Georgie Salter didn’t so much exit from the taxi as ooze out of it. Her ten-dollar flats met a street damp from the last slushy remnants of one bitch of a winter. Her skirt rode up to the tops of her thighs, and she worried she was giving the line of people standing outside of the bar their money shot for the evening. She tried to stand upright, but her legs had other ideas and told her kneecaps to turn to jelly. Luckily for Georgie, someone caught her before she could land in a puddle and douse her black panties with the pink PRINCESS written on the ass and the heart-shaped charm just below her belly. Fingers laced with hers.
Georgie looked up, and her mood brightened from pleasantly drunk to genuinely thrilled. “Oh my God, Anthony!”
“Careful, Gee.” He hauled her onto the curb. The top of her head smacked his chin. “Oooh, sorry!” she said and reached up to adjust the cardboard party hat she had been wearing all night: Mr. Ding, an erect and smiling cartoon penis.
When she looked up at him, Anthony Gaines’s delicious lips curved into a smile, and his cinnamon eyes shone. Georgie’s blood raced to all the right places. She curled her toes and took a moment to enjoy the tickle that wiggled from the soles of her feet to the tip of her tongue and back down, settling on the equator between PRINCESS and the pink heart.
She smiled, then gasped in surprise. “You cut your hair off!”
Anthony laughed when she freed one hand from his and rubbed the scalp that used to be a shaggy mess covering his eyes but was now cropped close to his narrow head. “I save a bundle on conditioner now.”
“Yeah, but you make up it for it in gel. Ew.”
She wiped her sticky palm on his shoulder. He was jacketless, and the warmth of his body through the polo he wore went along her arm like honey.
The spray of the cab’s tires pulling away from the curb speckled her bare legs as she ran her hand up to cup the back of his head. She stood on her toes and tilted her head back. Without a second’s hesitation, Anthony lowered his mouth to hers.
They’d been a couple for about the blink of an eye, doing what couples in love were supposed to do. They genuinely liked one another, and the sex was fantastic, but they were terrible at being a couple. The fuck buddy dynamic had begun almost immediately with that first midmorning coffee meeting spent trying to maneuver between boyfriend/girlfriend to exes.
Their relationship since was one hundred times better than the one they had left behind. At least, it had been until Georgie heard he was getting serious with Etienne. News of his new relationship had hit her harder than she had anticipated. Anthony was notorious for bouncing from one woman or man to the next. His relationships rarely evolved past “fling.”
She’d heard that his latest foray into being a couple was going better than ever, and it depressed the hell out of her. She’d been avoiding him for the past month. His texts, voice mails, and e-mails had gone unanswered until she’d found a letter in her in-box that was loaded with F
-bombs and the Caps Lock of doom.
The way his tongue was now exploring hers suggested to Georgie that the rumors of his commitment to Etienne were untrue, and that PRINCESS was going to end up in a crumpled heap at the foot of his bed.
She closed the gap between them and moaned just loud enough for him to hear as she sucked his tongue deeper into her mouth. Anthony responded with a grunting sound and slipped his knee between her legs, bringing it up so his hard thigh rubbed the thin fabric of her panties against her pussy.
Warm rings of pleasure tickled along the length of her pussy. She would have hailed another taxi to take them both back to her place if it wasn’t for the obnoxious “Ahem!” behind her.
Tera, Georgie’s best friend, stood shivering in front of the taxi stand in her red bridal veil with the devil horns jutting out of either side. She’d colored her hair a deep black for the occasion. A homemade YES I FUCKING DO sash strained against her enormous boobs. In one hand, she held a candy dispenser in the shape of a dick that popped out little white candies whenever she jerked the length. In the other, a bag of tiny gummy vaginas to give out to unsuspecting revelers who had no idea the hen night from hell was about to come down on them like the apocalypse.
She shook her bag of gummy vaginas and raised her brows. “Hello? Getting married, here? First and last night out without the baby? Still sober? Hell-o-o-o?”
Georgie grinned but didn’t let go of Anthony’s hand. “Go on in,” she told Tera. “I’ll be right behind you. Show everyone your new toy.”
“I can’t. You’re the only one who can catch the candy in your mouth. Without you, it’s just a big plastic dick.”
Tera wanked the toy. A shard of cheap candy flew out and nailed a girl in a minidress between the eyes. Tera glared at the girl. “What? Don’t look at me like that. It’s not like that’s the first time you got a shot in the eye, and everyone knows it.”
Georgie squeezed down on Anthony’s hand. “Have you ever been to one of these things before?” she asked him. They were chest to chest, and she could feel the beginnings of an erection pressing through his jeans.
