“Yeah baby, you know it. I gotta use the pisser. You grab the check for me and I’ll meet you outside?” he asks nonchalantly and proceeds to get up to use said “pisser.”
I don’t miss the fact that he just stuck me with the bill either. I have to do some serious arguing with my vagina right now on how bad I really want this. My vag ends up winning when she reminds me that no matter how much rubber I have at home, nothing is better than the real thing.
I give in to my argumentative self, hoping—no, make that praying—that his “real thing” is worth it.
We make it back to Jeremy’s place which looked way more impressive than I would’ve expected. However, I don’t get a thorough look at it because right after we walk over the threshold of the doorway, he throws me against the wall jamming his tongue down my throat. It’s then that I notice a picture frame jangle on the wall. As I turn my head so he can sloppily suck on my neck, I notice the family portrait of him a lot smaller and very geeky looking, with two older people who I assume are his parents. “Wait… is this—is this your place?” I ask trying to get him to slow down. I can’t say that I have ever let a dog slobber all over me, but right about now, I feel it must be pretty close to the mauling Jeremy is performing on my neck. “Yeah baby, it’s my place. You like it?”
I force my eyes closed trying to imagine someone much sexier and with just the slightest bit of finesse, like that celebrity who plays Superman, so I don’t give the wrong answer. “Oh yeah, baby. Why don’t you show me your room?” I purr with visions of sexy Superman behind my closed eyelids.
“Fuck yeah, baby,” he says, as he fist pumps, pulling me into his chest and dragging me down the hallway. The entire walk, I view more family photos. I ask again who lives here, starting to feel a little bit uncomfortable.
“Yeah baby, I mean my parents technically live here, but it’s mine too. You know? Come on, my bedroom’s right over here.” He goes to open the door and before I can even protest he is shoving me into his room. I immediately have flashbacks of my junior high school boyfriend’s room, because it looks pretty fucking similar. I gawk in shock at my surroundings. What the hell did I get myself into? I start to apologize to my bits because they most likely will not be getting any tonight or ever from this weirdo.
“Baby, take off your clothes so I can see what you brought just for me,” Jeremy says, his choice of words sounding more and more like that of a horny teenager.
“Um, Jeremy, I… I don’t think this is a good idea,” I affirm because I take a glance at his Transformers comforter and realize this is definitely not a good idea. I turn to address him, but he’s already pulling down his pants and stroking his… his… oh my God, did he just start smacking his dick against his thigh? Ew! I’m about to tell him my stomach doesn’t feel right, when the door slams open and an old lady barges into the room.
“Jeremy, honey, where have you been?” My eyes bulge in horror as his apparent mother comes in while he’s totally still stroking himself. Or in his peen’s poor case, strangling himself.
“Ma!” he yells. “Get out! Can’t you see I’m busy?”
“Oh my, I see that dear. You look hungry. I made you your favorite, meatloaf.”
Meatloaf? Really? My situation only gets worse as Jeremy, at the word meatloaf, moans. Yes, you read that right. Good ole “man moan” at the word meatloaf.
“Mmm, Ma, you know I love your meatloaf.”
Okay.
That’s it.
Sorry but not sorry. No sexual interaction will be happening with this guy or on his I’m stuck in junior high school bed sheets. I take that opportunity to pretend that I am about to hurl chunks, which may actually happen thinking about him and meatloaf, and thankfully they both scurry out of my way. Since I’m sure Jeremy is stuck back there while Mommy Dearest helps tuck his junk back in his pants, it gives me the opportunity to get the hell outta there.
Flagging down my cab, the driver places my carry-on in the trunk as I throw myself into the back seat, letting out a huge sigh. So, welcome to my life. Where it is impossible to find love or an orgasm. And by golly, do I want at least one of them, dammit! I just want to find this said love-of-a-lifetime crap everyone raves about. I’ve watched those sappy movies. Seen how Chrissy gushes over all these said fuzzy feelings she experiences when it comes to love, and sadly, I’ve never felt that. I can’t relate when someone speaks of magical tingles and flutters. I mean, that all sounds like just plain old goosebumps and gas pains to me. But whatever people relate love to, I want a piece of it. A piece that does for me what it does for them. Fulfills them. Completes them. Coming across as a free spirited girl who enjoys the companionship basics is getting old for me. Plus, it’s obviously not working either.
