Worth It

by S. M. Shade

He snorts out a laugh and shakes his head, and I grin, feeling as though I’ve accomplished something good for a change.

  I stand, and he looks up as I do. Roman has caught my attention and latched onto it as he runs a hand through his hair, looking around in search of me.

  “Where are you going?” Anderson asks.

  “I think you’ve got it from here. I’m going to get my vagina petted.”

  He groans, and I smirk as I walk straight toward my favorite wet dream.

  “Kasha,” Anderson says, causing me to look back over my shoulder. His expression is decidedly grim.

  “Be careful. Most of us are just assholes,” he says, his eyes dropping back down to the ground.

  I refuse to lump him and Roman into the same group, so I turn back around and ignore that niggling thread of doubt he placed under the guise of caution.

  Instead, I take a moment to fully appreciate the man who first surprised me this week. From here, I can view how tight Roman’s lips are instead of relaxed in the easy grin I’ve gotten used to him wearing. His eyes are shrewd and perceptive, instead of kind and intrigued. He looks arrogant when someone says something to him, and he just responds with that dickheaded smirk he wears so well. He’s still the same guy; he just seems different with me.

  Roman turns just as I near him, and a smile breaks across his face when his eyes settle on me, raking down all the leg I’m showing—I have two of those fuckers to put on display. “Where have you been? When I said outside, I meant outside the room. I had a call to make, and I figured Lydia was in your room. I didn’t want anyone holding us up.”

  Ahh.

  “You weren’t specific enough,” I tell him, batting my lashes as I still consider the things I’m going to do to leave a lasting impression.

  “Where were you?” he asks again, running a hand behind my neck and tugging me closer with his grip.

  A small shudder ripples through me. I’m not sure why my body loves his so much, but I know why I’m having a tough time leaving. I love the way those eyes look at me. I love the way he smiles for me and only me. It’s as though the rest of the world pisses him off, but when those eyes meet mine, he can’t help but grin.

  It’s a foolish assumption, but it still makes me feel empowered.

  “I was spreading around my profound wisdom and having a serious heart-to-heart about vaginas.” I say this with a serious face, and he nods, his expression completely neutral, as though it’s a perfectly natural response.

  This is why I’m falling for the guy. Well, that and the fact he gives really good orgasms.

  “What should we do with our last night?” he asks, and my heart sinks.

  Our last night. Not, our last night here. That fleeting moment of feeling special gets brushed under the rug with lint and everything else anyone is too lazy to throw out with the actual trash.

  “Actually, it’s our last couple of hours. Lydia and Henley have decided we’re leaving early,” I tell him, my smile tight and forced.

  His grin dies instantly. “What? Why? I thought you weren’t leaving until tomorrow.”

  I shrug, my lips thinning. He’s pissed. He’s definitely pissed. So that means he wants to spend more time with me, and there’s no doubt he’s going to ask when he can see me again.

  Hope shuffles through me with a renewed flutter.

  He runs a hand through his hair, messing it up. “Well, I was going to see if you wanted to go into town and maybe have a night out, but I guess there’s no time for that.”

  He looks like he’s not happy about that either. Those butterflies of hope flap their little wings inside me like they just found their fix of crack and can’t slow down.

  “Well, if we only have a couple of hours left,” he says, and those butterflies catch fire, turning to ash as they explode, “let’s make it count.”

  In one swift move, he’s tugged me to him, and I wage a war between pride and desire. I’ll regret giving up one last time of being with him just because my pride feels like I’m worth more. I am worth more. But… fuck it. I’m tired of thinking. It’s too exhausting trying to adult.

  My good hand threads through the strands of his hair, as Jill slides over his shoulder. He’s so into kissing me that he doesn’t even complain about her being too close to his throat.

  One of his hands slides down, grabbing my ass, and I moan into his mouth as he starts walking me back in, forcing my feet to blindly follow the path in reverse. He lifts me at the stairs, and my feet dangle, but our lips never break apart.

