The last time I got drunk with Jameson on my twenty-first birthday, I ended up with a tattoo on my ass of god knows what but strangely resembled his lips. He had a matching tattoo that also, strangely resembled my lips.
Actually, that wasn’t the last time we got drunk together. There was the time after the tattoos that we ended up doing body shots with Jameson puking in the parking lot for an hour afterward.
Moral of this outcome, we shouldn’t get drunk together.
It never ended well.
“So you say,” Jameson pulled me by the hand. “I bet I can convince you otherwise.” He paused, the smirk still present. “Besides, I have another ass cheek that needs branding and so do you honey.” he teased with a slap to my ass.
If there was one quality about Jameson that most failed to recognize, it was that he had the negotiation and debating skills of a seasoned politician. No lie. If he wanted me to do something, he could convince me in a matter of seconds.
I knew one thing—this pit lizard was going to have a good time tonight.
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