Vote Then Read: Volume II

by Lauren Blakely

  I grin at his silliness. “Hufflepuff all the way.”

  I pop a chunk of food in my mouth.

  “That’s what I thought.”

  My mood lightens immediately. Bryson has a way of making me smile, even when I don’t want to, even when I want to wallow in self-pity and sleep all day. Maybe my mother was right. Maybe having him around isn’t so bad after all.

  “The books are so much better than the movies,” I tell him.

  “These movies are cinematic gold, Liv. There’s nothing better than the movies.”

  “Have you read them?” I look over at him, wishing he would put his shirt back on. He kills my concentration.

  “Reading’s not really my thing,” he admits with a shrug.

  “Everyone has read the Potter series, Bryson. You’re not human if you haven’t.”

  “I guess I’m an alien then,” he says with a grin.

  “I guess that’s why you’re inhumanly fit.” I cringe at my words, but all he does is wink at me before turning his attention back to the movie.

  We spend the next four hours in front of the television, arguing over whether Harry should have ended up in Slytherin rather than Gryffindor. I side with his original house, but Bryson held his own, insisting anyone who can speak to snakes is evil, which I couldn’t argue with.

  Chinese food turns into popcorn, and my sad mood from earlier turns into smiles and belly laughs.

  When my phone alarm goes off, Bryson stops the movie.

  Just as I’m about to tell him to turn it back on, he stands from the couch.

  “Duncan time,” he declares before walking to his room.

  I clean the living room quickly and head to my room as well.

  With a smile on my face, I log on to my laptop.

  The glint in Duncan’s eyes makes my body tremble.

  “Hey, sweet cheeks. I have an idea for tonight. You may want to grab your little toy for this.”

  12

  Bryson

  I grab some clothes from my dresser and shove the drawer shut, growling out a frustrated breath—talk about ruining a great night. Her phone goes off at the same time every night, and I should’ve paid more attention to the clock, but time just slipped away. We were actually having a good time, joking, and then that boyfriend of hers, who has her on one hell of a strict schedule, had to rear his ugly head in the form of an alarm.

  I head to the shower, wondering why I’m so irritated by this. Normally, I’d shower right after working out, but the sight of her sitting on the couch in those short-ass shorts kept me from my routine. I’m not complaining one bit, but the hit on my mood becomes too obvious.

  By the time I make it back out into the hallway, I hear his voice coming from the other side of the door, but it’s the buzzing sound and faint moan that stops me in my tracks. I lean in closer, certain she’s not in there doing what my mind automatically assumes.

  “That’s right, sweet cheeks. I see how wet you get for me. Even on video, I see that tight pussy glistening.”

  She releases a breathy moan and my cock stiffens at the sound. I picture her laid out on the bed, legs spread wide, fingers working over her slick, needy flesh. I hate that he’s seeing her when I’m only a few feet away, willing and able to give her everything she’s wanting from him.

  “Duncan,” she pants.

  “No talking, Ollie. Just feel me.”

  Her moans deepen, drowning out the sound of her buzzing toy. My cock responds to her throaty whimpers by flexing, throbbing, and begging for attention.

  I grip my dick, stroking over the fabric of my basketball shorts, giving it the attention it demands.

  “Damn,” Duncan and I groan at the same time.

  The sound that escapes my throat doesn’t even faze me. She could open this door right now, and I don’t think I could stop myself. I close my eyes and picture her laid out on her bed, her fingers and toy at her core.

  “If I were there right now, I’d lick you clean. Taste yourself,” he commands.

  “Jesus,” I mutter, taking a step back from the door. “What the fuck are you doing, Daniels?”

  As much as I hate not sticking around to hear her climax, the sound of her boyfriend’s voice makes me want to barge in and smash her computer to bits.

  I lock myself in the bathroom and finish what I started in the hallway, gasping her name as I shoot my load down the drain.

