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Done with men. Done. I refuse to think about my ex, who I caught boning my assistant. Next weekend is my best-friend Becca’s wedding. This weekend I’m in charge of her bachelorette party and it’s going to be F.U.N. — no matter how upset I am. Hmmm…could I have *fun* with that sexy Aussie who is one of the groomsmen? I mean that accent…maybe he isn’t my Mr. Forever, but my Mr. Right Now?
“That reservation was mine!”
What the hell? I’m holding my cock in my hand above a urinal while a wild-eyed woman stands beside me with her hand planted on her hip. Her high heel taps the ground.
I squint. So familiar…this woman looks so familiar.
“You do know this is the men’s room,” I say and abruptly interrupt her ranting. Her mouth drops open and her eyes widen as though shocked that I’d deign to speak when she so obviously has so much to say.
“Just like you knew that the reservation you stole was mine?”
“Excuse me?” I turn my back to her. Sharing the visual of my wanker with a woman who,—while familiar looking—I absolutely don’t know, isn’t happening. “Uh, I really am doing something here.” The piss has stopped. Not happening now.
“Doesn’t look like you’re doing much of anything,” she says and crosses her arms over her chest.
The mix of contempt and defiance on her face does nothing for my ability to piss. Ahhh…that face. The look. The tone of voice. Now the memory of this very beautiful but very angry woman comes back to me. “Did you follow me here? From the hotel?” I ask. “After my comment about being disorganized?”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” she says. “Don’t flatter yourself. What kind of narcissist are you? Did I follow you here?”
“Right, well, I’m guessing that’s a no. So if you’re not a stalker in need of a Marie Kondo intervention, then why exactly are you standing in the men’s bathroom yelling at me while I urinate?”
Her—granted, very cute—mouth drops open again, and she begins to speak, but it’s as though somehow my words and the realization that she has, in fact, followed me into a men’s room has rendered this still hot as hell (but arguably unstable) woman unable to form words.
“Are you or are you not in a party room right now?” she asks, as though speaking to a child.
“Right now?” I ask and wiggle my cock just a bit. “No.”
A tiny flush of pink runs up her neck and into her cheeks. While I’d considered putting my dick away, now with her embarrassment I’ll definitely leave it out for a while. She walked in here, I have to piss, I’ll wait until I do.
“Right now,” I say and lean closer as if preparing to tell her a secret, “I’m standing at a urinal in the men’s room.” I glance around the room. “Where are you?”
“Oh my God, did they teach you how to be an asshole when you moved to Australia or is this just a natural part of your personality?”
“Funny. Good one. I’ll take it. So you are a stalker. That’s quite a bit of intel you’ve managed to gather on me in a very short time.”
“The party room you’re using is my party room for my party,” she says.
Ahh…there it comes, finally I’m peeing. She glances down and her eyes widen, then she turns away. So there is some semblance of humility within this woman. Good to know.
“No, no, no,” I say. “My assistant Derek booked the party room.”
“Oh did he?” she asks from over her shoulder. “Hmm. Maybe you should check with the host then because I think you might be surprised to find that Derek did not book the party room, but instead, the host Eduardo accidentally gave you my reservation.”
“What?” I put my cock into my pants and zip. “No, the reservation was most definitely under the Ryan-Warner wedding party.” I walk to the sink and wash my hands.
“That was my reservation,” she says.
“You’re not Becca.” I give her reflection in the mirror my most charming smile. “I know Becca.”
“As do I, Brett. I’m Becca’s maid of honor.”
I dry my hands and pull my phone from my pocket. I flip it over and scroll. Hmmm…how to play this? It would seem that based on Derek’s panicked texts that have just started downloading, that what this crazy woman with the beautiful mouth and amber and brown eyes and dark brown curly hair is saying is an accurate reflection of the events of this evening.
