“He gave me his number,” I said, biting my lip.
“And I’ll bet the next round you haven’t used it,” she surmised, treating me to an eye roll. “I love you, Lauren, but sometimes you’re such a pussy,” she added, climbing off the stool and pulling down her mini-skirt. “Seriously, you need to grow a pair.” She downed the rest of her cosmopolitan, placing the empty glass on top of the bar. “Order me another, I have to go to the bathroom.”
I sighed as she walked away and tried to make eye contact with the bartender, but for all I knew I wasn’t even looking at the right guy. I’d just wait until he came closer to order the drinks.
I pulled my phone out of my purse, bored, I browsed my contacts until I came to his name.
Tiger.
I smiled instantly.
Fucking Riggs.
Fucking life.
And then I did what every normal twenty-one-year old with no direction in life would do…I texted him.
Me: Meow.
I hit send, immediately dropping my phone and covering my face with my hands.
I did not just do that.
I picked up my phone, wincing when I confirmed my stupidity.
Me: Delete that.
Tiger: Roar. LOL
Me: I said delete it. I meant to text it to someone else.
Tiger: Are your pants on fire, Kitten?
He should only know. I clenched my legs together and chose to ignore his question.
Me: What are you doing?
Tiger: What are you doing?
Me: You first.
Tiger: Watching the game with the guys.
Me: Out with Mia.
Tiger: You went back home already?
Me: Tomorrow. She came into the city for the night and we’re going back home together tomorrow afternoon.
Tiger: Are you on the prowl?
Me: Maybe.
Tiger: Stay safe.
Huh? Okay, not exactly the answer I was hoping for from him. I decided to put my phone away before I did any more damage. Mia found her way back to me and instead of ordering another round, we took off to another bar.
The night was young.
And this “Kitten” was on the prowl.
“The Jets don’t have a chance, not after Decker blew that touchdown,” Bones said, shoving a handful of potato chips into his mouth.
“It’s only the third quarter,” I retorted, popping open my beer and glancing down at my phone. An hour and a half had passed since I texted Lauren back. I couldn’t help but wonder what she was doing and what version of herself she was when she went out with her friend. Whether it be the good girl bit or the good girl gone bad. I’m sure she had guys dropping to their knees.
I leaned over, placing my beer on the table and texted her again.
Me: I should’ve brought my library card because I’m definitely checking you out.
Kitten: You got more game than half the men here.
Me: Where are you?
Kitten: Salty Dog.
Me: Bay Ridge? I thought you were in Manhattan.
Kitten: Bar hopping and borough hopping. I get around.
Me: As long as you’re not bed hopping.
Kitten: Even if I hopped into your bed?
I froze, staring down at my phone as the images flooded my brain. I could picture her naked in my bed wearing nothing but her glasses. Yeah, I wouldn’t mind that. Not one fucking bit. My dick agreed, hardening against my jeans.
Me: You can hop into my bed anytime, Kitten.
Kitten: You shouldn’t say things like that to a drunk girl who needs a good duck.
What? She wanted a pet? Odd thing to say to a guy when he invited you to fuck.
Kitten: Duck! I meant duck!
Me: You want a duck?
Kitten: Yes.
Kitten: No! Ducking auto correct!
“Get off your phone, ass wipe! You’re missing the game,” Bones said, throwing a bag of pretzels at my head. “Who are you texting anyway?”
“What does ducking mean?” I asked.
“Ducking? Like you duck,” he said, bending his head. “Like that, you get the fuck out of the way. You dodge the bullet. You duck and hide. Man, are we seriously having this discussion right now?
“No, that’s not it.” I said, scratching the top of my head.
Kitten: Let’s try this again. You shouldn’t say that to a girl who needs a good lay.
“Fuck, she needs to fuck!” I cheered, typing my response.
Me: Happy to oblige, babe.
And this night just got a whole lot better.
Kitten: Oh yeah? You think you can make me purr?
Me: I’ll make you fucking roar, baby.
Me: You still at the dog?
I was familiar with the Salty Dog, it was a popular bar mostly where firemen hung out. Lauren wasn’t taking a ride on a fucking fire truck tonight, not if I had a say in it. I lifted my eyes to Bones who was staring at me like I had lost my mind.
“What?” I asked innocently. “I might need a wingman you game?”
“Depends what she looks like. I’m not taking one for the team, not tonight, when I can go riding and grab any piece of ass I want,” he stated.
“Mia’s pretty, killer bod, nice rack,” I tried to entice.
“Mia?” He raised an eyebrow. “Wow, you know their names, impressive. That’s a first for you,” he teased.