  “Morning,” I grumble, my sights set on the coffee pot. I don’t try to hide my crappy mood when I find her sitting at the small kitchen table bent over a cup of coffee.

  I slept like shit last night. Knowing Olivia was just on the other side of the wall, knowing she’s the sexiest fucking woman I’ve ever seen, and knowing she’s off-limits, even if I think her boyfriend is a complete fucking idiot for leaving her here to do God knows what wherever he is, had me on edge.

  She doesn’t answer me, so I ignore the fact that she already introverted again. I don’t have time to keep pulling her out of her shell every day. She has a boyfriend for that. I take in her slumped shoulders and the way both hands are wrapped around her cup. The depression is rolling off of her in waves, but she doesn’t seem like the type to self-harm, so I just let it be and stand against the counter, drinking my coffee rather than joining her at the table.

  “Thank you for last night,” she says, her voice soft, but she doesn’t look up from whatever has her mesmerized in her cup.

  You should thank Duncan. He’s the one who got you off.

  “Welcome,” I mutter, downing the last half of my coffee, not caring as it burns my throat all the way down.

  I hate being this guy. I’m not the guy who gets jealous over another man’s girl. I don’t get attached to a woman who’s out of bounds—hell, I don’t get attached, period.

  Out of spite, I wash the cup without soap and place it in the dishwasher. I don’t have the patience for her rules today.

  Without another word, I grab my backpack from the entryway table and head to class, realizing I spent the evening with her on the couch watching movies I’ve seen a million times instead of completing the assignments due today. Just another thing to be pissed about as I drive to school.

  And it pisses me off even more that I’m pissed about it. I didn’t have an ulterior motive when I ordered extra food yesterday. I didn’t have some plan to get into her pants. I just had the urge to spend time with her. I hate how she spends every day locked in that apartment with no social life or human interaction aside from me. I don’t really pity her. She seems quite content to watch television and sleep her life away, but there are moments when I catch the pain in her eyes, flashes of something I can’t describe—a need for something more than she’s able to give herself. That’s what draws me in.

  “What did those dumbbells ever do to you?” Liam asks, walking into the room as I let the fifty pounders tumble to the ground, my muscles screaming for mercy.

  I ignore him and move over to the squat rack, in no mood to entertain anyone right now. My early classes sucked today, just like every day, but usually I’d head back to the apartment to do homework during my three-hour break in classes on Mondays and Wednesdays. Not today. Today, I’m in the weight room at the sports complex avoiding everything Olivia.

  Liam watches while I tackle the weights without saying a word. I can’t face another sleepless night, and muscle fatigue is a surefire way to ensure I sleep better tonight.

  “You want to grab a beer? A couple of the guys are heading over to Cody’s.”

  “I have class,” I grunt, placing the bar back on the rack.

  “Yeah. You look like you’re in the mood for class.”

  He has a good point. I tried focusing on getting the assignment I flaked on while watching movies with Olivia done earlier, but I couldn’t concentrate, so there’s really no point in showing up empty-handed.

  “I’ll meet you there. I have to shower.”

  “I’ll wait,” he says, sitting on one of the weight benches.
“My truck has a flat, and it’s too fucking hot to try to change that fucker right now.”

  “Give me ten,” I tell him, grabbing my bag and walking to the showers.

  Twenty minutes later, we’re walking through the door to Cody’s. I haven’t been here yet, but I’ve heard of the place from a few of the guys on the team. It’s more crowded than I expected it to be on a Monday evening, but the noise and people milling around keeps me from focusing on my bad mood.

  We start with a few shots, and I know I’ll be walking home before the night is over. I’m nursing a beer when Simone shows up with an easy-to-read look in her eyes.

  She wraps her arm around my shoulder. “Hey there, handsome. You look like you could use some company.”

  “I’m not sure he’s in the mood, honey,” Liam says from the other side of the small pub-style table.

  I smirk at him. He’s got it all wrong. The anticipation of easy pussy always puts me in a better mood.

