Page 69 of Penalty to the Heart

I am not in denial.

If I wanted to bang some chick, I would.

The accident fucked up my head, not my cock.

Right?

Feeling like my manhood is under fire, I stride into the first bar I see to prove my point. I know I’ve been forbidden by my GM to come to a place like this and get my drink on, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

“Whiskey. Neat. And leave the bottle,” I order over at the bartender as I sit on a stool.

“Will this do?” he asks a minute later, handing me a bottle of Tennessee whiskey.

I stare at the bottle in my hand for a while, the whiskey inside it taunting me with its shimmering glow.

Despite not taking a sip yet, I can already tell it won’t hold a candle to how drunk I get whenever she lets me stare deep into her amber eyes.

“On second thought, bring me a cold beer. Whatever you have on tap,” I grumble, placing the bottle as far away as possible.

“Coming right up.”

Once I have the beer in my hand, I turn around and start scanning the happy-hour crowd, all excited to have finished their nine-to-five hustle for the day.

“Okay, asshole. Somewhere around here is a lucky lady just dying to get fucked. Just look, motherfucker. Just look,” I challenge myself.

Sure, I could call up one of my previous hookups, but they’ll end up asking me too many questions, which pisses me off.

How are you?

I haven’t seen you in so long.

How is your brother?

I heard you got benched. That must have been rough. Are you okay?

Yeah. The point of this whole exercise isn’t to talk.

I get enough of that with Roxie.

Now is not the time to be thinking about your therapist, you idiot!

Remember, it’s because of her that we’re here in the first place.

With new resolve, I scan the bar again, and this time, it takes me about two seconds for my laser focus to pinpoint a redhead at the end of the counter drinking Merlot all by her lonesome.

By the looks of it, she’s drowning her sorrows too.

Which means she’s an easy kill.

“Okay. Look alive, motherfucker. Don’t screw this up,” I mutter before drinking the rest of my beer, setting the bottle on the counter and walking over to her.

And surprise, surprise, not thirty minutes later, I have her pinned up to the bathroom stall, her lips hungrily devouring mine, while her fingers pull down my zipper. I don’t even remember if I got her name, but that doesn’t seem to put a damper on her night. In fact, by the way she’s sucking my tongue, a quick fuck in the bathroom was exactly what she was in the mood for.

But even though she says all those naughty words that I usually go gaga for, to my dismay, I feel absolutely nothing.

No, that’s not true.

I feel disgusted.

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