Author's Note: Due to life (and an unfortunate incident involving my face and a large block of concrete), it has been nearly a year since I have posted anything. I am posting again, and I'd like to thank everyone who stuck with me throughout my long hiatus, with an extra special Thank You to my beloved beta, Nelle1022, who obviously has the patience of Job.
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People are such dicks. I cannot tell you the number of times some asshat has chewed me out for doing my fucking job. But then, I work in a callcenter. For some unknown reason, people who would never be rude to your face think nothing of treating the person on the other end of the phone like shit. Instant asshole, just add technology. It had only been twelve days since Black Friday, and I was literally counting down the hours until the Christmas rush was over. Having the option of available overtime was great and all, but I didn't think the boost in pay would actually be enough to cover the immense amount of psychotherapy that I would require if I didn't take my days off. The day had been especially bad, and I'd spent most of it wishing I'd had a little button on my phone that I could've pushed to electrocute the person on the other end of the line, but since I couldn't have that, I needed a drink. Or ten. Hostile, bitter, and working my way towards cirrhosis of the liver at the ripe old age of twenty-two. It didn't give me much hope for a bright future.
I stood just inside the door for a minute, trying to adjust to the drastic temperature change, and doing my damnedest at impersonating a wet dog, shaking some of the rain water off of me. Raking my sodden hair out of my eyes, I stepped up to the bar and slid a ten across it.
"Hey, Wyn." The bartender tilted his chin in greeting and pushed a shot, a beer, and a roll of quarters back at me.
Yeah. That's me. Wyn Blake. In case you don't know it, Wyn means white, and Blake means black. It can also mean white, but my parents didn't know that at the time. And because the 'rents were assholes on a whole different level, my middle name is Rory, which means red. They intentionally named me White Red Black. Seriously.
And yeah, I'd been to this bar before. It was my second favorite haunt. It was the one I went to when I wasn't looking to pull. Although, sometimes that happened here too. Which was the reason that the bartender sold me the quarters; not something they did for just the average barfly. Honestly, it was just a quickie blowjob in the bathroom, and he didn't even let me return the favor, but if it got me special privileges, who was I to bitch? But that night, I wanted to be alone, and being a Wednesday night in December, it was mostly dead, making it the perfect bar for that.
"Thanks, Chad." I tossed back the whisky and peeled myself out of my leather jacket. "Can you hold this for me?"
Chad nodded, reached across the bar to take my jacket, and stored it behind the bar. I picked up the beer bottle and the roll of quarters and made my way to an open pool table.
There were six billiards tables, four dart boards, and several video games. The music was usually rock, a smidgeon on the hard side, with some ballads thrown in for good measure. However, someone must have been feeding the jukebox, but thankfully it wasn't Christmas music. The Pretty Reckless rolled to Halestorm, which was significantly heavier than the bar normally played, and suited my mood perfectly. I racked up the balls and knocked back the beer while I tried to forget the day ever happened.
By the time the pool table had eaten the entire roll of quarters, I no longer had any idea of how many drinks I had consumed, but suffice it to say, I was feeling no pain. But I WAS feeling a stirring in my loins that I wasn't altogether unfamiliar with. I slid onto the barstool just as Chad set another bottle of beer in front of me. I fished my debit card out of my wallet and pushed it across the bar.
Chad reached for the card. "Would you like me to call a cab for you?"
I rested my hand atop of his over the plastic. "I have a better idea. Why don't you take me home instead?"
He glanced down at where my thumb was tracing small circles on the back of his hand. "I don't think that's a good idea." He gently pulled his hand out from under mine, taking the card with him.
"I think it's a fantastic idea." My voice was a little slurred, but I thought it just added a little more sex appeal. I pushed the barbell of my tongue piercing through my lips and leered at him seductively.
His eyes darkened with lust, and his body shuddered, before he turned his back to me and cashed out my tab. He returned with my charge slip and card, silently setting them on the bar in front of me.
"Come on, Chad. I know you like me. And I don't work tomorrow. I don't mind staying 'til close for you."
He glanced around to see if anyone else was in earshot because this wasn't a gay bar. I didn't give a rat's ass who knew I liked guys, but Chad obviously did. But then, I didn't consider myself gay. I didn't consider myself straight either. When I was looking to score, I didn't concern myself with genders. I went with whatever, or whoever, I was drawn to at the time. Although, admittedly, it was far more likely for that person to be male than female. If I added them up, my male partners outnumbered my female partners by a hefty percentage. Good ol' Kinsey woulda ranked me somewhere around 4.5.
There was no one else in earshot, and Chad must have decided it was safe enough. "I don't do the casual sex thing, Wyn."
I barked out a laugh and arched my eyebrow at him. "We both know that's not precisely true."
He frowned. "That was a mistake. It was before I knew about you."
My lips curled up in a smirk. "Knew what about me?"
He grimaced and struggled to find words that weren't outright insulting. He needn't have tried so hard. I wasn't easily offended. "Look, Wyn. You're all about NSA hookups. I like my strings. I'd get attached, and you wouldn't. Life is hard enough. I don't need to set myself up for pain."
"What if I promise not to hurt you in any way that you didn't really, really enjoy?" I wiggled my eyebrows at him with a teasing grin.
He half smirked, half grimaced at me and rolled his pretty blue eyes. "You're such a slut. Why don't you go tempt someone else with that tight ass of yours and leave me in peace?"
A no is a no, but I couldn't resist taunting him a little. "My ass IS tight. And remember, I owe you one. So anytime you're ready to cut those strings holding you back and take a piece of me, you let me know."
Right about last call, I made my way out the door and climbed into my car. Chad was right, I was way too drunk to drive, but I didn't want to leave my car at the bar either. I laid my seat back and grabbed the blanket that I kept in the back seat. I was too tall to sleep comfortably in my car, but I had done it before, and I was plenty drunk enough to not give a shit.
I woke to a tapping on my driver's side window and opened my eyes to see Chad holding up my leather jacket. I had no idea how long I had been asleep, but the rain had stopped. Well, hell. I must have been further gone than I had thought. It was fucking freezing, and I loved that jacket. I couldn't believe that I had walked out and forgotten it.
He sighed dramatically at my fumbling attempt to unlock and open the door. "Damn, you're fucked up. Scooch over. I'm driving you home." He waved his hand at me to indicate that I should move. I clambered over the center console into the passenger seat, and he slid into the car behind the wheel. "What's your address?"
**
I slowly came to around two the next day. I carefully crawled out of bed sporting a major hangover; light, sound, and movement all hurt. I had no idea how I had gotten home, much less undressed and into bed. The one thing that I did know for sure was that I hadn't gotten laid. There were no tell-tale remnants of dried, flakey cum on my body, my hole wasn't tender, and my mouth didn't taste like ass. Okay. It did taste like ass, but in the way that told me I'd drank too much and slept with my mouth open, not in the way that indicated that I'd been eating someone's ass.
I was also alone. How disappointing. The last thing I remembered was Chad getting into my car. I must have passed out. I could only assume that he'd brought me home. He, apparently, was too much of a gentleman to take advantage of my drunken state. Too bad.
