Connie, juggling online college and a complicated relationship, gets more than she bargained for when she gets hired by Salem, the nightclub assistant and bar manager. Salem's no stranger - in fact, Connie was her hell in high school. Now Salem is h...
Strawberry Shortcake 🍰 🍓 (I got inspired to really make this. This is the picture, and y'all it's SO GOOD 10/10)
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9:30 P.M.
Her laugh is electric, even when mixed with slurred words. Connie's on her third Strawberry Shortcake, and I've already made the decision to walk her home. A lot of creeps like to hang out outside our club, and she will not make it past three steps out of the door.
"Track was the worst!" Connie rolls her eyes and throws her head back, drunkenly. We've been reminiscing on high school days for the last two hours. "My parents made me joooiin..." She rolls her head around, emphasizing her words with her free hand. "And Coach Dickers was a...well, he was a dick!"
I can't help but smile at the sight of her loosening up and having a good time. "A fitting name for him, isn't it?"
Connie snatches her straw out of her drink before tossing it in the trash can a few feet from us. She brings the decorated rim of her glass to her lips, tilting back the remainder of it's contents into her mouth while sliding her tongue along the edge to get the cookie crumbles and strawberry puree.
Suddenly, I'm imagining her tongue tracing patterns on me. I can see her forming lines from my stomach to my chest. I can see her tracing the shape of my breasts. I can imagine the warmth of her breath against my skin.
"Take a picture, it'll last longer." Connie mutters into the glass without even looking at me.
"You're infatuated with that drink," I mention.
"I am," she agrees, giggling. "You make a meeean blended drink, Freckles."
"I can make anything you want, Princess."
She doesn't reply, but I see her holding back a smile. Instead, she lets out a big yawn and stretches out her arms. Just as I'm about to help her, she stands up way too fast and tries to walk. "W-Whoa!"
I shoot up from my seat and throw my arm around her waist, steadying her. I place my hands on her hips, turning her to face me. "You're on six shots. Where do you think you're going?"
"I can walk myselfff home, Dalton." She slurs, slightly leaning into me.
"Yeah, right." I mutter, grabbing her arm and placing it around my shoulder. "You're past walking. I'm driving you home."
"I'm an independent woman who don't need no sexy bartender to help me." She continues while I hold her waist and guide her out of the break room.
"Uh huh," I half-ignore her. "Good to know you think I'm sexy, though."
I glance over at her when she doesn't retort, and I see the faint pink blush fading into her cheeks.
"Dad!" I call over to my father who's been on the phone for thirty minutes straight. "I'm taking Connie home; I'll be back in a few!"
