By the time the DJ at the reception had announced Mr. and Mrs. Carlton Smith to the room, Leila was about ready to strangle her father. He had hit on not one, not two, but three of the young females with the catering company, two of Violet’s friends and had grabbed the ass of a man with long hair, thinking he was a female with a really firm tush.
Okay, that last one was kind of hilarious and almost worth the humiliation roiling in Leila’s stomach.
And at least his table was located nowhere near Sharon who was giving him side eye and trying not to stride over to the man to smack him across his fat, arrogant face.
“You look like you’re ready to blow this joint already,” a familiar voice said from behind her left shoulder.
“I’m ready to blow up the joint if my father can’t keep his wandering hands to himself,” Leila said, frowning past Nate’s shoulder to watch her mother’s face as she tried bravely to keep a smile firmly fixed on it.
“I don’t fucking get it,” she muttered. “He is not only making a complete ass of himself but also humiliating my mother in the bargain.”
“Is that the reason you’ve been nursing the same drink for the past 45 minutes?” Nate asked, eyeing the half-full cocktail in her hands. “Trying to keep him from sneaking off with one of the guests or workers?”
“Partially,” she admitted, looking back up at him. “The other part is just me trying not to lose my shit by drinking too much and creating a scene.”
“Well, drink away if you want,” Nate told her, smiling a little. “If you look like you’re going to go off the rails at any point in time, I’ll try to reel you back in before you’re too far out to sea.”
“Thanks, Nate,” Leila told him, grateful for his support. “You seem to be keen on keeping me out of sticky situations all weekend.”
“Hey, look,” Nate said, pointing toward the bar. “Your friend is here.”
Joel, the bartender. Leila still thought of him as Steve.
Cue the Springer chants for their favorite bald-headed security dude.
“Yeah, I guess he was the one that was hired to bartend,” Leila said. “The caterers just bring the food but the open bar was easier to hire right from the hotel. Less crashing bottles and broken glasses that way.”
“Smart,” Nate commented, taking a sip of his scotch.
“What are you having today?” Leila asked, pointing to his tumbler.
“Scotch,” he told her. “Glenlivet. Try a sip.”
Her nose crinkled.
“No thanks,” she told him. “I like my drinks sweet and smooth.”
“Glenlivet is smooth,” he told her. “At least I find it goes better with the buffoonery and drama that is this wedding reception.”
They chatted for a few more minutes about drinks and people watched, commenting with glee when all the caterers started to steer clear of the table that housed her father unless absolutely necessary.
“Oh God, no,” Leila said, her brows knitting at the bridge of her nose.
“They’re going to do the whole bouquet throwing thing,” Leila said. “I’m out.”
“What? Why?” Nate asked, rather enjoying Leila’s distaste in the age-old tradition.
“I hate it,” Leila commented. “I wanted her to get rid of it and just stick to dancing to ‘Daddy’s Little Girl’, but that would have been awkward with Carl’s mother long dead.”
“It’s not so bad,” Nate remarked, watching as Leila started to back away to an exit door.
“And you’d want to catch a garter belt that’s been wrapped around your sister’s thigh for the past couple of hours?”
Nate blinked, his face paling at the thought.
“I see your point,” he told her. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
A cool breeze made the pale purple chiffon of Leila’s dress lift gently and flutter in the breeze. It made her look ethereal, like some wild ginger-haired fairy, sans the wings.
“Where’s Jared?” Nate asked, sipping on his scotch and walking up to the balcony’s ghostly white balustrade and leaning over it to look at the Olympic-sized pool in the back of the palacial hotel.
“Probably calling his man, Mickey,” Leila commented. “He’d feel guilty for flirting with any of the staff or guests so he’s probably off to distract himself with phone sex in the men’s room.”
“Oh God,” Nate said , grimacing. “I think I may have heard him before. I was taking a leak earlier and could have sworn I heard someone say ‘suck it’. I assumed they were trying to suck their stomach in because they had eaten too much but now...”
Leila laughed, convinced now that her friend had probably been spending most of his time on the phone telling Mickey exactly what body part he missed most about him while he was away on business.
“Poor Nate,” Leila cooed. “Did Jare pop your phone sex cherry?”
“Uhm, no,” Nate said, cheeks flushing just a tad. “I’ve had phone sex before. It’s... not all it’s cracked up to be.”
“Hmm... then you were probably doing it wrong,” she told him, smiling at his discomfort.
“Possibly, but it was just so...” Nate looked like he was searching for the word. “Awkward.”
“Awkward?” she reiterated. “Then you were definitely doing it wrong.”
“Well unless there’s some Youtube tutorial on it, I’m pretty much useless,” Nate said, swallowing the rest of his drink down.
“There just might be,” Leila said, her face brightening. “We could google it.”
Whipping out her phone from Lord knew where, her fingers were tapping against the screen feverishly, her tongue swiping out to moisten her lips.
“Leila, if I hear Dr. Ruth’s voice at any point in this search I’m tossing your phone into the pool,” Nate warned her. Nothing could shrivel a dick to clitoris-sized proportions like that withered old bat talking about cunnilingus and the mythical female orgasm through vaginal penetration.
“Deal,” she said shortly, her eyes perusing her screen with a greedy gleam.
“Look at this one,” Leila said, smiling a bit at the ‘steps to good phone sex’.
“Let loose,” Nate read. “Jog on the spot, drink a glass of wine or do a silly dance. Do whatever lets you relax your body.”
“Well, I can understand the wine,” Leila said. “I always get a little hornier while drinking. But jog? Who am I fucking? Jack Lalanne?”
“Isn’t he dead?”
“Beats the hell out of me,” Leila said before reading further. “What were you wearing when you tried phone sex?”
