Page 139 of My Sweet Dollie, You Have to Love Me
I might be.
I might be at one called The Funhouse.
And I’m hoping you were the guy who just mauled me on the dance floor.
Mauled is a harsh term. However, I’d officially crossed another line.
Wiping down some glasses, I do a little work as Dollie continues looking for me. There are too many people between us for her to notice me at the bar, but I get a flash of pink hair every few seconds as she weaves through people.
It’s nice to see that she’s no longer as scared of touch as she once was. Nice to know she no longer has limits with words because after we got away, there were certain words she wouldn’t let slip out of her mouth. They were all related to men—he, him, his, man, boy, guy.
She almost seems healed, and my lips lift from that.
Lucky:
Maybe.
How’d you know?
Dollancie:
You put my dress in my hand for sensory pleasure before you kissed my neck. No one would know I need that. But I told you earlier.
How did you recognize me?
Lucky:
Well, it was hard without the bear costume. But beyond the bear was a pretty face in your picture on MateMatch.
You’re unforgettable.
Dollancie:
Clearly, I have new hair. I look different from that picture.
Lucky:
I know. The pink is gorgeous. And I am not a pink guy.
But it makes those eyes pop.
Telling my sister she’s beautiful isn’t a crime, but the feeling I get from doing it should be. A tingle starts in my pants, and I ignore it, finishing up the cocktail I was making for the lady at the bar who has been trying to get my attention for the wrong reason.
“So, are you doing anything after this event?” the woman asks.
She’s a little younger than me, than Dollie, too, and twice as desperate as any other woman in the bar for attention. And the bar is eighty percent women tonight.
“Do you wanna grab a drink somewhere?”
I can’t talk, I mouth, pointing to my throat, and hope that’s the end of our conversation.
“Oh, my god! That’s totally book-boyfriend material!”
A fake smile lifts my lips, and I flick a finger to the register to let her know what to pay.
“You don’t want to buy it for me?” She bats her false eyelashes.
As politely as possible, I shake my head.No thanks. I work to get money to spend on better things than drinks that aren’t even for me.
