by M. L. Young
I’d march up to his front door, bang on it furiously, and tell him he must tell me why he never talked to me again or why I was so bad that he felt he couldn’t talk to me, even just as friends.
No, that wouldn’t work, no matter how tempting that was. I couldn’t just show up on his doorstep, acting all clingy, creepy, and possessive. That was the kind of shit that definitely sent guys running. If I thought he was gone now, imagine what would happen if I did that? I’d be the laughing stock of the music industry, and I wasn’t even part of it!
As hard as it was, I’d get over this. Time would pass, my wounds would heal, and maybe I’d even meet a great guy who would sweep me off my feet and make me forget all about Chase’s stupid ass. Yeah, that was it, that was what I’d do.
My date with Adam wrapped up, our conversation long over. He didn’t say much after I chewed him out. He was very embarrassed, or at least so it seemed, and I felt a little bad, but I didn’t plan on ever talking to him again anyway.
I paid for myself, refusing his advances to let him get it since he was the guy and it would be wrong for me to pay, but I proudly declined and left fifteen dollars on the table, which was more than enough for my meal and my share of the tip. I shook his hand, him still fumbling with his wallet, and walked out of the restaurant and back to my apartment, where I found myself alone in the solace of its white walls, far from any contact.
Now it was time to get over him. I could do this.
Chapter Eight
Chase
I’d lost my edge ever since I had my night with Alexis. She was something else, an enigma, and I wanted more. I wanted to taste her again, not only physically, but mentally as well. She wasn’t like the other women I’d been with. She wasn’t an idiot.
Trying to subdue my mind, I opened my app and scrolled through the catches of the day, hitting yes to any women who looked halfway decent. There were dozens of them, maybe even hundreds, and they all clamored for something more than they could find in a bar or club. I had hit a few matches, none that amazing in terms of looks, until I hit my final one, a woman named Jasmine.
From her pictures she was blonde, tan, and had a set of tits that could be used as a flotation device in case of an airplane water landing. She looked like my normal type, dumb and horny, and I knew she would be the perfect woman to help me out with my little problem. I messaged her, and within minutes I had a reply, in somewhat broken English and chat-speak. I usually hated that stuff, we weren’t in the third grade, but I brushed it off after seeing those tits and made plans with her for eight o’clock that night, at a little French restaurant that opened two months ago. I knew the owner.
•••
I rolled up at 7:55, the parking lot giving me a blessing, a spot in the front row opening just as I pulled up. There wasn’t a valet, at least not that I saw, which I thought was a little cheap for a restaurant with such great reviews and high prices. I might have to talk to Wan, the owner, about that.
“There you are!” I heard as I walked up to the front door.
Over in the corner, sitting on a smaller café type chair, was Jasmine, my date. She hopped up, running, at least her version of running, over to me, while wearing red high heels, her tits bouncing up and down with every sweet step.
“Nice to meet you,” I said, my hand about to be extended.
“I’m a hugger!” she exclaimed with a boisterous voice as she wrapped her arms around my neck and hugged me tightly, kissing my cheek.
“Oh, okay,” I said, as I began to feel a bit smothered.
“You’re so much sexier than your picture. God, you’re so damn hot,” she said, a smile on her face, as I noticed the people around us starting to stop and stare.
“Why, thank you, Jasmine. You look lovely as well. Are you hungry? Would you like to go inside?” I asked.
She clapped while she continued to smile, and I opened the door for her as I rolled my eyes while she walked inside ahead of me. What the hell did I get myself into?
“Hello, sir, may I help you?” the host asked from behind his podium.
“Yes, I have a table for two reserved. The name is Chase,” I said.
“Oh, yes, I see we have a reservation for you. If you’d follow me right this way, I will escort you to your table,” the man said, a gentle smile below the thin, black mustache strewn across his upper lip.
The restaurant wasn’t too busy, at least where we were sitting, and the atmosphere was quite pleasant, with light music playing in the background that was loud enough to hear, but not loud enough to be overbearing or annoying if you found yourself in a conversation, though I was hoping not to.
As Jasmine sat down she bent forward, adjusting the strap on her shoe, her tits so close to popping out of her dress that I was sure it was going to happen. I could tell she wasn’t wearing a bra, her nipples just barely poking through the fabric. Her Beverly Hills boob job made them sit perfectly, even without a bra.
I took a sip of the ice water that was on the table, watching her look over her menu, knowing that tonight I would get to see those plastic tits come out to play. It would almost be like when I was a kid and stole my cousin’s dolls, only to take off their clothes and look at the smooth, rounded mounds they put on the chest. She might be a little annoying, with a shrill voice, but at least I knew she’d be a screamer. I liked screamers.
“This all looks so good,” she said, looking over the menu, before she ran her tongue over her teeth.
“It does. What do you think looks good?” I asked, starting to look over my own menu.
“Hm, you. You look delicious,” she said, and I felt her foot caress my shin.
She wasn’t tightening her shoe strap moments ago; she was taking it off. There was a crisp, white tablecloth draping over the entire table, so her deviant actions were completely obscured from the rest of the diners. I felt her toes loiter on my leg.
I didn’t give her an expression in either direction, neither happiness nor excitement, just like I did with every woman I went out with. Give them an inch and they take a mile. My father told me that when I was fourteen, and I’ve never forgotten that piece of advice.