“Sleep pants, boxers, I don’t remember,” Nate told her, shrugging.
“Not very sexy,” Leila said pointing to her screen. “It says here that you should dress in something sexy. Maybe light some candles or whatever.”
“What the hell can a man wear that’s sexy?” Nate asked perplexed. Usually, sexy nightwear for him was a female in a teddy or some slinky lingerie.
“Wear a speedo or maybe some silk boxers?”
“A speedo? You have to be fucking kidding me,” Nate said scoffing. “They’ll cut off circulation to my nuts.”
“Well, we’ll skip the apparel and get to the good stuff.” Leila traced the tip of her tongue over her teeth and lips, garnering Nate’s attention as his cock turned over in his pants. “Ah... here’s the good shit. After you’ve chatted for a bit, describe to the other person what you’re wearing, where you’re touching and telling them that you wish it was them that was doing it for you.’”
“Wait... why does it say masturbate and orgasm is optional?” Nate asked, confused and grabbing at Leila’s phone. “Isn’t that the whole fucking point of phone sex is to... to have sex? Even if it is with yourself.”
“Maybe some people are too timid or are just doing it for their partner’s benefit?” Leila surmised.
“Yeah, that’s kind of on point with how lots of sex is in person,” Nate stated, smiling.
“That’s kind of sad.”
They both were quiet for a moment until Nate squawked, still reading through the article.
“What is it?” she asked, brows furrowing.
“In the Community Q&A it suggests that you send nudes or photos to your partner before and during your phone sex session,” Nate said, grinning over at Leila wickedly. “I wonder...”
“What? You wonder what?”
Leila had a horrible idea that she knew exactly what Nathan Charles was thinking.
“I wonder if Miss Leila Winters has any nudes stored on her iPhone,” Nate said, feigning an innocent thoughtfulness.
“Don’t you fucking dare-”
“Let’s have a look, shall we?” Nate asked, walking in the opposite direction and holding the phone too high for Leila to reach.
“Nate, you better give that back to me, you-”
“What’s the problem, Buttercup? It’s not like I have seen the goods before this,” Nate told her, making a beeline for the door leading back inside the hotel.
“What? You said you didn’t look!”
“Freckles, who do you think untangled you from that deathtrap of a skirt you had on yesterday?” Nate questioned before laughing. “Your tits were practically in my face while I was helping you free yourself from the restrictions of clothing.”
“I was drunk! And leave my freckles out of this!”
“You were the one with your jugs on ’tits’play for me so don’t blame the fact I’ve seen you nude on me,” he told her, smirking as he scrolled through her photos.
“Can I hate you again? Please?”
“Too late, I’ve already wormed my way into your affections.”
Leila grumbled, hoping that her last photo cleanse had gotten rid of any incriminating evidence. To her delight, Nate came up empty and murmured his disappointment.
“Happy?” Leila asked as she held her hand out for Nate to hand her back her phone.
“Not in the least,” Nate told her, frowning. “Not even a sideboob shot.”
“My condolences, you perv,” Leila bit out, tucking her phone away.
“You should be sorry,” Nate told her. “You’ve robbed a man of possible spank bank fodder.”
“Let’s go back inside,” she told him, rolling her eyes at the playful smirk he wore like a damned fiend. “And don’t jerk off to my tits later on.”
“I make no such promises.”
An hour and three cocktails later, Leila was happy to see her father and mother leave, Angelica practically carrying her husband off to their hotel room for the night.
“The manwhore finally off to sleep off his drink?”
“Yes, Nathan, he’s off to saw logs and dream of younger and firmer tits and pussies,” Leila told him, smirking to take the sting the words gave her.
They were silent, hanging out by the bartender who was steering clear of Leila on the off chance she started calling him more derogatory bald man names.
“I was only kidding about the spank bank thing,” Nate blurted out, finally speaking after a pregnant and uncomfortable pause.
Leila bristled a little at that.
“Why? Are my tits not good enough for you to jack it to?”
“No, they’re fine. I j-”
“Just fine?” Leila said, wanting to look down at the offending lumps of flesh. “Eating tacos for your munchies is fine. Drinking a bottle of moderately priced wine after a break up is fine. Tits... my tits are-”
“They’re more than fine,” Nate interjected. “They’re fucking phenomenal if you want to know the truth. I just didn’t want you to think I was pathetic enough that tits would get me all swollen and ready to spank it just by seeing them.”
Nathan had walked over to Leila during his confession, not wanting their conversation to be overheard by the other guests and Joel, the bald-headed bartender who may or may not have once been a stunt double for Patrick Stewart.
“I might make an exception for a particular pair of tits were ‘phenomenal’, as you say,” Leila said, feeling an odd heat warming up her cheeks. “They... they’re really phenomenal?”
“Really really phenomenal,” he told her, his face close to hers. He rested a hand on her shoulder gently, stroking a thumb up the side of her neck toward her ear.
“So phenomenal in fact,” Nate said as his free hand came down on her waist before gripping her hip. “I wouldn’t mind seeing them again and again. Cradling my cock, between my lips, bouncing as you ride my dick...”
He let those thoughts linger in the air between them, wondering how he had found the gumption to express them out loud in front of her. It must’ve been that fucking Glenlivet. God damned truth serum.
“One little article on phone sex and you seem to have really gotten the hang of it,” Leila breathed out, tingles spreading from his fingers across her body.
“Phone sex is okay when you don’t have the person you want right in front of you,” he said, his lips almost pressed up against the flesh at her temple.
“Do...” Leila started, almost aghast at what she was about to ask. “Do you want to get out of here?”
“Absolutely,” Nate replied immediately, smiling just slightly against her skin.