  “What can I do to lighten your mood?” she asks, leaning in closer to my ear. “I bet you wouldn’t turn down my mouth, would you?”

  I grin at her. “I still haven’t had your pussy.”

  She bites the corner of her red lip. “We could easily remedy that, handsome.”

  “That so?”

  Nodding, she runs her hand up my thigh, and my cock twitches at the invite.

  “Jesus, Simone. At least wait until he’s home before you whip his dick out,” Liam says.

  Ignoring him, she nips at my ear and grabs my cock.

  “I can’t drive,” I tell her, angling my beer toward the row of empty shot glasses.

  “Easy fix, baby. I rode with a friend and haven’t touched a drop.”

  I stand with her still plastered to my side, reach into my back pocket, pull out some cash, and toss it on the table.

  “Later,” I say to Liam with a grin.

  “Double bag that shit, man,” are his parting words as we leave the bar.

  For a woman in heels, Simone drives my truck like an expert, making it to the apartment in record time. It may be a little vindictive on my part, but I’m glad Olivia is sitting on the couch watching television when we show up. She doesn’t seem surprised when we stroll in, arm in arm. Her eyes dull and the corners of her mouth turn down slightly at the sight of us, disappointment clear as day.

  “Hey,” I say with a nod as we walk past.

  She doesn’t look at me, but I can’t help but notice the twitch in her jaw as she continues to stare at the television.

  Too bad you have a boyfriend. I’d rather be fucking you.

  Simone hits her knees and has my cock down her throat within thirty seconds of the door closing us into my room.

  “Fuck,” I groan, not holding back. I may have been considerate Saturday night, but it’s open season now.

  After I come down her throat, I’m ready to fuck five minutes later. I don’t even try to muffle the sound of the headboard when I start pounding into her.

  13

  Olivia

  Talk about ups and downs. I shouldn’t let Bryson and his plaything bother me but hearing them last night was brutal. Monday started out great and somehow ended up being one of the worst days I’ve had in a long time. Even headphones and the pillow over my head didn’t work. I don’t know why I expected it to when it didn’t come close to drowning out the sounds of Bryson and that girl together the first time he brought her home. It went on for hours. Just when I thought he was done, and they would finally pass out, they started all over again. Her moans this time were real; not any of that fake shit from the other day.

  Jealousy and unwanted arousal at being forced to listen to them all night still swims in my gut as I get up and head to the bathroom to shower. Anticipating them sleeping late, even though Bryson has class, makes me scramble out of the room, hoping to be finished before they wake up.

  As soon as I reach the bathroom, Bryson’s low moan sounds out from the other side of the door. I stand in the hall, foot tapping while I wait for them to emerge. Minutes later, I come face-to-face with Bryson and his plaything in the narrow hallway. Her giggle may be the same, but the realization that there’s a reason she wears so much makeup makes me feel slightly better about myself. I shouldn’t take pride in the fact that once her pounds of cosmetics are washed down the drain and the product is rinsed from her hair, she’s nothing more than average. Splotchy skin and a rat’s nest on her head is not how she looked when she sauntered in with him last night.

  “Morning,” he says as I flatten myself against the wall, waiting for them to pass. The post-orgasmic flush to his cheeks makes me envious of her for a split second.

  He slaps her ass when she stops to talk to me, urging her back to his room without saying a word. I don’t even bother gawking at him in nothing but a low-slung towel around his hips. Most of the appeal he had the last time I saw him in nothing but a towel is overpowered by disgust and pain. I’m more focused on my towel wrapped around her rail-thin body. I bite my tongue against the snide comments I want to make and close myself into the bathroom. The small room is complete mayhem. Her discarded lace panties on the floor are more than I can deal with right now. I immediately turn around and go back to my room, refusing to clean up his mess, as if the sex marathon last night wasn’t enough to deal with.

  Shortly after I return to my room, I hear both of them leave and a sense of relief washes over me. I specifically stated in my rules there would be no sex in the living room, but I didn’t realize I needed to list all the common areas in the apartment. I make a mental note to send a revised list to him.

