Beer Goggles Anthology Read online

  “Let’s go out!” Cami squeals into the phone so loudly that I have to pull my cell away from my head.

  “It’s Tuesday night.” It’s a lame excuse, but it’s the first thing that comes to mind.

  “When has that ever stopped us?” my best friend asks with a snort.

  I try to think back to the last time I let a weeknight stop me from enjoying a few drinks with my best friend, and honestly, I can’t think of many occurrences. At only twenty-seven years old, I’m well versed at tying one on into the wee hours. Of course, those incidences were more frequent in my early twenties when alcohol flowed like water and my tan was always the neon variety. But now? As I settle in to the downhill slide toward thirty, I’m more apt to watching Netflix and falling asleep on the couch by nine-thirty.

  “Fine, we can go celebrate. But only a few drinks, Cam. I have to work tomorrow morning and I can’t start my new position hungover.”

  “Yay! It’s been forever since we went out and partied. We’ll go to Logan’s at seven and eat dinner. My treat. Then we’ll head up to Cyber and dance. I really need to shake what my mama gave me,” Cami proclaims.

  “Fine. I’ll meet you at home,” I tell her as I shuffle the papers on my desk into a nice neat pile.

  “We’ll take an Uber. Neither of us is driving tonight. Then we can drink more!”

  I mumble something that sounds like faux excitement before signing off. Today I’m tying up all of the loose ends before someone else takes over as the production director at WKAT. The Kat is Seattle’s biggest classic rock station, playing everything from Van Halen to KISS. Steel Jones is the number one rated morning show host in the state of Washington, and as of tomorrow morning, I’ll be one of two producers of his show. My mornings will start a bit earlier than my prior position, but I’m up for the task.

  Actually, the more I think about it, my mornings are going to be a bitch. I’ve never really been a morning person, and that was when my work schedule was eight to five. But now? Six a.m. That’s six in the morning. S-I-X. The only people up and moving by that time are garbage people and runners. And lord knows I despise those physical fitness types. Fine, I don’t have anything against them, per se, but I’m just not a fan of running. Like, at all. And to be happy about doing it? That’s like reading Greek mythology for fun. I just don’t understand it.

  The fact that I have to get up and be at the radio station by six should be reason enough for me to call Cami and cancel our plans for this evening. Dinner, I could handle, but dancing at Cyber? It’s just not a good idea. I can see it written in neon paint on the wall from here. I’m just going to have to set an exit time, like nine o’clock. When the clock strikes nine, I’m out of there, no matter how much begging or heckling Cami gives me. Fine, let’s say nine fifteen. But if I’m not out of there at a decent time, I’ll never make it to work on time.

  Happy with my exit strategy, I plow through the remainder of the production orders in my bin, putting the finishing touches on a dozen commercials that begin airing on our station by week’s end. My day is filled with poorly written commercial scripts that are too long and sound effects that I hear repeated in my dreams. It’s a lonely job, back here away from everyone else, but one I’ve enjoyed thus far.

  At five, I clock out for the final time as the production director. Tomorrow morning, I’ll clock in as a producer of the Steel Jones Show, a job I’ve had my eye on for the last two years. And finally it’s my reality.

  An Uber drops us off at Logan’s five minutes before seven. This is one of my favorite restaurants, but one I rarely indulge in since I’m on a budget. Hopefully, the new job will give me a little more financial freedom and I can stop eating Ramen noodles for half of my dinners each week. Pizza rolls and Hot Pockets make up the other half.

  “This is going to be so awesome,” Cami says, teetering dangerously on her five-inch heels. Linking her arms through mine, we make our way through the heavy wooden door.

  Walking to the hostess podium, I say, “You do remember that we’re leaving Cyber at nine, right? I can’t be late for my first day tomorrow.”

  “It’s not your first day, silly. You’ve been working there since you graduated college,” she says as we follow the hostess to a booth.

  “True, but it’s my first day at a new position. One that starts two hours earlier than before, and I can’t be late. They can’t even ship me back to my previous job because they’ve already filled it. I’d probably lose my job, Cami.”

