raised his glass gesturing a toast. “To…empty bottles and good friends.”
Friends, there was a word I wasn’t interested in hearing, but I tapped my glass to his and tried to smile.
“Friends,” I repeated.
“I don’t know about you,” Harley laughed, “but I think I’m sloshed.”
I looked up at the ceiling with instant regret as I staggered back and Harley grabbed hold of the front of my jacket yanking me forward.
“Yep, and I’m plastered.”
We laughed as we staggered to the door while Harley assured me he lived right around the corner, within walking distance he said. For some reason when you’re inebriated, time and space seem to totally evaporate. Before I knew it, I was standing looking around a spacious two story loft style apartment as Harley helped me from my jacket and then my shoes.
“Are you hungry?” he asked, shrugging off his jacket and letting it drop to the floor.
“What you got?”
“I don’t know let’s have a look, the kitchen’s this way,” Harley said, escorting me by my shirttail. “We could always order something if you like, pizza?”
“Don’t go out of your way for me, I’m cool with whatever you got.”
Holy stainless steel, Harley’s kitchen looked like the front cover of dream kitchen magazine. The cabinets were shiny smooth stainless and the backsplash was a mix of tiny mosaic tiles in multiple shades of grey, black and white. The base of the island had a checker plate pattern with a black granite countertop, complete with a cooktop and sink. It was amazing and suited Harley’s style to a tee.
Opening each cabinet door revealed nothing but a few boxes of cereal. I wouldn’t have taken Harley for the takeout kind of guy. He was in great shape from what I could tell seeing him in a suit. He took a large wooden bowl from under the island and poured in cereal from two boxes, then fetched two bottles of beer from the fridge, handing me one.
“May as well get comfortable,” he said, as I followed him over to the couch. “You’re staying the night.”
“Am I?” I asked, dropping my ass onto the cold leather couch.
“Uh huh,” he said, reaching his arms over his head and pulling off his shirt, leaving his tie hanging around his neck.
“Whoa,” I sighed, not realizing I had said it out loud until Harley started laughing, sliding his belt from his pants, dropping it on the large overstuffed chair.
“Want to borrow a pair of sweats and a T or something?” he asked, letting his pants slide down his legs landing in a heap at his feet, kicking out of them.
“Um…I…uh sure,” the bumbling lunatic was back, but this time with enough liquid courage to sink a battleship. “You work out often? You look fucking hot.”
“Every day if I can,” he smiled, running his hand up and down his abs. “Have some cereal, I’ll get those sweats.”
As he walked away towards what I presumed to be his bedroom, I blatantly checked him out. That bubble butt that I enjoyed watching at the office was gloriously wrapped in a pair of tight fitting briefs, I couldn’t help noticing the dimples on his lower back just above a waistband with the word Pump highlighted teasingly.
I licked across my lips and adjusted myself. I was far too drunk to don a boner, well not a boner that was of any use anyway, but I definitely had a partial chub on.
Harley was wearing basketball shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt when he returned and tossed the same my way.
“Where can I change?” I asked, starting to laugh as I tried to stand on my jelly legs. “Fuck it.”
I had my polo shirt off and was trying desperately to wriggle from my jeans when Harley placed his hand on my forehead shoving me into the back of the couch. He grabbed the cuffs of my jeans and yanked them off tossing them onto the chair, the spare change in my pocket scattering across the hardwood floor.
“Need help with the shorts?” he laughed, which was contagious since we were still very much three sheets to
Friends, there was a word I wasn’t interested in hearing, but I tapped my glass to his and tried to smile.
“Friends,” I repeated.
“I don’t know about you,” Harley laughed, “but I think I’m sloshed.”
I looked up at the ceiling with instant regret as I staggered back and Harley grabbed hold of the front of my jacket yanking me forward.
“Yep, and I’m plastered.”
We laughed as we staggered to the door while Harley assured me he lived right around the corner, within walking distance he said. For some reason when you’re inebriated, time and space seem to totally evaporate. Before I knew it, I was standing looking around a spacious two story loft style apartment as Harley helped me from my jacket and then my shoes.
“Are you hungry?” he asked, shrugging off his jacket and letting it drop to the floor.
“What you got?”
“I don’t know let’s have a look, the kitchen’s this way,” Harley said, escorting me by my shirttail. “We could always order something if you like, pizza?”
“Don’t go out of your way for me, I’m cool with whatever you got.”
Holy stainless steel, Harley’s kitchen looked like the front cover of dream kitchen magazine. The cabinets were shiny smooth stainless and the backsplash was a mix of tiny mosaic tiles in multiple shades of grey, black and white. The base of the island had a checker plate pattern with a black granite countertop, complete with a cooktop and sink. It was amazing and suited Harley’s style to a tee.
Opening each cabinet door revealed nothing but a few boxes of cereal. I wouldn’t have taken Harley for the takeout kind of guy. He was in great shape from what I could tell seeing him in a suit. He took a large wooden bowl from under the island and poured in cereal from two boxes, then fetched two bottles of beer from the fridge, handing me one.
“May as well get comfortable,” he said, as I followed him over to the couch. “You’re staying the night.”
“Am I?” I asked, dropping my ass onto the cold leather couch.
“Uh huh,” he said, reaching his arms over his head and pulling off his shirt, leaving his tie hanging around his neck.
“Whoa,” I sighed, not realizing I had said it out loud until Harley started laughing, sliding his belt from his pants, dropping it on the large overstuffed chair.
“Want to borrow a pair of sweats and a T or something?” he asked, letting his pants slide down his legs landing in a heap at his feet, kicking out of them.
“Um…I…uh sure,” the bumbling lunatic was back, but this time with enough liquid courage to sink a battleship. “You work out often? You look fucking hot.”
“Every day if I can,” he smiled, running his hand up and down his abs. “Have some cereal, I’ll get those sweats.”
As he walked away towards what I presumed to be his bedroom, I blatantly checked him out. That bubble butt that I enjoyed watching at the office was gloriously wrapped in a pair of tight fitting briefs, I couldn’t help noticing the dimples on his lower back just above a waistband with the word Pump highlighted teasingly.
I licked across my lips and adjusted myself. I was far too drunk to don a boner, well not a boner that was of any use anyway, but I definitely had a partial chub on.
Harley was wearing basketball shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt when he returned and tossed the same my way.
“Where can I change?” I asked, starting to laugh as I tried to stand on my jelly legs. “Fuck it.”
I had my polo shirt off and was trying desperately to wriggle from my jeans when Harley placed his hand on my forehead shoving me into the back of the couch. He grabbed the cuffs of my jeans and yanked them off tossing them onto the chair, the spare change in my pocket scattering across the hardwood floor.
“Need help with the shorts?” he laughed, which was contagious since we were still very much three sheets to
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