I, Lexi Hall, want to change. To be loved. To be cared for. To be cherished, dammit! Problem is, I don’t know how to go about doing it. I’ve spent so long faking how happy I am living free and alive in the warmth of San Francisco, when in reality, I am lonelier than I have ever been. But that’s what I do. I fake it. I mean for fuck’s sake I’m even faking how sexually social I am. Truth? This past year, I haven’t even made it far enough to experience the big O before feigning some sort of sickness and taking off!
I make it to the airport with seven minutes to spare. I’m pissed at the time I wasted on that creep and how now I’m going to have to change my gym membership. Worse off, my lady parts are pissed at me because they got nothing out of the deal.
I board the plane, grateful to find that I am in first class. I mentally thank Chrissy, even though she knows she owes it to me, and I signal down the attendant. “Vodka soda, keep em’ coming,” I order and shut off my phone. I stuff my purse under my seat which is jam-packed with random items because I didn’t have time to pack before my date, so I had to hurry and throw things together before my cab arrived. I lay my head back on the cushiony headrest and sigh in submission. I tell myself that this is just a phase. I am Lexi Hall. The dominator. Maybe I don’t need love or a companion to be happy. All’s I need is my spunk and my blooming career. I continue my internal chant the whole entire way to Los Angeles.
“I MEAN WHO DOESN’T like a girl with spunk? Huh?” I slur to the guy next to me. “I have everything. A great job! A great condo! A great nail technician!” I boast as I slam the rest of my third vodka. Or maybe it’s my fourth.
I click on my light to request a refill, when the captain comes on the intercom letting us know we are about to land. The attendant denies me which I totally plan on complaining to the airlines later about, but I settle in my seat and prepare to land.
As we deplane, the guy next to me hurries away. I wasn’t finished with my conversation but he seems to be in a hurry. Whatever.
The limo is waiting for me at the baggage claim and takes me to my hotel. As I enter the plush lobby, I comb around in hopes of finding the bar. I check in and instruct the bellhop to take my things to my room. I head straight to the bar which thankfully seems pretty dead.
Sitting on the tall barstool I wave my pretty pink fingernails, getting the attention of the bartender. As he spots me, I notice his eyes light up as he makes his way to me. “What can I get you tonight, gorgeous?”
“Double vodka with a splash of soda, sweetheart,” I order and offer him my signature smile. He nods and moves down the bar to concoct my drink. I’m digging through my purse for my phone when I notice a gentleman settling in next to me.
“Hello.”
I don’t bother looking at him, mainly because I’m not in the mood. After the night I’ve had, I just want to continue to drink myself into a stupor and have my own way with myself.
“All right then,” I hear him mumble, turning back toward the bar. Just then the bartender places my drink in front of me. “Here you go, gorgeous. Enjoy. Let me know if you need anything else. I get off at two, if you need anyone to show you around.” He punctuates that offer with a wink before moving on to address my fellow bar patron.
“How can I h
elp you, pal?” he asks.
“I’ll take a gin, two ice cubes, and whatever the lady here is having.”
Say what…
I don’t need anyone buying my drinks. Feeling annoyed, I turn to my new guest ready to thanks but no thanks him. I shift to my left and my tongue suddenly gets lodged in my throat. Holy fucking hotness. My eyes practically bug out of my head. Dark wavy hair. Eyes a shade of green women dream about. Chiseled face, naturally tanned. And his arms… Lordy lord his muscled arms that are calmly resting on the bar. I implore my throat to work. To speak, yell, anything, but the man before me has rendered me speechless.
He turns in his barstool to face me. “Are you going to talk to me now?” His deep, sexy-as-hell voice the sound of perfection. Like a high-voltage battery operated buzzing sensation begging to rub in-between my thighs.
