by Wright,Lulu
“Lie down next to me, Jack.” She pats the bed next to her as a guttural sound escapes her lips. It’s either a growl or a sign she’s going to vomit.
I turn to her roommate. “Keep her on her side so she doesn’t Hendrix herself.”
In the cab ride home, I check my phone again. Lily read my last message at 2:26. No response.
14
Lily
If I ever get out of bed, I won’t look at my phone.
It will stay plugged into my Bugs Bunny charger.
This was a gift from my dad last Christmas. Every year he gives me a “you’re-still-my-little-girl” present. A Barbie doll. A butterfly kite. A silly pop-up book. They’re dorky, but they remind me of my dad.
Today Bugs is my spirit animal.
He gives me the strength to not check for more messages from Jack.
I wish I could block him, but I don’t need another email from Brenda about my lack of communication with him.
What a mess.
First he throws me out. Then he inventories the stuff I left at his place—the clothes he ripped off me. Nice. And who the hell knows what that last message was. He knows I don’t speak French.
I refused to Google translate it. It will only make me feel worse, I’m sure.
Bugs is my boyfriend now. Staring at me sternly from where he guards my phone, telling me not to think any more about Jack. Not to remember his hard, carved body pressed against mine. To ignore the sensation of his tongue flicking my nipples, or his thick cock buried inside me.
Definitely don’t think about how hard he made me come. About how amazing it felt to release everything between us, with his thumb on my clit and those piercing eyes of his drinking in mine.
Yep, ignore all that, Bugs says.
Thanks, Bugs.
I will have a pleasant Sunday even if it kills me. I roll out of bed and try to eat a little breakfast, but I have no appetite. I want to cry.
I refuse to cry.
I am confused, I am hurt and feel so, so stupid to have been tricked into sleeping with that douchebag. Now he got what he wanted from me, and he’ll toss me aside the same way he did Crystal.
He’ll probably tell everyone at the store about it too, just to rub salt in the rug burn. Ugh.
And why did he have to be so fucking good at fucking me? Dammit. Every time I close my eyes I see his cock erect between us in the shower, feel him turn me around and push me up against the shower wall as he leans against my backside … I feel his hands all over every inch of me, covered in soap, driving me wild with lust.
Fuck.
I need to get my ass out of bed. But in order to do that, I need a pick-me-up.
Bugs stares at me again. Duh. Of course.
I pick up my landline phone and dial the only number I still have memorized—home sweet home.
“Good afternoon! World’s Best Dad Incorporated. How may I help you today?”
I smirk, hearing Dad’s Eagles game in the background. I wish I was on that old beat up couch yelling at the TV screen with him. “Hi, daddy,” I sigh.
“How’s my princess?”
“Not great.”
“What’s the matter?”
Of course, I can’t tell him. “Just an icky day.”
“Well, buck it up little camper! The sun is shining and the world is at your feet!”
“It doesn’t feel like it.” I sound as mopey as an emo pre-teen. “Why do people suck?”
There is a long pause. “Hey,” dad says. “How do you make a Kleenex dance?”
I groan, though I do start to smile a little. “Dad, stop.”
“Come on!” he roars. “How do you make a Kleenex dance?”
I smile wider, and roll my eyes. My father collects Dad Jokes the way some people collect stamps. “I don’t know. How do you make a Kleenex dance?”
“You put a little boogie in it!” He cracks himself up and I laugh a little too.
After six more dad jokes I’m feeling a little better. I also get a bullet point list of updates from my newly retired parents. Mom’s joined a knitting club, so she’s in a church basement now learning how to knit an ugly Christmas sweater. The turnips and beets are looking better than last year. And Dad’s thinking about buying a boat.
I snort at that one. “Dad, you’ve been saying you’re about to buy a boat since I was born.”
“Well this time I really am.”
“You know you get seasick in the pool, right?
“Or I could get an RV,” he replies without missing a beat. “Me and your mom want to travel while we’re still young and pretty.”
“Well, I hope there’s enough room for me.” I picture myself sailing on a calm sea away from everything.