  I pace for what seems like forever. Unable to forget about the condition the bathroom is in, I huff and leave the room, heading to the kitchen for cleaning supplies. After donning yellow kitchen gloves that go all the way up to my elbow, I attack the bathroom with a fury.

  I toss her panties in the trash and break the rule about invading his space when I open his bedroom door and scoop my towel off the floor. Out of spite, I toss it into the trashcan along with her discarded lingerie. Who the hell leaves a guy’s apartment wearing fewer clothes than they arrived in?

  I’m on my knees, spray bottle of cleaner and scrub brush in hand, when I feel him in the doorway. Ignoring the fact that he’s here when he should be at school, I continue to scrub the tub.

  “What the hell are you doing?” His voice is gruff, the playfulness that usually marks it nowhere to be found. Why he’s angry at me, I have no idea. I’m not the one who kept him up all night and left the bathroom disgusting.

  “Cleaning the damn tub. I can’t shower knowing you and that girl were fucking in here.” The heat of my anger crawls up my neck, flushing my cheeks, and the tops of my ears burn as my blood begins to boil.

  “That’s ridiculous, Liv.”

  “Don’t call me that,” I snap, my back still facing him. Yesterday, the nickname was endearing. Today, it just grates on my last nerve.

  “We didn’t have sex in the shower, Olivia,” he says, emphasizing my name in anger.

  “Sure as hell sounded like it,” I mutter, spraying more bleach in the tub.

  “Why were you listening to what we were doing in here?” he spits.

  “Kind of hard to miss, Bryson. The walls are thin. You know that as much as I do.”

  “I sure as fuck do!” His anger is misplaced. Maybe his plaything wasn’t as good of a time as he had hoped. “I was forced to listen to you finger-fucking yourself minutes after spending the fucking day with me watching movies. You’re not innocent in all of this.”

  My cheeks flush even more; this time from embarrassment. I didn’t even take into consideration that Bryson could hear what was going on the other night in my room.

  “Were you thinking of me while you were talking to him, obeying every dirty command he gave you?” I don’t justify his question with an answer. “Have you even told him I’m here, Olivia? Does he know your eyes follow every move I make? Have you shared with him that you prac
tically drool at the sight of me? Is he aware that I get hard every time you lick your perfect fucking lips? Have you shared all that with him?”

  He gets hard around me? For some reason, the knowledge that I affect him makes me happy.

  I inwardly chastise myself at the thought. All the things he just said, and that’s the tidbit I hold on to?

  I turn my attention away from the tub and stare at him in stunned silence, unable to formulate the words to explain things to him. My mouth opens and closes several times, but no sound comes out.

  “Forget about it,” he sighs. Pointing to the tub, he says, “You don’t have to keep scrubbing the goddamn tub. There’s nothing to clean. She swallowed every last drop.”

  He storms away, leaving me staring at the empty doorway until the slam of his bedroom door forces my eyes closed. That is not how I saw this morning going.

  I’m still sitting on the floor watching the door when I see him walk by several long minutes later. The front door closes with a slam and strained silence fills the apartment. I only get up from the floor when my knees begin to scream at me. The hard tile is no place to wallow in my emotions.

  After returning the cleaning supplies to the kitchen, I head back into the clean bathroom to shower. The hot water sloshing over my body helps relieve some of the tension in my stressed muscles, but it doesn’t fully abate the rigidity that has been building in them since last night.

  Coffee is next on my agenda, even though I want nothing more than to climb into bed and sleep until the frustration and confusion over my feelings for Bryson goes away. I’ve been alone for months, but today, for some reason, the pull of interaction is stronger than most. Guilt at how I spoke to him clouds my already depressed mind. It’s apparent, on both our parts, feelings neither of us want for each other are there.

  I carry my coffee to the living room and pick up my phone from the table. I turn it in my hands, over and over, until hitting the familiar number on my contact’s list.