“Good evening, sir and madam. My name is Franco, your waiter, and I’ll be taking excellent care of you tonight. May I start you off with something to drink? Maybe an appetizer of some kind?” the waiter asked, his hands together, as he switched back and forth between looking at her and me.
“Go ahead,” Jasmine said, smirking.
“I think we’ll both take a glass of your finest merlot. As for appetizers—”
Just as I was about to tell the waiter my order, her foot climbed my leg and made its way to my dick, her toes tickling the head, a smile still laced across her face, as if she were happy with herself. I knew she wanted a rise out of me, to see me squirm as she played with my dick, but I knew better than that. I’m Matthew Chase.
“As for appetizers, I think we’ll go ahead and start off with the garlic butter escargot, please,” I said.
“Certainly, sir. Excellent choice. I will have those up momentarily,” Franco said, before walking off.
“So, tell me about yourself,” I said, taking the power away from her, as I didn’t give it any notice.
“Well, I squirt,” she said, before biting her lower lip.
I let out a bated chuckle, her admittance not exactly what I was looking for.
“No, I meant about you. What do you like to do? What’s your favorite color? Have any siblings?” I asked.
“Ugh, fine,” she said, her foot quickly disappearing from the warmth of my groin. “I work as a secretary at a car dealership, my favorite color is hot pink, and I have a sister.”
“Oh, and what’s she like? I didn’t have any siblings growing up,” I said.
“She’s okay. A little obnoxious at times, but whatever,” she said.
“I’m sorry to hear that. What’s her name?” I asked, picking up my glass of ice water to take a sip.
“Alexis
,” she said.
I froze, the most expression I was ever going to show all night coming in this one moment, before I gulped down the chilled water and set the glass down, trying not to skip a beat.
“You look weird. Are you okay?” she asked.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I said.
Could it be? Could Alexis be her sister? No, she couldn’t be. Alexis was from the Midwest, and I was sure Jasmine was from around here. Besides, Alexis never mentioned anything about family living out here. She said she was basically alone, and missed home. That was, unless she and her sister didn’t talk. Maybe they were estranged or something.
Just hearing her name stirred up something fierce deep within me that I knew I couldn’t deny. I wanted her, I wanted her now, but it was foolish to even let myself feel that way. Here I had a beautiful woman, a sexy woman with blonde hair and huge tits, just waiting to go back to my place to please my every carnal desire. She didn’t care about settling down or having kids. She just wanted to fuck. Kinky fucking sex. I couldn’t give that to her, though, not after hearing that name. I didn’t want kinky fucking sex with her. I lost my edge, my drive, my mojo, and I wanted, no needed it back, and fast.
Fuck. Why the hell was this happening to me, of all people? Whatever the reason, I knew I couldn’t sit here and go through with this dinner and date. My mind was too preoccupied.
I stood up, taking out my wallet just as Franco came back with the appetizer and wine. I took a hundred-dollar bill, tossed it on the table, and turned around, walking out of the restaurant. I couldn’t do this.
As I got into my car and turned it on, Jasmine came running out, her heels off, and she came to my window and tapped on it. Knowing that I walked out on her, and that she’d likely want an explanation, I rolled it down, against my better judgment.
“What the hell, man? You’re just going to ditch me? I thought we were going to fuck!” she exclaimed loudly.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t tonight,” I said.
“You’re just a pussy. You probably can’t get your micro dick up!”
“It might have gone up more if your ratty toenails weren’t scraping against it,” I said, taking out my wallet.
Before she could even give a rebuttal, I handed her a twenty-dollar bill, much to her surprise.
“What’s this for?” she asked, confusion clear in her voice.
“Go get yourself a pedicure. You really need one,” I said with a smirk, before driving off.
Just as I was about to pull onto the street I looked in the rearview mirror, seeing her screaming and stomping her feet, throwing a tantrum. I chuckled, turned, and set course for home.
•••
Things weren’t easier later that night. I was restless, unable to get any sleep, my nerves completely shot. I took out my phone, navigated to the app, and came across Alexis’s profile, the same picture that was up before sitting right there in front of me, teasing me.
It said she was last online just twenty minutes ago, a good sign for me. I clicked to message her, watching the text box blink as it waited for my message. I struggled with what to say.
“I can’t do this,” I said aloud, softly, before locking my phone and tossing it on the side of the bed.
I put my hands on my face and rubbed my eyes, taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly, trying to calm myself down. The room was dark, with just the moonlight offering the slightest bit of solace from the terrors of the abysmal darkness that shrouded my room and my mind. I felt hopeless, like I was falling, unable to pick myself back up. This was what I was like the last time it happened, with Melanie, those few years ago. Alexis was incredibly different than her, but I clamored for Melanie the same way I was clamoring for Alexis now, and I didn’t like it, not one bit. She was the reason I started this, this game, this quest for the purely carnal and not the emotional. She ruined me to a point where I needed to rebuild myself into something different, someone who didn’t care. I made myself into someone like her, and I couldn’t be someone like her.
I picked my phone back up, unlocking it, the screen for the message coming up, as it was the last one I had looked at. My fingers tapped the virtual keyboard, the strokes coming through, the black letters showing up on the bright white screen.
“Hello, Alexis,” I sent.
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About the Author
M.L. Young is a New Adult Romance author currently residing in northern Illinois. When not writing, she enjoys horseback riding, sewing, and dreaming about the hot guys she writes about in her books.
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