“You think . . . you think if maybe you focused on all the bullshit you had to endure with her, that’d make it easier?”
I sighed. “I’ve tried. I keep coming back to the same thought.”
“What’s that?”
“Now that it’s over, I wish I could have all the bad stuff back . . . just so I could have the good.”
Shepley’s eyes bounced around the room, trying to think of something else comforting to say, but he was clearly all out of advice. His cell phone beeped.
“It’s Trent,” Shepley said, reading the display screen. His eyes lit up. “You want to grab some drinks with him at the Red? He gets off at five today. His car broke down and he wants you to take him to see Cami. You should go, man. Take my car.”
“All right. Let him know I’m comin’.” I sniffed, and wiped my nose before standing up.
Sometime between me leaving the apartment and pulling into the gravel lot of the tattoo parlor Trenton worked at, Shepley had alerted Trenton to my shitty day. Trenton gave it away when he insisted on going straight to the Red Door as soon as he slid into the passenger seat of the Charger, instead of wanting to go home to change first.
When we arrived, we were alone except for Cami, the owner, and some guy stocking Cami’s bar, but it was the middle of the week—prime college bar time and coin beer night. It didn’t take long for the room to fill with people.
I was already lit by the time Lexi and some of her friends had made a drive-by, but it wasn’t until Megan stopped by that I even bothered to look up.
“Looking pretty sloppy, Maddox.”
“Nah,” I said, trying to get my numb lips to form around my words.
“Let’s dance,” she whined, tugging on my arm.
“I don’t think I can,” I said, swaying.
“I don’t think you should,” Trenton said, amused.
Megan bought me a beer and took the stool next to mine. Within ten minutes, she was pawing at my shirt, and not so subtly touching my arms, and then my hands. Just before closing, she had given up her stool to stand next to me—or more like straddle my thigh.
“So I didn’t see the bike outside. Did Trenton drive you?”
“Nope. I brought Shepley’s car.”
“I love that car,” she cooed. “You should let me drive you home.”
“You wanna drive the Charger?” I asked, slurring.
I glanced over to Trenton, who was stifling a laugh. “Probably not a bad idea, little brother. Be safe . . . in every way.”
Megan pulled me off the stool, and then out of the bar into the parking lot. She wore a sequined tube top with a jean skirt and boots, but she didn’t seem to mind the cold—if it was cold. I couldn’t tell.
She giggled as I threw my arm around her shoulders to help steady myself as I walked. When we reached the passenger side of Shepley’s car, she stopped giggling.
“Some things never change, huh, Travis?”
“Guess not,” I said, staring at her lips.
Megan wrapped her arms around my neck and pulled me in, not even hesitating to stick her tongue into my mouth. It was wet and soft, and vaguely familiar.
After a few minutes of playing grab ass and trading spit, she hiked her leg up, wrapping it around me. I grabbed her thigh, and rammed my pelvis into hers. Her ass slammed against the car door, and she moaned into my mouth.
Megan always liked it rough.
Her tongue made a trail down my neck, and it was then that I noticed the cold, feeling the warmth left behind by her mouth cool quickly from the winter air.
Megan’s hand reached between us, and she grabbed my dick, smiling that I was right where she wanted me to be. “Mmmmm, Travis,” she hummed, biting my lip.
“Pigeon.” The word came out muffled as I crashed my mouth against hers. At that stage of the night, it was easy enough to pretend.
Megan giggled. “What?” In true Megan fashion, she didn’t demand an explanation when I didn’t respond. “Let’s go to your apartment,” she said, grabbing the keys from my hand. “My roommate is sick.”
“Yeah?” I asked, pulling on the door handle. “You really wanna drive the Charger?”
“Better me than you,” she said, kissing me one last time before leaving me for the driver’s side.
While Megan drove, she laughed and talked about her break all while opening my jeans and reaching inside. It was a good thing I was drunk, because I hadn’t been laid since Thanksgiving. Otherwise, by the time we reached the apartment, Megan would have had to catch a cab and call it a night.
Halfway home, the empty fishbowl flashed in my mind. “Wait a sec. Wait a sec,” I said, pointing down the street. “Stop at the Swift Mart. We gotta pick up some . . .”
Megan reached into her purse and pulled out a small box of condoms. “Gotcha covered.”
I leaned back and smiled. She really was my kind of girl.
Megan pulled up into Shepley’s parking spot, having been to the apartment enough times to know. She jogged around in tiny steps, trying to hurry along in her stilettos.