by TC Matson
“This is delicious,” I say.
“You want something mouthwatering other than me, you should try my ribs,” he says.
“I love—” My words are cut off by the muffled sound of my phone ringing.
I move around the living room trying to find it, looking under the pillows on the couch and on the coffee table before finding my purse on the other side.
“Where are you?” Scarlett exclaims. She’s such a worrywart. “You were supposed to call me when you got home last night. I’ve been texting and calling all morning. Now I’m standing in your place looking for blood droplets.”
I laugh. “I’m still at Kyce’s.”
She blows an exhale. “Being your friend is hard,” she whines. “I thought you said spending the night with a man is too intimate?”
“It can be.”
She sighs. “Have you forgotten our lunch date?”
Shit. “No. I’ve got an hour and a half.”
“You know when you get home, I want all the deets, right?”
“I’ll be there soon,” I tell her.
After hanging up, I slide back onto the stool, placing my phone beside the plate.
Kyce nods at it. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah. My best friend was worried. I forgot to check in last night.”
He smiles. “Good friend.” He pushes to his feet and places his plate into the sink. “Whenever you’re ready, I’ll take you home.”
Kyce pulls up to the curb, placing his truck in park. “What are you doing Tuesday?”
“Working.”
“After work. You have me craving ribs and I want you to experience mine,” he says.
“Kyce…” I drop my hands to my lap. “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea of me. I’m truly not interested in dating and relationships. At all. I don’t want to answer to anyone. I don’t want the lies. And I sure as fuck don’t care for the hurt that eventually comes with it all. Trying to make someone else happy is too much work when I’m happy being alone.”
Tucking his finger under my chin, he pulls my face to his. “I’m not interested in being your boyfriend. You don’t have to answer to me. I’m definitely not a liar. And I sure as fuck am not out to hurt anyone,” he replies across the board. “But to remind you, you have been on two dates with me.”
“The first one was a thank you. And last night…” Memories of him above me flash and I bite my grin.
“I proved I didn’t have a freakishly little dick.” He smirks.
“I’m the girl who has had her heart broken and now all men are assholes. I have trust issues. Being tied down doesn’t sound good to me because I love my freedom.”
I swear he licks his lips to discombobulate me. “I’m not asking for your heart. I’m asking for your sex. I won’t tie you down except in the bedroom. I want you in my bed as much as possible. I want to fuck you knowing that I blow your mind as much as you do mine. No strings attached.”
It’s the very thing I’ve wanted—no strings and great sex—but hearing it out loud is revolting and it scalds me with acid.
Disgust curls my lips. “As in your booty call?” The words burn my tongue as they cross it.
He shakes his head slightly. “No. Consider us friends with exceptional benefits.”
The tic flitting on his lips pisses me off. “Wow. You have a way with words. How many booty calls do you have?” I don’t even try to hide the contempt.
“None.” He’s too nonchalant about it, like he’s had this conversation often. “We both have been burned and don’t want a relationship. But we both know our sex is incredible. I want more. A lot more. We’re on the same page. This can’t get any more convenient.”
His words, although truthful, hurt. It wrings my heart and makes me feel like I’m not good enough. Even though I don’t want a relationship, I’m damn good enough for a man to want one. I feel used. Dirty and whorish.
“I’ve got to go,” I snap, dropping out of his truck.
He’s in front of me in a flash. “I didn’t mean to offend you, but—”
“It’s stupid, really. It’s a great idea, but hearing that I’m not worth more than a phone call, that fucking hurt,” I grit.
His brows furrow. “You even said you didn’t want more.”
“I don’t. But I don’t like feeling like a low paid whore either.”
“I didn’t mean to…” He stops, glancing around and gathering his thoughts before continuing. “I’ve got this magnificent woman in front of me who fucks my socks off like no other. Our conversations are light and easy. You’re brutally blunt and sarcastic. Honest and real. Neither of us expect a relationship, but you can’t deny the sex is great.”
