The bartender was my new best friend. I frowned. Well, after Rue. And Theo. My third best-est friend. Because she kept pouring me these great margaritas.
I normally hated margaritas.
But Alison? My third best-est friend? She made some damn good ones. And there were so many flavors! Lime was okay. Mango was better. Watermelon wasn’t that great, but I drank it anyway because I didn’t want to hurt its feelings. I was almost finished with blood orange and it might have been my favorite, but I still had two flavors to go, so who knew?
The only thing I needed to decide on was whether pink lemonade or pineapple was next.
Wasn’t pineapple supposed to make cum taste sweeter?
Wait — that only worked if the guy drank it. Right?
I couldn’t remember now.
And it was fucking glorious.
Alison was my new third best-est friend and blood orange margaritas were the shit.
Best. Night. Ever.
I swung my head around when I heard the stool next to me being slid across the terracotta-tiled floor and almost lost my balance.
But Nick caught me.
Niiiiiiick. He looked nice tonight. Tight, dark shirt. Fitted khakis. I could kind of see the outline of his bulge against the fabric.
It wasn’t bad.
West had a nice bulge too.
I wrinkled my forehead. No. I shook my head. No.
Not thinking about him tonight.
Hey! Nick was here. Maybe he could drink the pineapple margarita and help me remember. I could get the pink lemonade one then.
I grinned up at him, and poked him in the chest with my finger.
“Alison!” I yelled. “This guy—” poke “—needs a pineapple margarita. And I’ll take the lemonade one next.”
She raised an eyebrow and looked at Nick for confirmation.
Nick with the bulge.
He leaned closer to me. “Why pineapple?”
I rolled my eyes. “Because I can’t remember. And this will solve the problem!”
“Can’t remember what?”
“If it’ll make you taste sweeter.”
He stared at me, then coughed. “Do you mean—”
I leaned over and patted his lap. “Down here.”