A hard-on from a simple goddamned kiss.
I don't do good girls. Not anymore. Not ever, really.
What I do is temporary. Beautiful, fast, temporary women. Which has made Vegas a perfect fit for me. It's a never-ending refill of women looking for their 'what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas' moments. Then they leave and return to their tranquil lives, or their high-powered jobs, or their boyfriends. I don't know, and I don't care.
When not tourists, strippers. I like hookers too. That's crass, I know. I'm a piece of shit, I know. I can do better, I know.
I know, I know, I know.
I'm not unhappy with my life. I'm not searching for anything, or anyone. I'm not. I've simply learned there are some women you can ask certain things of and some you can't. 'Spread your legs. Bend over. Choke on it. Get out.' Those kind of things.
Fuck. Lydia was using the break room closest to my office, so she must work on four. Just fucking great.
Whatever else you want.
We don't want the same things, Lydia.
Seven
LYDIA
"What time do you want to go to Ikea?" Payton yawns as she passes me on her way into the kitchen.
"You want to go to Ikea with me?" I look up in surprise as I raise the presser foot on my sewing machine and pull the fabric free. I snip the threads and stand, holding the completed pajama bottoms in front of me for inspection.
"Of course I don't want to go, I'm just that good of a friend," Payton quips as she pours herself a cup of coffee. She turns, mug in hand, and watches me examine the PJs. "Hey, those are really cute." She sets her coffee down and takes the bottoms from me, holding them up against her hips.
"Ha! I told you you'd want a pair when they were done!"
"So you're a secret sewing ninja or something?" She pulls the pants away from her hips and examines the wide hem I made from the border of a set of pillowcases. "I'm starting to think you were picking up life skills while I was making out with boys in the backs of cars."
"I think I'll make a dress next."
"Okay, let's not get crazy." Payton folds the pajama bottoms in half then drapes them over a kitchen chair. "Wait, how many pairs have you made so far? You did sleep last night, right?" She frowns as she picks up a pair of pajama shorts with a satin drawstring bow.
"I've only been up for a couple hours. These are just easy to make. Look, I made a matching top for that one." I hold up a simple tank with spaghetti straps and a scrap of eyelet lace added to the scoop neckline.
Payton takes the tank from me and examines it, the straps dangling from her fingertips. "Huh. What else do you know how to do? Do you churn butter? Can you knit us an afghan? Oh, my God, I bet you know how to bake a Thanksgiving turkey, don't you?" She drops into a seat at the table and places a hand on my forearm. "Lydia, did you earn the 1950's housewife badge?" She blinks, eyes wide with inquiry.
"Pfft, there is no such thing as a 1950's housewife badge, which you would know if you hadn't gotten kicked out. I did earn the dinner party badge though."
"Oh, holy shit." She drops her hand and leans back, looking at me in something akin to horror. "I was joking. There's a dinner party badge? Stop."
"There is. Also, knitting has become trendy again, just so you know. And no, I don't know how to knit. Maybe we can take a class together?" I'm teasing because I don't think there's a chance Payton is signing up for a knitting class with me.
"I don't really think that would be my cup of Coke," she replies.
"Cup of Coke? Do you mean not your cup of tea?"
"No. I don't like tea." She yawns and examines another pair of pajama shorts.
"It's just a saying, Payton. You don't need to replace tea with something you like."
"Hmm. I don't think that's right. Anyway, Ikea?"
"Do I really deserve new desk accessories if I'm getting fired?"
"Ugh, enough with the getting fired." Payton groans into her coffee cup. "It's not happening. And spending the weekend making sheet pajamas is not happening either. Let's go to the pool, then we'll go to Ikea and grab dinner."
Payton is sly. Which is why I didn't realize that 'go to Ikea and grab dinner' was really just trickery for dragging me out to socialize. Oh, we went to Ikea. She even drove. Then she drove us to the bar.
"Really, Payton?" I ask when she pulls into a parking spot at Hennigan's. "You said we were going to dinner."
"What? We can order chicken fingers here. That counts as dinner." She flips the visor down as she digs a lip gloss from her handbag and uncaps it. "A couple guys from the pool are going to meet up with us."
"This is a date? You set me up on a date?" I turn to her in confusion while trying to figure out how she managed to make plans for tonight while I was with her at the pool. She's clearly much better at this sort of thing than I am. I wonder which guys? No one I saw today compared to Rhys, but perhaps it's time I stopped being so picky. Maybe my problem is that I'm unreasonable?
"Uh, no. It's not a date." She shakes her head, raising a skeptical eyebrow in my direction. "It's a couple of guys who live at our apartment complex meeting us at this bar, which is less than a mile from where we all live."
"Oh, okay."
"Relax, grasshopper. It's just drinks."
"Great idea."
"Really?" Now she's openly dubious, doing nothing to hide her narrowed eyes or pursed lips.
"Really." I flip my own visor down and examine my reflection. "Well played, just warn me next time so I can wear something besides a t-shirt that says 'Let's Taco ’Bout It.'" I remove the hair band from my hair and shake my hair out, combing my fingers through it. I got some sun today and I put on mascara before we left, so good enough. "But tomorrow I'm making sheet pajamas all day," I tell her, waving my hands in the air, complete with wiggly fingers, "and I don't want to hear a word about it."
"Fine. But this was disappointingly easy. I was kinda gearing up to drag you inside," Payton says as we exit the car. The warmth hits the moment I slide a leg out of the car. It's about seventy degrees at eight PM, but yes, it's a dry heat, as they say.
"Sorry to disappoint," I tell her as I slam the passenger door shut. "If it helps, I'm not making out with anyone this time though. And that is not a challenge. It's not happening."
"Why not? The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else."
"I was never under Rhys."
"I think it's figurative."
Once inside, we grab a table and order a couple of beers. I don't particularly love beer, but what the heck, when in Rome. I wonder if they drink beer in Rome? Maybe that's not a great analogy. Maybe I should have ordered wine? I wasn't sure if chicken fingers went with wine. Well, never mind—my beer has arrived.
Josh and Dan have arrived too. I recognize them from the pool, Payton reminding me who is who before they reach our table. A third guy arrives a few minutes after them, one I don't recognize but who seems to be a friend of theirs. I don't catch his name, and he doesn't appear to have much interest in getting mine, so I don't bother. In any case, Payton wasn't lying. This isn't a setup or a date. It’s just some people getting together to have a drink, maybe become friends. Maybe more, who knows?