“Nope. The pirate’s life is just for us. You’re a big city gal now. Kicking ass and taking names.”
I say nothing. I don’t feel like an ass kicker.
“Hey,” he says. “So, did you hear about the new restaurant on the moon? The food is terrific, but it has no atmosphere!”
I am back to smiling and rolling my eyes with equal strength. But I do, finally, crawl out of bed. I only make it as far as the computer. I know exactly how I’m spending the rest of my day. Writing about Ron Weasley being a selfish jerk to Hermione, but then realizing what an assface he is and groveling around begging for her apology, while Hermione takes revenge on him by letting him suffer. Who says writing isn’t the best therapy?
But by Monday morning, even the feel-better vibes from writing angry fanfic can’t help me anymore.
Mostly because I finally have to reclaim my phone from Bugs Bunny, and I find more texts from Jack.
We need to meet to decide the floor move.
Plan to do an overnight in the store on Tuesday for visit prep.
Mr. Hamilton’s visit is Thursday 10am.
Please adhere to the dress code, at least while Mr. Hamilton is here.
That’s it. No apology. No regret. No warm wishes. Hell, not even a fucking thanks for the hot lay or the follow-up dick pic.
UGH.
I’d prefer getting a bikini wax and a root canal at the same time without anesthesia to going into Hamilton Center City right now. Yet here I am. My shoulders slump under the weight of my dread. Just play it cool. Pretend you don’t even care. Pretend it meant as little to you as it clearly does to him.
The internal coaching at least allows me to keep my resting bitch face on.
“Yikes. Who kicked your puppy?” Mona asks when I stride into the department. She’s kneeling on the floor surrounded by pajama bottoms so badly tangled they look like snakes.
As if on cue, the dumbest man alive walks into the department. Jack smiles when he sees Mona, then his face hardens when he turns to me. “Good morning, Miss Brook.” His voice sounds cold and impersonal as if I’m a customer trying to return a pair of worn socks.
Message received, bastard.
“Nobody,” I tell Mona with a bright, oversized smile. “I just had to haul out a lot of trash this weekend, so I’m pretty sore from all that wasted effort.” I raise my voice loud enough for Jack to hear, and I keep my head turned away from him.
Two can play at this game, asshole.
But he doesn’t even blink in response. Just sails right past us like he didn’t even hear me. My eyes sting, but I kneel beside Mona and start to help with the pajamas. I will not give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry. Not even if I have to spend the next month and a half I work here hiding in the bathroom every time he’s clocked in. Better that than letting him get to me.
15
Lily
Unfortunately, Jack has other ideas. The minute we open to the public, he trails me onto the floor. “Miss Brook, a word?”
I practically sprint toward the nearest customer. “Can’t, busy!”
But he just lingers, waiting until that guy moves on, plus some new Flash Fit swag. Mona’s chatting to the only other shopper in our department, and I’m running out of excuses.
> “Lily, please.” He frowns at me, his face its usual stony mask. “Can we talk?”
“Oh, now you want to talk?” I hiss. But I follow him off the floor anyway, toward the storage rooms, where no one will overhear us. Last thing I want is for anyone else to catch him following me around, and guess what happened between us. Store gossip will be all over this like vultures on a carcass.
“I can see you’re upset with me, Miss Brook,” he says as soon as we’re in the hallway to the stock rooms, in semi-private.
“You think?” I spit.
“We need to get some things straight,” he replies.
“Like how much of an absolute asshole you are?” I throw both hands onto my hips.
“What happened between us was … unexpected.”
I should slap him right now.
I want to.
But he’s catching my wrist in his hand, almost like he already knows what I’m thinking.
That’s more than I can take. “So you had to throw me out of your house? Fuck you, Jack.”
His eyes twinkle. “I believe you already did that.”
I let out a strangled scream. “You make me crazy!”
