The Billionaire and the Virgin(18)
“So why not tell the bride to fu—uh . . . tell her that you’re not interested?”
She gave him a vaguely reproachful look. “Because she’s my friend and she asked. I couldn’t refuse. The wedding isn’t about me, anyhow. It’s about her. And it’s not such a big sacrifice, really. I got a few weeks off of work and an all-expenses-paid vacation, so it’s not so bad. And Brontë is wonderful. Truly one of the best people I’ve ever met.” Her expression grew soft with affection. “I adore her.”
He grunted, spearing his lettuce. Hearing her go on rhapsodically about Logan’s sainted bride made him think that if Logan found Rob still at the resort, he was going to get booted out on his ass.
And wouldn’t the paparazzi love that. He could see the headline now. Tits or GTFO? The Man Channel’s billionaire owner must not have listened!
Yeah, f*ck that noise. “Listen, Marjorie, I—” He paused, staring at her.
She was gazing at something just to his left, her fork halfway lifted to her pretty pink lips, which were currently parted. She kept blinking, the look on her face incredulous.
So he couldn’t help it. He looked over.
At the next table over, two women sat, gazing over in his direction. It was clear they recognized him, based on the lascivious looks they were shooting in his direction. As he looked over, the brunette grabbed her blonde friend and they began to kiss and make out in a very obvious display. Lipstick smeared on their mouths as they tongued each other, both of them looking at him, and one played with the spaghetti strap of the other, hinting that she’d take the top off if he’d only ask.
It happened to him all the time. Tits or GTFO was their biggest show and a bit of a legend. It was a game show in that they’d show up someplace public and offer a hot girl money to go topless. She either had to show her “Tits or GTFO.” And there were plenty of girls who were willing to take his money. Enough that they’d never have to show a single f*cking rerun. Wherever he went, women tried to get his attention, and most flirty women knew that the best way to get a man’s attention was to coyly make out with the woman next to her.
Every dick in a room stopped for two chicks making out, after all.
Rob rolled his eyes at their antics and glanced over at his date. Judging from Marjorie’s shock, she had no idea what had prompted this action. He leaned in, trying to distract her. “Island girls are pretty forward, huh?”
She looked over at him and her mouth closed. She nodded and put her fork down. “I’ll say. My goodness gracious.” Twin spots of color flagged her cheeks and she grabbed the glass of wine and chugged it again.
He was about to tease Marjorie that her exclamation sounded like something his grandmother would say when someone walked up to the table. Oh hell. Rob looked up in vague annoyance to see the forward brunette standing at his side. Her red lipstick was smeared on her wet mouth, and up close, her lips looked over-plumped and injected with too much silicone.
“Just wanted to drop this off,” she said in a breathy voice, sliding a slip of paper with her phone number (or room number, depending on how forward she really was) toward his hand. She winked at him. “See you later . . . hopefully.” And she sauntered off, her hips swaying.
God damn it. Couldn’t a man eat his meal without being interrupted? He chewed angrily on a mouthful of lettuce, ignoring Marjorie’s shocked stare.
“Did you know her?” she asked. Her words were slightly slurred. Surely she couldn’t be drunk off of one glass of wine, could she?
“Nope. I can honestly say I’ve never met that girl.” Hundreds like her, yes. That one in particular? No.
“Is that her phone number?” she asked in a low, hurt voice. As he watched, she took another gulp of wine. A droplet or two ran off the corners of her mouth and landed on her cleavage.
He stared at those beads of glistening liquid, then shook himself. Fuck. This date was turning into a hot mess. He had to save this. He didn’t want the girl that had just left—chicks like her were a dime a dozen. He wanted the one across from him, the one that couldn’t hide what she was thinking if her life depended on it. The one that was currently getting drunk off of expensive wine because she was so nervous. So he grabbed his napkin and pried the lid off of the lantern at the table, revealing the small candle and flame within. He took the girl’s number without unfolding the paper and fed it to the candle.
Marjorie gave him a hesitant, confused smile. “Boy, they really are forward, aren’t they?”
“Indeed.”
***
By the time they got to dessert, Rob’s date was plastered. Marjorie had downed half of the bottle of wine and was currently staring at him with a dopey, glassy-eyed expression, her chin resting on her fists. The angle of her arms made her small tits sit right on the tabletop, and the deep cleavage of her dress made them practically spill out.
And still, Rob didn’t look. Christ, it was hard being a gentleman. He even glared at their waiter when he hovered over Marjorie for too long, daring the man to take one look in that direction and he’d get no tip whatsoever.
“So what are you thinking, Marjorie?”
That silly smile on her face grew wider. “That you’re so pretty.”
He gave her a faint smile. “That so?”
“Yeah,” she said dreamily, gazing at him. “I never dated anyone quite so pretty as you.”