Badd Ass

by Jasinda Wilder

"Exactly. If we hadn't already had sex, I might actually try and see how a no-sex dating thing would go, but since we've already done it, there's no point in stopping now."

  "I guess that makes sense," Claire said, pushing her now-empty plate away. "Now, can you go back to the most epic blow job of the century? I wanna hear more about that."

  I shrugged. "I mean, I wasn't planning on doing it. I had been planning on talking to him about my idea regarding the whole practice dating thing, and then the conversation just sort of got dirty--"

  "Understandable when you're talking to a hot guy with a massive dong," Claire put in.

  "Right," I agreed. "And then he was like, so how about a blow job, and I was, like...sure."

  "And?"

  "And I sucked him off so good he actually collapsed to the ground afterward and couldn't walk for several minutes."

  Claire blinked at me. "Well good goddamn, girl. You must have some sort of secrets you haven't shared."

  "Yeah, maybe." I grinned. "I mean, it was helpful that I just...I dunno...I really, really wanted to give the best blow job he'd ever had. I mean, if we only have a week together, I want it to be the best damn week of our entire lives, right? And obviously I've given plenty of BJs before, but this was different somehow."

  The waitress came over right then, and had to hold back a snort of laughter as she refilled our coffee.

  "Different how?" Claire asked.

  I sighed. "I don't know. I wish I did. I've been trying to figure that out myself. It's not just that he's gorgeous, which he is, and it's not just that he has a massive, gorgeous dong, which he does, and it's also not just that he's an incredible sexual partner, which he is, nor is it just that he's a god among men when it comes to cunnilingus...it's all of those things at once, and...something more. I don't know. It's frustrating."

  "It's chemistry, babe," Claire said. "It's ineffable."

  "Ineffable?"

  She nodded. "Something so incredible, so amazing, so perfect that you just can't put it into words."

  I threw another sugar packet at her head. "I know what ineffable means, whore-face."

  She threw the same packet back at me. "Well, then don't say it like you've never heard the word before."

  "I just...I'm trying to apply it to Zane, and the whole thing between us." I lapsed into silence for a moment, thinking. "It's just...if you'd asked me last week if I thought the word 'ineffable' could be applied to a man in any capacity, much less this weird quasi-relationship we've got, I would have laughed in your face. But...it's not so stupid now, somehow."

  She nodded seriously. "Believe me, poopsie, I understand more than you know."

  "Poopsie? Really? That sounds like something a minivan-driving soccer mom who shops exclusively at Whole Foods might call her potty training kid's turd."

  Claire snorted in laughter, trying to keep in a mouthful of coffee. "Goddammit, I just scalded my sinuses," she said, wiping coffee from her nose and chin. "Then what do you think I should call this guy in the heat of the moment?"

  "What's wrong with the classics like honey, baby, sweetie--things like that?"

  She waved a hand in dismissal. "He deserves something original. He's like no one I've ever met."

  "Now that I understand," I said.

  "I just thought of something weird," Claire said. "What are the chances of us both meeting hot, incredible guys who challenge the status quo of the way we live our lives and view relationships...in the same week, in the same city, both local guys, but at different times and in different places, without actually being together when we met them?"

  I stared at her. "Now that you put it that way, it is kind of..."

  "Statistically so improbable as to be laughable?"

  I nodded. "Exactly. But then, we are the Gruesome Twosome." My phone chimed in my purse, and I lifted it out to check it.

  My boss had sent me an urgent email; I was on vacation, but my boss knew I checked my email religiously, so he was prone to sending me emails even when he knew I was home or gone, because he knew I'd check it and likely reply. Which I did, even though I hated that my boss used my cell phone addiction against me. When I finished the email, I looked up to see Claire typing on her own phone, but judging by the soft, amused, yet slightly horny expression on her face, she was texting her guy and not her boss.

  I set my phone on the table and slid out of the booth. "I have to pee. Don't pay the check without me."

  Claire snorted. "As if," she muttered, not looking up.

