Okay, what the fuck just happened?
I can be pretty casual about sex, but even I would correct someone if they were calling me Lucas or Jake. Especially if we were fucking. To think the entire time I was calling her by the wrong name and it mattered so little to her she didn’t even bother to correct me . . .
Dylan turns back to me, grabbing his drink and taking a sip. His expression softens into euphoria.
“I think I just saw your O face,” I say, squeezing my eyes closed. “That will never be unseen.”
“Try this.” He shoves it in front of me.
I take it from him, sliding the straws out of the way to sip directly from the glass. Ugh. “I’m not really an amaretto sour connoisseur,” I tell him. “It tastes like amaretto and sour to me.”
I look over his shoulder and my eyes snag on the sight of . . .
Shit, I am so bad with names.
“Dyl.” I lift my chin, indicating he should subtly follow my attention to the overly made-up brunette and her pixie-cut friend making their way over to us.
But of course he whips around.
“What’s her name?” I ask.
“Aubrey,” he answers, waving to her. “I think her friend’s name is Lou?” And then his brows pull together as he turns back to me. “Wait. Didn’t you sleep with her last summer?”
I nod, giving him a guilty wince as he calls me an absolute asshole under his breath, and then Aubrey is there with her tits and hopeful smile aimed right at me.
“I haven’t seen you in ages,” she purrs into my ear.
“Hey, Aubrey.” I hold my breath, hoping that I haven’t messed up her name, too.
“You remembered my name!”
Dylan coughs out a single syllable: “Dick.”
Aubrey doesn’t hear him. Her wide brown eyes meet mine, and the invitation is there, so clear. I feel a tightening in my abdomen, the warm rush of adrenaline.
She was sweet, I remember now, looking at her. Unlike London, Aubrey seemed to want more than just one night. She reassured me she didn’t take guys home often, made porn star noises in bed, and faked about seventeen orgasms, but it still managed to be fun. I didn’t nearly pass out when I came the way I did last night with London, but I managed to get off just fine.
I glance over at London as the thought rolls through me, and for a stabbing, panicked second I worry about how this must look. I’m standing at the bar, not ten feet from the woman I had sex with last night, and there’s a woman I’ve obviously slept with standing with her arm around my waist, her cheek resting flirtatiously against my shoulder.
It isn’t the first time two women I’ve hooked up with have been in such close proximity, but it’s the first time I feel like I’m tangled in Saran Wrap, mildly claustrophobic.
Though I don’t know why I’m worried; London still hasn’t looked back over at me. She doesn’t even seem to want to remember it happened.
I lead our little group away from the bar and lean closer to Aubrey so we can hear each other over the shouting and cheers from the overhead TVs. Her lips are sticky with gloss, eyes lined heavily with dark mascara. I don’t remember noticing this before.
“How’s it going?” she asks, and then bites her bottom lip.
I give her my best smile. “Not bad at all.”
Chapter THREE
London
IT’S NOT LIKE I’ve never done this before—had a one-night stand—but the number of guys I’ve slept with is still small enough that when I see Luke walk into Fred’s the next night, the thought I’ve had sex with him is the first thing that flashes through my head.
Thankfully, it’s there and gone, replaced just as quickly with What the hell is he doing here? Sex with a guy like Luke is supposed to mean multiple orgasms and a smile you have to explain to your friends the next day. It’s also supposed to be a one-time thing. I’m fairly certain we were both clear on that point.
I never planned on seeing Luke again, which is exactly why I didn’t bother correcting him when he kept calling me by the wrong name. It’s also why it takes me a moment to get my bearings when he walks into Fred’s with Not-Joe, Oliver’s goofy employee and one of my favorite people.
They head straight toward me, but when I do nothing more than get them drinks and go about my business, I think Luke gets it. I can’t quite make out his reaction, though, and I wonder briefly if he’s disappointed that I’m not falling all over myself to see him or asking for a repeat performance. Which—let’s be real for a second—wouldn’t be the worst idea I’ve ever had, because when Luke claimed he knew what he was doing? He wasn’t lying. Not even a little.