“That makes two of us.” He tugs me against him, and next thing I know, I’m pinned against the cold concrete wall. His hot mouth crashes into mine. My fingers tug at his messy hair and his body arches against me, his hard chest against my tits, his cock rubbing along my thigh. I can barely breath and I want to fuck him right there. I bite his lip, hard, and he rolls his hips against mine, grinding our bodies together. I dry-hump his leg, desperate.
I want him.
I hate him.
“You drive me crazy,” he says in a hot breath on my neck before kissing me again. “I can’t stop thinking about fucking you.” I catch his earlobe between my teeth and bite down so hard he gasps. “You sure didn’t act like it,” I can’t help saying. Even though my whole traitorous body is screaming at me to just fuck him again, right here, right now.
He appears to have the same idea. He slides his leg between mine, parting them, so his thigh presses right against my clit. I groan against his cheek. “I keep thinking about your naked body, spread across my bed,” he breathes into my ear. “All the things I want to do to you.”
I should push him away. I should slap him right now for how he’s been acting. But my pussy throbs with need, and I can’t think straight when he’s around, I can’t concentrate. I lift my leg to wrap it around his waist. Maybe a hate-fuck is just what I need to get him out of my system. I lift my chin, meet his gaze with a hard-eyed challenge. “Show me.”
He wastes no time sliding his palm straight down my yoga pants. His grin widens when he finds me wet and waiting for him. He circles his fingers around my thong, tugging at the fabric, rubbing me through it until I rock my hips against his hungrily.
Then he slips one finger beneath my thong, and traces the lips of my pussy. They’re swollen with want, and I can hardly think straight as he pushes that finger inside me, slowly, an inch at a time.
I grit my teeth and yank him closer. “Faster.”
But he only grins at me. “There’s that ambition again.”
I lift an eyebrow, challenging. “Nothing wrong with an ambitious woman,” I tell him. To demonstrate, I grab his belt buckle and undo it in two swift clinks. His eyes widen. I guess he didn’t expect me to turn the tables. I tug on his boxer-briefs, pushing them far enough down that his cock springs free.
We’re in the middle of the hallway. We shouldn’t be doing this.
I don’t care. I’m too far gone. All the bottled-up emotions I’ve been crushing down all day are pouring out right now, in the form of sheer lust. I wrap my hands around his dick and brush my thumb over his tip. He shivers, and in response, pushes a second finger inside me.
The moan that escapes me is louder this time. I clench my hands a little tighter around him, and his eyes flutter half-shut, his mouth open, teeth gritted.
“You’re impossible,” he manages to gasp. He adds a third finger, and my pussy stretches around him. His thumb tweaks my clit and I catch his shoulders with one hand to hold myself steady.
“You’re infuriating,” I respond, still trying to catch my breath as his fingers stroke in me faster and faster.
“Your angry face is so fucking hot.” He dips to catch my mouth, kiss me again, but I bite his lower lip in response.
“You bring it out in me,” I reply. Then I lose the ability to talk, as he circles my clit in tighter and tighter circles. My eyes flutter half-shut, and I can’t keep up the coordination to keep stroking his cock. Hell, I can hardly stay on my feet.
He seems to notice, and he uses his legs to pin me against the wall, holding me up while he thrusts his fingers into me. When I come, I try my best to hold in the loud cry that wants to escape. The only way I can think to do that is to bury my face in his chest when I moan. He wraps his other arm around me as my body shakes from the force of the orgasm that pounds through me. I can hardly feel my legs; all I feel is ecstasy flooding my veins.
Then he pulls his hand out of my thong, and sense returns to my brain instead. I let go of his cock and glare up at him.
He blinks in surprise, seemingly confused by my anger. “That wasn’t as good for you as it was for me?” he asks, lifting an eyebrow in disbelief.
“I’m just waiting for the part where you throw me out again,” I snap.
But he’s backing off, sobering up. He looks serious again, but there’s something soft in his eyes. He catches my face in his hands. “Lily,” he whispers. “Lily, listen …”
Laughter echoes in the hallway. Then running footsteps bolt in our direction. I shove Jack off me and sprint back out the door toward Basics. No way I’m letting anyone catch us in there together.
