Hey, I made it into March. That’s something. Most people quit going to their new gym by the end of January.
Music from the party blares through the bathroom door. I’ve had at least two too many drinks at this point, and I’m debating whether I should call it a night and stumble up to Selene’s place, or pound another shot and see if I can rally. That guy … what’s his name, Dylan? He’s been fun, and he was totally checking me out when I got up to use the bathroom. Plus he’s mega hot. Maybe I should stick around and see if I can get lucky.
I really, really want to get lucky.
Why the fuck I’m so horny, I have no idea. I’m probably mid-cycle or something. Slow down, ovaries. You’re on vacation right now, you sneaky little minxes. But chemically suppressed fertility or no, I haven’t been well and truly fucked in months, and I’m looking to get laid tonight.
It has absolutely nothing to do with the copious amount of gin I’ve had.
Squaring my shoulders, I adjust my blue beaded necklace and pull my shirt down a little more so my boobs look better. You have to use the assets you have, and I do have fantastic boobs. I’ll let Dylan put his face in them all night long, if he has a nice big cock and knows how to use it.
Wedge heels were probably not the best choice for tonight, but I manage to get back to the table without falling over. Selene is at another table, laughing with some of our other friends. Braxton was here, but I haven’t seen him in a while. He probably took some dumb girl home with him already.
Wait, no, I see him near the bar, talking to a group of guys. Probably talking sports. All Braxton has to do is name-drop a few of his clients, and dudes go nuts. I almost angle myself toward him and keep walking to the bar. He’s like a magnet. But Dylan catches my eye and smiles, beckoning me closer.
“Hey, gorgeous,” Dylan says when I get back to the table. I don’t think I know the rest of the people sitting here. They must be Dylan’s friends. I don’t know Dylan either, but he’s here, and he’s hot, and he’s looking at me with just the right expression. The I’m going to fuck you later look.
I give him that look right back. Yes. Yes, you are.
He pulls me into his lap, and I put my arm around his shoulders.
Selene catches my eye from her spot at the other table. She raises her eyebrows, but Dylan says something and I burst into laughter. I’m not even sure what he said, but everyone else laughs, so I join in. Then the laughing itself seems funny, so I keep going.
I’m starting to fade and I haven’t gotten another drink. I open my mouth to ask Dylan to get me one when he puts his mouth near my ear.
“Do you want to get out of here?”
“Oh god, yes,” I say—at least, I think that’s what I say. My head is spinning so much, it’s taking a lot of effort not to fall right out of the guy’s lap.
He helps me to my feet and pretty soon I’m fumbling with my key to Selene’s house. We were right around the corner, and I planned on staying here anyway. I lead him inside, pulling my clothes off as we make our way to my room.
***
My eyes are so gritty I can barely open them. Holy shit, what did I do to myself last night? My head is already pounding with the hangover from hell. I shift a little, and something feels weird. I peek beneath the sheets. Yep, I’m naked. Why did I go to bed naked?
Oh no. I’m not alone, am I?
I look over my shoulder; sure enough, there he is. He’s asleep next to me, eyes closed, his chest rising and falling. The night comes back to me, hazily. Lots of gin. Me sitting in his lap. He was either very funny, or I was very drunk.
At this point, I strongly suspect the latter.
I put my hand to my forehead and close my eyes. I remember now. Stumbling up the hill to Selene’s house. Fumbling with the keys. My clothes are probably still strewn across the living room. We got in here, and—
Fuck, he was awful.
He slapped against me like a penguin waddling across a fucking glacier. How that’s an apt metaphor for crappy sex, I have no idea, but it definitely fits. In five minutes—if I’m being generous—he was done, rolling off me with a self-satisfied groan, like he’d just done something amazing.
I can assure you, there was no amazing.
I get out of bed as quietly as I can and put on a zip-up sweatshirt that’s sitting nearby. I’m achy, and it’s not the I had hard sex last night kind. It’s the I didn’t have an orgasm when I expected to kind. Maybe I should have taken care of business myself afterward, but I think I more or less passed out at that point.
