That Wedding

"But I don't have any more."

Bradley says, "I think they want, um, some of you."

"Oh, really? Why?"

"Cuz your hot and probably drunk enough to say yes."

"I'm not drunk. And I'm ENGAGED! Hey, this vodka is really good. I'm go

"You're not supposed to bring food in here."

"I had hot drunken sex with you on the stairs, and you just told my friends ALL about it. I think I can do whatever I want."

"True," he grins, and the cuties are like, "Uh...dude, details."

While he tells the boys details, I suggest Jaeger shots to my new pool playing friends. I may have said they were on the house, I forget. Bradley gives me a tray of them, and since no one touches my butt, they arrive in one piece. I work my way back over to Nick, Moose, and Chaz.

"I ordered us pizza," I tell them.

"They don't serve food here," Moose informs me.

"Oh, well that's just details," I say back.

Nick gets serious. "Okay, let's talk about the burning bush."

But they have each had pretty much a pitcher apiece, plus shots, and they can't be serious.

So the talk turns to Moose's recent sexual experience.

"Nicky!" I squeal. "Stop talking about boy parts."

"You only call me Nicky when you're trying to convince me to do something you know I don't wa

"Aww, you know I don't really think you're a loser. But if it bothers you, I'll make up a new nickname for you, right now. Tonight. You're so lucky! Okay, let's see. Nicky, pricky, picky, slicky, dickey, mickey, hickey, kicky. Wow! A lot of good words rhyme with Nicky. Oh, I've got it!!!! Licky, licky, make a hickey, have a quickie with Nicky's dic....."

"Jadyn!"

"What?"

"Seriously, you can't say that."

"I can't say dickey? A dickey is just a little fake shirt you wear under another shirt. Don't be so sensitive."

"Fine. It's a great nickname, but it's probably too long."

"It's long, is it?"

"Jay!"

"What? You're the one that said it was long."

"I meant the name, not my, uh, part."

I consider that for a moment. "Yeah, you might be right. I don't think that would fit in my phone anyway."

"You're drunk. You get silly when you're drunk, and then you'll wa

"OMG!!!!! Nicky!!! I love this song!!!"

I start dancing a bit. I can't help it.

I love this song!

Oh, maybe I said that already. Sorry.

"Nicky, come dance with me."

"Shit, told ya. And I don't wa

I do a little shimmy in front of him. "I guess I could go ask Bradley."

"I'm such a pushover." He sighs, acts like he's doing me a big favor, gets out of the booth, and dances with me.

I twirl around, fist pump, do a little harmless grinding on Nicky.

"You're so lucky that I'm a good guy," Nick says.

"Why's that?"

"You're drunk."

"Not any drunker than you are. You're a good dancer when you're drunk."

Nick grabs me and pulls me in closer. "And you're very naughty when you're drunk. Bradley is totally watching you."

"Really?" I kinda gush. I turn around and look at Bradley, and he's definitely watching me, but I'm not sure why.

"Jay?"

"Yeah?"

"The song is over."

And I realize it is. New song. Not so good to dance to.

"Thanks for dancing with me, Nicky. Oh, hey, I gotta go. Bradley is waving at me."

I dance my way behind the bar. "So, Bradley, is there anything I can get you?"

Yes, I'm kinda flirting with him.

But I think it's harmless.

Just for fun flirting.

"Yeah," he says. "You can get naked."

Uh, well maybe not completely harmless.

Thankfully, a group of girls walk in. I leave Bradley to go wait on them, yummy vodka in hand. I suggest vodka to them, but they say they just want the bartender. Apparently, they've been trying to hook up with him, to no avail. And here I thought Bradley hooked up with everyone.

I go back to the bar. "Oh, Bradley, sweetie, they only want YOU to wait on them. Then I whisper, "I thought you hooked up with everyone."

"No, baby, just you. I don't have a problem with hooking up. I just don't with girls I meet on the job."

"So I was special?" I can't help but grin.

He looks at me struggling with the tray and my high heels. "Yeah, special ed."

The cuties laugh.

He works for tips though, so he goes and flirts with the girls and gives them false hopes. But the false hope will keep them here until closing time. That's a drill I know well. Although I guess in my case, he gave in and took me home with him. I feel so lucky. Like I won the bartender lottery or something.

He comes back, and I say, "You're pretty sexy when you get your flirt all on."

"Come here, I need to show you something." He drags me in the back room and pins me against the wall. "I'll be glad to show you sexy if that's what you want."

He pushes his body up against mine. It feels familiar and sexy.

It also feels all wrong.

Has Phillip ruined me?

Am I never going to be able to flirt with or get turned on by another guy again? What if he dumpssss me??!!!!!!

I'll have to become a nun!!

"Bradley, can you become a nun if you've already had lots of sex?"

"Are we back to religion again? How 'bout I get off early, you come back to my place, and I'll make you say Oh God over and over again."

His long eyelashes bat at me, and he's very hard to resist, for two reasons. One, I can feel that he is, in fact, hard. And two.....um, I forget what two was for. Just as he leans in, I think to kiss me, a kiss I'm going to somehow have to avoid, we hear, "Pizza's here!!!" from the cuties.

Bradley stays pi

I stay pi

And think.

Well, I try to think.

I love Phillip, but is loving him enough? Can I make him happy FOREVER?

Will he get sick of me? Will our relationship fester? Will I smother him?

I don't know any answers, so I go eat pizza.

Chow it.

Oh my gosh, it tastes so good. I even take a piece back behind the bar and let the girls drool while I feed pizza to Bradley. I let the cheese get all stringy and put it on his tongue.

After the pizza, I tell Bradley I'm thirsty for another shot. Bradley tells me I should do one of the special vodka shots, so I do.

Later, I'm over at the pool tables. One of the boys is trying to put a tip into my cleavage when Phillip walks in.

It's like I'm a deer caught in the headlights. I freeze.

Shit.

I feel like a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Except in this case, I'm the slutty jar, who's letting everyone put their hands in her.

He gives me that look. That I am probably in trouble look, like you got caught by your dad seriously making out with your boyfriend on the couch after curfew kind of look. I feel like I'm in trouble.

But I haven't done anything wrong.

Have I?

No, I haven't. I'm just helping out a friend, delivering a few drinks.