I feel…cheap. “Scarlett is waiting on me. I’ve got to go.” I side-step him and rush down the alley.
I can’t believe what he’s asking of me, like I’m a low-key slut. It burns me to my core the more I think about it. Is this how booty calls work? A tryout and then the signup?
By the time I enter my apartment, I’m fuming and ready to explode. I slam the worthless excuse of a door behind me and Scarlett leaps to her feet.
“Where’s the body? Shovels are in my trunk,” she says.
She may be virtuous, but I have no doubts that she’d help me if needed.
“That man has a damn way with words,” I snap tossing my purse on the couch. “Let me rephrase that—a shitty way with words.”
“What happened? What did he say?”
“He asked me outright to be his booty call.” I look to the ceiling. “His exact words were to consider us friends with exceptional benefits.”
Perplexity pinches her face and she tilts her head, furrowing her brows. “I’m not following. Isn’t that what you wanted? Or was he horrible in bed?”
I flop on the couch and rake my hands over my face. “Best. Fucking. Sex. Ever.”
“Now I’m really confused.” She sits beside me.
“Hearing him say it. That stung. Like I’m a whore.”
“We all know you’re not one of those.” She puts her hand on my knee and squeezes. “Maybe you’re putting too much thought and feelings into it? Give or take a few words, but it’s the very thing you’ve said you wanted.”
I sigh, slouching back. “There’s no feelings other than fabulous orgasms.”
“Then explain what you’re mad about. Do you want more with him? Have you finally realized you deserve more?”
“I don’t want more. I just…” I dig my palms into my forehead. “It was the execution of the conversation.”
“Is there supposed to be an etiquette?” she asks innocently.
“A booty call etiquette?” I laugh and then shake my head looking back to my hands in my lap. “It made me feel like I have no value.” My voice is stripped and left vulnerable.
“Because you’ve always been in a relationship. Maybe he did the right thing and you just don’t know it.”
“I need a shower.” I get to my feet, totally over this conversation. Now I feel like I’ve completely overreacted. Great…
“Regardless, I’m glad you got out of the drought.”
Her words stop my feet and I pivot toward her. “What kind of drought?” I ask, daring her. It’s either sex or dick. There’s nothing else she can put there.
“A dry one,” she snorts.
I groan with a laugh. “You suck as a friend. Repeat after me. Jolie had fantastic sex last night. Mind-blowing, earth-shattering sex.”
She smiles, a pink stain appearing on her cheeks, but she says nothing.
“One day I’ll get you to say it. One day, my friend!”
Chapter 8
It’s Wednesday, the middle of the week when everyone is out running errands, getting organized before the weekend hits, and doing their hump day shit that doesn’t include being at the casino. Of course some people are here, but work today is slow, as it is every Wednesday.
It gives me all the time in the world to think. I haven’t heard from
Jolie since the weekend and my texts have gone unanswered.
She said she hated lies. I gave her the truth.
She said she didn’t want a relationship. I gave her a proposal.
Sex with her is undeniably the best I’ve ever had. From the way I fit into her to the way she moans my name. Our bodies beg for each other. We’re a perfect fit, if only I can get her on board.
Through my earpiece, I’m assigned to escort Tracy from her table to the cage and then once cleared, accompany her to the car for her safety. This is no different from any other teller, except it’s Tracy. The woman has had the hots for me since she started eight months ago, and she’s not shy about it either. She flips her hair, uses breathy laughs, touches my arms, and bats her brown eyes. She’s also my elder by at least a hundred years. Over time, I’ve come to love the woman for who she is.
“Well, hello,” she purrs, batting her eyes when I step beside her to let her know I’m here. “It’s always great to end a long day with a big, strong, hunk like you protecting me.”
“You say that to all security, Tracy.”
She waggles her brows. “But I mean it with you.”