  I take the seat across from my friend. “Fine, Miss Buzzkill. We’ll be on our way at nine o’clock so you can get home before the carriage turns into a pumpkin.” She rolls her eyes dramatically while picking up the menu.

  Looking to redirect the conversation, I decide to pay my friend another compliment. I’ve learned in thirteen years of friendship that you can never tell Cami Jordan how great she looks enough. “That dress looks amazing on you. It’s like it was made just for your body.”

  “Right? This dress is so fabulous. I can’t wait until it’s balled up on the floor of some rich man’s bedroom floor later tonight,” she says with a huge smile, and I can’t help but laugh.

  Her long black hair is pulled back in a sleek and shiny ponytail. Cami perfected the smoky eyes back in our freshman year of college. Of course, her perky double Ds don’t hinder any attention from the male population. Her red dress is tight and barely contains her assets, the hem only inches lower than the bikini wax she surely had.

  But the thing about Cami is that she’s probably right. It won’t surprise me in the least if she hooks up with some hot guy tonight and leaves me to take the Uber back to our townhouse alone. Wouldn’t be the first time. Cami is charismatic and flirty, and guys always flock to her. The rich part is still to be seen since she’s usually attracted to those cocky bad boys who only want one thing, breaking her heart along the way.

  “Well, I’m sure it’ll look as great on the floor as it does hugging your curves,” I add, taking a drink of the water the server brings.

  “That dress looks so great on you,” she says after ordering a cosmopolitan. “Probably better on you than it ever did on me.”

  I’m not embarrassed to admit that my dress is borrowed. Production staff, even those employed at the biggest radio station in town, don’t make much. Sexy dresses and high heels haven’t exactly been in the budget over the last few years. Making sure I can pay my half of the rent and utilities, plus being able to eat, has been a priority.

  “I don’t know about that,” I say, ordering a margarita for myself.

  “I do know. Twenty bucks says it’ll be balled up on the floor of some handsome stud’s apartment floor tonight too.”

  “Right,” I snort. But damn does that paint a nice picture. It’s been a long time since any of my clothes were on the floor of some stud’s apartment. Of course, if you lax a bit on the definition of “stud,” well…no. It’d still be a long time.

  The last time anything of mine was on the floor, it was almost two years ago with my last boyfriend, Mitchell. He was a producer at the station, and about six years older than my twenty-five. He was always so well put together and gave me my first taste of behind the scenes of Steel’s show. I was hooked ever since.

  Of course, I was also hooked on Mitchell. We dated for seven months before he was offered a management position at a competitor’s station. He took the job, and left The Kat and me behind. The relationship had run its course, according to him, and he didn’t give me so much as a glance back as he strolled into his new station manager’s office across town.

  “I’m serious, Sadie. You need to find you a well-hung hottie for a little fling. Someone who’ll make your toes curl and your throat burn from screaming in orgasmic bliss.” With that, she raises her glass in toast. “To orgasms and tequila.”

  Against my better judgment, I raise my glass and give hers a tap. “To orgasms and tequila.”

  God help me.

  Chapter Two

 
I’m pretty sure there’s a nine in the time, but it’s not the first number. The numbers on my watch are blurred but it’s definitely after midnight. My body moves with the music, my back plastered against the front of a guy. We’ve been dancing for the past few songs, his hands all over me. Normally, I’m not that kinda girl, but with the amount of tequila in my body, I’m apparently an anything kinda girl tonight.

  Cami is making out with a tall, sexy guy in the corner of the dance floor. In fact, I can only see one of his hands. I’m pretty sure the other is up her dress. The guy I’m dancing with keeps grinding his erection against my ass. My body moves, but to the beat of the music. Not because I’m turned on by his grabby hands and his peen and it’s proximity to my no-fly zone.

  “You’re so frickin’ hot,” he breathes warm air against my ear. My body shudders, but not in the way you’d expect.

  “I need another drink,” I holler over the upbeat dance music.

