Sasha (Mixed Drinks #1) (8 page)

Why must I torture myself like this?
I keep mentally building him up and getting myself all worked up, so much so that he may not ever be able to live up to the standards that I have now become accustomed to in my dreams. I have to find out tonight so that I can finally get these dreams out of my head. I mean, I’m not sure how much more of this my lady parts will be able stand. I know my battery operated Cabana Boy and I get along really well at this point, but I need the real thing, and soon.
Plus, my Cabana Boy is begging for some time off.

Megan and Sadie didn’t stay too much longer after that. They needed to get home, and I needed to clean up a little, in case the date ends here. My apartment isn’t much, but its home. It’s a cute little studio, but not like the depressing studios that drunks live in with their hot plates and plug-in kettles. It’s old and stylish, with hardwood floors and a full kitchen. I like to think that I have maximized all available space inside, and at the end of the day, I’m proud of it.

I really didn’t feel like cleaning, but if I was about to have hot sex for the first time with Bash here, I can’t have the place littered with bowls of half-eaten cereal on the counter and pizza boxes piled by the door. It had to look like a chick actually lived here, so clean and pretty was my goal. I even changed my bed from the She-Ra sheets to black, 300-thread count
fuck me
sheets. I fluffed the sheer curtains I had put up to divide my bedroom from the living room archway, and even borrowed Betty’s vacuum cleaner to get the floors really clean.

When I wake the next morning, it dawns on me that Wednesday is finally here. I roll out of bed and slowly get ready for the afternoon shift at the bar. I hope it’s busy, so that the day goes by faster. I can’t wait for Bash to pick me up. I’m not sure how I managed to keep it together the last few days and not text Bash, telling him to come over and have his way with me now, and that there was no need to feed me or buy me alcohol first.

As I head out to work, I make one more last check of the apartment. I have wine in the refrigerator,
fuck me
music on the CD player, and my clothes are set out and ready, so all I have to do is come home, shower, shave, and then it’s party in my vajayjay time. Well, I suppose I should let him take me out first so I don’t seem like a gigantic slut.

AT THE END OF MY shift, I race home to get ready for the evening ahead. I’m only an hour away from my date with Bash, and what I hope will be the night of my life. A night that I can look back on and say,
that’s how it’s done
. At 4:10 I’m in the shower, and by 4:20 I’m clean, have shaved, and am drying off.

As I put my makeup on, I can’t stop myself from wondering what Bash is thinking at this very moment. Is he thinking about how the night will go and how he plans to work his way back up to my apartment? I wish I could just tell him, “Don’t worry, you’re gonna get lucky tonight.” That way we can put all of the first date awkwardness and pretentions to the side and just have fun together. But that would probably backfire and give him the impression that I am seriously slutty.

I’m dressed and ready to go at 4:55, just in time to sit down for a few moments and catch my breath. I grab my cell phone and wait patiently for him to text that he is outside waiting for me, but I hear a knock at the door instead. My heart jumps with excitement, but then my next thought is that it’s probably just Betty checking to see if I’m home before she raids my refrigerator again.

I open the door and see that it is not Betty, but Bash standing before me.
Oh fuck me now; he looks hot
. He has on nice jeans and a dark blue button up shirt, the long sleeves rolled up to his elbows. I notice that the shirt is a little tight around his biceps and I want to tell him, “Oh, you can just take the shirt off now, I don’t mind.” But he looks sexy as hell in it, so I stop myself. I see he is holding a single red rose.

I smile at him and try my best to say anything other than,
Hi would you like to come in, rip off my carefully planned outfit, and pleasure me until morning?

“Hello. You are right on time. That’s impressive,” I finally spit out.

“I’m the one who is impressed. You’re ready at five in actual time, not girl time.” He gifts me with a smile before handing me the rose.

“Oh, is that for me?” I ask, as if I didn’t already know the answer.

“Yes. It’s actually from Grandpa George. It is a token of his apology and deepest regret,” he says.

“Oh thank god. I thought you were gonna be one of those off the wall, corny as hell first dates.” I let out a sigh of relief.

He offers a little laugh and a smile and asks, “Should we get going?”

“Absolutely. Just let me put this in some water and grab my purse.” As I turn from the door, I can see him adjust his pants, just a little. I have to say, so far I think my jeans have not let me down.

As we make our way out to his car, we start in with the small talk. How nice I look, how our respective days were, how Grandpa George is doing, how much I like his car, and on and on. By the time we get to
Piggy’s,
we have run out of go-to’s, and now it’s all about getting to know him and enticing him back to my place for the real fun to begin.

As we walk through the front door, I mentally confirm that the atmosphere is just what I needed, with low lights and candles spread out along the bar and on each table. There is soft jazz playing over the sound system, and I feel fucking hot.
Things are looking good for me
. We find seats at the bar and order our drinks.

“I’d like a Slow Screw,” I say to the bartender with a smile, and then look to Bash for him to order.

“I will have a Crown and Seven.” He says, still looking at me. He has a sexy little grin forming, but it’s hard to tell if he found that cute or as an invitation.

He grabs his wallet and pulls out some cash to pay for the drinks. He continues looking at me, directly into my eyes. I have no idea what to say. He still has that smirky grin on his face, so I’m sure his mind is just swimming with ideas as to what my order could mean. The bartender quickly brings our drinks back, and as I take my first sip I hear, “So it’s gonna be that kind of a date, huh?”

I look up as he takes a sip of his drink, and I can see that he is still holding onto that grin, even though my view is now obstructed by his glass.

