When we reach my car outside, I push Raegan against the passenger door and claim her mouth again. She yanks my shirt, pulling the neatly tucked fabric out of my pants, and starts unbuttoning it. We’re a frenzy of lips and hands searching for skin, like we’ll die if we don’t touch each other.
“Get in,” I say.
On the ride to my apartment, it’s a miracle I don’t crash my car into a tree. Raegan kisses me the entire time, licking my neck, biting my earlobe. With one hand on the wheel, I slip the other into her jeans. She holds my wrist in place and rolls her hips, gliding my fingers over her wetness.
This woman is fucking my hand and it is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.
I’m relieved when we reach my complex, because I’m seconds away from having to explain an embarrassing mess in my pants. I lift her out of the car and carry her inside my apartment, our lips fused together until I drop her onto my bed.
We scramble out of our clothes. I can’t help but stare as she strips off her jeans and tosses her shirt onto the floor.
“God, you’re sexy as hell.” I reach behind her and unclasp her bra, freeing her tits so I can bury my face in them. She moans when I pull her nipple into my mouth and swirl my tongue around it. I do the same to the other one before trailing kisses down her stomach.
“I used to be more in-shape,” she slurs, almost like an apology.
“You’re perfect just like this.” I’m not lying. Men don’t want to fuck a stick. They want something to grip on to. Something to squeeze. Something that bounces and jiggles. You might be embarrassed of your muffin top, but the truth is: A man doesn’t notice what’s between your tits and your pussy when you’re naked and his dick is about to be inside you.
I tug her panties to the side and skate my tongue over her bare skin. Raegan hooks her legs over my shoulders, blond hair splayed out on my navy comforter. Her hips buck up to meet every stroke of my tongue.
Did I say Raegan riding my hand was the hottest thing I’d ever seen? I was wrong. Raegan riding my face is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.
Uninhibited. Unrestrained. She’s enjoying every second of this, like she owns me and it’s her right to take everything from me.
This is how sex should be.
It’s not a sprint, a race to the finish line. It’s about indulging your senses. A tasting. Exploring to find what you like, taking the time to enjoy every kiss, every touch, every movement.
This is what was missing from the random hookups I’d grown tired of.
Passion.
“Jaxon,” she whimpers.
I love the sound of my name on her lips, the desperation in her voice. I drag the entire length of my tongue along her seam, circling around her clit. “What do you want, Raegan? Tell me what you need.”
“I need … I need …”
Yes, I love it when women talk dirty.
“I need the bathroom.”
My head jerks up. “What?”
She rolls off the bed and stumbles into the hallway, tripping over one of her shoes.
“First door on your right,” I call after her.
The bathroom door slams shut, followed by the sounds of Raegan heaving into the toilet.
Awesome. My head drops onto the mattress.
So much for breaking my dry spell.
Days Left Until School Starts: 29
Raegan
I am dying.
I yank the sheet over my eyes, hissing like a vampire who’s being burned by the sun. I massage small circles on my temples. It feels as if someone’s drilling a hole in my head. I try to swallow but my throat’s too dry and scratchy. My hair is shellacked with sweat, sticking to my face and neck.
This has to be what death feels like.
I stretch my legs under the covers but my foot grazes something furry. I freeze.
I don’t have any pets. What could be furry in my bed?
Tarantulas are furry. If there’s a tarantula in here, I’m lighting the bed on fire.
Turning my head slowly to the side, I peel my eyelids open.
Oh … my … god.
The memories from last night flood my brain.
I’m not dying. I’m hungover. There isn’t an arachnid in the bed. It’s a man’s leg.
Well, not just his leg. The rest of his body is attached to it. There aren’t severed parts in my bed or anything.
Wait. This isn’t my bed.
I peek out from under the covers. Navy comforter. Plain white walls. Mahogany dresser next to the closet. Clothes strewn about the dark laminate floor—specifically, my red lace thong and matching bra.
I lift the sheet up and assess my situation. Yup. I’m naked.
I had sex with Mr. Sexy in a Suit last night. This is his apartment. That leg belongs to him. He could wake up at any moment.
I think I’d prefer the tarantula.
I slither out of the bed and begin snatching pieces of my outfit off the floor. I pull my shirt over my head, slip my panties on, stuff my legs into my jeans, and toss my bra into my purse. Here’s one shoe. Where the hell is the other one?
Fuck it. I can’t stay here for one second longer. I’m out of the apartment so fast, there’s probably a cartoon cloud of dust behind me.
I sprint down the stairs but my bare feet screech to a halt in the parking lot. I don’t have my car. Groaning, I look to the sky as if someone up there is responsible for putting me in this situation.
I dig my phone out of my purse and scroll for Becca’s name.
The piercing screams of her children sound before she answers, out of breath. “Hello?”
“Please tell me you can come pick me up right now.”
“Why are you awake? It’s six-thirty. Where’s Jaxon? Why can’t he drive you home?”
“Dude, I’m standing outside in my clothes from last night, I can’t find my shoe, my hair looks like I stuck my head in a blender, and I’m pretty sure the man in this car rolling by thinks I’m a prostitute. I don’t have time to answer your questions. This is an SOS!”