Now? I’m mildly throbbing. I figure I’ll duck into the bathroom and see if I can DIY the tension away before Mr. Penguin Sex wakes up.
“Morning,” he says, his voice sleepy.
I freeze, like a kid caught shoplifting. I turn and give him what I hope is a nice enough smile. I probably look like hell, but I’m definitely not seeing him again, so what the fuck do I care?
“Hi, um, bathroom,” I say. “You can go whenever.”
I duck into the bathroom, but there’s no way I can relax enough to get off if I think he’s listening. For a girl who hooked up with a random dude—I’m fairly sure his name is Dylan—last night, I’m surprisingly uptight about masturbation. I don’t do it on a regular basis, saving it for times when I’m particularly tense. Like when I’m expecting a good O and don’t get one.
But I can’t do it if I feel pressure, or if I think someone is listening. There’s a certain amount of relaxation necessary for any orgasm, self-induced or otherwise, and without that I can’t make it happen. At this point, touching myself is only going to make the problem worse.
I linger in the bathroom, hoping he takes the hint and leaves. He doesn’t. Apparently this guy is really clueless. Fortunately, I have a pair of yoga pants and a t-shirt in the bathroom. I give them a quick sniff—they smell decent enough—and slip them on. I’ll have to deal with going commando, because I have no idea where my panties are. I only hope I didn’t take those off in the living room too.
I decide ignoring him is my best plan, and come out of the bathroom. It’s actually a terrible plan, but I’m hoping he gets the hint, even if he didn’t before.
No one else is downstairs, for which I’m immensely grateful. I pick up our clothes, draping his on the couch in plain view of my bedroom door, so he won’t have to hunt for them when he comes out. I hope Braxton didn’t crash here last night. I feel like I’m doing the equivalent of the walk of shame, and he’ll get way too much of a kick out of it if he’s here to witness it.
The front door opens, and Selene walks in with two big coffees. “Morning, sunshine,” she says. and hands me a coffee.
“I am so in love with you right now,” I say. “Maybe we should just say fuck it all and become lesbians together.”
“There are days when that is so tempting,” she says.
I hold the coffee beneath my nose and breathe it in. My headache already feels better, just by the proximity to my only real love.
“So, did you hook up with that guy last night?” she asks.
As if on cue, the toilet flushes. My eyes widen.
Selene’s lips turn up in a sly grin. “Is that Mr. Hookup in your bathroom?”
I groan. “Yes.”
“Not a good hookup, then?”
“No,” I say, with a sad shake of my head. “He was clumsy and fast. I’m not even going to lie to you—I have the female equivalent of blue balls right now.”
“Ugh,” Selene says with a dramatic eye roll. “That’s the worst. Why didn’t you take care of it yourself?”
I shrug. “I was pretty drunk, and I fell asleep. Or passed out. Whatever. But fuck, Selene, I’m so uncomfortable.”
Dylan comes out in nothing but his underwear. He sees Selene and gives her a grin. “Hi.”
I point to the couch. “Your stuff is over there.”
He makes a show of putting his clothes back on. Selene snickers and I barely stop myself from bashing my forehead on the kitchen c
ounter. But my head already feels like it’s going to explode, so I do not need to make it worse.
“So, do you want me to call you?” Dylan asks.
I open my mouth to reply, but I’m not sure what to say. I don’t want him to call me—not even a little bit—but I don’t think he has my number anyway. I’m trying to come up with a response that doesn’t make me sound like a total bitch when the front door bangs open and Braxton strides in.
“Hey, Brax,” Selene says. She sits on the couch with her coffee.
Braxton pauses and appraises Dylan. He’s at least four inches taller than my unfortunate hookup, and he’s blocking the way to the front door.
Dylan’s eyes move from me to Braxton a few times. I try not to die of awkwardness.
“Morning, ladies,” Braxton says.
How the fuck is he so chipper in the morning? Didn’t he get shit-faced last night, too?
“Hi,” I say, not bothering to fake morning enthusiasm any more than I faked an orgasm last night.
