Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 111732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
I call to Grayson from where I’m standing, but the place is too noisy for him to hear me. I move slowly toward him, navigating the packed crowd, and nudge his shoulder when I reach him. At my touch, Grayson turns to me, looking frazzled, and I chuckle at his overwhelmed facial expression. “Hey, buddy,” I say. “Find us a table while I grab us some drinks.” It’s our usual arrangement whenever we go out drinking. We both know I make a shit-ton more money than him. No shade to him. I’m a fifth-year attorney, and he’s a minion in the IT department at a law firm. It’s the way of the world. Plus, I’m far more comfortable being assertive in a crowd, so it’s only natural I should be the one tasked with getting our drinks on a crowded Friday night.
To my surprise, Grayson doesn’t nod and walk away to secure a table like usual. Instead, he grabs my arm to stop my movement and insists drinks are on him this time.
I roll my eyes. “We’ve already talked about this, Gray. Find a table, and I’ll get the drinks.”
“Let me buy this once,” Grayson insists. “And then I promise I won’t annoy you about it again for a while. It’s been my turn to buy the next round for a long time, Max.”
He looks earnest and immovable, so I cave. “Okay, fine. Just this once, though. I’ll take a Scotch on the rocks.”
“You’ve got it.”
“Don’t get anything too expensive,” I add. “The brand doesn’t matter.”
“I’ll get what you always get.”
“That’s too expensive.”
“Don’t worry about it.” With that, Grayson begins elbowing his way toward the bar, so I head in the opposite direction toward the tables in the back. As I move through the crowd, I survey the various faces surrounding me, looking to see if anyone catches my eye. There are certainly some beautiful older women here tonight, many of whom appear to be without a date. But there’s nobody who instantly makes me think, “Oooh, I want to hit on her.”
When I spot an empty two-top in the back, I snag it and continue people-watching. A short time later, four older women settle into the larger table next to mine. All four women—a platinum blonde, a dirty blonde, and two brunettes—are coming off as elegant and confident. The kind who eat men for breakfast. In other words, they’re exactly my type.
The woman who sits closest to my two-top is a brunette in a red, clingy dress. That dress ain’t no Target brand, baby. That’s a designer dress that probably cost a cool thousand bucks. I don’t care if a woman is rich or poor, as a general matter, but for my purposes, I’ve noticed the wealthier a woman is, the less she’s looking for a husband. Again, a very good thing.
After getting settled into her chair, the brunette in red happens to look my way. When our eyes meet, I don’t hesitate to say hello to her.
“Hello,” she throws back nonchalantly before looking around the bar again.
This time, I address the group as a whole. “Are you ladies celebrating a special occasion tonight?”
“Nope,” the platinum blonde says curtly. “We’re just here for drinks, little boy.”
I chuckle. “Is that your way of telling me I’m too young to be of interest to you?”
The blonde’s smile is absolutely deadly. “It is. But I’m not the only one sitting here, so feel free to take your best shot with someone else.”
“I actually prefer older women,” I confess. “Older women know who they are and what they want, you know? I like that they don’t play games.”
The brunette in red levels me with a look that practically screams, “In your dreams, honey.” But what she says is a polite, “If you say so.” She looks away again, and whatever her eyes have landed on makes her entire face light up like a goddamned Christmas tree. I track her gaze, and to my surprise, she’s looking straight at my work buddy, Grayson, as he approaches our table with a surprisingly large tray of drinks. But how is that possible? Grayson is too shy to have made any kind of headway with the proverbial firewall sitting to my right. Especially this fast. And yet . . . it really does seem like she’s staring straight at Grayson with palpable delight.
“Hey, Grayson,” I call out. “What took you so long?”
Rather than answering me with words, Grayson puts down his tray before me, revealing it’s covered in even more drinks than I’d realized: mine, Grayson’s, a martini of some sort, and an absurd number of shots. It’s far more alcohol than Grayson and I would ever want to consume on our own. So, what gives?
“What’s up with all the shots?” I ask.
Grayson gestures to the adjacent table—the one filled with those four attractive older women. As he does, a fifth member joins their ranks—a smoking-hot redhead who physically takes my breath away with her sultry confidence. Holy fuck. She’s a walking wet dream.