“Well then,” I say and give her my biggest cute-Aussie grin. “It’s such a pleasure to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much about you from both the bride and the groom.” I slide my phone into my back pocket. “Exciting time isn’t it? What with the wedding next weekend and the wedding party weekend tonight and tomorrow.” I’m an entrepreneur, I can do obsequious, I can make this woman forgive the mistake I’ve made before I admit to making it. Can’t I? “Yes, it does seem as though there has been a bit of a mistake.” Again I slather on the charm. My blue eyes and white teeth must be useful for something.
Her eyes roll so far up into their sockets that they might fall from her head. “A mistake?! Tonight is the one thing that Becca wanted to do for this bridal-whatever-the-hell-it-is-weekend and you go and steal my reservation?! Then you have the audacity to insult me, call me a stalker, and tell me what you did was a mistake!”
“Well, it was,” I say. “I can’t understand why you’re unhinged about the whole thing. I mean it’s an honest mistake. I asked my assistant to get the reservation and I thought—”
“What else do you ask your assistant to do for you?” she cuts in. Her eyes narrow. It’s as though I’ve waved a red flag in front of a raging-hormonal bull (if bulls were female) when I mentioned my assistant.
“Well, I’m not sure how that’s relevant to the conversation but I ask h—”
“Do you ask your assistant to sit on your lap? To have sex with you? To steal your business partner’s clients while she’s away?”
“Uh…well…I…don’t… I don’t have a business partner and no, I do not ask my assistant to sit on my lap or for sex as I believe that would be illegal and…well…I prefer to sleep with—”
“And unhinged?” She steps forward. Her body is now an inch from mine. Heat rolls off her. “I’m not unhinged! That’s so insulting. I can hardly believe after what you’ve done, you have the hubris to call me unhinged! When it’s quite obvious that you’re the one who has done something completely inappropriate and—”
She’s right in front of me, spinning and spewing and angry and unhinged (even if she is denying it) and I only see her abso-fucking-lutely sexy lips. Her breasts heave up and down with each breath. Her nipples tighten and press against the snug fabric of her purple dress. An image of this angry, sexy, gorgeous woman naked races in my mind. I reach out and grab this stuttering, angry, mess of a woman and in the men’s bathroom I pull her to me and I kiss her.
Not my style and yet just exactly what I want. She’ll either kiss me or slap me—and either way it’ll be worth it.
Her body stiffens next to mine and for a half second it’s a toss-up as to whether this will be the sexiest kiss of my life or I’ll walk away with two black eyes—that I totally deserve—because who grabs a woman in a men’s room and kisses her? Not me. Then again what woman follows a stranger into a men’s room and watches him pee?
She smells like lemons and lavender. Her body presses against mine. My tongue glides over the seam of her lips and she relaxes. Her entire body melts into me as though molding to every muscle and sinew. I press my hand flat against her back. Her mouth opens to mine and our tongues dance together. I deepen the kiss and she responds. She sighs a sweet sexy sigh around our kiss. Her hand presses to my chest and the heat of her palm goes through the fabric and ignites against my flesh. Her hand snakes through my hair and her kiss has need and want.
She pulls me closer. My hand slides down her back and I cup the thick round curve of her ass. She grasps my shirt and pulls up and her fingers press along the ridges of my abs. Yes. Please. She hooks a leg around me and I put both hands around her ass and lift her to me.
Together we walk into the stall. We’re a tangle of want and need and desire. Her mouth is open and my tongue caresses her tongue. My fingers skim over the front of her dress and through the fabric of her dress my thumb presses the tight bud of her aroused nipple.
Her hand drops from my abs and she presses her palm against the outline of my hard cock that was just free and wants to be let loose from my jeans again.
Fuck. Me. This woman turns me on at a level I haven’t experienced since…well since forever.
Her hand grasps the front of my jeans and she unzips my pants. My cock springs free and her hand strokes down the shaft of my cock. She presses her thumb over the head and through the pre-cum on the head of my cock.
My lips leave her mouth and I look into her eyes. “I don’t even know your name,” I say.