Chapter Six
Lacey
The local student bar is dark and crowded, full of mingling classmates and guys who clearly graduated decades earlier and ignored the memo on being creepy.
But even middle-aged men look like they belong here more than I do.
What possessed me to wear a suit?
I tug the jacket lower and try to channel one of my characters—an uptight businesswoman on the prowl for a night of fun. Except in my story, her suit is tailored, enhancing her figure, not hiding it behind a bulky sale-rack cut.
I already suck at dating, and I haven’t even started yet.
Olly reaches for my hand in the crowd and tugs me closer to him. Immediately a rush of calmness fills me, his touch confident and sure as he weaves a path toward the alcohol-lined wall.
Admiring looks linger in his direction, taking in his wild hair and inked lines peeking beneath rolled-up shirtsleeves, but it’s me that he winks at when he grins over his shoulder.
My body reacts instinctively, contracting and pulsing in all the places it shouldn’t for a boy who’s supposed to be just a friend.
He leads me to the bar, gripping the edge with one hand and squeezing me into the space beside him. Even with two sets of clothing between us, his body heat cuts through fabric, soaking into my skin and muddling my head.
Ignoring the uptick in my pulse, I smile at the bartender as he strides our way.
His grin meets mine, then his eyes slide to Olly, his smile widening in recognition. “Hey Olly and friend he’s been keeping all to himself.”
His eyes are back to me, and he winks.
“Back off, Blake,” Olly warns.
An unexpected thrill tingles up my spine at Olly’s possessive tone.
“Lacey, this is Blake. Blake, Lacey.”
Blake arches one brow at Olly as a look passes between the boys.
Before I can question it, Blake turns to me, dimples and a seductive smile drawing me in. “What can I get you, gorgeous?”
“Umm…” My brain seizes up in a panic. I’ve written scenes like this—flirty bartender and single female protagonist—but no matter how much I search for the sexual innuendo drink order, my mind is blank.
Am I really so lost in my own antisocial writing bubble that I need a seduction tutor and a lesson in how to be a college student?
“I’ll take a beer,” Olly orders. “And Miss Socialite will have an old-fashioned.”
He shoots me a cheeky grin—Lacey, the forty-something twenty-year-old.
I roll my eyes. Only a best friend would have my insecurities and idiosyncrasies on file for quick recall.
Blake slides a beer to Olly and hands me an amber-colored drink with an orange slice bobbing on top before moving further down the bar.
I grab my drink and gulp a mouthful before turning to my tutor for the night. “So, what are your moves?”
Olly’s hand stills, beer hovering just below his mouth. “My moves?”
I nod, looking around the room and sipping my drink, which is surprisingly good for a joke. “How do you approach someone you want to… you know.”
“Fuck?” He grins. “You can say the word, Lacey. You write it enough.”
He offers me a challenging stare as he lifts the beer to his mouth and swallows. Does his throat bob like that when he sucks cock?
“Is your kinky little brain plotting a new scene or recalling an old one?”
I almost choke on the orange peel swimming inside my glass.
He smirks at me over the rim of his beer.
I clear my throat. “Time to get to work. Show me how you pick up.”
“I like this bossy side of you,” he says. “You should tell me what you want more often.”
I peer at him. Telling me to say what I want is becoming his new mantra.
“I don’t go out looking for a fuck,” Olly says.
He might not start his nights looking for someone to share his bed, but someone always does. No one notices Olly without their thoughts turning carnal. He wears confidence and sexuality like a brand, promising he’s even better when sampled.
I sip my drink, the liquid warming my insides as it burns my throat. “What do you do then?”
He stares at me, and it’s moments like this I wish I could read him as easily as he reads me.
“I buy a drink,” he begins. “I make conversation. If there’s attraction, it progresses to flirting.”
Flirting… I can write a slow burn romance on paper, but in person, my tongue is thick and awkward, my mind a jumble of the worst pickup lines in history.
“How do I go from conversation to flirting?” I don’t want to end up with a third course outline from Professor Gibson tomorrow.
“Eye contact.”
“Staring?”
“Not in a creepy way.” Amusement dances behind his smile. “Just enough to show that you’re interested and listening.”
I think about the times I’d casually talk to Olly while glancing off at something in the distance only to look back and find his full attention on me. “You do that to me.”
