Page 52 of The Billionaire's Kiss
“You sound like that Miley girl who had a kid’s show on television, but then she became a real singer and turned into a slut.” I knew that had come out really wrong.
“She’s my cousin too,” she told me. “I’m a sanger like her.”
“You’re a what like her?” I really couldn’t understand her accent.
“Sang-er,” she enunciated. “You know, I sang songs.”
“Oh, you sing songs. Okay, I get it now. You’re Miley’s cousin, and you sing too. You on the radio or anything like that?” I had no idea why I kept up this conversation. I had to believe it was nothing more than that the color of her hair reminded me of Orla’s. Because there was nothing else about her that I found attractive—especially not that accent.
“Radio?” she asked as if that was the dumbest question ever. “Gosh, no.”
Gosh?
It was too much already. “Sorry. Didn’t realize what time it was.” I looked at my wrist as if I had a watch on—which I did not. Hadn’t worn one in years. “You must pardon me.”
“Sure thang, dude.”
I walked away and found the guys at my table all looking at me. As soon as I got to the table, Cohen asked, “So, did you score?”
“Um.”Is he insane?“No. I did not score while I was standing there talking to that girl.” I took my seat and downed half the glass of beer, which had gotten warm while I was gone. Another glass sat there waiting for me. I picked it up and took a drink of the cold beer.
“What happened?” Jones asked.
“Well, for starters, she talks like a cartoon character.” I took another drink before going on, “And she’s that crazy Miley chick’s cousin—or so she says, anyway.”
Mike, who worked at the front desk, jumped out of his chair, nearly knocking it over. He rushed to the girl I’d just left, and we could hear him from our table. “I love Miley!”
“Okay,” I said, then took another drink. “To each his own.”
Cohen bumped my shoulder against his. “Come on, bro. You could’ve given her a better chance than that.”
Flabbergasted, I asked, “Did you hear what I said? She said sanger instead of singer. There is no way I could have sex with someone who speaks like that. Can you imagine going down on her—the things she’d say while you were doing it? Well, I can.” I did my best to impersonate the accent. “Garsh, that sure does feel pretty good what yer doin’ down there with my undercarriage. It makes me feel like sanging a song fer ya.”They laughed. “And then she’d probably yodel.”
They all started laughing while I took another drink and wished like hell that I hadn’t let my brother talk me into going out.
If there was something I learned from my night out, it was that I just wasn’t ready for this.