Braxton comes into the kitchen, walking past Dylan like he no longer exists. He grabs my coffee and takes a sip. “You look like shit.”
“Thanks,” I say, making sure to sound extra sarcastic.
“I call it like I see it,” he says.
“She has lady blue balls,” Selene says over her shoulder.
My mouth drops open and Braxton raises his eyebrows.
“What the fuck?” Dylan says.
Braxton laughs and looks over his shoulder at Dylan. “I’d say that’s your cue to go, big guy.” He turns quickly to me, the slightest shadow of doubt crossing his features. He was dangerously close to breaking our unspoken pact with that comment, and I can tell he knows it.
I turn one side of my mouth up in a little smile. He bent the rule; he didn’t break it. A shitty hookup doesn’t need to be protected from him. I move my eyes to Dylan and nod toward the front door.
“See ya,” I say.
Dylan makes a face like he might defend his manhood, but he just grabs his sweatshirt and leaves.
I groan when the front door closes, putting my hand to my forehead. “What is wrong with me? Seriously, that guy? Selene, why did you let me do that? You should have stopped me.”
“You were beyond help last night,” she says. “Having said that, I actually think you’re right. I shouldn’t have let that go down. It’s not like you got anything good out of the deal. Just frustration.”
“You still … frustrated?” Braxton asks, raising an eyebrow.
I feel a tingle in my belly that goes right between my legs, and the throbbing starts all over again. I look away. “I’m fine.”
“Just go deal with it,” Selene says. “I’ll turn on the TV so we won’t hear if you make noise.”
“God, Selene, really?” I ask. “I’m not going to go deal with it with you guys sitting out here.”
Selene laughs. “Oh come on, it’s us. Have any of us not heard the others having sex at some point? I can deal. And Braxton’s my brother, so it’s really gross.”
“You haven’t heard me having sex,” Braxton says.
“Um, are you joking?” she asks. “Of course I have.”
“When?”
“Too many times to count,” she says. “It started back in high school. You brought that one girl home constantly.”
Braxton laughs. “Nothing in our teens counts. Teenagers are bumbling idiots.” He flashes a grin at me. “Well, I wasn’t. But I was noisier than I needed to be.”
I roll my eyes at him. “I’m sure you were amazing from the start.”
He shrugs. “I was.”
Somehow I don’t doubt it.
“I realize I kind of brought it up, but can we stop talking about Braxton and sex?” Selene asks.
Braxton sits on a bar stool and takes another sip of my coffee, then hands it back to me. “Why? I rather like talking about me and sex.”
“If you don’t stop, I’ll start talking about me and sex,” Selene says.
He glares at her. “Touché.” He turns his smoldering gaze back on me. “So what about it, Ky? You need me to relieve some tension? I bet I can do it in under ten seconds flat.” He licks his lips and twitches his fingers.
My breath catches a little. I take a sip of coffee to cover the sudden shiver that runs down my spine. “No, I’m good.”
“You sure?” he says with a smirk.
He holds my gaze for a long moment, and I’d be lying if I said I’m not tempted. A tiny bit tempted. But only because I’m so keyed up and I’m pretty sure he can make good on that ten seconds flat promise.
Then Selene’s face catches my eye. She’s looking at Braxton the way Braxton’s last girlfriend looked at me. Murder glare.
I see the instant he realizes how his sister is looking at him. The mischievous, seductive grin is gone, as if it had never been there, and he takes my coffee out of my hands. “You really need to pick better one night stands, Ky. This is getting embarrassing.”
I let out another sigh. He takes a drink and hands it back. He’s more right than he knows.
“You know what, my new year’s resolutions got fucked all to hell, so I’m regrouping right now,” I say. “No more stupid hookups. No more pointless sex. I’m either going to be with a guy with actual potential, or no one at all.”
“Good for you, babe,” Selene says.
Braxton looks at me, his expression unreadable. I hate it when he looks at me like that. I don’t know what he’s thinking, but it usually means he’s about to make fun of me.
