something of mine. I'm sure we can make do." I'd just heard her complain about not having had time to buy a new dress for the event, yet she's perfectly content to send me in… whatever.
"As long as Cam doesn't care what I look like…" Marissa laughs in her demeaning little way .
"Mercedes, I'm sure Cam won't give you a second thought." I'm gonna be honest. I see red. Red, dammit! And it's in this very moment that I decide I'm going to knock everyone's socks off, especially Cam's. Marissa will rue the day… Even if I have to pull a Pretty in Pink and sew my own effing dress in seven minutes flat. All this is taking place internally. On the outside, I smile sweetly at Marissa.
"Well, in that case I'd be happy to." She turns around and walks away without so much as a thank you or kiss my ass. When I hear her tell Cam that I'll go and that she'll do her best to make sure I'm presentable, I can't help but wonder if I could get away with stabbing her cold, cold heart with an ice pick. For that, I might win the Nobel Peace Prize. Or, bare minimum, a call from the Vatican, thanking me. This time, I don't bother to hide my snicker.
CAM
As I wait for Mercedes to come out of her bedroom, I can't help but feel a little ashamed. I shouldn't be looking forward to spending the evening with her as much as I am. Yet I am. And there's just no denying it.
"Cam?" I hear Mercedes call. I turn toward her bedroom. I can see the door from where I'm standing in the Merceing room. It's cracked just enough for me to hear her but not see her.
"Yes?"
"Promise me that if I'll embarrass you in this dress, you'll just go without me. It won't hurt my feelings. I swear."
"Mercedes, it doesn't matter what—"
"Promise me right now or I'm not coming out at all." She's stubborn, Huh. I wouldn't have guessed that. But actually, I kinda like it. I laugh.
"Okay, fine. I promise that if I think you'll embarrass me, I'll go without you."
The door closes and then there's a long pause before it swings. Marissa is taller than Mercedes. Thinner, too. But Mercedes is curvier. Much curvier. And every single one is displayed to absolute perfection in the dress she's wearing. I think I've seen Marissa in it before, and she looked great. But not great like this. The material is some kind of thin, almost sheer stuff in dark red. It flutters in the air that stirs as the door comes to a rest against the stopper with a muffled thump. Mercedes stands still and lets me appraise her before she starts toward me. I clench my jaw to keep my mouth from dropping open as I watch her. The wispy cloth clings to her body as she walks, outlining her form perfectly. She might as well be nude. Holy mother, I wish she were. I shake off the thought, knowing I can't go forward tonight thinking things like that. Think with the big head, man! Think with the big head! She glides to a stop in front of me, all grace and luscious skin. Her bare chest and shoulders glow in the low light. I want to touch her, caress her, so much so that I ball my fingers into tight fists to keep them to myself.
"You look beautiful." My voice sounds strained, even to my own ears. Her face falls.
"It's too tight, isn't it? I'm wearing taller heels to make the length right, but there's nothing I can do about the rest."
I can see that she's genuinely distressed, which makes me want to smile, although I don't. That would be the wrong thing to do in front of an upset woman.
"Marissa is so much thinner than me," she says, one of her hands fluttering as she talks. "And I just don't have anything that—"I reach out and take her spastic hand, pressing the forefinger of my free hand to her lips.
"Shhh." She stops talking immediately.
Yes, I could've shut her up a hundred different ways without touching her, but I figure this is better than kissing her, which is what I really want to do. Good God, how I want to kiss her! It takes me a few seconds to focus on something other than the way her lush lips part just a little. It would be so easy to slide my fingertip between them, to feel the heat of her mouth, the wetness of her tongue. I'm both surprised and irritated that I feel my tuxedo pants shrink a size in the crotch. I'll have to be extra careful with this girl. I can't remember the last time someone so thoroughly tested my restraint. Actually, yes I can. It was Libby Fields in her tight little dress at the homecoming dance in the ninth grade. I thought for sure if she sat in my lap and wiggled her ass one more time, I was going to explode like Mount Saint Helens. I didn't, of course. But it was close. And this girl— curvaceous, engaging, walking, talking contradiction— is working her way up to Libby Fields's position very quickly, which is really saying something since I'm twenty-five, not fourteen. I clear my throat.
"Please don't say another word. You look beautiful. In Marissa's wildest dreams, she could never fill out that dress the way you do. I'll be the envy of every guy in the whole damn place."
I smile to further make my point. Although her brow doesn't smooth entirely, I know she's feeling better when she grabs my wrist and pulls my hand away. I can see the slight curve of her lips where she's holding in a smile.
"Really?"
"Really."
"Really really?"
"Really really. Just remember, tonight you're mine." It worries me how much I like the sound of that, the thought of that. Her grin fully forms and she releases my wrist to salute me.
"Sir, yes, sir." I love how playful she is. Such a nice change from Marissa, who's always… well… who's just not.
"Now that's what I'm talkin' about," I say with a nod. "A woman who knows her place is beneath me. Oh, wait. That didn't sound right," I tease. She laughs.
"I'm beneath no man!" she replies harshly. Then, with a mischievous quirk to her mouth, she adds, "At least not without dinner and a drink first."
"Ohhhh, so that's how it's gonna be! Because there's a McDonald's right across the street." I offer her my arm and she curls her fingers around the inside of my elbow. I know it's ridiculous and juvenile, but I flex my bicep, hoping she notices.
"Is that all it takes to get you to, ahem, come to attention?" she asks, suggestively sliding her eyes over me.
"I'm a twenty-five-year-old completing an internship at one of the most influential law firms in all of Atlanta. McDonald's would never do it for me." I stop at the door and open it, gesturing for her to precede me. "But, now, a look like the one you just gave me…" Her cheeks turn a delicate pink and she drops her eyes shyly. It makes me want to tear that dress off her with my teeth.
"Colonel, just what is it you're insinuating?"
"Colonel? A salute like that and all I get is a Colonel?"
"I don't know. Have you earned enough stripes to be a general?" We stroll leisurely to my car.
"Depends on how you think someone earns their stripes." Two little dimples pop out on either side of her mouth where she's trying to control her smile.
"Oh, I guess the same way most guys earn their stripes," she says, swinging the red purse attached to her wrist, trying to act nonchalant.
"Baby, if that's your definition, I'd be a four-star general."
She bursts into laughter. I can tell she wasn't expecting me to say that. But I'm so glad I did. Hearing her laugh is like listening to the best kind of symphony. I'm a little disappointed when we reach the car. I could really just walk and talk and tease her all night long.