I can hear the amusement in her voice. “Jared’s at the gym. I’ll have to take the kids with me. Might take me a while to get out of the house.”
“Hurry, Beck!”
“I have two toddlers. The word hurry left my vocabulary a long time ago.”
“Okay, okay. Just get here. You’re a life saver.”
“What’s the address?”
Squinting in the sunlight, my eyes dart around the apartment complex. “There’s a big, white number four on the building I just came out of. It’s a three-story brick building. Parking lot out front.”
“You’ve just described every apartment complex in New Jersey. Look for a sign with the name of the place and text it to me.”
When the call ends, I search the area. I step over a pile of broken glass and pray there’s no rusty nails lying around. At least Cinderella had a horse and carriage to take her home when she lost her shoe. Lucky bitch.
After roaming around for several minutes, I spot a maroon sign with white lettering that reads Ken Gardens Apartments. I tap out a text to Becca and plop down onto the curb.
An elderly woman lugging her garbage bag to the dumpster shakes her head as she passes me.
“I’m not a prostitute!”
She scurries away with a horrified expression on her wrinkly face.
I bury my face in my hands and go through the clips I remember from last night’s rendezvous. I drank way too much. That’s obvious. I danced with Jaxon. Then he kissed me.
Good Lord, can that man kiss. My skin prickles at the crystal-clear memory of his mouth on mine.
But that’s where everything gets hazy.
I can’t remember anything that happened after that kiss.
“What do you mean you can’t remember?”
I rub my eyes with the heels of my hands. “It’s like I have whore amnesia!”
Becca’s daughter, Mia, giggles in the backseat as if she understands what I’m talking abo
ut.
“You’re not a whore,” Becca says. “Stop slut shaming yourself just because you had sex with a guy you met.”
“Why did you let me go home with him?”
“Oh, no. No way. You are not pinning this one on me. I asked you what you wanted to do. I said, ‘Are you sure you want to go home with him?’ and you said, ‘I want to ride him like a bronco.’ Then I said—”
“Okay, I get it. It’s not your fault.” I let my head fall against the window. “I have sex with the hottest man I’ll ever get and I can’t even remember it. Figures.”
“Sex!” Mia shouts. Her brother, William, pipes in and then the both of them chant, “Sex! Sex! Sex!”
“Great,” Becca says. “You’ve turned my kids into whores too.”
“Isn’t that why you made me godmother?”
She giggles. “You’re going to be fine, Rae. I know this was out of character for you, but you’re allowed to unravel a little after everything you’ve been through. You were wound so tight with Andrew. Figure out who you are now. Do what makes you happy and forget about everything else.”
“How did I get here?” I ask, more to myself than to Becca.
Becca takes a deep breath and blows it out through her lips before answering. “You did what we all do in a marriage. We want to please our husbands. We want to give them everything because we love them and we want them to be happy with us. But our husbands are supposed to give back. It’s supposed to be an equal exchange of give and take.” She shakes her head. “Some husbands don’t know how to do that.”
“You sound like you’re talking from experience. Is everything okay between you and Jared?”
She hikes a shoulder. “You getting divorced has been an eye-opener for me.”
“How so?”
“You stood up for yourself. You were unhappy and you changed your situation. I don’t think I could be that strong. I don’t know if I could open my mouth and say all the things I feel inside.” She glances at me before turning her attention back to the road. “I admire you for that.”
“Telling Andrew how unhappy I was … that was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. I still don’t know how the words came out.” I place my hand on her arm and squeeze. “You have that strength inside you. You don’t think you have it, but it’s in there.”
She swipes a fallen tear and smiles at her kids in the rear-view mirror. “He gave me two beautiful babies and that’s all I can ask for.”
We’re silent for the remainder of the ride until Becca’s car comes to a stop in front of my mom’s house.
I swing my legs out of the car. “By the way, I’m telling Mom I slept at your house last night.”
“You’re thirty-years old. You don’t have to tell her anything.”
“It kinda feels like I do. I’m staying in her house. It’s all a little weird right now.”
“You’ll be back on your feet in no time. Let me know when you’re ready to go apartment hunting.”
“And you let me know if you ever want to talk.”
She nods. “Will do.”
“Thanks for coming to get me.” I gesture to my wrinkled ensemble. “I look like a walking one-night stand.”
“That’s why they call it the walk of shame.” Becca winks and pulls away.
Staring up at the house I spent my childhood in, I square my shoulders. “Today is a new day. It’s the first day of the rest of my life.”
My mom swings open the door before my feet hit the porch. “I was worried when you didn’t come home last night. Was that Becca who dropped you off?”
“Yes, it was. Sorry I didn’t call. I drank a little too much and it was late. Didn’t want to wake you.”
Mom wraps her arms around me. “It’s all right. I was hoping you met a nice guy and went home with him.”
My face contorts into a disgusted expression. “What mother hopes her daughter had sex with a random stranger?”
“A mother who cares about her daughter. That’s who.” She ushers me into the kitchen and pulls out a chair at the table. The table is filled with pancakes, scrambled eggs, turkey bacon, and a bowl of fresh berries.
