Page 183 of Beyond the Temptation: Vol 2

"What the actual fuck is a wonky penis?" A beautiful woman drops down on the stool between me and the group without so much as looking up from her phone, and I choke on my own spit. Smooth.

“You gonna make it there, pinky ring?” She glances up at me.

“Ouch. Could you not have waited to see if I was going to survive before critiquing my style?” I smirk, holding my hand close to my chest with feigned offense.

“Didn’t want you going to meet your maker looking like a fuckboy.” She shrugs, lowering her eyes back to her phone screen and trying to hide her smile.

“Oh, was that what this was? An act of charity?” I motion to the bartender when he finishes filling her friend’s cup. I point to her group. “For saving my soul from embarrassment while ignoring my life, the next round is on me…” I leave the sentence hanging, waiting for this bite-sized female to fill in the blank.

“Remi.”

“Well, Remi –” Her name rolls off my tongue as every other woman in the room fades away. “I’m Garret. So, want to have some fun?”

“Depends.” She plucks the beer from my hand and takes a sip. Never breaking eye contact. “Does it involve your dick?”

“Well, shit.” I choke out a laugh, “I mean, if you’re offering…”

“I’m not.” The corner of her mouth twitches as she fights a grin. “But I could use a distraction from this mess.” She gestures to her phone, crinkling her nose. “At least, for a bit.”

“A distraction, huh?” I think for a moment and decide to embrace my inner fuck-it, tapping into all the fun shit Adler made me repress for an entire fucking day, and just roll with it. “That I can do.”

“Foul!” she snorts, smacking the tabletop, and then tucks under the table, searching for the paper football. “Penalty! Unfair! It’s gone forever, and it’s one thousand percent your fault. Oh, wait, here it is!”

Her arm shoots up into the air, holding the football, before she tries to get back into her seat, and stumbles nearly taking the table with her.

“Careful there, pencil skirt.” I reach out, catching her before she can miss her chair completely and actually fall.

“I’m not drunk. I’m clumsy. There’s a difference.” She huffs, “My turn!”

“Sure you are,” I tease. I know she isn’t drunk. Neither of us is. We’ve both been nursing the same two beers for over an hour. I’m having so much fun with her that I honestly forgot all about drinking. And everything else. We moved from the bar to our own table in the corner over an hour ago so we could play paper football in peace, away from all the lame-ass losers who complained we were ruining their drinks with our awesome game.

I balance the triangle on its tip between my index finger and the table, line up my shot, and flick it with my other hand. Aaand… I miss. A lot. Again.

“Whaaat? I-I don’t think I saw that correctly. Did you miss your shot by a little bittie bit? Or –” She leaps to her feet, sending her chair toppling backward, clattering to the tile with a resounding wham.

“Oopsie.” She slaps both palms over her mouth to hide her grin. “I’ll get to that momentarily. But first, we must locate the game-losing shot. How will we ever know for certain just how poorly you lost to me if we don’t find the game ball, cargo pants?”

“Hey, these are bougie bitch cargo pants. Show some respect.” I smirk.

“Oh, please forgive me, sir fancy pants. Ope. I know.” Remi drops to her knees and crawls partially under the table, searching for a paper toy that we could easily remake with another menu.

“Found it! Almost. Wait. Hold on. I’ve. Almost. Got it! Ughh.” She groans, punctuating each word as she stretches to snatch up her treasure from under one of the opposite chairs. With one last dramatic reach, she arches her back, wiggles her ass, and lunges forward. Her method isn’t the one I would have gone with, given her available options. I’m sure enjoying watching her crawl around down there. Personally, I would have just walked around the table and picked it up. She chose to go through… or rather under? But I’m not going to complain. At least, not with a view like this.

“You doin’ okay under there, pantyhose?” I tease, leaning back against our table and running my fingers over the short, course hairs already peppering my cheeks since my shave this morning.

“Pantyhose?! I’ll have you know –” A sharp knock comes from the underside of the table, causing the glasses on the surface above her to jump and tumble from the force, the ice spilling and clattering onto the plastic tablecloth and floor around us. All eyes turn to me, and I wonder which part pushed their facial expressions from mildly amused to the array of irritation, curiosity, and downright pissed-offness staring back at me right now.

“I’m not the chaos; I’m just chaos adjacent!” I hold up both hands like that actually proves any-fucking-thing. Not that I overly care.

“Just clean up the mess and take it down a notch. Y’all break anything and you’re paying for it,” the asshat standing by the door barks out over the music, buzzed chatter, and dishes clanking.

“Chaos adjacent.” I shrug, and she giggles from the floor a second before her head pops out from under the tablecloth. That little chaos pixie is causing a scene on purpose, and she’s having fun doing it.

“Hello, Chaos.” I offer her a hand up. “Find what you were looking for?”

“Sure did.” She holds out her arm, showing off her rescued prize. “Now that I’ve officially won our game of tabletop paper-football-triangle, I believe I’ll take my championship ring on the veranda with afternoon tea.”

“It’s midnight.” I chuckle, placing my hand on the small of her back, and lead her back to our corner table.

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