“That’s a nice offer,” It wasn’t. It made me a little sick, to be honest. “But I can’t accept. I’m flattered, though.”
“Are you into dick or something?”
Ah, I’d flipped the switch. She shoved away from me, giving me a good foot of space.
“No, sweetheart. I’m not into casual, and you’re too young for anything more. With me, at least.”
Nothing I could say would matter to her at this point. She scooted farther away, ending up beside Damian, a producer, and I took another shot.
Maeve approached, tray balanced on her arm. Competent and careful, she passed out drinks, giving smiles and accepting thanks. When she leaned down, I held my breath. Not even on purpose. But her abundant tits, nearly spilling from her corset, held me rapt until she straightened again.
This time, when she addressed the table, she stood so close to me, I could’ve leaned my head to the right and rested it on her hip. The idea weaved its way through my head.
“I wish I could talk more, but it’s a madhouse tonight. Anything else I can get y’all right now?”
That accent. That fucking accent. Each word was a song, lilting and sweet. She had the breathy voice of a phone sex operator. Not the world-weary kind who played the role of a dominatrix or a seasoned pro—no, her voice was more suited for the naive virgin who needed to be taken care of.
“We’re good for now,” Yael said. “And don’t even think about letting me leave without giving me your digits.”
Maeve laughed. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Don’t stray far, Mae-Mae. We had a hell of a day and need plenty of liquid nourishment,” Murray said.
“Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of you.”
She came back again and again over the next couple hours, dropping off drinks and talking to Yael, Mo, and Murray. I listened, sipping the same lukewarm beer. Maeve never addressed me, only asking the table in general if we needed anything.
That was good.
It was what I’d wanted five years ago.
It was still what I wanted now.