Pour Decisions
SEVEN
Dahlia
Drunk Dahlia is in control now and she’s having a blast. All the reasons for my romantic distance from Wes have evaporated.
As we dance, I feel the tension blanket us like we’re the only two people here.
His big hands trail up and down my body; my hips, my outer thighs, my stomach.
As he pushes against me, I feel something hard in my lower back.
I’m smug over my effect on him, because I feel the same arousal coursing through me.
His beard tickles my ear as he leans down to whisper in my ear we should drink some water.
Wes turns me in his arms so now my chest is pressed against him and I don’t miss the way my nipples pebble at the contact. I feel so tiny compared to him, it’s hot as fuck. He brushes a hair behind my ear before taking me by the hand and leading me out of the crowd.
While we prop up at the bar for hydration, I notice Jasper trailing behind Daphne.
Sober me would question his motives, but present, drunk me wants to climb Wesley like a tree.
My stomach rumbles so I drop some not-so-subtle hints I need disco fries ASAP.
Everyone nods in agreement and soon we’re spilling out onto the sidewalk outside.
Daphne and I link arms and sway in the moonlight as we march to our favorite late night spot, Moon Palace. A diner that has seen many a heartbreak, drunken gyro feast, and plenty of post-dancing disco fries.
I’m still at the fun level of drunk where everything is bright and silly, and my anxiety is non-existent.
This emboldened version of me decides to sit on Wes’ side of the booth, completely gone to all the reasons why I told Daphne I was keeping my distance.
She and Jasper sit opposite us. Jasper appears to be fantasizing about jamming a fork into his eye. Mine and Wes’ thighs are touching.
His big, strong manly thighs.
Drunk Dahlia is also apparently a lustful lady because I’m fantasizing about Wes’ thighs as he orders a burger. What would they look like if he perched me on them as he pounded into me? Oooh, what about dry humping?
In this moment, it seems so very foolish to insist on being just friends.
He’s so fine, rugged looking too—all broad chest and from what I felt on the dance floor, a hard lined body.
Don’t get me started on his tattoos, his body is seemingly covered.
I’m staring at his hands, picturing them wrapped around my neck, lining my throat with the words hell bent collaring me, when Daphne’s fingers wave in front of me.
“Dude, it’s your turn. We’re ordering.” Oh nooooo. I suppose drunk Dahlia isn’t a great multitasker.
I lick my lips in an attempt to clear my sexy-hands-induced haze and end up ordering a cheeseburger.
Daphne narrows her eyes at me and at Wes before launching into a tirade of the sluttiest shots one can order at a bar.
Jasper looks like he may grind his molars into dust at her mention of slippery nipples. And now I’m visualizing Wes’ nips.
Wes leans in. “I thought you wanted fries?” My mouth forms an O and I realize I let this man’s sexy fingers distract me from my post-dancing prize.
With a look of understanding, Wes leaves the booth to put in an extra order fries.
I’m stunned silent when Wes looks over with a soft smile, and I know I’m so fucked.
The rest of our late-night feast goes off without a hitch and after Jasper complained for the half hour it took him to find a parking spot, we’re settled in for the night.
Fernando took an instant liking to Jasper and Wes, meowing and showing his belly like the little orange attention whore he is. Jasper bitched he didn’t like cats, but he’s been petting Fernando for at least ten minutes.
Eventually, they all settle for bed—Jasper and Wes looking comical on opposite ends of the small futon. Daphne and I head to our rooms and my phone lights with a text from Wes.
Wesley
You did great tonight. I’m so glad I got to come by for the show.
In my excitement to reply, I accidentally swipe back to my unread texts only to be assaulted with a barrage of texts from the malevolent presence I’ve blocked far too many times.
However, in typical deadbeat fashion, he’s likely swindled some unsuspecting woman into paying for a new phone this month.
Unknown
hey
Unknown
it’s dad
Unknown
call me sometime. I’v been spendin time with Kip, remember
Sure, Dad. I remember some random man who, in all honesty, probably sold you drugs, that I met once.
The airy cloud of lust I was floating on has completely dissipated and I’m crashing back to earth. Of course, his first message to me again in six months is useless. He’s a waste of space and the painful memories of my younger years come rushing back.
Seven-year-old Dahlia waiting by the door with her bags packed, for a man who would never come.
Ten-year-old Dahlia thrilled her dad was finally picking her up for a weekend visit, only to be returned an hour later because I asked for something to eat for lunch.
It always makes me laugh when he reaches out now.
As a kid he’d say, “phone works both ways, you know,” like I wasn’t his ditzy twelve-year-old child and he was the parent.
The rare time we’d spend together was filled with complaints about my bitch of a mom and how she ruined his life by having me.
Not like I was sitting shotgun in his stolen Civic listening to this tirade or anything.
Grandma always said she couldn’t tell what was worse on me—him disappearing or actually showing up.
This text is the bucket of water I needed to douse the fires of my problematic crush.
I block the number and throw my phone to the floor, remembering exactly what falling in love gets you and why it’ll save me and Wes the heartache if we remain friends.
The last thing I need is to fall in love and be left to mend a broken heart for the rest of time when he realizes I’m simply not good enough.
If your earliest memories are being unwanted, it’s not hard to make the connection you’re the common denominator. Grandma should have hit him with her car the last time she threatened it. I would’ve paid her bail and saved us a lot more trouble in the long run.