“Bash, I have no idea what you’re talking about. I just happen to enjoy slow gin and orange juice, and that combination just
happens
to be called a slow screw,” I say in a coy tone.

“Ok I see how you are.” he replies, taking another sip of his drink

“A bartender?” I offer with a smile.

The evening is going as planned, so far. We have a few more drinks and continue to flirt with each other, both subtly and shamelessly. When we finally decide to order some food, he asks if I would like dinner, but I suggest that we stick with appetizers as we had previously agreed, mostly to take advantage of happy hour prices. We decide to order coconut chicken fingers, and of course I eat mine slowly, taking little bites. I try to be a sexy as one can be while eating something that has been deep-fried.

As the evening comes to an end, the bartender asks if we are interested in dessert. Bash looks at me expectantly, as if he is waiting on me to decide. I grab the dessert menu and see something called Sinful Seven. The menu describes it as:

Seven layers of Sin are waiting for you to devour them. This is the chocolate lover’s dream dessert. It begins with a bottom layer of chocolate graham cracker crust, followed by a thin layer of a moist devil’s food cake, topped with a thin layer of white chocolate-infused cream cheese frosting, but we are not done yet. Next comes a rich milk chocolate mousse, followed by a white chocolate mousse to tickle your taste buds. Finally, we finish it off with whipped cream, garnished with a chocolate-covered cherry.

“I could go for a Sinful Seven, but only if you will share it with me.” I say to Bash as I look up from the menu.

“I think I would enjoy being sinful with you”, he responds seductively. Bash flashes me a look that I haven’t seen yet, but its meaning is abundantly clear.

I look back at the bartender and say, “One Sinful Seven, please. To go!”

FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, WE ARE at my apartment’s door. Bash comes up to my apartment with me and is patiently waiting as I unlock my door. I feel like a schoolgirl about to lose her virginity, and I have a hard time finding the keyhole. Bash finally has to take my hand and he calmly helps me unlock the door. The touch of his hand on mine makes me want to melt right then and there.

I open the door and flip on the lights, but nothing happens.
Shit.
The fuse must have blown again.
This was not part of my plan
. The maintenance man was supposed to fix the problem a few months ago, but clearly hasn’t gotten around to it yet. I start to grab my phone to call him, but then an idea flashes in my mind.
Hey, let’s run with this. Everything happens for a reason, right?
I look back at Bash and see him smiling.

“I did not plan this, I swear. The fuses blow out sometimes.” I smile and hope he believes me.

“No problem, where is your fuse box?” he asks while handing me the small Styrofoam box filled with our Sinful Seven dessert.

“It’s over in the closet, but you don’t have to worry about it. It’s kind of a pain in the ass. I can deal with it in the morning. I have some candles we can light for now.” I say with a cute little smile.

Bash just looks back at me and smiles. I’m pretty sure he knows where this is going, and since he followed me up here, I’m also pretty sure he is prepared for what will be coming this time, cause if he isn’t, there will be a mad dash to the store because in all of my planning I fucking forgot to pick up condoms.

I grab the little flashlight hanging from my keychain and click it on so I can see my way around the kitchen cupboards. I grab the five candles I own and a lighter and place them around the room, lighting them as I go. I set one next to my CD player, and thank god that I have backup batteries ready to go. I flip the switch on, and press play.

I thought I would start my CD mix off a little on the slow side, since I don’t figure him for the
say ‘go’ and jump into the action
type of guy, and to be honest, I could use a little time to mentally prepare myself for this. I hear
Replay
by Zendaya and know that I remembered to put the right CD in. I move to the kitchen to grab my bottle of wine from the refrigerator. As I start to uncork the bottle, I feel Bash come up behind me and place one arm around my waist, pulling me closer to him. He moves my hair to one side, exposing my neck. I can feel his breath on my skin, and my heart races with the knowledge that his lips are dangerously close to my body.

I don’t want to seem too eager to just jump into bed, so I use every ounce of willpower I have not to pivot on my heels and kiss the crap out of him. I remain facing the counter and focus on uncorking the bottle, which has now become a very difficult task. I feel him kissing my neck and the automatic goose bumps that follow his touch. I let out a shiver and want to allow my body to relax into his embrace.

I finally get the bottle uncorked and slowly turn to Bash. I look deeply into his eyes and wait for him to kiss me. He doesn’t disappoint me. Just as I’m about to say something, he moves closer to me and I feel his lips on mine. His gentle embrace reminds me how much I have missed being with someone in this way. He is both tender and passionate all at once, and I just want him to rip my clothes off and beg him to take me right here on the kitchen floor. I wrap my arms around him and he leans me against the counter, kissing me harder. As we come up for air, he takes a small step back.

“Sorry, I have been wanting to do that all night,” he admits shyly.

I smile and say, “That’s ok, I’ve been waiting for you to.

Maybe we should take this, and the wine, over to the couch.”

He responds with an even bigger smile. Bash turns to walk to the couch. I’m a little flustered by my own brazenness, so when I go to grab the glasses and the wine, I knock the cork onto the floor. As I bend down to pick it up, it is in that moment when I hear the worst sound imaginable. The one sound that I cannot escape from. A knock at the door, or the shattering of the wine bottle could have been ignored or taken care of quickly. Anything else would have been preferable to hear over the screaming sound of my jeans ripping. That long, right up the ass crack ripping noise that screams at the world that my sure-thing jeans have just died. Normally, I would just let out a sigh of sorrow for my lost friend, have a moment of silence as I remove them, and lay them out in front of me to examine and verify the wound.
Not tonight
. Instead, they have chosen their time of death to occur at the most inopportune moment. A moment that I have been waiting and longing for.