  I used the bathroom and returned to the booth...and found Claire with my phone in one hand, her other hand clapped to her mouth in shock, her eyes wide. Claire knew my passcode and I knew hers, and we'd always been open enough that we felt comfortable going through each other's phones; this was the first time I felt weird about it in the years I'd known her.

  "Holy mother of fucks, you weren't kidding about an epic penis, Mara. Jesus. That thing is a monster." She swiped a finger, touched the screen, and I heard a familiar sound, a low male groan of pleasure--"I wish it was you right now--"

  "Oh...my...god." She touched the screen and moved the slider back to start the video over, checking around her and then hunching over the screen, fending off my attempts to get my phone back. "That has got to be the hottest minute and a half of video in existence. Can you forward that to me?"

  "No I can't forward it to you!" I snatched the phone back, more angry with my best friend than I'd ever been. "God, Claire, I know we've always shared pretty much everything, but this is..." I wasn't even sure what to say.

  I was bubbling with anger I didn't understand, and that itself was freaking me out. I'd shown her my dick pics before, and she'd shown me hers. Any other time in our friendship, if Claire had snooped through my phone and found a dick pic or whatever, I'd have laughed with her. I wouldn't have gotten angry. It would have been totally fine. But this time....

  Claire was eyeing me intently. "But this is different, isn't it?" I nodded and she grabbed my hand, meeting my eyes. "I'm sorry, Mare. I really am. I wasn't snooping for anything like that--I was just...messing with your phone. I was gonna change your lock screen or something, just to be funny, and I happened to see the dick pic he sent you, and I couldn't stop looking. That thing is gorgeous. Not just because of the size, though, like you said. It's just...pretty."

  "Claire--"

  She held up a hand. "I didn't mean to see it, for real. But now that I have, we might as well talk about it, right?"

  I sighed. "I guess. I'm sorry I overreacted; I'm just being weird about this. What's funny is that I sent him a few photos and a video, too, and he was like 'Obviously I'm not going to share this with anyone, just so you know,' and I jokingly said I'd only ever show you, because that's how we've always been, but then I thought about it later, and realized I wasn't sure I wanted to share him with you in that sense. I mean, I've shown you photos before, but--"

  "But that's more because ninety-nine percent of the time when a guy sends a dick pic, it's comical rather than hot."

  "But that's a hot dick pick, though."

  "I'll say," Claire sighed. "Seriously hot. I think I'll send my guy a few nudes and see what he does."

  "Tell him if he jerks off to the photos he should video it and send it to you."

  "I think I'll do just that." She grinned at me. "And I'll send it to you when he does, because Mara, babe, my guy's dick? Equally as epic, I must say."

  "Maybe we should agree to keep all dick pics and jerking-off videos to ourselves for the time being?"

  She nodded. "I'll agree to that. I can see how I might be a bit possessive if I had that video on my phone."

  "If I get any other unsolicited dick picks, though, I'll totally send them to you so we can laugh together."

  "You better. Laughing at unsolicited dick pics is one of life's greatest pleasures."

  "I know, right? Like, what are they thinking when they send those? Do they honestly think we sit around looking longingly at pictures of average-gu
y penis?"

  "I never can quite fathom their thought processes. Like, objectively speaking, penises are kind of...weird, and not something I like to just sit around staring at. Like, show me a sexy set of abs or a nice chest, and I'll be impressed. Your dick? Not as much. Even if it's above average, if I'm not interested in you, I'm not gonna want a photograph of your penis. I'm just not. Hell, until I saw that, I honestly never thought there'd ever be a situation in which I'd willingly want a dick pic. But that shit right there, that convinced me."

  "Exactly how I've always felt. I mean, it's not like we'd ever go, 'Hmmm, I wonder how I can get this random guy on Tinder to like me? Ooh, I know, I'll take a close up of my va-jay-jay. That'll turn him on!'"

  Claire bobbed her head to one side. "I dunno, I think most guys would actually respond to that pretty well. Vaginas are more inherently and objectively sexy than penises are."

  "True. But guys aren't hard to turn on. Show 'em some titties, and...boing, they've got a chubby."

