Page 23 of Best Kept Secret
“Who wants a wet pussy?” Vera shouts, returning to our private table with a tray of shots.
“I do!” Fran bounces up and down on the sofa next to me, her hand held in the air.
I take one of the small plastic cups, sniffing the concoction before taking a tentative sip. I’m a tequila and beer girl. After a day of champagne and cocktails, I’m not sure my stomach can handle awet pussy.
“You’ve never had a wet pussy before?” Vera asks, shot glass poised at her lips, a conspiratorial quirk to one of her perfectly arched brows.
Fran snorts a laugh and I deadpan, forcing myself to throw the shot back and trying not to wince at the sickeningly sweet after burn.
“Bleh!” I retch, sticking my tongue out. “That is disgusting!”
Fran and Vera laugh.
“You’re so adorable!” Fran wraps an arm around me and rests her head on my shoulder with a contented sigh.
When Tyler, Vera’s boyfriend and the club’s resident DJ, joins us on a break, the three of them are talking about something I’m not familiar with, so I decide to check my phone, shocked to see five new messages all from the one person who has absolutely no right to be texting me.
L: Where are you?
L: It’s after midnight.
L: Are you okay?
L: Red?
L: Millie, please respond because I’m seriously worried.
I have to close one eye to try and make sense of the words on my phone because I’ve got be hallucinating. Who the hell does this guy think he is?
Me: What the hell is your problem?
Me: Who the hell do you think you are?
Me: Leave me alone!
My phone starts to ring with his name on the screen, and honestly—what is this guy’s deal?
With a growl, I answer. “What?”
“Red, I’m not fucking playing.” His voice is low, gravelly, with a tone of danger that causes the skin at the back of my neck to prick. “Where are you?” he seethes.
“None of your bus?—”
“You tell me right fucking now,” Logan interjects, his voice startlingly demanding. “You’re out in a strange city you don’tknow. You’ve been drinking all day. You can’t even construct a goddamn text message.”
Confused, I pull my phone away from my ear and look down at my messages, narrowing my eyes and holding the screen far enough away to see that he’s not wrong.
Me: Wahat the HTML ass your problematic?
Me: Why the hill you do thank hoo set?
Me: Levee me the duck a loan!
Jesus. I’m drunker than I thought…
“Millie!” Logan shouts through the phone, so loud that I can actually hear him over the thundering din of the club.
Rolling my eyes, I go back to him. “What?”
