“Pres, what were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t, that’s the big fucking problem. I don’t think about the consequences anymore.” I shake my head at myself, staring at the wall, trying to figure out where the Presley Malone I had known my whole life disappeared to. “When I was with Jason, everything was so easy. I didn’t have to think. We had a routine, life was simple.”

“How boring. Be honest, for a split second—wasn’t this a tad bit exciting?”

Vicky is my best friend; I can’t lie to her face. “Even if it was, I can’t go around punching every man in the city. I’ll end up in jail and fed to the lesbians.”

“Nothing wrong with that.” Vicky winks.

That catches my attention, but I’m not going to delve into Vicky’s wild sexual history…not tonight anyway. Plus, I would probably need more than a night.

“I’m going to end up an old lady surrounded by cats.” I nestle my head against her arm. “Promise me you’ll stop me when there’s too many cats?”

Vicky chuckles. “Honey, the only pussy you got is the one filling up with cobwebs. I’m glad you decided to go out tonight, although you may need to sober up a little or we won’t be able to get in anywhere.”

“I’m fineee,” I slur.

“I’ll whip up something to eat. Go have a shower and by then you will be fineee,” Vicky mimics.

Two hours later, I am fed and dressed and we are standing at the bar, ordering shots. Vicky’s omelet had some magic ingredient to sober me up enough that I was able to put on a tight red dress and apply some makeup without looking like a circus freak. Vicky looks gorgeous, dressed in a short white number that enhances her olive skin. Being tall, she doesn’t need pumps and when she wears them she is a goddess on legs. Curves in all the right places. Men are naturally drawn to her which makes me feel like the third wheel.

“Slippery nipples?” she asks.

“What the hell, Vicky?”

She laughs, placing her arm around me. “It’s a drink.”

“Oh.”

The bartender, cute as he may be, serves us drinks but does not stick around to chat. A little bummed, I swivel my chair to be faced by a tall man dressed in a fitted white shirt and black denim jeans. He is very broad, and with a sly grin he flashes his pearly whites. Wow, are they white! I mean, it’s dark in here and those bad boys are glowing enough that you can make out the footprints on the floor.

Remember what you mother once told you—it’s rude to stare.

He introduces himself as Ian, a gym junkie from California. As Vicky turns to face us, she almost falls off her chair whispering in my ear, “He’d make your beaver glow with the amount of bleach he’s sporting.”

I look at her, confused. Then the penny drops. Vicky apologizes to Ian, then drags me to the dance floor in an effort to save me.

“You’re welcome!” she yells over the music.

“What was wrong with him?”

“Oh honey, you got to up the ante now. Jason was great and a real looker, but hey, you could have done better.”

Offended, I stop dancing and stare at my friend. “What do you mean I could have done better?”

Vicky continues to sway her body, oblivious that her comment struck a nerve.

“Jason was everything you wanted on paper but he wasn’t the guy for you. You need someone who will challenge you, and most importantly, make your toes curl in the bedroom.”

“Jason was great. Maybe I’m the problem, I’m the one who didn’t challenge him and maybe I’m the dud in the bedroom.”

Vicky stops dancing mid-song and her green eyes appear agitated. Her long golden brown locks stop swaying and rest nicely against her chest. With no warning, she latches onto my arm and drags me back to the bar. She motions for the bartender, ordering two rounds of shots. Without saying a word just yet, she waits till the glasses are placed before us, then turns to face me with a stern look on her face.

“Now, you listen to me, Presley Malone. I never, ever, want to hear you say you are the problem. Any fucking guy in this club would be lucky to have you and don’t you dare let that stupid photo of Jason make you feel any less. You hear me?”

I nod like a child being scolded, then Vicky gives me a tight embrace, reassuring me that we are going to have the greatest night. She slides the shots closer to me and I down them in one go each.

We giggle uncontrollably as the alcohol sets in, until Vicky abandons me to use the restroom, claiming she has some tampon emergency that has dampened her chances of hooking up.

I sway to the music, the band playing a recent pop song, and all the while I am forgetting that Jason ever existed and I’m feeling as free as a bird. Vicky’s right, Jason was great on paper. He was your typical six-foot, blond hair, blue-eyed hottie. He had a great job, great family, and loved his sports. In the bedroom, he was great. Well, great compared to what I had experienced in the past. He knew how to make me come, but even then, it was routine. Kind of like playing a piano; once you know the notes, you can play with your eyes closed.

When I think back to the last year of having sex, it was dull. Same old positions, me on top, and once in a blue moon he would take me from behind. Foreplay was ancient history. The reality was we were both busy, knew how to get each other off, and did it within five minutes.

I was equally to blame.

The question now weighing heavily on my mind was, Is it possible to have a relationship with someone and still keep those butterflies and the foreplay alive? I need someone who can crawl under my skin and plant that seed of lust, where all I can think about is our bodies banging together in perfect harmony.

You’re horny and need to get laid.

Oh, and tequila, please stop talking now.

The night was not supposed to be spent thinking about Jason, so I divert my eyes to a group of people in their mid to late twenties that are huddled in the corner. The guy with the jet-black hair is smokin’ hot, and even in my intoxicated state, I am not immune to my kitty getting down and dirty.

He is wearing only a khaki wife beater; every inch of his arms are covered in tattoos and boy, oh boy, does he have a set of arms on him! The way he is standing against the wall shows off his tall muscular build. C’mon, would I really screw a guy I didn’t know? Probably not, God only knows where he has been and for all I know, he could be part of some underground drug ring willing to kidnap me and hold me ransom.

Seriously, I need to get laid and not read so many books.

I am happily sipping away at my drink when Vicky returns, and I’m quick to point out Mr. Smokin’ Hot. Of course she agrees that he is one fine specimen, but her enthusiasm is short lived when she abandons me for some dude wearing a bowtie. Way to go Vicky, you sure know how to pick them! She promises to return in a few minutes. Yeah whatever. She totally broke the girl code.

Keeping myself entertained, I continue to watch Mr. Smokin’ Hot and happen to catch a glimpse of the female beside him. She is wearing the tackiest gold dress that drops low, exposing her very fake, ample bosom. On closer inspection, the lady beside her looks strikingly similar, and as I focus in I realize they are twins and one of them is Dee Simmons from work. Totally explains the skankiness I was smelling in here.  Honestly, her sister looks no better. Why, oh why, are the hot men attracted to such tramps? He just lost five points on my scale of one-to-ten—ten being the kind of man I could see myself bending my five-month-rule for.

Just when I am about to turn away, bored by the sleaziness, a very dark and mysterious guy beside Mr. Smokin’ Hot catches my attention. Perhaps all is not lost, so I prepare my flirtatious smile only for my stomach to do a backflip as I realize it’s none other than the Jerk himself.