“I… I…” I stutter like a goddamn buffoon. What the fuck is wrong with me? Right then the bartender puts the drinks in front of us and hands him the tab. I snap out of whatever twilight zone I disappeared into. “Wait!” I blurt out, waving at the bartender. “Excuse me! I don’t need him paying for my drink,” I demand as I grab for my purse in search of my wallet.
“It’s okay. I insist,” the stranger danger hunk of pure sex interjects, ceasing my wallet search.
“No, it’s not okay. I don’t need you to pay for me. I’m a big girl,” I argue back.
His shoulders tense. “But I would like to buy a beautiful woman a drink,” he argues, his eyes bore an expression of frustration.
Yep. Well now we’re both frustrated. Why is it that every guy thinks just because they see a beautiful woman, that she is begging for them to buy her drinks? I mean, yeah. Girls do it all the time, but it’s time I personally turn over a new leaf here. I mean business when I say I want someone to like me for me, and not because I’m pretty or have a nice rack. Because let’s be honest, these tits are amazing. Any who, I try not to make contact with God. I’ll just call him that for now. Because holy shit, I wouldn’t mind him doing so many inappropriate things to me while I scream “Oh God, oh God.” I begin to chuckle to myself.
“What’s so funny?” He interrupts my fit of giggles.
“Oh nothing.” I turn back to him. God, he’s so hot. I continue to fidget more inside my purse. New leaf. I chant. No random hookups. I want love. Cuddling, flowers, white picket fences and shit. I turn to politely decline his drink invitation once again and inform him about said new leaf. Instead, I pretty much word vomit, “You wanna come back to my room? I could really use a good hard bang, and you look like you’d be up for the job.” I immediately whip my hand out of my purse, knocking a bunch of items out with it and cover my mouth. “Oh my God,” I mumble through my covered lips. The stranger simply stares at me with what looks like amused curiosity.
“I didn’t mean that…I mean I did, I mean—wait no. I’m so sorry.” I shut up and turn to grab my drink. I manage to suck all the liquid into my mouth before I realize the items that have spilled from my purse.
And then I proceed to spit my drink back out.
“Oh shit!” I gasp as I go to grab for it, but he’s faster. I feel both our hands on the object at once, but he picks it up before me, lifting it up to his eyesight, studying the item. I on the other hand try and decipher how fast it would take to run out of this hotel to never be seen again.
But that couldn’t just be it could it? Because while I am still frozen with embarrassment, he takes that opportunity to, with his other hand, twist the tiny little contraption causing it to strum a nice buzz in his hand.
Someone please kill me.
“Oh my.” His voice obviously fighting a losing battle at choking back laughter. “No wonder you are lacking a good bang, if this is what you are working with,” he states on a chuckle.
That pretty much does it for me. I jump into action and snatch my traveling bullet out of his hand—it’s waterproof and was a pricey little fucker, thank you very much—and jam it back in my purse. I’m about to throw a smart retort his way but somehow I’ve turned the damn thing back on. The vibrating sound is now buzzing on the items in my purse, combining to make an even louder distraction. I can’t concentrate on what I was going to say and especially now since this sex god won’t get that damn smirk off his face.
I press my hands down the front of my black pleated skirt and adjust my hair, which may now resemble that of a wild temptress from the once trendy up-do I started today with. I take a minute longer to calm myself before turning to him, and in the most dignified manner possible, say, “You know what? I take back my offer. I wouldn’t do you sideways even if you had a power dick.” At that he laughs louder.
“Why are you laughing?” I ask getting angrier.
He seems to consider my question for a moment, but the mirth is still alive in his eyes, betraying his humor. “Because, I’m enjoying that wicked mouth of yours and I would love to fuck you sideways.” The cadence of his voice drops a few notable levels on the end of his words.
My mouth snaps shut. My dormant nipples tighten and I can’t stop my legs from clenching. I mean who says that to someone? The bigger question is, who gets that said to them and walks away?
Do it, let him fuck you sideways. No… New Leaf I scold myself. And since I’m turning a new leaf, as well as practically drinking my weight in vodka, I blame my next action on the alcohol. Because I end up slapping him right across the face.
His shocked expression spreads across his face as he lifts his hand to his now reddened cheek.