  There’s almost a desperation in the way he’s kissing me, as though he’s as opposed to leaving this as a fling as I am. Yet, he says nothing. He pours all his anger out into that kiss, and I taste it, because it’s rougher… almost punishing me for leaving early.

  Even the way he grips me is rougher, and I kind of think it’s hot as hell too. Maybe I should have been pissing him off more this week instead of trying to make him fall for me.

  When my feet hit the ground, he shoves both his hands into my hair, his fingers tangling into the strands without any finesse or care. We drop down to a bed with the same reckless abandon. I’m not even sure when we got into his room—I think it’s his room.

  I moan again when he grinds into me, his hips perfectly settled between my legs for the most contact. He swallows my sounds, reaching between us to shove my skirt up around my hips. But I have to leave an impression.

  With Jill’s help, I shove him off me, and he drops to the bed, his eyes blinking open in surprise. His surprise ends when Jill rips open his pants like a savage. Sheesh, I really need to remember how strong she is.

  A breath hisses through his lips as he tenses, and I internally groan. It was supposed to be a lot sexier, and it was… in my head.

  “Sorry,” I tell him, grimacing at the mangled front of his pants.

  “Bye, Jill,” he says, amused.

  No. No. No. I don’t want amusement. I want hardcore sexiness.

  Determined, I hurriedly strip out of Jill, and he watches me, never taking his eyes off my face as I drop her to the floor. She roots around on the ground, causing some noise, since the patch is still on my neck and commanding her without me meaning to.

  In an effort to salvage my sexy, I bend, tugging his boxers down. He lifts his hips, helping me push them and his pants down his legs, and his very noticeable erection is suddenly in my face. I capitalize, taking him into my mouth without warning, bypassing all the teasing.

  This time when breath hisses between his teeth, it’s for a whole new reason. That breath is followed by a groan, and one of his hands digs into my hair as I take him deeper.

  “What the hell are you doing to me?” he groans as I slowly come back up.

  My eyes meet his as his cock pops free from my mouth, and I hold it with my hand as I speak. “Making sure you remember me,” I say softly.

  An unknown emotion flickers in his gaze, but I take him into my mouth again, ending the stare-down with sexy memories I intend for him to be stuck with every time he thinks about this crazy week.

  For at least a couple of hours, I plan to replace every ‘amusing’ thought in his head with hot, dirty visions that he’ll see every time he closes his eyes.

  ***

  Roman is passed out, and I smile, proud of myself for wearing him out so thoroughly. Carefully, I disentangle myself from his body that is coiled around me.

  After taking one last wistful look at him, I grab my arm from the floor and head through the bathroom and back to the room. Any goodbyes would lead to me possibly turning into a blubbering mess, and besides, we had a fuck-bye. And this was just a fuck-week fling, so a fuck-bye is appropriate.

  Roman snores, and I grin, fighting back the few tears that are trying to leak out. I’ll sob like a baby when I’m going through my withdrawals in the privacy of my own home.

  Until then…

  As I push through the door, I notice Henley looks as red-rimmed around the eyes as I am, but neither of us speak
about it. Strapping on my arm with quick, jerky movements, I study the empty room they’ve packed away.

  Lydia hands me my bags, and I sigh heavily as I open up my arm bag. It’s a habit to count them, and I frown when I count one missing.

  “Is there another arm in the closet?”

  Lydia goes to the closet, then shakes her head. “All empty.”

  “Shit. I’m missing one.”

  “Are you sure?” Henley asks, sniffling then masking it with a cough.

  “Positive. It’s the one with pretty pink nails.” I curse as I zip the bag back up. I unzip my other bag and rifle aimlessly through my clothes. Not there either. “Someone must have stolen it.”

  “What kind of asshole steals a prosthetic arm from an amputee?” Henley asks, her face a mixture of anger and disgust.

  “Who knows? Lots of dickheads in this place,” I grumble, frustrated now that my prettiest arm is gone and I’m leaving behind a pretty boy with soft black hair and deep blue eyes.

  We don’t say another word as we make it down the stairs. Mom is dealing with the aftermath of the worst wedding ever, and Heath is helping her, working right by her side. It sucks that I’ve never noticed how they’re always close to each other, facing whatever obstacle is in their path as a team.

