Los Angeles Longing – by Nicole Sanchez #4
“What if what I want is to kiss you?” Drunk Holly should never be drunk around Parker again. Drunk Holly is the one who grabbed Parker, a stranger in a bar at the time, and kissed him, getting us to this point. And that wasn’t even drunk Holly. That was tipsy Holly.
Drunk Holly wants to ride Parker. Drunk Holly says fuck her rules. She wants to fuck Parker.
Drunk Holly is going to say all Holly’s thoughts and then she’s going to have to take all the money Parker is paying her to change her identity.
Drunk Holly might be drunker than she thought.
I grab my head and whine.
“I think if you still want to kiss me once you’re sober, you can, but if you think that for even one second I’m going to let anything happen between us tonight when you’ve had enough to drink to voice that thought, I haven’t done a good enough job of showing you who I am.”
I feel sober from his words, just long enough to shake my head. “You have shown me who you are. I just want to see him all the time, not only in stolen moments.”
I lean up on my toes, ready to kiss his cheek, but a bright voice interrupts us.
“There you are!” London exclaims, snaking her arm through his. “We’re playing a little game, and I want you to join us. Holly is welcome, of course.” London tries to pull Parker away, but he stands firmly beside me. I wish she would get her hands off him.
“What sort of game?” I ask, pushing off the wall and into Parker. His free arm immediately takes hold of me.
“I doubt you’ve played. It’s called quarter flip.”
Really? What does she think the college experience is?
“So, is it flip cup to quarters or quarters to flip cup?”
My answer doesn’t seem to thrill her, but she plasters on a fake smile. I’m definitely getting rid of whatever I have left of her product line if this is what she’s like in real life.
“Quarter into the shot glass. Loser has to chug the shot. Winner has to chug the beer and then flip their cup, and the whole team has to go.”
“But what’s the prize?”
She scoffs like I’m some kid needing a prize at the end, but if I’m going to be chugging a beer at this point, I want to keep it interesting.
“No prize. We’re not children.” The Juliets have come up behind London, along with a few of her other friends and her boyfriend of the week.
“Why don’t we make it a charitable wager?” Parker suggests. “One hundred thousand to the winner’s charity of choice.”
My eyes nearly bug out of my head, and I turn to look at him because we both know I do not have that kind of money.
“What’s the matter? Not enough? Fine. One million to the winner’s charity of choice.”
A strangled sound escapes me. I’m not going to lose to this child princess, who, yeah, she’s turning twenty-five, but she made me feel like a grandma and keeps making eyes at my boyfriend. And I’m already a little drunk, but I also can’t beat her on her birthday.
“Done,” London agrees.
We wait while a table is brought out and set up for us to play, and I’m thankful because it gives me a chance to strategize. Our teams are set, shot glasses are laid out, and high-end bottles of liquor are set up. I grab the bottle of rum and pour myself a shot before downing it and doing another.
It’s been a minute since college, but I need to be a little more liquored up to play my best.
I’m placed last because I’m a wild card, I guess, and the rest of my team is expecting to have to carry me and for me to need the most amount of time to flip my cup and bounce the quarter.
Parker gets a pass on participating and watches from nearby, like he knows I’m the dark horse here to steal the victory from London.
I think he wants me to do it, too. Wants me to win and possibly embarrass her in front of everyone. I almost feel bad until she takes her spot in front of me, an angry twist on her lips.
“I really wish we could have been friends,” I blurt out, hating the truth behind the words.
I’ve loved following stories that feel real, even if she’s in a different net worth stratosphere.
I want to like her because I like her videos, but they’re all content made to drive people to like and follow her.
I just don’t know if she’s mean because she’s lonely or mean because that’s just who she is.
I guess the reasons don’t really matter when all you present is being two-faced.
“I really wish you would break up with Parker, but I guess we can’t all get what we want.” She turns down the table to her friends. “Let’s get this game started, assholes!”
I hold my breath. It’s clear that I’ve been assigned the team of misfits who aren't really drinkers, given how the first girl gags on her beer and we lose quarters twice in a row. But halfway through, the playing field levels out until London gets her quarter before me. I’m watching London with one eye and my teammate with the other as they try to flip their cup, three, four times, but London isn’t focused enough on her quarter.
She’s too busy watching my team. So when the cup is flipped, I move as fast as I can, sliding the shot glass to meet the quarter in my hand.
London grunts in frustration across from me when she misses again, her quarter rolling down the table, and it gives me the chance I need. I glance up at Parker standing over London’s shoulder, a blank expression on his face as I send my quarter toward the table.
