“Yeah,” I said lamely.
After a few awkward seconds where any pretense of chitchat dwindled and died, I cleared my throat. “Can I get another shot?” I asked.
“Sure. Anything you want,” Breanne said with a grin that let me know when she said anything, she meant anything.
“We’re playing another bar on Tuesday in Charlotte,” I said, not knowing why I told her that. I didn’t want this girl thinking I wanted her to come. I didn’t give a shit one way or another about her. But I was uncomfortably trying to fill the void.
I had come here wanting one thing and now I was pussing out.
Breanne looked as though I had offered her a round trip ticket to Paris. Her dull, brown eyes lit up. “I’d love to come! Oh my god! Maybe we could hang out afterwards,” she suggested and I shrugged.
“Sure,” I found myself saying. I really needed to shut the hell up.
“You want something else to drink. Or are your cool with the vodka?” she asked, her excited smile making me feel like a worthless dick. I should never have told this random girl to come to a show.
Something was seriously wrong with my head. My game wasn’t just off, it was non-existent.
Breanne’s rhythmic fingers became more purposeful as she wove her hand into my hair. It bugged the shit out of me. I hated when girls messed with my hair. Except when Viv pulled it, but that was a different story.
I shook my head, trying to dissuade her but Breanne the Bartender was one persistent lady.
This would be so easy. I knew I could have this chick on her back in less than five minutes. Part of me really wanted to. I missed the easy effortlessness of banging girls I never had to talk to again.
Breanne came around from behind the bar and perched up on the stool beside me, turning her body so that her knees fell between mine. We were close enough I could smell stale beer and bar on her clothes.
Her makeup was thick. I could see a line around the outside of her face. Her hair color was obviously as fake as her nose. As a rule I didn’t bother paying attention to this stuff.
What was wrong with me?
She wanted to f**k. That’s what I came in here to do. Right?
But when I looked at Breanne, I didn’t see her. My mind saw strawberry-blonde hair, angry green eyes, flushed skin, and perfectly pursed lips.
I smelled sex and vanilla and Vivian’s perfumey shampoo stuff that got stuck in my nose but I liked it anyway.
What was I doing down here instead of upstairs where I wouldn’t be swilling crappy rail liquor and contemplating the stupidity of sticking it in a girl who I had a feeling would go stalker when we were finished?
“So what brings you down here this time of night?” she asked, tapping her knees against my inner thigh.
“Just needed a drink,” I said nonchalantly.
“Were you alone?” she asked and I caught an edge to her voice.
Simmer down girl, you don’t even know me.
I downed another shot and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.
“Nope,” I told her, thinking that maybe it was about time I went back up to my room. I thought of Vivian waiting for me to come back and the appeal of being anywhere near this girl in front of me, or any other girl for that matter, was lost.
Breanne took the shot glass from my limp fingers and put it on the bar. She hopped down and stood between my legs, her hands running up my thighs as she leaned in.
I tried to back up but I almost fell off the stool.
“Whoa, sweetheart, don’t you think we should talk some first,” I laughed nervously.
If I weren’t feeling so off balance this entire situation would be hella funny.
Breanne grabbed my hand and pressed it against her tit as she started to palm me through my jeans.
“I don’t think you came in here wanting to talk, Cole,” she said with a grin. I didn’t like the sound of my name on her lips. It sounded all wrong.
She rubbed my crotch furiously, trying to get a reaction. My hand sat, unmoving on her boob, the alcohol buzzing in my system making me a little dizzy.
Breanne made a noise of frustration when she realized I wasn’t responding the way she wanted me to. She looked out toward the very visible hotel lobby. If anyone chanced a look in here, they’d see exactly what was going on.
Ordinarily I enjoyed some good ole public indecency as much as the next self-centered bastard, but this whole exchange was bugging the shit out of me. Between my less than clear head and Breanne’s over eager hands, I was ready to call it a night and head back up to share my bed with the only woman on my mind.
While I was going through a dozen different ways to get out of this situation, Breanne gave me a coy smile and pulled off her shirt, letting it fall to the floor. Before I could register what was going on, she quickly unsnapped her bra and let it join her shirt.
What the hell?
My eyes instantly went to her chest. I’m only human after all. And it was a very nice chest.
But it left me cold.
“Come on,” she urged, wiggling her boobs so they jiggled.
If I hadn’t been ready to bail before now, this awkward titty show was the final nail in this unsuccessful bag and bang.
I leaned down and picked up her black bra and shirt and handed them to her. She frowned as I pressed them into her naked chest. I pulled out my wallet and tossed some cash on the counter.
“Thanks for the drinks. I appreciate it. Keep the change. I’d better get going,” I said, hopping down from the stool.
Breanne didn’t put her shirt back on. She stood there, her eyes wide and completely bewildered.
“Are you serious? You’re leaving?” she asked, her voice rising in a shriek.
I’ve had my fill of over dramatic females for one night. And only one of them would I even contemplate putting up with. And it definitely wasn’t this one.
“Yep, I’m leaving. Thanks,” I said shortly, walking away from her.
“You’re an ass**le!” Breanne yelled as I unlocked the door and let myself out.
“Yeah, I know,” I said over my shoulder before the glass shut behind me.
The ride up to my room in the elevator was the longest of my life. I was feeling restless with pent up energy. When the doors finally opened, I practically ran down the hallway.
I didn’t know what I’d say to Vivian. But I had a good idea what I would do.
I would kiss her and hold her and touch her. I wasn’t good with apologies. I could count on one hand the number of times I had uttered the words, I’m sorry.
My father had drilled in my head early on that to apologize was to show weakness. And even though I knew he had been full of shit, it was ingrained in me to avoid those words at all costs.