  Claire reached across the table to poke one of my boobs. "Especially those puppies. Show a guy those, and he's yours, right, Boobs McGee?"

  "Shut up. Future lower back problems is a real thing. And do you have any idea how many times I've been asked if they're real?"

  Now Claire threw a sugar packet at me. "Oh, cry me a river. You know how many guys ask me if I've ever thought about getting implants? That's got to be just as insulting, if not more so. Like, no, jackass, not all of us are interested in having giant water balloons attached to our chests for you ogle. Some of us are content to helm the good ship Itty Bitty Titty. I own one bra, and I only wear it when I don't want my nippies showing. I don't have to wear a bra when I workout, because I've got nothing to bounce around, and I've never had to deal with the horror of an underwire poking me in the tits."

  "True, but you also don't know the sheer, unadulterated pleasure of taking off your bra at the end of a long day, or how nice it is just sit watching TV with your hands under your boobs. Or how convenient it is to put something in your bra when you don't have pockets."

  "Plus, you could have a face like a bag of moldy potatoes and the personality of Cruella De Vil and you could still get any guy on the planet to sleep with you at least once just based on the perfection of your boobs." She cupped her breasts over her shirt and jiggled them. "These pathetic little A-cups? Good luck finding a guy who's a hot, sexy alpha male who doesn't mind a complete lack of breasticles."

  "You have them, they're just small."

  "Even with the most bombshell push up bra Victoria's Secret has ever made, I still only look like a small B."

  "So?"

  "So...I've mostly come to terms with it, I guess. I'd never get surgery because overall I love myself and I love my body, but there are still times, even now, at twenty-six, that I sometimes wish I was more well-endowed."

  "What about this guy?" I asked. "What's he think about them?"

  She sighed, staring out the window. "He worships them like they're the most amazing things he's ever laid eyes or lips on. That's part of why I'm so enamored with him, because he doesn't give off a vibe like he's being disingenuous about it. It seems like he honestly feels that way. He says they may be small, but they're a perfect handful each, and perfectly shaped. I'm still not entirely sure I believe him, but it's nice to hear, and it's a good part of the reason he got so much sex out of me last night. I just can't resist well-crafted flattery, and goddamn, the guy is seriously silver-tongued."

  "And you won't even tell me his name?"

  She shook her head. "Nope."

  "Not fair." I held up my phone. "You saw Zane's dick and watched him jerk off, but I don't even get your guy's name?"

  She leaned forward. "I'll tell you all about him. I'll even let you meet him, I promise. Just...give me some time to keep this to myself, first, okay? It's new, and it's weird, and it's scary."

  "You really like him, don't you?"

  "I really do."

  "And this is from spending one night with him?"

  "Sometimes you don't need a lot of time with a person to know there's a connection." She lifted a black restaurant check folder. "Also, I totally paid the bill while you were going pee. Now let's get out of here. You should show me the overlook where you gave Zane the world's best blow job."

  "Only if you promise to let me pay the next time," I said, trying to ignore the deeper elements of what she'd said.

  "Nope." She stood up and sauntered out, forcing me to follow her. "By the way, did I mention that the company I work for is looking for an H-R manager? I already put in a word for you. You can move to Seattle and we'll be the Gruesome Twosome again."

  "Really?"

  She nodded, taking out her phone, pulling up an email thread, and showing it to me; it was a conversation between her and the HR department head, wherein Claire talked me up and the department head sounded interested. It seemed I had a job waiting for me as long as I didn't totally fuck up the interview. It would be a promotion of several degrees, meant more money, and a chance to be near Claire again.

  I teared up. "Bitch, you made me cry."

  "I ended up at a department head lunch one day recently, totally by accident, and got talking to Thomas, and I guess I mentioned you at some point, and then two days later he emailed me asking if you'd be interested in the position. They haven't really even started looking yet, so if I were you I'd send Thomas your resume, like, today. You could have a job by the time your vacation is over." She glanced at me sideways as we wandered on foot in the general direction of the Rainbird Trail; I sort of remembered where we'd gone last night, and if not, Google Maps would show me. "There is one other little tidbit of information, which may or may not interest you."

