See if Miranda is manning the bar.

You discard your heavy clothes and equipment before going down to the bar. A lot of the visitors had filtered away. You spot the girl with black hair and purple eyes talking to some of the lingering patrons. Your eyes meet, and she smiles slightly but doesn’t give you much attention. You sit at the bar, and she glides over, taking your order. You suspected her to stick around to chat, but she goes back to the others.

You get one Gold Rush Cocktail, and then another…and then another…and then another… the effects of the **** are washing over your nerves when Miranda finally greets you with a washcloth. For some reason, you hoped it was Delilah, but the hair and eyes broke your hopes in a second. “Hard night?”

A rush of cold air sweeps over you as the last guests leave. You exhale. “A collection of things, you could say.”

She shrugs. Her lips weren’t so red this time; they were still ruby, but it was less so. “Girls?”

“Just one.”

“The fake-red one?”

You’re about to be a smart ass, but all you do is nod and sigh. Her expression softens. “You’re looking a little thin. You want something to eat?”

“Keep this up, and I’ll just call you Delilah.”

“No,” she says. “You won’t because I’m putting this on your tab.”

Above all, you thought about Flora then. Back at the house, probably alone doing nothing. What book would she be reading now? Miranda comes back with a plate full of meats and cheeses. It’s a platter of variety and a bowl of mustard dipping sauce.

“That’s— uh, That’s a lot for one person.”

“Of course,” she chuckled, grabbing a cracker, a slice of white cheese, and then a fold of cold Salami. “But it’s for me too.”

“Oh,” the room spun suddenly, and you cleared your throat, reaching for the platter. Your hand brushes against the many glasses Miranda had let accumulate while she was preoccupied with the other occupants. “Fuck… how much did you let me drink?”

“A lot,” she admitted. “You are just returning to your room, aren’t you?”

You grumbled. “I don’t know,” you looked up at Miranda. She seemed like a better company than Scarlet…. She looked like it, too.

Miranda knits her brows. “Unless you have somewhere else you’d want to be?”

…

…

So, how’d you end up in the dorms? Truth be told, you didn’t remember. You vaguely recalled talking to Miranda until she kept asking sexual questions about you. The girls you were. How sex with Delilah was. How big you were— the list goes on.

Eventually, she enticed you to go with her to the dorms, which were practically empty since it was the off-season. Many employees were home with their respective families, so you weren’t surprised to stumble into a dorm with only one person’s property inside.

The bed smelled like strawberries and cream, oddly feminine for a girl you thought to be Tom-boyish in personality. After you both got undressed, she explained that you wouldn’t do THIS on her bed, but her roommates instead. She was away for a reason you didn’t care to recall. You were too busy fighting Miranda’s tongue as you both mashed your faces against each other, a sloppy tangle of base-running.

You’re not just kissing either: you got naked for a reason! Your cock was springing for attention, and when it was released from its fabric confines, Miranda gladly took it with a firm grip. She was warmer, and you knew in an instant she knew how to handle your length and thickness. When you’re both sat on her roommate's bed, she starts jerking you off.

“So, playboy,” Miranda murmurs. “How should we spend our night?”