Alcohol You Later
Heather M. Orgeron
“Nick,” I croak, nearly tumbling out of bed as I reach to my nightstand for my cell. “It’s three in the morning.” I toss the mass of tangled black hair over my left shoulder to get it out of my face while wiping sleep from my eyes—an attempt to make myself a little more presentable though he can’t even see me. Apparently, the mere sound of his ringtone turns me into a bumbling idiot.
“Told you al co—cohol you later.” The syrupy drawl of his voice squashes what little annoyance I’m able to dredge up. He’s my kryptonite.
The worst part of this entire situation—he knows it.
“That was three weeks ago,” I remind him, trying to inject a little irritation into my tone.
My pulse throbs in my throat. I can almost feel the warmth of his breath through the phone…can practically taste the bourbon on his tongue.
“Don’t be like that, Ray… you’re supposed to be my dude,” he slurs.
His “dude.” What every girl longs to hear from the man she’s desperately in love with.
“I am.” The fluttering of butterflies forming in my chest instantly morphs into lava roiling in my gut, because I want to be so much more. But Nicholas Potter is, in a word…complicated.
For starters, he’s the drummer for the Rhett Taylor band…only the hottest country group to hit the stage since…well, maybe ever. The boy is living the life of a rock god, with no desire to settle down. Nick’s been nothing but clear on that matter, and I certainly can’t fault the man for my inability to keep my own feelings in check.
So, I take whatever I can get, convinced that while a new groupie in a different city each night may get his body, I’m the one in possession of his heart. I mean, he hasn’t said as much, but there must be some reason, apart from my killer snatch, that he keeps coming back, right?
Right.
“How was the show?”
“Was good… Great, actually.” His pitch climbs a few octaves. “Rhett and Korie announced their pregnancy at the end. Crowd ate that shit up.”
“Shut up!” How did I not know that was happening tonight? “Some best friend,” I mutter, referring to, Korie, my supposed bestie, who also happens to be Nick’s cousin and married to the lead singer of his band, Rhett Taylor himself.
He snorts. “It’s you and me now, toots.”
“Oh, yeah?” The butterflies return with a vengeance, swarming, and dancing, and stirring up a flurry of emotions.
“Yup. Those two are so obsessed with each other, it’s disgusting.” He groans. “They don’t have time for us anymore.”
The level of derision in his tone has me spitting out a laugh. “That so?”
“If I ever get that gaga over a female, I’m gonna need you to promise you’ll put me in my place.”
Rolling to my side, I stuff a pillow under my neck, settling in for the long haul. “I don’t know… I think it’s romantic.”
He gags, but I know he’s just as happy for those two as I am. “Whatever.”
“You still sound really wired,” I say, moving the conversation along. There’s only one reason this man calls me in the wee hours of the morning, and it’s not to make small talk. “No luck with your groupies tonight?” It’s well known among our group that sex and pot are how he self-medicates his ADHD. Without them, he’d never sleep. Those restless nights are responsible for these drunken calls. Apparently, he believes I don’t need sleep either, or it could be that he knows I’ll never deny him.
“Couldn’t get it up,” he grumbles, causing me to choke.
“You really are too honest with me, sir.”
“Whiskey dick is a natural part of life. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Besides, you’re my best freaking friend. I’ll never lie to you.”
“So, you keep saying,” I clap back. “But I only hear from you when you need me.”
The mention of his dick has me pressing my thighs tightly together. I’ve become quite taken with that delectable appendage of his, having more than enjoyed all eight inches on countless occasions. Nothing can compete with the way his Jacob’s ladder feels rippling along the sensitive flesh of my pussy walls. Coupled with his apadravya piercing, it’s safe to say he’s ruined me for all other dick. I don’t know what I’ll do if he ever falls for a woman who isn’t me and I find myself having to return to plain old peen. His bedazzled cock is a diamond in the rough. I’ll never find another that stacks up. The thought is nearly enough to kill my lady boner.
“I always need you.” His voice turns hoarse, and my blood heats. “You never disappoint.”
My phone dings, causing my heartbeat to nosedive right to my vagina. I open the message and there it stands in all its glory. He snapped the photo from underneath, showcasing the four barbells ascending his thick shaft. Evidently he’s overcome his earlier case of stage fright in a huge way. A curved bar through the head completes the look with balls slightly larger than those that adorn the ladder on both the top and undersides of his engorged mushroom.
“Dear Lord,” I mutter, nearly panting with desire.
“He is rather godly, isn’t he?”
“You’re so damn full of yourself,” I rasp, barely suppressing a laugh.