  "What's that?"

  "It's only an hour and forty-five minutes by air from Seattle to Ketchikan, and my guy happens to be a pilot."

  My heart skipped a beat or ten. "Um. That's neat, but just, you know, out of curiosity...why would that be a factor?"

  Claire continued the nonchalant charade. "Oh, no reason. Except that you could then continue to see Zane, he of the epic penis and godlike cunnilingus skills. You could catch a ride up here with me on the weekends. We could double date, do that whole four people sharing a milkshake thing."

  "That would make the practice relationship real, though."

  She nodded. "There would be that. But face it, snickerdoodles, you're already fighting the urge to think in those terms. I know this because I'm going through the same thing. This way, we could go through it together. We could stop each other from intentionally sabotaging our own relationships."

  "Why would we do that?" I asked. "And don't call me snickerdoodles, either."

  "Because we're a pair of big old scaredy-cats who are terrified of real intimacy due to the fact that we both have serious daddy issues."

  "Oh, that."

  "Yeah, that."

  She wasn't wrong. About any of it.

  "Do you have any idea how annoying it is that you're right all the damn time?" I asked.

  Claire nodded without a hint of irony. "I do. I annoy myself, sometimes. Being right all the time can be a serious burden." She quirked an eyebrow at me. "We've all got our burdens to bear, after all. You've got those giant tits you have to lug around everywhere, and I'm almost never wrong."

  I snorted at her, but there was, of course, a kernel of truth to her words.

  Chapter 8

  Zane

  I was scheduled to open the bar, so I was downstairs by ten thirty setting things up, getting the kitchen opened and taking the stools off the bar and tables, cutting garnish fruit, stocking the alcohol, and counting the register drawers. The place was busy the second I opened the doors, since it was a weekend during tourist season. It was a blessing, though, because it meant I had zero time to let my head run away from me...either the big head or the little one. I was slammed from the time I opened the doors until Brock floated in at three-thirty, a stupid grin on his face as he stared dow
n at his phone.

  He tucked a bar towel in the back pocket of his jeans and joined me behind the bar, checking the coolers and shelves to see what he had to restock before he took over for me. He'd put his phone away, but he still had the stupid grin on his face.

  "What's up your ass, sunshine?" I asked, setting a pair of beers on the service bar for Lucian to take to his table; Luce, it turned out, had offset his savings by waiting tables and tending bar during his travels, so he was an experienced and skilled addition to the bar.

  Brock just winked at me. "Nothing. Nothing at all."

  I grabbed a ticket as it printed from the service bar printer. "Bullshit. Only one things puts a grin like that on a man's face, and that's prime pussy."

  Brock left and returned with two cases of beer held on one shoulder and three bottles of liquor clenched in his other hand. "Yeah, well...a gentleman never kisses and tells." He said this with a sly grin.

  "That prime, huh?"

  "Let's just say it's a good thing I'm tending bar instead of flying today, because I'm running on, like, maybe three hours of sleep."

  I snorted. "Pussy. Try staying awake for seventy-two hours, boots on the ground in enemy territory, completing a mission, and then having to swim six miles in full gear to reach the E-Z."

  "And you try performing death-defying aerial stunts in six cities in five days while flying yourself from venue to venue."

  Lucian collected his drinks from me. "How about you two quit measuring dicks and get to work?" He took his drinks and moved back into the bar to deliver them without a backward glance.

  Brock and I glanced at each other and chuckled.

  "And Lucian schools us both," Brock said.

  I started stacking pint glasses, rocks glasses, and shot glasses into the washer. "For real, though," I said. "You're floating around with a goofy-ass grin on your face. Must've been pretty damn good."

  Brock shrugged while shaking up cosmopolitans for a gaggle of giggling blonde tourists. "Zane, brother, there are no words. I died and went to heaven...six times in one night."

  I stared at my younger brother with renewed respect. "Well, damn, son. That's the way it's done, I'd say."

  The group of thirty-something blondes he was mixing drinks for had overheard us and were whispering loudly to each other while staring between Brock and I.