“No, but it can’t be any worse than one of Tera’s sex-toy sales parties.”
“That’s what you think,” she muttered, her gaze on his lips. “It should be a short night. This is the first night Chris has been alone with the baby, so she wants to be out of here by midnight. We could go for a slice of pizza or some coffee.”
“Do I get a private demonstration with the big plastic dick?”
“I’m going to ignore the implications of that request.” She laughed and tilted her head back as he kissed her again. He slipped his hands under the hem of her thigh-length jacket and cupped her ass, holding her in place while he moved his hips just slightly. His growing erection pressed against her belly.
Georgie waved off Tera’s intrusion.
Half an hour. Just a half an hour, and then we can leave without her getting pissed. Half an hour and he’ll be screwing me up against the pile of boxes in the kitchen.
Her clit throbbed with anticipation.
He flicked the tip of his tongue against hers, and she ground herself against him.
“Anthony.” Tera’s voice was closer now.
Fifteen minutes. Long enough to have a couple of shots, dance to one or two songs, stuff three of the penis-shaped lollipops in my mouth for a laugh, and then we can make out in the cab on the way to his place.
He discreetly pulled the hem of her dress up so the jacket was the only thing between her bare ass and the night chill. Georgie could have gone off like a shot when his long fingers evaded her soaked panties and ran along the length of her wet slit.
Five minutes. One shot. One spastic dance. Deep throat the plastic dick. Ha-ha, everyone laughs, and then I’m getting ridden by the God of the Thrusting Hips.
He moaned, and the vibration rippled through her, meeting the electric thrill of the tip of his middle finger probing deeper.
Fuck the party. I’m going to come in front of thirty people who are waiting to get into the lousiest bar in Halifax. It’ll be all over the Internet. There’ll be Facebook groups dedicated to me, The Girl Who Came On Brunswick Street. People will point at me when I’m waiting in line at Starbucks and shout “Hey! That’s her! The Girl Who Came on Brunswick Street!”
And it will be soooo worth it.
“Hi, Etienne!” Tera’s voice intruded like a morning alarm clock. Georgie pulled away from Anthony so fast, the elastic in her panties snapped and she felt definite droopage. The droopage was nothing compared to the humiliation and shame that came over her all at once. Strolling up to the entrance of the bar was Anthony’s boyfriend, Etienne Delagarde.
There was absolutely no expression Georgie could muster that didn’t fall into the category of I Did Something Bad. Worse, Anthony still had one arm cinched around her waist with a wad of her skirt bunched in his fist like he wanted to keep her from bolting.
“That was quick,” he said to Etienne without taking his gaze off of Georgie’s flushed face. “You broke now?”
“I never made it to the ATM.” He had a distinctive accent of the smaller French Canadian communities on the East Coast, a little bit of French and Scottish mingled with English. He shrugged. “I was standing under the overhang in front of the old newspaper office trying to check my messages while some drunk kept screaming at his own reflection to give his lawnmower back.” Etienne’s blue-eyed gaze slid to Georgie. “Hey again.”
“Hey.” She yanked Anthony’s hand away. She couldn’t look directly at Etienne, not after he walked up on her making out with his boyfriend, and so she concentrated on a faded scar on his chin.
He didn’t look pissed, as she would have been and as anyone in their right mind would have been. His poise was relaxed and practically identical to Anthony’s, hands shoved into his pockets and head tilted a little to the side. She could have sworn he was on the verge of smirking.
Oh man, they’re making fun of me.
It was worse than having the imaginary neon SLUT blazing over her forehead she had envisioned only seconds ago.
She felt a little sick and more than a little ashamed. To make matters worse, when she looked to Tera, her best friend actually had pity on her face.
Covering her embarrassment up with a flick of her hair, Georgie lifted her chin and smiled. “Well, we can’t have Tera’s hen party without Tera, can we? After you.”
Tera’s face brightened as she stepped into line next to Anthony. She held out the cellophane bag she carried. “Anthony, do you want vagina or dick?”
“Like I always say, can’t I have both?”
“It must be so hard to live your life, Anthony.”
Georgie trailed in the rear behind Etienne. Each miserable step made her feel a little more desperate for a jiggling tower of Jell-O shots. She kept her eyes to the ground and watched his feet shuffle ahead of hers as the bouncer waved them in.
Once they’d left their coats at the check, Etienne turned to Georgie. “Your hat is squished.”
“What?” And then she remembered. Her hand flew up to the party hat she’d donned, the one with the erect penis with a smiley face.
Oh God, just kill me.
Etienne’s shoulders shook with laughter as she trudged in his wake, into the flashing lights of what promised to be the crappiest hen night in history.