That Man 2 by Nelle L'Amour

restaurants was Blake Burns and on his arm was a tall gorgeous blonde. I’d had plenty of drinks but suddenly found myself wanting one more. I gulped past the lump in my throat. What was wrong with me?
    Eager to leave, I begged Libby to head back to the Hard Rock. Reluctantly, she agreed with the condition we go to one of the hotel’s many nightclubs. Libby was one tireless party animal.
    The nightclub we ended up at was a karaoke bar. It was crowded, but Lib and I were lucky enough to get a large corner booth. Another one of those attractive blond, big-boobed cocktail waitresses came by to take our drink order. She could have easily been the sister of Kay.
    “Have you ever had a chocolatini?” asked Libby.
    “What is it?”
    “It’s like the most amazing martini ever. It’s made with chocolate liquor.”
    I’d had a ton to drink. Mostly white wine. I didn’t think it would be a good idea to have another or mix drinks. I just didn’t have the alcohol tolerance that Libby had. I’d seen her polish off a six-pack of beer at USC frat parties and then make it through several shots of tequila. I didn’t know how she did it.
    “I’ll just have a cherry Coke.”
    Libby made a disgusted face. “Come on, Jen. We’re in Sin City. You only live once.”
    “You won’t be sorry,” said the cocktail waitress with a smile. “They’re delicious.”
    Reluctantly, I gave in to the drink. The waitress disappeared with our order.
    “So, how’s it going with Blake?” asked Libby while we waited for our drinks.
    The mention of his name sent a shiver to the base of my spine. On the stage, a bad Lady Gaga wannabe was belting out “Bad Romance.”
    “Okay,” I simply said.
    “I bet he’s reeling from the focus groups. The second group of older women was even more enthusiastic about your idea than the first. Wait till he reads my report.”
    Before I could say a word, the waitress returned with our drinks and set them down on the table. I have to confess the chocolatini looked amazing. Like a chocolate milk shake in a martini glass. And it was topped with a heap of fluffy whip cream.
    After a toast to “us,” I lifted the chilled glass to my lips and took a sip of the creamy cocktail. Holy cow! It tasted as amazing as it looked. Rich and chocolaty with a nice little zing from the vodka. It coursed smoothly down my throat and into my veins. My glumness instantly lifted.
    “Isn’t it fucking amazing?” asked Libby after her first sip.
    “Totally.” I licked my lips and began drinking the chocolatini like it was chocolate milk. Before I knew it, I had depleted the glass. So had Libby.
    “Let’s order another round,” insisted Libby.
    “Are you sure?” Deliciously lightheaded, I craved another. God, was it sinfully good.
    “Totally. Look at it as one of the perks of your job.”
    It didn’t take much more to convince me. The cocktail waitress returned and we placed our order. She scooted off and I turned my attention to the stage. Some goofy-looking guy was singing “Blurred Lines.” While he was no Robin Thicke, many in the crowded club were singing along and dancing to the lyrics. Even Libby was standing up and swaying her hips, totally into it. Not wearing my glasses or contacts, everything was a big blur to me. And the chocolatini hadn’t helped. The lyrics sounded fuzzily in my head. Talking about getting blasted.
    The waitress returned with our second round of chocolatinis. Libby sat down and proposed another toast. “To Blake Burns for giving us this opportunity.”
    “Yeah, to fucking Blake Burns,” I echoed, clinking my glass against hers and then immediately taking a gulpful.
    “Did I just hear my name?”
    I gagged. I almost spit out the mouthful of chocolate liquid but somehow forced it past the golf ball-sized lump in my throat. Setting my glass down on the table with my shaky hand, I swiveled my head. There he was, in one of his expensive dark suits, looming above me. That dazzling cocky