Page 10 of Lilies in Autumn

Shit. I need to stop salivating before I offer myself to him like a sacrificial virgin.

“Sorry, sorry. What were you saying?” I could predict that she was about to shove shots down my throat, but I thought humoring her may remove the stick from her ass.

“We’re taking shots. Fireball. Don’t be a little bitch.” Arguably, I was a big bitch.

“Okay, fine. But if I start to throw up in bushes, just leave me to fertilize the mulch beds in peace.”

“Deal. Now, drink up,” CeCe toasts right before the cinnamon whiskey burns our throats.

“That tastes like a bag of dicks,” I groan.

“Ava, you have never tasted one dick, let alone a bag of dicks. Let’s do another.” CeCe, the devil reincarnate, pours us two more shots, handing one to me with a smirk on her face. “Who knows,” She pauses to lick droplets of the whiskey from her shot glass. “Maybe you’ll find the lady balls to talk to Adonis over there.”

With a roll of my eyes, I grab the shot and throw it back quickly. “He’s more likely to go for you than me, C.” I let out a sigh.

“Sure, and that’s why he’s been staring at you for the last ten minutes.”

Wait, what?

Looking up, my eyes meet the cool blues of my stranger, and I’m startled to be the apparent center of his attention. Fuck, do I have something on my face?

“CeCe, what the fuck is on my face? Did I spill a fireball? Does it look like cum? Oh my God, does he think I have cum on my face?”

CeCe’s incredulous glare should have stopped me, but I continue, “Is my dress see-through? Can you see my areolae? Or is it areolas? Are my fucking tits out?” I start to feel myself up, making sure my nipples aren’t in danger of poking anyone’s eye out. If I was more sober, I would have realized that this drew more attention to me.

“Ava, babe, I need you to take a deep breath and exorcise the demon that just inhabited your thick skull.” CeCe takes my face in her hands and forces me to look at her. “You are a hot, curvy woman with a body people spend thousands of dollars on plastic surgery to achieve. Why you think that anyone wouldn’t be looking at you is beyond my comprehension.”

She has to say that. I’ve been her friend since before my mom let me shave my leg hair in fourth grade. She was loyal but biased.

Just as I was about to respond, a throat clears behind us, startling both of us.

Turning around, we come face-to-face with the olive-skinned tattooed guy.

Smirking, he reaches around us for a bottle of Johnny Walker and a red Solo cup. Shaking his head, he announces, “Ladies, if you think the room hasn’t noticed the two of you over here looking like you’re about to either scream at each other or make out, you’re wrong.” Finishing his heavy pour, he continues, “I wouldn’t mind seeing the two of you make out. The thought of you two getting hot and wet sounds like a good fucking time. Let me know if it’s going in that direction, and I’ll get us a room.”

My face contorts in disgust. Before I can even formulate a response, CeCe starts in on him. “Listen, you dickwad, if we decide to make out, fuck, or pray to the Virgin Mary, we’ll do it without you watching like John Wayne Gacy, ready to murder us as soon as the show’s over.” CeCe’s face, turning red from the exertion of her cut-down, is starting to blend in with her hair. I smother a laugh, thinking that now may not be the best time to tell her that she looks like an overripe tomato. “Run along, you pervert. Go find some other girls to bother.”

Raising an eyebrow at us, his gaze turns intense while staring at my red-faced friend. “Sweetheart, the only thing I’d do after watching you finish is work you right back up again. Maybe with my fingers, maybe with my tongue, just to get you ready to feel that tight pussy clench around my cock.” Okay. I was turning red now, too.

“Remember that as you finger-fuck yourself tonight, Red. Make sure to whisper my name into the dark like the fucking boogie man and maybe, if you’re a good girl, I won’t torture you too much when I eventually have those legs wrapped around me.”

Holy shit. Though the words weren’t directed, or intended, for me, I couldn’t help the flutters in my stomach or suppress the need to squeeze my thighs together. I look at CeCe, twisting her lips and trying her best to appear unaffected.

I decide to throw her a bone. “Just out of curiosity,” I begin, “you do want her to scream your name while she, uhm, ‘finger-fucks’ herself. What name do I have to look out for?” He gives me an incredulous look as I use my fingers to air quote finger-fuck. The irony is not lost on me.

“It’s Dante.”

I laugh. “Are you planning on making CeCe your Beatrice? Because I can assure you, she is no angel.”

“Ava, I know you did not”—she points at me for emphasis—“just give him my name.” She transfers her slender finger to Dante.

“Can you please put your finger away? I don’t want to think about what you may use that for, and now I can’t get the image out of my head.” CeCe continues to glare at me while Dante chuckles, watching her tantrum.

“Red, I would have found out your name regardless. This isn’t the last time you’ll be seeing me.” With that, he gives us one last once-over and walks away, toward my blonde stranger. As soon as he leaves, CeCe starts in about his audacity, his nerve, and his fucking balls.

I watch them for a moment, ignoring CeCe’s tirade. Heads leaned in conspiratorially, Dante and the blonde seem to be deep in conversation, engrossed in whatever bullshit college guys must be consumed by. Returning my attention to CeCe, she continues, “And to call me Red like a proper fucking noun? How original, how unlike any nickname I’ve ever had before.” She’s not wrong. She’s spent most of her life being referred to by her hair, mostly with thinly veiled sexual innuendos about her carpet and drapes.

Suddenly, I feel the weight of eyes on me, a caress down my spine. Looking around, I realize the blue eyes of my stranger are back on me, pinning me in place. His eyes drop to my heeled feet and work their way up my body, surveying my black dress and heavy breasts until his gaze finally returns to mine. Then, he smirks and turns his back to me, as if to say he finds me fundamentally lacking.

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