Not that they’re much different at all.
“Whatever, daddy, you can order a shot of pure rubbish and I’ll still go home with you.”
I winced a little at the casual toss of “daddy” my way. It was fine, I got it, and I embraced it. For the most part. My hair had been going gray since I got into my early twenties, and the smile lines that crinkled at the corners of my eyes and on my forehead didn’t exactly scream that I was sipping from the fountain of youth either. I was built broad, with strong shoulders and a sturdy frame, and carried myself with confidence. I could see how I fit the description of a daddy, and I didn’t mind it.
What I didn’t enjoy was what came after. The inevitable realization that we had nothing in common besides sex. That was getting very old, very fast. I was tired. Exhausted of relationships that were set to expire from the second they began.No more, I told myself.Stop being such a blundering oaf, focus on yourself and your job, and just be happy, be content.
That’s what I’ve been telling myself.
Now, though, now my hardening cock, spurred by the Jäger and the attractive pair of blue eyes staring me down, was telling me an entirely different story.
“Come, let’s dance.” The music was pumping loud, a song I didn’t recognize. People were shouting about a twerking contest or some other crazy dance move I didn’t know how to do.
“Oh, no. No, that’s okay. I don’t dance.”
“What! Come on, you can dance. Just get behind me and rub up on me. I want to feel that big thing of yours rubbing up against me.” He leaned in, a hand on my thigh.
Why couldn’t he just sit at the pub and chat before I took him back to my flat for the fuck of his life? All these kids wanted to dance and move and swing their arms around, all while they simulated standing sex on a tuna-packed dance floor.
It didn’t sound like fun. Currently, the dance floor was only being used by a group of three guys who looked like they snuck in with fake IDs, which really only made things worse. At least in a tuna-can situation, you were relatively hidden from the masses. In this case, this guy, who I still had no idea what his name was, wanted me to go and move my uncoordinated body as people stood around with drinks in their hands, judging the bloody hell out of us.
Yeah, no.
“You can dance, I’ll save your seat.”
The guy leaned back in the stool, his eyes narrowed to slits. “Really?”
“Yes…?”
“Ugh, I should have listened to Theo. Older guys really are fucking boring.”
He slid off the barstool and left, walking past the trio of high schoolers waving their hands in the air, throwing them all a judgmental glare as he passed.
Wow.
Well.
That really fuckin’ sucks.
The bartender, like a guardian alcohol angel, came over with another shot before I even asked. The Jäger went down smoother this time. I wondered if I should ask to take the entire bottle back to my flat.
No. That young twat didn’t deserve second-hand killing me through alcohol poisoning.
Fuck him. If I didn’t want to dance, I didn’t have to. And I could watch him dance away from the best damn lay of his life.
His loss.
The lights were practically out now. The only reason I could see my hands in front of me was from the rainbow-colored lasers flashing all over the place. The music pounded in my head. I grabbed the envelope in my lap, my fingers still (surprisingly) not catching fire. I moved to get up, done with today. A good bath and a good night’s sleep was what I needed.
Hell, maybe I’d treat myself and leaveLove Islandon the TV as I went to sleep. That’d be nice.
This had been a mistake. Why had I thought this was a good idea in the first place? Why did I even come back to London? I should have listened to my gut and left the past in the past.
Instead, I was holding the past in my damn hands.
I turned to leave, surprised at how big the crowd was, and how desperate they were to try and snag the barstool I had vacated. It was like I’d left behind a hundred-dollar bill.
This is exactly why I hate going out anymore.