Well I couldn't just leave the guy crying over his drink, could I? Though, as he smiled up at me seductively, I wondered how many ways it was possible for someone's sexual interest to be torn. So far... three.
Y'know what, why don't I just walk into the bar in just my boxers and offer myself up to everyone around? I might as well.
Maybe next time I'm drunk enough.
Wait! No! There you go again, you stupid, whoreish brain!
"So what's your name?" I ask, figuring it's not a good idea to ask him why he's in tears, or to call him sexy at the end of my question.
"Val." He has a London accent. I almost melt. After being stuck with the drawl of Hollywood stars and being surrounded by thick American accents, it's refreshing to hear someone that talks the same way I do.
"Cool. I'm Maxxie," I smile, ordering another drink for the both of us, taking the opportunity to look around quickly to see if Cayden or Blondie are around. I don't see them, but I don't really get a chance to. Val gives me a tipsy grin and I smile back, not yet drunk enough to deal with being leered at like that.
I'm very conservative for a slut, aren't I?
I down my drink as soon as it's put in front of me and turn around so I'm facing out at the dance floor, leaning back on the bar, "I wanna dance," I mumble to myself, watching the heaving bodies all pulsing as one in time to the music.
Before I know it, I'm on the floor with Val, becoming a part of it with him, grinding against him, my tongue moving with his.
Not so bad being me, really.