Yep. Can't turn down free booze from a sexy big breasted woman.

Yes, I should have politely declined the drink, but I was only 22 years old and the idea of turning down free booze was completely alien to me. Instead, I just thanked her and immediately downed about three shots of the stuff.

Tami plopped down beside me on the sofa and took a long sip from her own cup. "Sorry for, like, accidentally flashing you just now."

"I'm sorry for looking."

"Well then, here's to being sorry!" Tami raised her glass, and we both drowned the awkwardness with another swig of vodka.

The girls let me use their phones, but as expected the building manager couldn't be reached and wouldn't be on-site until the morning. I considered calling a locksmith, but Tami absolutely forbade me on the grounds that it was way too expensive.

"You can just crash here tonight," she said, earning a wary look from Claire.

"I can't impose on you guys that much, I only just met you."

Tami squinted comically at me, tapping her chin in thought. "Then we'll just have to find some way for you to make it up to us. You look like you're pretty strong, I'll bet you could barter a night on our couch in return for giving us back rubs."

Claire practically spat out her drink. "Tami! Come on, we work with him! Try to be a little more professional, would you?"

"He's seen my boobs, girl. I think it's a bit late for that. Besides, if you were really so concerned with being 'professional,' you would have gone into your room and put on a bra the second he walked in the door. Don't even pretend like you didn't realize."

Claire reflexively covered her chest and took a deep drink from her cup. "I guess a back rub would be okay," she said, meekly.

Okay, Mike. This is your brain. You've had a fun evening ogling and flirting with these two women, but I'm finally drawing a line in the fucking sand. You are not, under any circumstances, going to get drunk and spend the night giving Tami and Claire back massages. You are gonna pick up that phone, call a locksmith, and when he arrives you are gonna go inside your apartment, jerk off, and go to sleep. Okay?

Wait—is that lasagna I smell cooking?