  I don’t even care that the guy who latched on to me an hour ago is following me to the bar. I bob and weave my way through the crowd like Mike Tyson until I’m at the bar. I order the shots before I even have time to process the request. There’s no talking myself off the ledge at this point. I skated past drunk an hour ago and am flying head-first into the fiery depths of hangover hell. I know this, yet I can’t seem to make myself stop.

  Until…

  “Will you go home with me?” His hand cups my ass, leaving no room for discussion as to what his intentions are.

  He wants to get laid.

  And I’m just drunk enough to really consider his offer.

  Through half-lidded, foggy eyes, I take in the man I’ve been dancing with for the last hour. Cute. Tall. Lean. Dark eyes. Killer smile. Cami’s words from earlier flash through my mind, and maybe she’s right? Who says I can’t engage in a healthy little fling? A one-night stand. It’s not like it’s my normal MO, so why not have a little fun with the hottie showering me with attention this evening?

  Trying to ignore the fact that it’s difficult to remember when the last time I had sex was, I fully face the man at my side. I forget the shot in front of me. Forget the fact that I’m due at work in mere hours. Forget about the impending guilt that will surely come with sleeping with a stranger. Instead, I focus on the fun, the flirting, and the freedom I have. It’s those thoughts that push aside all of the doubts and worries, and lead me to say, “Sure. Why not.”

  Cami is gone, left right before us with the man with wandering hands. As I’m led toward a taxi, I find myself occupied with another pair of wandering hands. As soon as the door closes, I’m pulled against his dry lips. They’re hurried and kinda sloppy, but I’ll chalk that up to his excitement. His tongue pushes into my mouth, and my stomach turns. I’m sure it’s the fact that I’ve drank enough alcohol for a small country to get a buzz and not the fact that his breath smells a little gross.

  “Hold up,” I say, pushing back and looking into his eyes. There’s suddenly three of him and I’m having a hard time focusing on one, let alone all three. “I don’t even know your name.”

  “Peter,” he says, before trying to dive back in to another kiss.

  “Don’t you want to know my name?” I ask, moving my head to the side so that his mouth misses mine. I’m not quite sure why knowing each other’s names is important, but it just feels like we should at least know the first name of the person we’re about to sex it up with, right?

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “I’m Sadie.”

  “Like a dog? My grandpa’s dog was named Sadie when I was a kid,” he replies with a grin. Wait, was he missing a tooth?

  “My stomach isn’t feeling so well,” I mumble as the cabbie turns a corner at forty miles per hour, sending me straight into the door.

  “We’ll be back to my place in a minute,” he says, taking my hand and kissing the top. It’s a sweet gesture and shows potential, but my rolling stomach won’t let me enjoy it.

  “I’m just going to close my eyes for a second and relax,” I hear myself say, but am unable to keep my eyes open another second. Peter speaks, but I don’t register what he says. The darkness pulls me under, and I go willingly.

  Chapter Three

  A noise in the distance pushes through the fog in my brain, pulling me from the deepest sleep I’ve ever had. I try to crack open my eyelids, but the pain won’t let me. Oh, the pain! My brain feels like it’s going to explode from my head. A thousand drummers are pounding together inside my brain, throbbing behind both eyes.

  What the hell happened last night?

  I crack open my eyes and groan in pain. There’s light filtering from somewhere, but I can’t pinpoint where. The only thing I know right now is that my stomach is revolting against being awake. My mind continues to search for the cause of the noise. Phone. It’s the alarm on my cell phone.

  I reach for the device on my nightstand and come up empty-handed. In fact, not only is my phone not there, but my entire nightstand is missing! I stretch beneath my sheets, but the material feels foreign. Fragments of memories start to filter through my mind. Turning over, my arm meets warm skin.

  Warm. Skin.

  What the hell?

  My eyes fly open and I jump like the blankets are on fire. Never mind the fact that it feels like a firework show is shooting off behind my eyes, but there’s a naked man in my bed. Wait! Oh my God, this isn’t even my bed. Where in the hell am I?