By the time I reach my fixtures, I’m shaking and panting, and hornier than I’ve ever been before. Somehow, the orgasm in the hallway did nothing to alleviate this aching desire. If anything, it only made me want his cock inside me even more desperately.
I thought it was bad at his apartment, with him torturing me between touches. Rubbing my clit, then refusing to let me come.
I had no idea what frustration even meant.
I scowl at the stupid mannequin I need to finish dressing for a good half a minute, just counting my heartbeats until they start to slow down.
The weekend must have been busy because the fixture beneath the mannequin is empty.
My frown deepens. I wish I was at the store all weekend instead. I wish I never stepped into that glass shower of ecstasy and regret. I wish I never followed him into the hallway just now. I wish I never even met that asshole.
Hot. Cold. Hot again. He’s worse than Katy Perry.
I hear a sigh and spot Mona pouting as she fluffs a sock table. She looks like I feel, upset and sad. I wonder if she’s having dude drama too. Men suck.
I’m about to cross over to her, ask if she’s all right, when Jack steps toward her. I dart behind a fixture in a panic, unable to face him after what just happened. I steal a peek around the corner and he looks so … normal. Like nothing happened. He doesn’t look hurt or mad or upset at all.
Why does that make my own hurt twinge even worse?
“I need you to cover suits,” he says to Mona. “Until George gets back from break.”
He catches me peeking at him and gives me a tight-lipped grin. He flips a couple of pages on his clipboard and turns it to me. I see a drawing of Bart Simpson holding flowers before he presses the clipboard to his chest. He smirks at me then mouths the word OK?
I narrow my eyes. No, not okay. One stupid drawing does not explain what the hell is wrong with you. But I can’t exactly mouth all that. Before I can think of a suitable response—maybe just sticking up a middle finger at him?—a familiar voice interrupts us.
“Lily!”
Shit.
Brenda.
What the hell is my boss doing here? Why didn’t she tell me she was coming? This
can’t be good. I grab my phone and scroll through emails. Did I miss a message from her saying she was going to be in the store today?
“Surprise!” she says when she reaches my side, and I’m forced to stuff my phone into my fanny pack. “Pop visit!”
I do a quick eyeball of my fixtures and cringe hard. It’s 2pm and they’re still a mess, since I’ve been busy avoiding Jack and then dry-humping him in the damn hallway. I’m screwed.
“I-I haven’t,” I stutter. “I mean, that is …”
She frowns at my fixtures, but doesn’t say a word. “I’m sorry I didn’t send you a heads-up about this. Our buyer is anxious to chat about the floor move for the upcoming walk-thru, so I figured I would drive down from New York this morning and surprise you. Where’s my hug?” She wraps her arms around me and almost crushes my ribs.
She’s a tough boss, but she can be supportive at times. “So come on, show me around. I want to see firsthand what you’ve been up to.”
Before I can say more she’s walking my floor with her critical eye, clicking her tongue and scowling as she peers in drawers. “Good, Pump in the front, at least. This store is second in sales across the country for Pump right now.” She produces a stack of prints from her Prada bag and waves them in the air. “Ready for the rest of your inspection?”
Here we go.
It only takes us about half an hour, but it’s an exhaustive and analytical dive through everything I’ve done over the past few weeks.
By the time we finish, she’s smiling and nodding. “Well, your numbers have been stellar. Absolutely fantastic. And I appreciate the effort you’ve taken to get the place in order, generally. So my only remaining question would be the obvious one.”
Here it comes. I knew I couldn’t get off this easy.
She jerks a thumb toward the fixture. “Why is this department such a mess this late in the day?”
I open my mouth to mumble an apology, just as Jack arrives with the buyer Brenda came to meet.
Saved by the hookup I’m hoping Brenda won’t notice.
Ha.
Somehow it feels like I just jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire.
“So, what do you think of Lily?” Brenda asks Jack, and I swear my face must be beet red right now. Well he liked me pretty well in the back room just now, I can’t help thinking. Thankfully, she clarifies. “How do you think the new Flash Fit look is performing?”