“I like everything you say.”
There’s no hesitation, condescension, or false bravado in his words. Just truth.
My heart thumps in a rhythm I’m beginning to recognize as an Olly arrhythmia—a very nonplatonic heartbeat.
“Then what?” I ask, needing to redirect my thoughts.
“If the conversation is flowing, you lean a little closer.” As he offers the advice, his head tilts closer to mine. “If they don’t pull away, it’s a good sign.”
We’re so close now the toasted caramel scent of his beer rolls off his tongue and onto mine. “Of what?”
“That you are getting lucky.”
His lids lower, and his eyes drop to my lips, only for a second, but it’s enough to turn my mouth to dust.
His gaze lifts, finding mine. “Ready?”
Heartbeats smack so loudly it sounds like my heart is caged in my ear canal. “For what?”
“The show.”
Right… he’s my tutor tonight.
Olly leaves my side and moves to the other end of the bar. He orders a fresh drink and smiles at a guy sitting alone, quickly winning over the stranger.
Olly’s relaxed and charming nature makes seduction look as easy as breathing.
No wonder his bed is rarely empty.
My fingers itch to take notes like the diligent student I am, but as the stranger leans closer to my friend, a weird sensation scratches beneath my chest.
Suddenly, watching Olly go home with someone else doesn’t feel like a lesson I want to learn.
Olly looks up, holding my gaze, as he lifts a glass to his mouth slowly. The intensity rolling off him hits me even from the other side of the bar. Something about the look in his eye makes me think that the next time I watch a live porno, it won’t be through a video call.
“Here you go.”
I jump, the unexpected voice breaking whatever voodoo Olly’s eyes are weaving on me.
I turn to find a fresh drink and Blake’s smiling face. “You don’t get out much, do you?”
I lift the new glass to my lips to hide my warming cheeks. “I’m kind of a book nerd.”
Blake rests his elbows on the bar, his smile growing. “I like books.”
I return his smile, curious about his attention. “Are you flirting with me?”
His eyes widen in surprise. “Uh… yes.”
I hold one finger up to signal I need a second, pull my phone out of my pocket, and unlock it. Olly’s penis stands erect on my screen in all its orgasmic glory.
I blush, not the soft peachy kind but full-on tomato red, my skin heating everywhere from the tips of my ears to between my thighs.
Note to self: Exit out of sexy photos after memorizing every pixel.
“Everything okay?” Blake asks.
“Yup.” I quickly flick the image away and open up the notes app. “Just, ah, wondering… what’s your best pickup line? Is there one that gets you laid more than the others?”
Blake slowly stands, looking toward the other end of the bar.
“What do you wear when trying to pick someone up? Do you think that impacts how successful your line delivery is?”
“I see some customers getting restless.” Blake walks in the opposite direction from me, faster than what would be considered safe with a wall of glass bottles so close.
“What was that?”
I jump again and turn to find Olly standing behind me with a what-the-fuck look on his face.
“Research?”
“Jesus, Lacey. Don’t let the guy know that.” He gives my phone a pointed look.
“I told you I have no clue what I’m doing.”
Two drinks and a bundle of nerves make my voice louder, and my arms weave like a marionette’s, moving in time with my mouth. “I need this plot outline by the end of the week. How am I supposed to seduce my professor when I terrify the bartender?”
And I keep picturing myself in those photos…
Olly pulls out his wallet and throws some cash on the bar. “Let’s go.”
“Home?” I squeak. “But I’ve barely watched you in action. I need to research.”
The corner of Olly’s mouth twitches. “Oh, we’re still going to research?”
My stomach knots so tight I’m not sure it will ever unravel. “How?”
His eyes darken and drop on my mouth. “One-on-one, on my couch.”
My mouth is dry, my tongue a useless floppy muscle, unable to form words. Is he talking about sex?
Olly’s chuckle is deep, dry, and crackling with sexual energy. “Relax, Lovely Lacey. We can change into pj’s, eat some greasy food, and I’ll talk you through how to seduce your professor like a good friend.”
Because going home with the guy whose dick pic is flashing on repeat in my mind is precisely what I should be doing if I want to not ruin my friendship…
But I can’t resist the chance to be alone with Olly or the giddy feeling bubbling up inside of me, knowing I’m the one going home with him tonight.
“Let’s go.”