Crook Takes Pawn Part 45

Greg and Rebecca drank their shots rapidly, along with the group. It was a Jager-bomb, a combination of Jägermeister and energy drink. The pick-me up for Greg was almost instant. Rebecca shared his energy, if just a little bit more wobbly.
"Do you want another drink?" Rebecca shouts into his ear over the overbearing house music.
"No, I'm good," Greg yells back. He was afraid she would tease him for his lack of alcoholic tolerance.
    "Can you drive us home tonight then?" Rebecca practically screams, to be overheard, "So I can keep drinking?"
"Absolutely," Greg agrees noisily.
    Rebecca takes her decidedly girly drink and they meander behind her friends. Those drinks were not to Greg's liking, but they were panty lube for the opposite sex. Rebecca sips on the straw of her pretty glass. The overhead lights switch over to strobe, and Greg is disoriented. Rebecca turns her head towards him, seemingly in slow motion. Greg's disjointed mind sees separate attempts for her mouth to communicate with him, but Greg's sloshed mind will have none of it.
    Finally, the lights switch back from their timer and Rebecca directs him over to the side table. The ladies are crammed into a booth, 4 deep. Greg opts to pull up a chair from the opposite table and sits on the edge of their tabletop.
    Greg doesn't even bother to try to keep up with the girls talking. His ears are already ringing from the constant barrage of stupid club music. The bass rumbles like some hip monster, enticing girls to shake their shit. The girls seem to have paused only long enough to drain their glasses. Rebecca is oblivious. She yells over the music, trying to speak to the unknown blonde. The blonde studies Rebecca with an amused look as she sucks on her frilly bendy straw. Rebecca leans closer and spills some of her drink on the table. Greg smiles. She's sloppy drunk, which foreshadows an easy victory. The group of hotties pushes their emptied vessels of liquid merriment towards the center of the table. Then they slide out of the booth one by one, like synchronized drinkers.
    Rebecca was a bit sluggish to navigate from the booth. Greg grasps her elbow and guides her. She hands him her glass.
"Hold my drink" She shouts, "I've gotta piss." THe music has stopped exactly as she made this pronouncement. Several nearby guys turn towards her and hold up their drinks, howling with idiocy, applauding her need to relieve herself. Rebecca guffaws, throwing her head back while grabbing Greg's shoulder. She slips past him, placing one hand on his large belly in passing.
"can we watch?" One of the wiseguys ask from the same group of fellas. Greg raises a questioning eyebrow and looks at the joker.  The guido raises his hands, one empty, one with a glass. It is a gesture conveying he will back off. Respect seems easier to maintain in a bar when you are accompanied by a buxom beauty.
    Greg was grateful for this brief interlude, especially the silence. He needed time to clear his head a bit. The alcohol was fogging out his motor functions. It was good to be the designated driver now. He could excuse any further drinking. It came to Greg that he was not really a designated driver, since he had already partaken in several drinks. It was over a few hours time, though, and he hadn't really pounded the alcohol. He would be fit to operate her vehicle if given time to sober up.
    Greg studied the mass of bodies underneath the array of dance floor lights. Neons, blacklights, and lasers all swept across the crowd in a pattern that made Greg's eyes strain. This was a different generation from when he was young. Greg felt old and out of place.
    There is a tap on his shoulder. Rebecca holds her hand out for her drink.
"what kind of drink is that?" Greg asks.
"A strawberry Stripper," Rebecca says, "     2 oz Strawberry Schnapps, 5 oz Orange Juice, 1 Drop Cream."
    She holds the straw with her fingers and swings it toward Greg. He sips a mouthful and swallows. Panty lube, at it's finest.
"Not bad," Greg says, "Tastes good,"
"Sometimes they can put 7-up in it," Rebecca explains, "But this doesn't taste like they used any."
"Strawberry Stripper, you say?" Greg asks, "sounds like a porn-star name."
"I'm an aspiring porn actress," Rebecca says lightly, "I'm gonna make it big, see? My name all over the marquee, see?"
"Can you deepthroat?" Greg asks brutally. It was a mistake. He had gone too far.
    Rebecca gives him a disquieting look. She does not respond, but turns towards the dance floor. Greg shakes his head, trying to shake off his insecurities as well. Rebecca was unguarded, but still had boundaries. It wasn't exactly that she was sending mixed signals. Greg just had to curtail some, and hold it back. He didn't want to give the impression that all he wanted was sex. still, it was hard to sustain a gentlemanly way when she was so affectionate and sexy.
    Greg sheepishly followed her around, till she was at the edge of the dance floor. He could hear the suction sounds as her straw depleted her Strawberry Stripper. Her concoction finished, she places the glass on an unoccupied counter.
"Let's dance," she announces.
    Before Greg can agree or disagree, she has him by the wrist, dragging him towards the center of the crowd.

Uploaded 03/23/2012
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