I said when I reached fifty reviews on Delayed Penalty you'd get a teaser. Turns out I was able to get to fifty on the one-week anniversary of the release. I can't thank you enough for reading and reviewing. Enjoy.
Please note that my writing is for mature audience only. Read at your own risk.
(c) Shey Stahl
I was worried about Callie. She looked pissed all through dinner, and when I danced with the red headed chick on the bar, she looked sick. Physically sick. “Go check on Callie,” Evan said to me, words slurring, wrapped around Ami in the booth. I was sure they were moments away from boning on the beach, and though the thought of catching a glimpse of Ami naked was appealing, I was more compelled to find Callie.
When I found her, she was in the women’s bathroom drinking from an orange juice container, a bottle of gin in the other hand. She was half dressed in the stall, staring at herself in the mirror ten feet away, crying hysterically.
Cabo does things to people. Remy was proof of that.
“What are you doing in here?” she asked, wiping her tears away. I had to stop and look at where I was. I walked in like I owned the place, a man on mission. I was on a mission. I needed to know why she was treating me like a dick all night when clearly I wasn’t being one.
“What happened to you?” I leaned into the door, relaxed with my arms crossed over my chest. “Someone slap you in the forehead with their dick again?”
Callie’s reaction was guarded, and I thought maybe I had offended her. Until she laughed. Then I realized that shit was pretty much impossible to do.
As she turned to walk away, I followed, watching her adjust her black dress I wished she’d just take off already. The fucking thing was made of enough fabric to make a dish towel or those pasty things the chicks around here wore on their nipples.
Looking at her now, I wanted to grab her hand—and maybe her ass—and make her look at me.
Who am I kidding … hand? I wanted to grab her ass. That’s a lie. I wanted to rip that fucking pasty of a dress off and reacquaint myself with those tits I dreamed about every night.
She turned around to look at me again, waving her heels around and walking back to our table. When we got there, Ami and Evan were gone like I thought would happen.
“What’s wrong with you tonight?” I asked, watching her chew on her lip, red-faced and indecisive.
“Listen to me, Leo,” she said, waving her heels again, the bottle of gin tucked under her arm and the carton of OJ in her other hand.
I was listening all right. Was I looking at her? Nope. Her tits had my attention again.
“I’m drinking gin from an orange juice container. Does that tell you how I feel?”
“Well, yeah,” I said, smiling, working her over in any way I could. Callie took some finesse, if you will. She wasn’t your typical puck bunny you could throw up against the boards. She’d bend over those fucking boards, yeah, and she’d even stick her leg on your shoulder. But, just when you least expected it, she wanted to be treated like a lady. Could I blame her?
I wanted to treat her like a lady—a dirty lady willing to bend over for me, but still a lady.
I wanted to say so much to her right then. She was looking at me, after all, expecting an answer while holding the OJ and gin. She set the bottle and carton on the table and reached inside her purse and pulled out what I never expected to see. Ever.
She showed it to me and then tossed it on the table. Bringing her hand to her face she tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. “Say something, Leo.”
“Can I have a drink?” was what left my mouth.
When her eyes met mine, she couldn’t hold my stare. Remy spit out his drink when he looked at what she threw down and was immediately laughing.
Remy smirked, eyes red and all stuffed up. He showed up here two nights ago, pale and coughing. He started with rum and then followed it with chasers of Nyquil and Tums—slept for sixteen house straight. “This folks is what we call clipping.”