to be a good place to find hot women. After all, they filmed Girls Gone Wild videos down here.
It was a simple plan: He intended to sleep with as many young, pretty women as he possibly could, and take photos of the act (or at least of the women, if they couldn’t be convinced to have pictures taken of them naked), and send those photos to his ex-girlfriend.
Yeah, it was petty. But Missy said that he wasn’t any good in bed anymore, and that was why she broke up with him, and that royally pissed Tom off.
I’ll show her just how good I am. Bitch. So far, though, he hadn’t had as much luck as he’d have wanted. The first woman he took back to 110 SUPERNATURAL
the small attic apartment he’d rented for the duration of the job threw up as soon as she reached the top of the stairs and insisted on going back to her hotel after that. The second one passed out after taking her clothes off. (He got a picture of her lying naked on the bed, though—he’d tell Missy it was after the act.) The third turned out to be a guy in drag. Tom actually went ahead and took a picture of him, just to mess with Missy’s head, but no way in hell he was getting into bed with that. (The transvestite actually took it pretty well, and they’d parted on good terms, the guy even recommending a good steakhouse on Cow Key.)
Tonight, he was getting number four if it killed him.
He’d started out at the Whistle, and now had moved on to Rick’s. A huge complex that included several dance floors on several levels, there was a DJ playing dance music on one of them. Tom had never been a fan of this kind of music, but he knew that college girls liked it, and he figured if he went to the dance floor and started in with one of them, he might achieve number four—and actually get laid this time, dammit!
Besides, the DJ wasn’t likely to play “BrownEyed Girl.” If Tom never heard that goddamn song again, it’d be too soon . . .
The first few young girls he’d tried to dance with had inched away from him as he got closer, Bone
Key
111
but there was this one who seemed to enjoy the attention. Dark-haired (tied back in a ponytail that whipped around with her head movements), big catlike brown eyes, a pointed nose, and fantastic cheekbones, she was quite a looker.
She was also really into the music, so much so that Tom wasn’t even sure he’d be able to get her attention, but after a minute of moving close to her, she moved closer to him and started gyrating toward him—not quite touching, but coming very close, the way strippers did when they did a lap dance. This girl was good-looking enough to be a stripper, in Tom’s considered and experienced opinion. She had a classic hourglass figure, with boobs that looked to be at least D cups, flat stomach, decent hips. She wore a loose white tank top over a bikini top that did a very poor job of containing said D cups, which suited Tom just fine, and a pair of denim cutoffs. She had fantastic legs, and a huge smile, which she flashed at Tom as he danced closer to her.
They kept at it for two more songs, getting closer and closer with each passing second. He could smell the tequila on her breath, mixed with the sweat of their exertions. He also noticed that she spent plenty of time staring at his broad chest and well-muscled arms.
After one song ended and as a new one was starting, Tom decided to make his move. Leaning 112 SUPERNATURAL
into the side of her head, he shouted into her ear,
“Can I buy you a drink?”
Out came the big smile, and she nodded. He grabbed her hand and led her through the hordes of dancers toward the nearest bar. “Jack Daniel’s, straight up, and whatever the lady wants.”
“The lady wants tequila,” she said. Her voice was a bit hoarse. Based on the sweat that glistened on her smooth skin, she’d been here a while, so she’d probably been shouting a lot.
Holding out his hand, he said, “I’m Tom.”
“Teresa. You got great moves, Tom.”
“So do
It was a simple plan: He intended to sleep with as many young, pretty women as he possibly could, and take photos of the act (or at least of the women, if they couldn’t be convinced to have pictures taken of them naked), and send those photos to his ex-girlfriend.
Yeah, it was petty. But Missy said that he wasn’t any good in bed anymore, and that was why she broke up with him, and that royally pissed Tom off.
I’ll show her just how good I am. Bitch. So far, though, he hadn’t had as much luck as he’d have wanted. The first woman he took back to 110 SUPERNATURAL
the small attic apartment he’d rented for the duration of the job threw up as soon as she reached the top of the stairs and insisted on going back to her hotel after that. The second one passed out after taking her clothes off. (He got a picture of her lying naked on the bed, though—he’d tell Missy it was after the act.) The third turned out to be a guy in drag. Tom actually went ahead and took a picture of him, just to mess with Missy’s head, but no way in hell he was getting into bed with that. (The transvestite actually took it pretty well, and they’d parted on good terms, the guy even recommending a good steakhouse on Cow Key.)
Tonight, he was getting number four if it killed him.
He’d started out at the Whistle, and now had moved on to Rick’s. A huge complex that included several dance floors on several levels, there was a DJ playing dance music on one of them. Tom had never been a fan of this kind of music, but he knew that college girls liked it, and he figured if he went to the dance floor and started in with one of them, he might achieve number four—and actually get laid this time, dammit!
Besides, the DJ wasn’t likely to play “BrownEyed Girl.” If Tom never heard that goddamn song again, it’d be too soon . . .
The first few young girls he’d tried to dance with had inched away from him as he got closer, Bone
Key
111
but there was this one who seemed to enjoy the attention. Dark-haired (tied back in a ponytail that whipped around with her head movements), big catlike brown eyes, a pointed nose, and fantastic cheekbones, she was quite a looker.
She was also really into the music, so much so that Tom wasn’t even sure he’d be able to get her attention, but after a minute of moving close to her, she moved closer to him and started gyrating toward him—not quite touching, but coming very close, the way strippers did when they did a lap dance. This girl was good-looking enough to be a stripper, in Tom’s considered and experienced opinion. She had a classic hourglass figure, with boobs that looked to be at least D cups, flat stomach, decent hips. She wore a loose white tank top over a bikini top that did a very poor job of containing said D cups, which suited Tom just fine, and a pair of denim cutoffs. She had fantastic legs, and a huge smile, which she flashed at Tom as he danced closer to her.
They kept at it for two more songs, getting closer and closer with each passing second. He could smell the tequila on her breath, mixed with the sweat of their exertions. He also noticed that she spent plenty of time staring at his broad chest and well-muscled arms.
After one song ended and as a new one was starting, Tom decided to make his move. Leaning 112 SUPERNATURAL
into the side of her head, he shouted into her ear,
“Can I buy you a drink?”
Out came the big smile, and she nodded. He grabbed her hand and led her through the hordes of dancers toward the nearest bar. “Jack Daniel’s, straight up, and whatever the lady wants.”
“The lady wants tequila,” she said. Her voice was a bit hoarse. Based on the sweat that glistened on her smooth skin, she’d been here a while, so she’d probably been shouting a lot.
Holding out his hand, he said, “I’m Tom.”
“Teresa. You got great moves, Tom.”
“So do
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