“Wow, Mom. This looks amazing.”
“I know you said you wanted to get back in shape, so think of this as your last supper. I cleaned out the house last night. Fridge too. There isn’t an ounce of junk food left.”
My eyebrows lift. “You didn’t have to do that for me.”
She waves a hand and takes the seat next to me. “I’ve let myself go since your father passed. Now that you’re living here, you and I can do this together and help each other.”
“I guess we both like to eat when we feel stressed, huh?”
“You got that from me, unfortunately.” She cups my face and smiles. “But you’re young and beautiful, and I want you to be healthy.”
Dad died three years ago from a massive heart attack that no one saw coming. I always hated thinking about Mom in this big house all by herself. As strange as it is to be back home, there’s a part of me that’s glad to be here. Both our hearts need mending, and no one can mend your heart quite like your mother can.
“So what’s on the agenda today?” she asks as we dig into breakfast.
“I feel like death. I wanted to start working out today, but my new smokin’ hot bod might have to wait until tomorrow.”
“You should replenish your fluids and rest. Maybe later we can go food shopping and stock up on fruits and veggies.”
“Sure. Why don’t we go to the movies tonight? I know you’ve been dying to see that new JLo movie.”
Mom’s eyes light up and warmth spreads in my chest. I know I haven’t spent as much time with her as I should. Now that the divorce is behind me, I can focus on the things that really matter.
Just because my marriage is over, doesn’t mean my life has to be.
Mom raises her glass of orange juice. “To new beginnings.”
I clink mine against hers and smile.
And to sexy men in suits who I’ll never see again.
Jaxon
My hand searches the spot beside me for Raegan. When I feel nothing but a cold sheet, my eyes pop open. Where is she?
“Raegan?”
Silence.
I flip the covers off my body and swing my legs out of bed. My clothes are in a heap on the floor where I left them, but hers are not entangled with mine.
I shuffle down the hall. “Raegan, you sick again?”
The bathroom door is open, light off. I check the living room and kitchen, but Raegan is nowhere to be found.
As I head back to my bedroom, my gaze lands on a black high heel twisted in the corner of my comforter on the floor.
Huh. That’s a first. Normally, I can’t get the girl out the next morning. But this one? No goodbye. No awkward can I get your number and call you sometime? She left in such a hurry, she didn’t even bother to put on her other shoe. Is she trying to act out some weird Cinderella fantasy?
I reach for my phone on the nightstand. Let’s see if she stored her number before she left.
No such luck.
I crawl back into bed and lay flat on my back, staring up at the ceiling. An odd sense of disappointment settles into my chest. Odd because I don’t know anything about the girl. Odd because we didn’t even have sex. Raegan is nothing more than a random woman I brought home from a bar. I shouldn’t care that she’s gone.
But there was just something about her. Something that made her seem like more than a random woman I brought home from a bar.
Either way, she’s gone, so I head to the shower and go about my day.
Later while I’m changing my sheets, my dad’s picture pops up on my phone. I click the green button and hold the phone between my ear and my shoulder. “Hi, Dad.”
“Jaxon. Just calling to make sure you’re coming to dinner tonight.”
“I’ll be there. Does Mom want me to bring anything?”
“Just your handsome self!” she calls from
somewhere in the background.
What is it with parents always talking to you on speaker phone?
“Bring Nana’s ring,” Dad says. “I talked to Harry at work. He said his brother-in-law is a jeweler and can take a look at it.”
“I already told you, I’m not hocking it.”
“I know, I know. But we should have it appraised.”
“Why does it matter how much it is?”
“If it’s worth a lot of money, we can have it insured in case it’s ever lost or damaged.”
“I’ll never lose it.” My eyes flick to the blue velvet ring box on my dresser where I put it the other day.
Only it’s not there.
My heart sinks down into my stomach. Dad’s rambling on but all I can hear is the blood pounding in my ears.
Where the fuck is my grandmother’s ring?
“All right, Dad. Gotta run. I’ll see you at six.” I end the call and toss my phone onto the mattress. Dropping to my knees, I look under the bed. Nothing but dust bunnies.
Next, I pull the dresser away from the wall. Maybe the ring box fell behind it.
Nope.
I search the drawers and scour the room, only to come up empty-handed.
I thrust my fingers through my hair, pacing at the foot of my bed. “Okay. I just need to retrace my steps. Everything’s fine.”
FYI: Talking to yourself solidifies that everything is not fine.
Nana passed away last month. It took me and my family weeks to sort through her belongings at her house. There wasn’t much of value there besides a couple boxes of pictures. But when the family lawyer read Nana’s will, we learned she’d left her wedding ring to me.
My brother, Josh, was livid. Nearly started a family feud over the thing. He wanted to give the ring to his current flavor of the week. Apparently, they’re in love. I’m not one to shit on people’s relationships, but Josh is the boy who cried love.
Dad didn’t buy it any more than I did, and he told Josh that I get the ring since I’m the oldest. We all know the real reason Nana left it to me. Josh would pawn the ring, blow the money, and never think twice about it. He’s the typical irresponsible little brother.
Hating the Boss Page 3