  Now it’s like I can’t see her without finding him nearby. And more memories surface of my mother in one place and my father in another, rarely ever finding them in the same spot at the same time.

  Funny how our minds work.

  We start walking toward our car as the valet brings it around. I guess Lydia or Henley called for it. Just as the valet hops out to take our bags, I turn and walk briskly back toward my mother.

  She turns around, her smile forming when she sees me, but I don’t stop until my arms are wrapped around her in hug that surprises us both. She gasps, but then her arms tighten around me almost painfully as she holds me to her. I’m fairly positive I hear her sniffle.

  “I’ll call you when I get home,” I tell her, releasing her as tears mist my eyes.

  When I pull back, I notice Heath wiping his eyes and turning away. I’m not in hugging territory with him just yet. “Bye, Heath,” I call.

  He clears his throat loudly as my mother grins. “Bye,” he says with a gruff tone.

  Henley and Lydia are staring at me with gaping mouths when I return to the car. “Let’s get this awful drive over with,” I tell them, hopping into the front passenger seat.

  Lydia takes the driver’s seat, and I lean against the door. The atmosphere is noticeably cooler as we leave, compared to what it was when we burned in. Henley is silent, lost in her thoughts. I’m the same.

  Lydia plays radio roulette with herself until she’s slapping her own face to stay awake. It’s a quiet and uneventful ride. To be fair, it’s easy to be underwhelmed after a week like ours.

  By the time they drop me off, I’m ready to crash. But instead of falling into a sleep-deprivation coma right away, I finally brave looking at my phone.

  There’s a text, and my stomach flips over when I see it’s from Roman. It’s actually a picture message.

  The picture confuses the actual hell out of me. My pretty pink nails on my pretty arm are cupping a not so pretty set of truck nuts. You know, like the truck nuts you find on the back of a redneck’s truck, balls hanging from under the towing ball thingy… I have no idea why I’ve even retained this information.

  I quickly type out a message to him.

  ME: Why is my arm with you? And WTH with the truck nuts?

  He doesn’t respond back, and I frown. The message is just an hour old. It’s possible he’s already in bed. I’m not sure why he simply sent a picture of my hand doing something that random. And did he find it somewhere?

  I wait for another thirty minutes for him to respond. Finally, I give up and go to sleep, dreaming about chaos, ducks, and orgasms. And not in that order. Also, not in the same dream, just for your dirty information.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Henley

  The drive home is a miserable blur. All I can think about is the look on Davis’s face the last time I saw him in the gazebo. I know I’ve done the right thing, but that knowledge doesn’t make it any easier. A part of me really wanted to encourage him when he talked about relocating, but it wouldn’t be fair to him. I can’t trust him and I’m not even sure what I want anymore. I need to be single and not worry about a relationship for a while.

  It’s late when I finally make it home, and sitting on my step is the last asshole I want to see. “Henley! I’ve been looking for you for a week.” My loser ex, Casey, stands and approaches me. “Where were you?”

  Seriously? “It’s none of your damn business where I’ve been. What are you doing here?”

  “I just want to talk. I miss you.”

  “You miss having someone to pay your bills. We’re done, Casey. You need to leave.”

  “I-I just need somewhere to stay for a few days.”

  The fucking nerve. “I would suggest staying with the skank you cheated on me with.” I shove past him to unlock my door and heave my heavy suitcase inside.

  “I don’t want her! I’m sorry. I’ve told you I’m sorry a hundred times.” His tone of voice pisses me off even more. Like I’m the one who is being unreasonable. How did I stay with this man for a year?

  “Fine. You’re sorry. It doesn’t change anything. You need to leave.”

  When I turn to go inside, he grabs my wrist and runs his hand up my arm. “Come on. Don’t you remember how good it was with us?”

  Anger floods through me. “You want to know what I remember? I remember having to pay for everything. I remember having to drive you to work—when you actually had a job—and then pick you up because you lost your driver’s license for a DUI. And even if I could overlook all that, I remember having to turn over and get myself off after every time we had sex, because you couldn’t get the job done.”

