Page 8 of Whiskey Splash

“Yes, I understand that, except you planted the ten-inch behemoth in my mind and now that’s all I can see! Which is all your fault by the way. You brought it up!”

“I’ve never had this much fun talking about my cock-size with anyone,” he spars, and I shake my head.

“Well, I’m glad my humiliation is amusing!” What the hell is wrong with me? Why won’t I just shut up?

“I’m not embarrassed,” he says.

“Of course not,” I toss back. “You’re the one with the giant cock!”

At that exact moment our waiter turns the corner in his stealthy black-on-black suit and I look up to see Connor—Arie’s boyfriend—standing above us with two gorgeous beverages in his hands.

“Wow, okay!” Connor says, looking shocked as he stops at our table. “Clearly, this was not the best timing on my behalf.”

“Oh no, you’re timing is impeccable,” Desmond says, making a show of it. “Thus far we’ve covered my giant cock…” He lifts a hand to start ticking off subjects. “The use of anal sex inDownton Abbey, whether or not my show is porn, and the fact that the owner is trying to make her sister my late-night booty call.”

“Before you start bashing my sister,” I interject, pointing at our waiter. “Mr. Hunk-of-Yum Connor over here is Arie’s boyfriend.”

“Hunk-of-Yum?” Desmond repeats, looking at me like that foot-in-mouth problem is still dribbling out despite my best efforts. I shrug, nodding to Connor like that happy little nickname should be self-evident. Connor is, after all, Desmond-level gorgeous. Just give Connor a little more of an athletic build, short-cropped hair, and a flair for big words and you get the picture. Big words is not a euphemism. Ask Arie. I guess it’s a he-used-to-be-a-lawyer thing.

“Right,” Desmond says, leaning toward Connor like he’s about to get inside information. “Maybe you’d be a good person to ask, then. Is Arie always trying to hook up her sister with whatever hot men walk into this establishment? Or am I guinea pig number one?”

“You’re not the first,” Connor says honestly, putting the two drinks in front of us. One is silver green with lime curls in it and a ghost of smoke hovering above the liquor. The second is purple with a sprig of rosemary that’s got tiny flames flickering on its needle-like leaves. “I don’t mean to burst your TV-star ego, but Arie does this all the time.”

“Does she?” Desmond cuts a look to me and I grab my purple drink to avoid his eyes, dousing the rosemary into the liquid and cutting out the flame. “Does it work?”

Connor laughs, tucking his serving tray under his arm. “Nope. Not in the slightest.”

I can feel Desmond watching me, maybe wondering why I’m not susceptible to my sister’s match-maker tactics. Or maybe he’s just wondering why I’m such a damn prude.

“Yup,” I say to cut the tension. “It turns out I’m guinea pig number one in Arie’s little pet experiments, and tonight she’s trying to find out if fame and ten-inch cocks can thaw my ice-block of a vagina! Woo hoo!” I raise my hands in the air and wiggle my fingers like I’m jazz-hands-ing my way to an early grave.

“Oh man,” Connor concedes. “I see it’s going to be a multiple-shot evening.”

I nod incessantly, agreeing. “Oh yeah, we’re definitely at that point! I’d say it’s safe to keep a steady stream of alcohol coming to this table until I’m passed out cold. Then, I might finally stop saying whatever asylum-worthy embarrassments that are bound to come out of my mouth for the rest of the evening.”

“Not a problem,” Connor says, a glint of pity in his eyes. I waive him off, knowing he’s probably going to talk to Arie about this later, even though I wish he wouldn’t. Connor leaves and I attempt to drown myself in the cocktail he’s made. The sweet splash of lavender and St. Germain washes over my tongue, making me moan as the hint of burnt rosemary coats my teeth with its herbal exquisiteness.

“I’m pretty sure that drinkis going to melt your ice-block of a vagina,” Desmond says, pointing at the martini glass at my lips. “I’ve never seen a woman look that happy drinking anything.”

“You’ve never had one of Connor’s cocktails,” I say, pointing to his silvery concoction, and nodding for him to try it. “It’s sort of a Connor Voss specialty.”

Desmond raises an eyebrow as he stirs the liquid, kicking up a hint of lime effervescence. When he takes a sip, to my satisfaction he actually moans as well. Only, it’s a sound that makes my lower-regions pound, despite the fact that I was starting to feel like I had a little control over myself.

“See, I told you so,” I say, my voice far too light and breathy.

“Indeed,” Desmond agrees. “Absolutely, vagina thawing!”

“Seriously?” I toss back at him as he takes a second sip, my eyes far too interested in how his tongue plays against his lip. “You couldn’t let that one just fly on by without picking it up again?”

“Well, we’ve already discussed—at length—my personal appendage,” he smiles at his own pun. “I just thought we ought to give you the same amount of attention.”

“Okay, why not!” I say, embracing the inevitable. “It’s not like this evening is going to end with me coming on your face, so—” Desmond practically spits out his drink, completely taken aback by the crassness of my mouth. “Sure, let’s go there. What do you want to know?”

“Was there an option, before I made that comment, where you were actually going to come on my face later?”

I lift my chin. “Probably not, unless you took one of Connor’s whiskey drinks and splashed it on my pussy before you—”

Desmond’s eyes are so wide I force myself to stop talking.

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