“I need a drink,” I mumble to myself.
“Good, because I need ten,” Cason says.
“Really?”
“Weddings.”
Wow, he really has something against weddings. That thought evaporates and a thrill goes down my spine as he steps closer to me. “Good thing it’s an open bar, then,” I tell him.
We all pile back into the bus and we’re taken back to the hotel, to a private room with tables full of hor d’oeuvres. A server walks by with a tray of champagne, and Cason removes two glasses. He hands me one, we clink, and he drains his glass.
“You know what that tastes like?” he asks.
“No, what?”
“Another.”
I grin and take another sip.
“Actually,” he says. “Let’s go for the hard stuff.”
“Hard stuff, huh?” I joke and shift my body so I can lightly run my hand over his cock without anyone seeing. He jumps beneath my touch.
“Jesus, woman. Is that all you think about?” he scolds, even though he’s pushing against my palm and growing thicker by the second.
I laugh. “When I’m with you, yeah, and you’re one to talk.”
He puts his hand on the small of my back. “Come on.” He walks me to the bar, and orders shots of tequila.
“Are you trying to get me drunk?” I ask.
“No, I’m trying to get me drunk,” he says, and for a brief second I spot something in his eyes. Something sad and dejected, something that wraps around my heart and squeezes tight. What is going on with him? He’s usually light and playful but I’m suddenly sensing something deep and serious. What kind of demons does this man have?
“So you’ve never thought about marriage?” I ask.
“Nope,” he says quickly, so quickly I can’t help but think he’s not being truthful, with me or himself.
“What do you have against marriage?”
Instead of answering, he holds his fingers up, gesturing for two more tequila. They come and he hands me one.
“Were you hurt?” I push, wanting to know what makes this man tick.
“Let’s just say I don’t have what it takes to do long-term, Kins. I’m pretty much a two-week kind of guy.”
“You bail after two weeks?”
“Something like that.” This man has so much to offer. What the hell is he afraid of? He doesn’t seem commitment phobic to me, but if he’s telling me he bores after two weeks, who am I to say otherwise? I’m about to ask why, what it is about long-term that frightens him, but he takes a big drink and gestures to the dance floor.
“Dance with me,” he says and I close my mouth. If he’s redirecting the conversation by dancing, it’s definitely a conversation he doesn’t want to have.
We hit the dance floor, joining our friends, and soon enough the hours disappear, so does the tequila. By the time Jules is ready to toss the bouquet, I’m so buzzed and having so much fun, I’m game.
I muscle my way through the girls, and they all laugh and throw their arms around me. Jules looks over her shoulder, and grins when she sees me. She tosses the flowers and if a scout from the NBA was here, I’d be their first draft pick, because let me tell you, forget energy drinks, tequila’s what really makes you fly. I jump high and snatch the bouquet right out of the air and everyone laughs and claps when I land and take a bow.
“And here you said you were afraid of heights,” Cason says when I saunter over to him, all proud of myself.
“I got air, huh?” I ask, smelling the flowers. The room spins a little around me.