“Idid something,” she said. She peered at me from over the rim of her glass, taking a deliberately slow gulp. Her bright green eyes widened in anticipation of my response. I just smiled and shook my head. In my books, Miranda is a total babe. She’s fearless. She’s brash. She’s a little quirky. And she always had the best stories. What I like most about them is her delivery – you can never really tell if she is looking to be praised or reprimanded. I swivelled on my bar stool without taking my eyes off of hers. “Well,” I said, humouring her, “tell me. What did you do?” She stretched one hand behind her head, tousled her mess of thin blonde hair, and looked away from me. As if I was being too prying. But her exasperated sigh turned into a giggle as she geared up to share what was sure to be another scandalous tale. With her other hand, she raised her glass as well as her eyebrows, and took another sip of mojito for a little boost of encouragement. “So, you know how things have been getting a little hot and heavy with me and that Not-So-Serious Musician.” It wasn’t a question. “Well,” she crunched on the ice cube she had been sucking on, “last night he came to meet me. The work thing, you know, that one we were hosting in the lounge upstairs last night,” again, not a question, “was finishing up. I’d been drinking a bit (obviously) with the clients by the time he showed up.” She hiccupped on her laughter. “It’s a joke because it’s just a series of dank offices and supply rooms.” “And I mean… Girl. That should have been my big hint right there,” she added, crunching on another ice cube. “By now, he’s getting hard,” she said with a wink. “Obviously.” “And it was effing cold, man,” she added, shivering at the memory. I laughed out loud and shook my head. The bartender brought us our next round. “Thank you.” She twirled the straw around in her glass. “But no, seriously. I legit squeaked right into his mouth.” “They’re always in such a hurry to stick it in,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I mean, I like a good, quick fuck sometimes just as much as the next girl, but come on. If we’re gonna do this, we’re gonna do it right.” “Because all of a sudden, I realized that I wasn’t going to be able to hold myself in that position much longer!” “Yeah, I was wondering when that was going to happen,” I said. “But I didn’t want him to stop yet,” she said, picking at the leftover chips on the plate. “And turns out it was the right call.” “The window is obviously a couple of floors up from street level, but like,” she put the glass back down onto the coaster, “the idea of people walking by looking up and seeing me totally butt-naked in that picture frame window?” She cooled herself with an imaginary fan. “Super hot.” “And then!” she looked disdainfully down at her glass. A mint leaf was stuck in the straw. She gave up and placed the glass back down on the table. “Then, he goes and gets all sappy with me, whispering sweet nothings into my ear about me being his girlfriend, while he’s still fucking me from behind, and it just ruined everything.” “So it ended there?” I asked. “Just like that?” “Well no,” she said just as the bartender placed two more drinks along with a couple of shots of whiskey on the bar in front of us. “I mean, I finished, obviously.” She pushed one of the shots closer to me. “And he seemed to be having a hard time getting off. Maybe he drank too much, I don’t know. Either way, I didn’t push the matter because I got what I wanted.” She shrugged. “But then when we were getting dressed, he used the “girlfriend” word one more time, right? And I was like, ‘Oh, honey… No… This? This thing will never be that. Sorry.’” She raised her eyebrows signalling the end of her story, and burst out laughing. The bartender snickered, and I couldn’t help but join in. “Fuck, I’m awesome.” She shook her head, and raised her shot glass to me. “Cheers.” More by Queen Jayne:
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