  I jump across the naked stranger beside me and grab my cell phone, which is on his nightstand. My fingers are numb as they move across the screen in an attempt to silence the noise. It takes several attempts, but I’m finally successful and the room is filled with silence.

  “Not now, Mom. I spilled something in that tube sock. Just pick me up more lotion at the store,” the man mumbles.

  OhShitOhShitOhShit! I stand up as flashes of last night fill my mind. Dancing with the good-looking man. The shots. Leaving the bar. The kiss in the taxi. My mind blanks after that, and no matter how hard I try, I just can’t come up with any inkling of what happened next.

  But as I stare down at a naked ass, I can pretty much guess what happened next. And do you know the worst part? It’s not even a nice ass. It’s skinny and dimpled and just…ewww!

  I catch a glimpse of his face, relaxed in sleep against his pillow. He’s wearing thick plastic glasses that are cockeyed on his face, his mouth is wide open as he snores loudly, and the one ear showing behind scraggy hair looks two sizes too big for the size of his head.

  My cell phone practically burns a hole in my hand as I gaze down at the time. OhShitOhShitOhShit! It’s five fifteen! I’m supposed to be at work to start my new position in forty-five minutes, and I have no clue where the hell I am.

  Cold air coming from the air vent hits me in the back, and I close my eyes, my head spinning and my stomach rolling. I’m naked too. My God, I’m naked at some naked stranger’s house, and I’m due at work in less than one hour.

  As quietly as possible, I search the room for my clothes. The room is actually a mess with Mountain Dew cans stacked up beside the most impressive computer set-up ever. Three monitors and multiple different looking keyboards sit on a desk, as well as tablets, drones, and other electronics. The garbage can beside it is overflowing with candy wrappers, and I’m pretty sure the pizza box with buzzing flies around it is the culprit of that funky smell. Well, that or the pile of nasty socks beside the bed. Where in the hell are my clothes?

  The bathroom. I remember stripping in the bathroom last night after I’m pretty sure I threw up two days’ worth of food and alcohol. There’s no way I’m grabbing any of his clothes I see lying around the floor. I think the shirt on top of the pile just moved.

  I head toward the closed door and slowly pry it open. Of course, it squeaks. I glance back over my shoulder and am thankful that the sleeping naked man beside me doesn’t move. I let out a sigh of relief and then turn my attention back to the hallway. There’s music coming from the closed door across the
hall, which I’m assuming is the roommate.

  I’m desperate to get my clothes and end this nightmare, so I gingerly slip out, camouflaging my boobs as much as possible, while pulling the door closed behind me. Looking left and right rapidly, I call on my inner ninja goddess and squat-leap to the bathroom. The door is cracked open, so I push it the rest of the way and run inside like there’s a naked stranger around the corner.

  Oh, that’s right. There is!

  The door practically slams behind me as I plaster myself against the cold wood, taking a huge gulp of warm air. It’s humid in the bathroom, but the fact that I’m not staring at some pimply, skinny, naked ass makes me grateful for my clean escape.

  I just start to release my sigh of relief when the shower curtain flies open. The scream is out of my mouth before I can rein it in. I can’t believe this! I’m going to die in a bathroom, naked, by dweebs with bad acne. They’ll probably never find my body either. It’ll be used for some scientific experiment or by weirdos proving that the zombie apocalypse is real. All that blood. Gross!

  And that’s when the marching band in my head starts practicing once more. Bang. Bang. Bang. My eyes water and stomach recoils. I might actually get sick from the noise, but for as loud as the drumming is, I can’t seem to stop screaming.

  “What the hell?” the man hollers over my ear-piercing shrieks.

  That’s when my brain short circuits. Literally, it completely shuts down and my screeches die on my dry, chapped lips. I’m completely transfixed by the hottest specimen of male perfection I’ve ever seen. Ever. We’re talking so incredible, it’s earth-shattering, like a ten on the Richter scale, life-changing, and so much better than a naked Scott Eastwood.

  Oh, shit, this guy looks just like Scott Eastwood.