“Yeah, good,” he says. “You should be with someone with potential.”
I raise my eyebrows at him. Really? That’s all he’s got? “Okay, then. We’re all in agreement. I need you guys to help me stick with this. This year was supposed to be different, but it won’t be if I keep doing the same things over and over. Isn’t that, like, the definition of insanity or something?”
Braxton takes my coffee again. “Okay, then. To different.” He raises the cup and takes a sip, then hands it back to me.
“To different,” I say. Maybe it’s not midnight on January first, but I can toast to that.
To different.
Ideas like that always sound good when you’re at the beginning of them, don’t they? I’m going to change! I’m going to be better! I’m going to stop jumping into bed with losers!
Six weeks into my renewed pledge to change my life, and I’m basically bored and lonely.
Other than going to work, I haven’t been out much. I’m too skittish to go out, as if I won’t be able to control myself and I’ll let some guy’s dick fall into me accidentally. I haven’t had a drink since the Night of Gin and Bad Choices. I’d miss that more if I was going out, but since I’m not, it sort of works. And hey, I’m all caught up on at least five different series on Netflix, so I have that going for me.
But right now, different is dull.
I grab the two bags of takeout and head into the building where my dad lives, then sign in at the front desk and take the food upstairs. I Skyped Dad before I left, so he’s already sitting at his little dining table when I come in.
“Hey sweetheart,” he says.
I can tell right away he’s having a good day. His face is relaxed and his eyes aren’t tinged with pain. “Hi Dad.”
I set the food on the table and get plates and silverware, hoping he can hold his fork okay. I bring everything out and dish us up. “Sorry it’s been so long since I’ve been by,” I say as I sit down. “How have you been?”
“As good as can be expected,” he says.
At least he’s honest. “Are you keeping busy?”
“Oh, sure,” he says. “What about you? Are you dating anyone?”
Ugh, really, Dad? “No, I’m definitely not dating anyone.”
“Why definitely?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “I’m focusing on me right now.”
“That sounds like a bunch of magazine mumbo jumbo.”
I
laugh. “I just want to date the right guys instead of the wrong ones for a change.”
He takes a bite. It’s slow, but he manages. “You’ve been dating the wrong ones?”
“Well, obviously—because hi, pushing thirty and still single,” I say.
Dad puts his fork down. “You’ll find him, sweetheart. You just make sure he’s good to you. You’re a bright, beautiful woman, and you don’t deserve anything less than a man who treats you well.”
A lump rises in my throat. “Aw, Dad, you’re going to make me cry.”
He just smiles at me.
I’m not used to him being quite so … emotive. He’s usually lawyer-serious.
“So, does this working-on-you plan include finding a new job?” he asks.
I do my best not to groan. My career choice is a sore subject between us. He wanted me to go to law school. Instead, I went to art school and got a degree in graphic design—which I have yet to actually use, because I couldn’t find a graphic design job for the first few years out of college. Since then, I’ve more or less stopped looking.
“Work is fine,” I say. That’s not even a tiny bit true. My job is stupid and boring. “But I’ve been thinking about doing some freelance stuff.”
He looks skeptical. “Well, that’s something.”
I try not to let him get to me. I’m holding my own, supporting myself. That’s not failure, right? Just because I don’t have my dream career, doesn’t mean I should have gone to law school.
But I don’t want to argue with my dad. We did enough of that years ago. So I change the subject and ask about his favorite sports teams. It’s a surefire way to keep him talking, and away from sensitive subjects.
We finish our meal, and I clean up. I can tell he’s worn out, so I say my goodbyes and leave him to get some rest.
I check my phone on my way out to my car, and find a text from Selene. It simply says, Carrot cake.
I text her back. I’m there.
I head over to Selene’s house. She has a cake sitting out on a plate on the kitchen counter. It’s covered in cream cheese frosting with little icing carrots all around the edge.
“Did you bake?” I ask with disbelief.
She laughs. “No, I just put it on a plate so it would look pretty. I got it from Metro Market.”
Always Have: (Bad Boy Romance) Page 4