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I choke on my cough of disbelief. Forget? Not fucking likely. “Shouldn’t be too hard,” I mutter like a jerk, and she appears injured for a moment. I hate myself for it, but it’s for the best. Once was a mistake. Twice? Fucked up. “And since I’ve fired you, we don’t have to endure each other at work.” Listen to me. Just fucking listen to me.
I expect a fully deserved slap, any kind of retaliation. I get nothing. Just a smile as she inhales long and steadily. I hate how together she is. How unaffected. How fucking mature. “Excuse me.” She turns and weaves her way through the tables.
Just like that.
Done.
Gone.
Fuck.
I wanted a slap. Anything to show she cares. It’s fucked up on so many levels, because a cavalier Pearl is the best outcome. Did she use me? And if so, why the fuck do I care? But I do care. I really fucking care that she appears indifferent. Calm. I can’t stop fucking thinking about her.
That’s your problem, Brad. Not hers.
I’m out of my chair fast, going after her. I’m not done. She fucking used me?
I barge into the female changing rooms and am greeted by a collection of shocked gasps, a couple of women scrambling to cover their chests with towels or clothes, whatever they can lay their hands on. But I don’t turn away. I don’t leave. Pearl’s halfway to getting her tank off, revealing her black bra, and her denim shorts are undone, showing a flash of her black panties. She looks between me and the other two women as she slowly continues pulling her tank up over her head. Her hair gets caught up in the material, falling down and swishing around her face. “Brad?” she questions, dropping it to the bench.
The other two women appear frozen. Shocked? Awed? Both? I can’t speak, so I flash them a look that tells them it’s time to leave before I turn away and give them some privacy to dress, at the same time scrubbing a hand down my face, willing myself to leave too. I hear the door open and close.
And my skin prickles. My cock throbs. “The fuck?” I breathe to myself.
“Pardon?”
Leave.
Leave, leave, leave.
“Nothing.” I face her. Do. Not. Look. At. Her. Chest.
“Do you want something?” she asks, sliding her hands into the tops of her shorts.
I blink, looking away from that too. Do I want something? I laugh on the inside. Oh Pearl, do not ask me stupid fucking questions. I need to pull this back before I confirm beyond all doubt that I’m fucked up. “This stays between us,” I say, closing my eyes to escape the sight of her pushing her shorts down her shapely legs.
“Do you think I’m going to call a sleepover with all of my girlfriends and talk about how good of a kisser you are?” she asks. “Tell them every detail of my first time and giggle while I do?”
My teeth clench as I lift my eyes but not my head. “I don’t need your sarcasm, Pearl.”
“Then what do you need?” she asks as she reaches behind her and unfastens her bra. It pings and falls away from her chest, the straps hanging from the crook of her arms.
“I need you to stop fucking undressing,” I grate.
“Why?” It falls to the floor.
“Pearl,” I warn, clearing my throat, forcing my eyes away from her tits—and my body to turn—while I beg my dick to pipe down. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Me?” she asks. “I’m getting ready to go out on the water. What are you doing, Brad?”
Dying on the inside.
But—
Wait.
She’s never been out on the water.
I turn and find her panties around her ankles. “Jesus Christ, Pearl,” I blurt, slapping a hand over my eyes.
