Page 90 of Our Little Cliche
Goddamn that man.
I certainly wasn’t expecting the reaction my text had: Cyrus coughing up a lung, and then some old fart thinking he was choking?Exceptional.Hands down the best entertainment of the night. But in my defense, Cyrus really does look good. He’s absolutely fuckingdeliciousin that suit. I needed him to know how much my body craves him again.And again. And again.
I’d even sit on his lap to prove a point.
Right now…
In front of everyone here. It’d be easy, I’m not wearing underwear… again.Hmm, this seems to be a trending thing with me, doesn’t it?
Instinctively, my legs clench together, only making the pulsing sensation worse. I could stir the plot a little more. Come to think of it, I do actually have another text written for him that I didn’t get to send earlier sayingI want you to unbuckle your pants for me. Don’t ask questions. When you’re done, turn your knife at a 180 degree angle.
Maybe it’s the champagne talking, but I would risk it all to give him head under the table in a public setting. Something about it just has my veins vibrating with enticement.Maybe I could send it now… see how he reacts to it.See how well he can keep it together, or will he fold like a fucking chair for me?
Should I?
No. That’s absurd.
“Damn this drink is strong. I’ll take another,” Stacy, the woman beside me says, interrupting my orgasmic mind boggles. I haven’t held much of a conversation with anyone since I left Australia other than Susan, so when Stacy Pollac—a loud, energetic, fire cracking redheaded romantasy author, and graphic designer for the Riverton House—started filling my ears with sexy shifters, knotting, and big monster cocks I locked inpretty quickly, hitting it off with her like two peas in a pod. I feel good. Happy. Electric, even. I feel like I’m in the right place.
“Yes. It is,” I agree, holding up my once again empty flute glass for a refill too, laughing at the matter of needing to say, do or feel something,anythingelse before I send that text. “I’ll have another too, please, Mr. Sir.”
Mr. Sir? Really, Holly?
Maybe I should slow down…
NAAAAH!
The waiter fills our glasses with an amused grin spread on his face. “Uhh— Thank you,” I say, trying to recover my wits.
“You’re welcome… Mrs. Ma’am.”
“Just keep this corner of the table coming, okay?” Stacy giggles.
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Holly, wehaveto hang out one day. What’s your snapchat?”
“Snapchat?”My eyes spring wide.Are people still using that bloody app?Suddenly, I feel old.Is thirty four the new fifty?“I haven’t used it since… far out, 2014.” Stacy isn’t much younger than me, but I guess she’s into technology and what not. And going out stylish and all, is in with the trends and TikTok’s or whatever.
“Insta?”
Am I the odd one out for not having much of a social media presence other than creating a fake profile to stalk Adam’s side bitch?
“Uhh, no…?” I say sheepishly. Why did it come out as a question? Her eyes roll sarcastically.Yep, I’m definitely the odd ball.But Instagram’s so weird! What am I going to post? Cute Matcha coffees that I don’t even drink? Stylish flat lays andget ready with me’s, or bimbo bikini photos on the beaches of Gold Coast of Australia, pretending that my body is like the rest of the Instagram girls?
No thank you.
“Surely you’re on Facebook, then?”
“Now, that I do have.”
Stacy and I exchange details, and in the back of my mind I genuinely hope that we actually see each other outside of this event. Stacy, well, her real name is Renee but she doesn’t like to be called that, seems like an amazing person. She is polar opposite to me, but a breath of fresh air. And it feels nice to actually share a connection with someone. Other than Cyrus, of course.
“What do you do when you’re not writing one of your naughty little books, or at the publishing house? You seem like the type that would rarely be home. Always on the go.”
She laughs. “What gives it away?”
“Your energy, I guess,”