I chuckle and follow her to the cage. Jackson implements multiple rules with the tellers, one of them being they can’t remove their hands from the till. But if Tracy could, she’d ride piggyback while caressing my chest.
Opening the door for her to enter the dealers’ cage, Tracy winks. “I’ll miss you, Muscles.”
I bite my smile.
Twenty minutes later, she comes back out with her things. “You can take me home now.”
“To your car,” I correct her.
She flips her wrist. “You’re always destroying my dreams.”
We don’t say anything else as we exit the building and enter the parking lot.
“What’s on your mind, Muscles?” she glances over to me.
I arch a brow. “Not a thing.”
“You’re not your normal spunky self. You should come over and let me cook you a dinner and then give you a back massage.”
I chuckle.
“Yeah, yeah. I know. But you could be nice and make an old woman’s dream come true.” She smiles. “You’re glowing. You’ve met someone.”
“Glowing?”
“You have a gleam in your eyes, Muscles. Charles used to get that same look before he passed. God rest his soul. I miss that man.” She glances back to me. “She must be something spectacular if she’s caught your attention. Got to be better than those other wenches you’ve told me about.”
“It’s nothing like that,” I lie and pull open her car door.
She shifts onto a hip. “I may be old, but I’m not stupid. Denying yourself happiness is about as foolish as cheating on your taxes. You’ll end up getting caught with your pants down. Be real with yourself. You deserve that.”
“I think you’re becoming senile, Tracy,” I jest. “It’s really not like that.”
Her lips tighten into a knowing sad smile. “You’ll wake up one day.” She squeezes my bicep. “How you make me wish I was young again. Have a great night, Muscles. Here if you need me.” She slides into her car.
“You too. Be careful.” I say and then head back in to clock out. She was my last teller and I’m glad. I need gym time.
I’m surprised to see Ryker sweating in the ring with Carter when I walk in. He doesn’t do late evenings anymore, not since settling down and having a baby. He makes balancing his dedication for fighting and the love for his family look easy.
“Doucheface! What the hell are you doing here? You slip out of lockdown or thrown into the dog house?” I tease my brother.
He gives me the look—the one where he wants to pummel my face with love. “Carter’s got a fight coming up.”
I feign hurt, slapping a hand over my heart and stumbling backward. “And you didn’t tell me? I’m offended.”
“Found out this afternoon. A fighter had to forfeit because the dipshit thought it would be a smart move to show off on a skateboard. Now he’s sitting on his ass with a broken leg, and Carter’s gearing up for war. Get in here and spar.”
“I didn’t come here to spar,” I say, so full of shit. Any chance I get, I have no qualms jumping in. You can call it a free training session or the best damn workout. Either way, I love it. “I came to borrow your shitter.”
Ryker narrows his eyes at me. We have a love-hate kind of relationship. We love to hate each other and we hate to love each other, in the most brotherly “we’ll kill for one another if you fuck with us” way. What kind of brother would I be if I didn’t return the hell he gives me?
“Wrap up. He needs someone smaller and wiry.”
I puff my chest. “Does your dumbass not realize we’re almost the same size?”
“Does your dumbass not realize you’re about to be a blood spot on the fucking floor if you don’t get your ass in here?”
“You’re so needy,” I quip walking away to the locker room.
After changing and wrapping up, I jump in the ring with the guys. Ryker’s been coaching Carter for a while now. One of the stipulations the MMAP gave Ryker was to become a coach and have the fighter win some bouts within a certain time frame. Carter was his guy—a skinny ass kid with no frame. Now he’s a muscular thirty pounds heavier and a beast.
Carter’s hair is flat against his head, drenched in sweat. He already looks gassed out. I tip my chin. “You good? How long have you been at it?”
His lips contort into a haughty grin. He doesn’t answer me, but instead fires off a quick jab, landing it into my cheek and waking me the fuck up. He doesn’t wait for me to recover. He leans into a right hook, but I duck and then retaliate with a burst of rights and lefts. He weaves, moving back and forth, averting most of my punches.