“You should watch your language around a lady,” I sputter out. I shakily stand up and shove the remainder of my things in my bag. The damn bullet still going off as I stick my chin up as high as I can without not being able to see where I’m going and walk away.
The whole time feeling the burning gaze of God on me.
MY PHONE RINGING WAKES me from my dream. More like wet dream because I was having some serious sex in it. At least I’m getting it somewhere. I go to reach for my phone, my eyes refusing to open. My head is pounding some vicious beat and I’m starting to regret drinking so much vodka. I pull open an eye to see that Chrissy is calling. And that it is five minutes after nine.
“Oh shit!” I jump up and out of bed. I answer my phone while ripping off my thong to jump in the shower. “I know, I’m sorry. I’m running a little bit late.” I rush out while turning on the shower.
“Lex, what are you doing!? I told you, forty-five minutes! That’s all he is giving you! Wait is that the shower?” she asks.
“What? No, it’s a waterfall. I’m getting in the elevator right now. I’ll be there shortly. Totally don’t worry,” I lie as I stick my head under the nozzle wetting my out of control hair. “Lexi! I know what a shower sounds like! Oh my God, are you hungover? You better not be! You cannot blow this!” She is now in a panicked frenzy yelling at me. “Hey, I got this. We’re all good. Okay, I’m at his door. I gotta go! I love you,” I sing as I hang up on Chrissy, and turn to vomit in the shower.
Twenty-five minutes late and I am in the elevator, punching in the code given, allowing me access to the penthouse suite. The color in my face barely returning but thank God for blush. Lots and lots of blush. I wouldn’t be offended if I was mistaken for a clown. It was this or resemble Beetlejuice.
As the elevator dings, the doors open to the most magnificent layout I have ever seen. And I’ve seen some top-notch places. I enter the foyer, no Mr. James in sight. I call out his name not wanting to be rude and just walk into his penthouse. Because showing up twenty-five minutes late isn’t already rude, Lex.
I finally hear somebody talking on the phone. “I’ll be right out,” he calls from the back room and continues on his phone call. I take the extra time and take a seat on the couch. I’m not so sure my stomach is going to make it through this whole meeting and I’m pretty certain that I have not a single bargaining bone in my body right now. Finally, I hear footsteps approaching so I stand and straighten my skirt.
“You’re late. You have twenty minutes remaining of my time,” he remarks as I lift my head from my skirt.
We both gasp at once.
And I’m screwed.
“Oh shit.”
“It’s, you.”
“You’re Mr. James?”
“You’re a high-profile art dealer?”
Shit, I am so dead. As in Chrissy is going to kill me. Then Cornelius is going to kill me. Probably fire me. Then kill me.
“I’m so fired.” I release a breath. Standing there like a deer in headlights, I stare at the gentleman from the bar. Snapping out of his own shock, he begins to walk toward me. He doesn’t stop until he’s right in front of me, most likely wishing to pay me back for that sweet slap I landed on him last night. Oh God, I slapped him. “I’m… I’m… shit I’m so fired,” I repeat.
I begin to hyperventilate because I really do like my job and now I’m going to lose it. I offered hot rough sex to my client, and then I slapped him when he accepted my lewd offer. Fired. Jobless. No more shopping. I’m so preoccupied with my inner ramblings that I fail to notice Mr. James has eliminated the space between us and is now placing his hands on both sides of my face, gently rubbing his thumbs along the line of my chin. I begin to jerk back, startled at his close presence and tender gesture, but he holds me in place. “Calm down. No one is getting fired.” He coos me to relax. And I really want to, trust me, but I’m in serious shock at how this is all playing out. To make matters worse, his thumbs are doing odd things to my skin and they’re making me feel like I’m on goddamn fire! Forcing eye contact with me, I watch as his pupils dilate, causing a wave of unfamiliar sensations to run down my arms. I can’t remember the last time someone made my skin feel so alive.
I feel a warm blush creep across my cheeks, caused by nerves or hormones. I take a deep breath not bothering to even decipher which because I’m totally fucking screwed anyway and most likely never drinking vodka again… Okay maybe just this week. I’m staying away from vodka just this week.
Faking It (UnReal #1) Page 2