  Indignation fills his face and his nostrils flare. It makes him look like an angry hog. “It’s not my fault you’re fucking frigid.”

  “Well, the guy who gives me four orgasms a night doesn’t think so. Now get the fuck out of here before I have you removed and add another line to your rap sheet.”

  I slam the door behind me, drowning out his tantrum. I’m not kidding. If he isn’t gone in another minute, I’m calling the cops. I’m done taking shit from men. I’m officially swearing off them. Buzzy, my trusty vibrator, will be the only man in my life.

  By the time I throw my dirty clothes into the washer and relocate my bathroom items to their rightful places, he’s gone. Guess he knows I’m not screwing around. After a long, hot shower, I flop onto the couch and turn the T.V. to one of my favorite shows. Thank goodness for DVR. It’s been a long, emotionally exhausting week, and though I have to admit, I had a blast, I just want to veg out on the couch and relax. I have to go back to work tomorrow and life will go back to normal.

  My phone buzzes with a text from Davis just as I’m crawling into bed.

  DAVIS: Just wanted to make sure you got home okay.

  ME: Made it home fine. Just going to bed. Thanks for checking.

  A lump rises in my throat and my finger hovers over the call button, but I restrain myself. As much as I want to hear his voice, it won’t help me get over him. Plus, if he was really serious about relocating, he probably won’t give up easily. He always was tenacious. I don’t want to have to keep saying no, or worse, fall into an argument over it. We left things in a good place and I want to remember it that way. I just have to keep the distance between us, physically and emotionally.

  DAVIS: Bed? What are you wearing?

  ME: A frown. I’m not sexting you.

  DAVIS: Just a frown? Not even panties? Another thong?

  Nope, I’m not taking the bait. A few minutes pass and he realizes I’m not going to answer.

  DAVIS: Do you have any idea what you do to me?

  Before I can make the decision whether
to reply, I get a picture. A picture of a hard, swollen cock.

  ME: Did you seriously just send me a dick pic?

  DAVIS: I prefer the term penis portrait.

  ME: I’m posting this to the Men Seeking Men section of Craigslist. Now stop texting me. I’m going to sleep.

  DAVIS: Good-night, beautiful.

  ME: Good-night.

  Ugh! Now I’m thinking about him. My memories of the last week get tossed and churned with memories of us as kids. I loved him. Part of me still does. He was my first love, though he didn’t know it. Sleep takes me into dreams of us.

  The sun wakes me before my alarm, since I failed to shut my curtains before bed. Oh well, since I have some extra time, I’ll treat myself to my favorite coffee shop breakfast.

  The coffee shop is right around the corner from the hospital where I work, so I’m not surprised to see Linda, the receptionist from radiology, waving for me to join her. Grabbing my coffee and blueberry muffin, I take a seat beside her.

  “How was the wedding?”

  “It was a long week, but I had fun.” Especially being bent over by my childhood crush. “Did I miss anything?”

  Chuckling, she shakes her head. “All the usual drama. Oh! Wait until you see the clinic they’re running today.” Once a month, the hospital holds a clinic to test for specific conditions. Diabetes, breast cancer, glaucoma. It mostly attracts elderly people.

  “Oh no, what is it?” I groan, popping the last bite in my mouth.

  “I’ll let you see for yourself,” she replies, as we walk to work. A banner just inside the lobby reads: What’s up your butt? Rectal and colon check clinic. I’m a professional. Okay, I’m supposed to be professional, but I can’t help giggling like a four-year-old. The people waiting in line don’t seem to see much humor in it. I suppose I wouldn’t either if it were my ass about to get probed.

  I have a great job. Being an x-ray tech lets me work in the medical field and help people without having to deal with the whole bodily fluid thing. I’m just too squeamish. I know I’m lucky because I work with friendly people and don’t dread coming to work like so many others. It can be stressful at times when I get an uncooperative patient, or have to argue with a parent who can’t understand why they’re not allowed to stay beside their child and soak up radiation, but overall, it’s enjoyable work.