Page 86 of Secret Squirrel
I glanced around the twenty-somethings and cringed when I saw they’d already started the drinking games. “Let’s hope they stay as far away as possible.”
He chuckled as he glanced over my shoulder. “You’re so screwed.”
I was about to ask why when I felt hands land on my shoulders. No…claws. Fucking hot pink fake nails came into my vision, running over my biceps as multiple women surrounded me.
“Dukey, these are my friends from high school. Teresa, Clarissa, Gabby…” Then she leaned over and whispered in my ear. “And the fat one is Marissa.”
I looked over at the so-called fat girl that couldn’t have weighed more than a hundred and twenty pounds. That was enough to make me start drinking. I was too old for catty women, and right now, I was surrounded by them.
I took a shot and signaled for another.
“So, Duke is a mechanic.”
The women gasped as their hands clung to me. I did everything in my power not to fling them off me and storm for the door.
“A mechanic—”
“Oh my gosh! They’re so cute with their little overalls!”
“I bet he really knows how to work a wrench.”
“Do you have any friends?”
I spun around on my stool, prying the hands from my body as I put on my most charming smile. “Ladies, it’s lovely to meet you. Drinks are on me.”
They all squealed, making me wince at the horrible noise. Instead of getting them further away, they seemed to multiply by the second. The men were starting to glare at me like this was my fucking fault. The very last thing I wanted was ten Carlys swarming around me.
“Hey, man!” I shouted across the bar at one of the young guys.
With my hand holding my whiskey over my head, I made my way through the crowd over to the guys standing off in the corner. The one guy actually pointed at himself, like he was surprised anyone would talk to him.
“Why are you guys standing over here instead of talking to the ladies?”
“Uh…” The kid looked at his friends, then shrugged. “Cuz you’re talking to them.”
I rolled my eyes at them. “Guys, I’m about ten years too old for any of these women. I came to support a friend—that’s it.”
“But…they’re all hanging over you,” another guy pointed out. “You’re a mechanic.”
Fuck, was that going to haunt me forever? “It’s a profession, guys. What they like is the raw, masculine appeal.”
They all frowned at me, not understanding.
“Look at me. I’m wearing jeans, a shirt, and work boots. You’re wearing skinny jeans and a shirt that should only be worn in a male strip club. You’re not exactly oozing sex appeal.”
“But…this is my favorite shirt,” he frowned.
I leaned in close so only he could hear. “Kid, how many times has that shirt gotten you laid?”
His eyes went wide as he stared at me.
“Get rid of the fucking shirt,” I whispered.
“Like, right now?” he asked.
I rolled my eyes heavenward. “That depends. Do you have another shirt on you?”
“Uh…in my hotel room. Should I go change?”