Forty-five minutes of listening to Ryker bark demands, Carter and I going from toe-to-toe to grappling on the mat, I’m fucking done. Carter springs to his feet. I roll to my back and drop my arms to the side.
“You’ve become a brute,” I say, breathless.
Carter blows a laugh. “Training. Which you have more of than me. Get up.”
“No can do. My body feels like Jell-O.”
“Work past it,” he says.
“I don’t have anything to prove, wind-up doll. I’m tagging Ryker back in.”
Ryker bellows a laugh. “We’re done for the night. I’m ready to get back home.”
I lift my head to Carter. “Saved by the coach.”
Seriously, my legs feel like they’re going to buckle after that. My body is vibrating and not in a good way. My muscles scream in agony. I haven’t worked out that intensely in a long time.
Ryker and Carter are sitting on a bench with white towels hanging over their necks when I reemerge from the locker room. I didn’t bother to shower, too shaky for that shit.
My phone pings.
Jolie: Who is supposed to initiate said booty call?
It surprises me so much that my feet immediately stop, causing the rest of my body to stumble forward. A grin erupts.
Kyce: Whoever needs said booty call.
Jolie: Well, I don’t need booty, but I could use a cock call. How does this work?
Kyce: My place in an hour? Are you hungry?
Jolie: I’ll be there. And no.
Ryker’s watching me curiously with a knowing smirk.
I lift a shoulder, tucking my phone back into my pocket. “Gotta take off.” I clap Carter’s shoulder. “It’s been fun.”
“Who is she?” Ryker asks.
I hate when he sniffs shit out. “A friend,” I say being honest.
He grunts. “My friends don’t make me smile like that.”
“You need better friends then.”
Carter barks a laugh. “Whitney would cut his dick off if he had that type of friend.”
“The perks of being single,” I quip and then tip my head. “Good night, fuckfaces.
Chapter 9
After some careful considerat
ion and a worthless solo act, I realized Kyce was, in fact, right in more ways than one. We do have great sex and I’d be an idiot to resort to a dildo when I can have the real thing rocking my world.
I overreacted. I’m woman enough to admit that. I’ve never been asked to be a booty call and I didn’t like the way it made me feel. I needed time to mull it over. It’s mulled. Shortly contemplated. All facts considered. It’s a no-brainer. I’m going to get laid by a man who knows how to rock my entire universe.
Pulling into his driveway and making my way to his door, my heart thrums in my chest. I’ve never experienced this level of nervousness. I’m a confident chick. The “knows what she wants and goes to get it” type. Here I am knowing what I want and going to get it with a bundle of excited nerves.
I knock and Kyce opens the door in nothing but shorts riding low on his hips and the sexiest devilish smirk. His hair is damp, disheveled like he just got out of the shower and ran his fingers through it. His chest is bare and muscly and my hormones crackle through my bloodstream.
His gaze cruises over my body tantalizing every inch it touches. He hums. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.” I follow him into the kitchen. “Want something to drink? I have beer, tequila, and water.”
Liquid courage! “I’ll take a shot.” Or six…
He takes a shot with me, tossing it back like he’s drinking water while I hiss through the burn as fire exits my nose.
Kyce snatches my wrist, yanking me into him, and then moves it behind my back, pulling so I’m forced to arch into him. He drags his nose along the shell of my ear. “You had me worried I’d never hear from you again.” His voice is raspy. “That I’d never experience the best sex of my life ever again.”
My breath hitches as a shiver tumbles down my spine.
“Fast and hard or slow and easy…” His voice is so low it sounds more like a growl.
It buckles my powers. “All,” I breathe.
A wolfish grin spreads his lips before he spins me, planting my face against the cold stainless steel fridge. He presses his body against me, pinning my hands above my head. Goosebumps explode across my skin as he drags his tongue up and down the back of my neck.