Page 2 of Daring the Bad Boy
While she and Vince hadn’t had a spectacular sex life, she had missed the flesh to flesh connection that couldn’t be provided by her top-of-the-range vibrator – or even an X-rated Trekkie fantasy.
Tash refilled Rosie’s daiquiri glass to the brim from the pitcher on the table. “But in the absence of Chris, we need to get your sex life back up to warp speed with what’s on offer.” She clinked her glass against Rosie’s and took a healthy sip. “Here. Tonight.”
“But I’ve already tried dating,” Rosie pointed out, not ready to jump back into that shark tank again while she was feeling vulnerable. “It was a lot of time and effort for no return.”
“We’re not talking dating. That was your first mistake with Vince, thinking you wanted to keep him. What you nee
d right now is Hot Shag Against a Wall Guy – not Cheating Asshole Who Moves In With You Guy.” She craned her neck, to look past Rosie’s shoulder. “So let’s check out the available talent and see if we can find a willing victim.” She coughed, theatrically. “I mean a likely candidate.”
“Good luck with finding any talent in this dump,” Imogen said, but the interested gleam in her panda eyes as she craned her neck too told a different story.
Rosie sipped her daiquiri, not convinced, as Imo and Tash scanned the bar, which was packed on a Friday night with the two-for-one cocktail hour crowd, the penis-wearing hen party and assorted tourists and Valentine’s Day revelers. But as her friends began suggesting and then discarding the few likely victims on offer, the pleasant buzz of too many daiquiris had Rosie actually considering Tash’s outrageous suggestion.
Would it be so bad to cut loose just this once? She’d never had a one-night stand before, always more interested in making an emotional connection than a sexual one. But there was no law that said you always had to be looking for the long-haul? And if one hot night with a hot guy would ensure she never again got melancholy about not having shaving gunk in her sink, perhaps it was worth a shot?
Her spirits slumped. That said, Imo and Tash would have to find a likely candidate first.
“Oh-My-Fucking-God, over there at twelve o’clock.” Tash yanked Rosie’s arm hard enough to slosh daiquiri over her hand. “We’ve found him.”
“Shit, Tash, try and at least be a little subtle, or he’ll see us.” Imo hunched, being a bit disingenuous for someone who made themselves up everyday to look like Rocky Raccoon.
“There! Right behind you,” Tash said in a stage whisper, her only concession to subtle, as she pointed over Rosie’s shoulder. “This end of the bar, wearing the leather jacket and the sexy scowl. He’s abso-fricking-luscious. Check out those shoulders. And those hands. If he doesn’t have a huge willy and know exactly what to do with it, I’ll eat my tits. That guy’s not just smokin’, he’s on fire. As are my lady bits right now.”
“Well spotted,” Imogen agreed, which for her was like erecting a shrine to the guy.
Rosie swung round to take a look, ready to be unimpressed. Her standards were a good deal higher than Tash’s. But as her gaze landed on Mr. Abso-Fricking-Luscious – because it had to be him – her heartbeat slowed to a crawl, and then galloped to light speed.
He certainly had the wow factor. Because even though Rosie’s lady bits had never been as combustible as Tash’s, they were definitely doing a Snoopy dance.
Day-old stubble covered a chiseled jaw and sculpted cheekbones, complementing the thick dark hair that flowed down to touch the collar of his jacket. Rosie dug her nails into her palms, to contain the urge to run her fingers through the unkempt waves, which looked tactile and sexily disheveled instead of stiff with product. The black jeans and battered jacket completed the rough-around-the-edges look, fitting his muscular body and wide shoulders to perfection.
And every single thing about him screamed: I couldn’t give a shit about Valentine’s Day.
Rosie’s pulse jumped. Mr. Abso-Fricking-Luscious wasn’t just hot, he was a badass. No wonder he stood out from the Soho crowd – who probably thought going to a party in Peckham after dark was a walk on the wild side.
Then again, what single person wouldn’t feel surly after walking into a bar decorated in heart-shaped balloons and packed to the rafters with boozy women sporting sparkly penis-shaped deely boppers?
Rosie smiled, recognizing a fellow hostage to the loved-up party atmosphere and the warm glow of kinship combined with the heady blast of sexual awareness.
The vision of kneeling in front of him to locate the zip tab on his jeans with her teeth blasted into her brain and sent all the blood spiraling south.
James T. Kirk, eat your heart out.
“He’s even hotter than Chris Pine,” Rosie murmured.
Tash did a fist pump. “Excellent, we have a winner. Now let’s figure out how to hook you two up for the evening.”
But then the stranger lifted his fingers to attract the barman’s attention. And the barman instantly detached his gaze from the cleavage he had been chatting up most of the evening as if responding to his master’s voice.
Rosie gulped down another mouthful of daiquiri – with a hefty dose of reality. “I’m not approaching him.” She was a booty call virgin, for goodness sake. Running before she could walk would risk getting a slap-down that could flatten her ego for good. And she really didn’t need to feel any more inadequate. Tonight of all nights.
“Don’t be daft, why not?” Tash asked. “He’s perfect. You said so yourself.”
“No I didn’t. I said he was hot. But there’s hot, and there’s too hot.” She gave Tash her best ‘duh’ look. “I don’t want to get burned. I should start with someone less intimidating…” She nodded towards a thin bespectacled guy playing on one of the bar’s vintage pinball machines, who she vaguely recalled Tash and Imo discarding earlier. “How about Bill Gates over there?”
“Bill is out.” Tash was adamant. “He’s probably more interested in getting onto the leader board than scoring a touchdown with you. And those glasses have definite nurture-me vibes. Too hot is what you want, or you’ll only get hooked into his nerd drama and go into share and discuss mode. That’s how you ended up letting Vince the Dick move in with you, remember? When he told you that sob story about his mother which wasn’t even true.”
Fair point.