Even through the sound of the party, I hear it land in the glass as clear as a bell ringing. London glares at me as her gin shot is poured and she has to stop to down it while I’m already going at the beer.
It is true. Quality really changes everything, because this beer is smooth as it goes down. I’m going to be sick as a dog tonight, and probably hate myself in the morning, but I just beat London Westmont at quarters.
There’s only one thing left to do. I set my cup down on the edge of the table, hold my breath, and send a prayer to every college god there is, but especially to Keggy, king of the frats.
I flip my cup, watching it sail through the air in slow motion before it lands lip-down, giving my team the victory.
In place of little slices of cake, we’re all given mini cakes, completely iced with fondant and a giant twenty-five in the center of them. I mean, it’s a beauty to behold, but I’m now in need of something to fill my sloshy belly, and this tiny cake is the thing I’m getting.
A total of ten million dollars is raised in donations for Los Angeles Libraries and Wildfire relief just from one game of quarter flip. Sometimes, when I’m rubbing elbows with the elite in this world, the amount of good they can do if they just tried makes me sick because they don’t try.
Parker opens the door to the limo so I can enter, since I’m holding both of our mini cakes in my hands.
“You first,” I insist. “I don’t trust you not to dump these cakes, and these were made by the chef who won that contest.”
“They’re bakers when they make cakes, and you can’t even remember the name of the baker who won.”
“Does it matter? They’re famous, and you don’t want me to have the cake.” I tug the cakes a little closer to my chest. Luckily, they're white with gold icing.
“I just don’t want you to get sick.” I can hear the sincerity in his voice as he climbs into the limo, but I’m too excited for the cake to care.
He’s barely in the seat when I fold myself in, planting my ass right into his lap. I’m so focused on not dropping the cakes that I nearly forget myself in the process.
“Dulce de leche cake and champagne cake. I didn’t even know champagne cake was an option.”
Parker does not move me from his lap. Instead, he waits for me to get situated, and I do. Setting the cakes on the seat I should be occupying, I pull up my dress and turn to straddle Parker so I can face him while eating.
Drunk Holly is yet again writing checks she can’t cash, but at least this one doesn’t have seven figures attached to it.
I’m not sure which cake is which, so I pick one at random and rescue the fork I hid in my bra so I can eat the cake.
His laugh is so rich and deep, it shakes me, and hot damn if I can’t feel the press of his cock between my legs.
“Where did you get that from?”
I look around, jolting into his chest when the limo starts moving. His arms fold around me, keeping me close to him. Warmth suffuses my whole body, and I won’t admit that it’s from his action. Instead, I lie to myself that it’s just the booze blanket. “The party, duh.”
I don’t give him a chance to question me further. I just dig my fork in and fight off a piece of cake to shove in his mouth. His eyes brighten as the sugar hits, and I’m ready for my own taste.
This must be what food in heaven tastes like because it might be the best thing in the world.
“I bet you would taste better,” he murmurs before licking the remaining frosting from his lips in a tantalizing swipe of his tongue.
The memory of him placing his fingers in my mouth at the charity gala in New York after getting me off makes me grind against him. I wanted more that night, and I want more now.
Parker’s hands immediately come to my hips, stopping me. “I told you: not while you’re drunk. And the four shots of rum you did after winning puts you firmly in the drunk category.”
I study him while taking another bite of the cake because the sugar rush might be the only thing capable of distracting me from the need between my legs.
“It was my own rule,” I mutter, mostly to myself. “You didn’t have to match their donation,” I point out, changing the subject from the lack of sex we’re having and how I’m the reason for it both because I’m inebriated and because of my stupid boundary.
“I did. I didn’t want the birthday girl to pitch a fit.” He releases me to take the cake that’s on the seat beside us, giving me the space to slide off his lap and sit down on my own.
Before, I could feel the effect I had on him, but now I can see it. And, damn, do I want to see it.
“Where did I find you?” I mutter, placing the cake on top of the cooler in the limo.
“In a bar. In my bar.” He must hear something in my voice. “I promise, Paris won’t be anything like tonight.”
“Really? What’s the Paris event going to be like?” I turn to face him. He’s still carefully holding the other cake in his hand. There is a glimmer in his eyes that gives way to heat as his gaze moves along every inch of my body. I’m not sure I can begin to imagine what to expect.
“Unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. I can promise you that.”
With Parker? I believe it.
Nicole Sanchez has been writing stories on any scrap of paper she could get her hands since before middle school.
She lives in New Jersey with her high school sweetheart and love of her life along with their two quirky cats, Chip and Harvey.