8. Birdie

Confession: I'm great at giving advice. Following it? Not so much.

WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT.

He chuckled. "They are?"

"The ladies' smells terrible. Vomit and urine everywhere." Why couldn't I stop talking?

He raised his eyebrows. "What? I mean, you can't help the piss in the men's, but the women's?"

I nodded. "I don't know how it happens, but it does."

He narrowed his eyes at me, a playful smile tugging at his lips. "I don't believe it."

The bartender slid a mojito onto the wet bar top, and I took it. "Come on." I got out of my chair. "I'll show you."

I could feel his presence behind me as we made our way toward the bathroom I'd just locked myself into. I took a sip, if only to calm my nerves, but then I moaned and said over my shoulder, "This is the best mojito ever."

"Glad to hear it," he replied with a chuckle.

We reached the door, and I turned to him. "Are you sure you're ready for this?"

"Oh, I'm ready." The heat in his voice made me wonder what else he was ready for.

I pushed open the door, and he followed me inside. A few girls standing around the sinks glanced at him before getting back to their conversation. I could tell they'd just met—they were being so nice to each other. True friends in the bar used the b-word way more often.

His nose curled up. "This is bad."

"I told you," I said, folding my arms across my chest.

"No, this is really bad." He shook his head and took my hand. "We've got to leave."

His touch sent heat up my arm, and I imagined him touching me elsewhere. Him being the rebound of every girl's fantasy but my reality.

I followed him out of the restroom, and he stepped aside, breathing deeply.

I giggled. "Get some of that fresh bar air."

He laughed. "Good point. Want to get out of here?"

I bit my lip, holding back a smile. "Thought you'd never ask."

Instead of going out the front door, he led me to the back, reaching into his pocket for keys. Headlights flashed on a car that looked so expensive it could pay off the entirety of my student loan debts.

I stared at it, suddenly freaking out. He was rich. The kind of rich that could cover up my murder. And I'd taken a drink from him. What kind of adult was I? I didn't even know his name!

Noticing I'd stopped following, he turned toward me. "Everything okay?"

"Um... not really."

His dark brows drew together, and he stepped away from the car. "What's wrong?"

I bit my lip, taking him in. Not knowing his name didn't keep me from imagining his hands all over me. But first things first. "My name's Birdie. What's yours?"

He let out half a laugh and smiled. "Cohen."

Feeling better, I nodded and smiled, then got into his fancy car.

He pulled out of the club parking lot and started down the street.

"Where do you live?" I asked, gently tugging my shirt so it would hide the way my thighs pressed together when I sat down. My cellulite was on full display, even in the dim lighting. Something told me Cohen could have any girl he wanted, and I didn't want to get counted out because of my size.

"Downtown Emerson," he said simply.

My eyebrows drew together. "Are you going the wrong way?"

"Not quite."

"Does that mean you're going to murder me?" I asked. "Because downtown is that way and we're going this way."

He chuckled. "I have another stop to make first."

I closed my eyes, not wanting to hear his answer. "Where?"

"The store." He glanced at the dash. "If I drive fast enough, we'll get there before it closes."

It was almost ten o'clock now. "I have condoms," I blurted. Then I covered my mouth. How awkward could I be? "Not that we're going to need them—I mean, I hope we need them, and I always practice safe sex, but, just in case, you know, we do need them and you don't have them and that's why you're going to the store, I....have them."

My cheeks burned, and his profile revealed an amused smile, making my humiliation that much worse.

"You talk a lot when you're nervous, don't you?"

"To be fair, I talk a lot most of the time. It's kind of my job."

He lifted an eyebrow. "Talk show host?"

I snorted. "Hardly. I'm a guidance counselor."

"Doing important work. Not like the barkeep with the dirty bathrooms."

"Your work felt pretty important tonight," I admitted.

"Yeah?" he said, turning down another street.

"My friend practically dragged me out. She thought I needed...to meet new people."

He smirked, and God, that was sexier than all the other looks combined. "Remind me to thank her."

Did that mean there was going to be a time when he met my friends? A time past tonight?

Mara would have kicked me if she heard my train of thought. This was supposed to be a rebound. R-E-B-O-U-N-D. My chance to get back on the horse, not buy the horse and the cow and take them home to live happily ever after. Or whatever you do with a horse and cow. I'm not very ag savvy.

I had to get out of this mental funk. This thought that sex had to end in happily ever after. Or that I'd ever live happily ever after.

My eyes stung. "What store are we going to?" I asked, hoping for a good distraction and praying he wouldn't see my shining eyes.

"Marshall's," he said. "I know it's not anything fancy, but nothing else is open, and I owe you a new dress."

My eyes widened. He wanted to take me shopping for a new dress? He was good looking and kind? Okay, that was joint bank account material.

I closed my eyes again, forcing my mind away from forever. I just learned his name, after all.

His smile was sultry, but nowhere near as panty melting as his gaze trailing from my eyes to my bare legs.

Dax never looked at me with that kind of attraction. No, he was always insisting on sex with the lights off or signing us up for gym memberships so I could get "healthier." Which really meant more attractive to him. But I was tired of that life, always trying to fit into an eight or smaller because that's what they carried at the fancy stores where my mother shopped. When I finally stopped watching myself in college, I gained weight and a freedom I'd never known before. I was a size sixteen now, and I didn't see that changing any time soon.

"You don't need to get me a new dress. You got me a shirt and..." Channel your inner Mara, Birdie. You can do it. "I thought it might look better on your floor anyway."

"We'll get to that."