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Six
Cash
She’s beautiful,but her confidence just adds an extra level of perfection for me. I like a woman who knows what she wants and goes after it. Sage doesn’t disappoint.
At the door to my condo, I fiddle with the lock, my palms sweaty. Killer barks, trying to sound more ferocious than he is. Once I get the door open, I pick him up so he doesn’t nip at my guest. I don’t need another cock block tonight.
“Cute dog,” she says, reaching out to pet Killer. Before I can warn her about his tendency to snap at strangers, she’s petting his head, and he’s licking her. Apparently she’s managed to win him over already. Of course, he’s not the only one she’s won over in a short amount of time.
Maybe it’s the way her perfectly wavy blonde hair falls over her face just enough to be intriguing. Maybe it’s the expensive clothes she wears or the way her hips sway just a little bit as she walks. She knows she’s sexy, but she doesn’t overdo it. She’s mastered the confident, forward vibe I go crazy for. I like a woman who knows what she wants. I like a woman who isn’t a “yes” woman. I like a woman who likes power, and I think Sage might just be all that.
And I can’t believe how lucky I am that this woman is coming home with me tonight.
I feel a little twinge of guilt as I lead her into my almost-empty condo, a sad, lonely couch and a coffee table the only furniture in the place. I haven’t invested too much time in this place because I’m not staying all that long. A bed, a couch, and a decent television—what more does a bachelor need? Looking around now, though, I feel like it’s inadequate for a woman like Sage. As I head to the fridge to pull out a bottle of wine I had chilled—I’m nothing if not prepared—I think to myself: is it inadequate? And what is a woman like Sage like?
We’ve got the chemistry, and I know she’s forward. But who is this woman? What does she do for a living? What’s her story? And what’s her last name?
Snap out of it, Cash,I tell myself. No use getting all sentimental now. It’s never bothered me before. Sex, nothing more. It’s my thing. And it seems to be Sage’s thing too because as I’m pouring wine, she’s sauntering up to me, her eyes averted to the floor as she takes off her jacket in a smooth, sexy move.
“So, you did say you have a bed, right?” she asks before biting her pouty, plump lips in a way that makes me crazy.
I raise an eyebrow. “No small talk first? No getting to know me?”
She shrugs. “I only need to know one thing. How are you in bed?” she asks, a hip jutted out.
I grin, shaking my head. “You’ll just have to find out, I guess.”
“Then what are you waiting for?” she asks, her voice sexy and smoky.
She grabs my hand, and I exhale loudly through my mouth as she leads me back to the hall, me giving her verbal directions as she pulls me to my room. Once inside, she yanks me into her, kissing my mouth hard and fast, her tongue swirling purposefully against mine. Her hands wander to my belt, and I inhale through my teeth, a rush of air filling my lungs as I feel the excitement build.
“Are you sure about this?” I ask.
She raises an eyebrow. “Are you getting all soft on me now?” she asks, winking.
I smile for a moment before pulling her body against mine, letting her know just how not-soft I am. I murmur in her ear, “Not a chance. Just want to make sure you’re sure.”
In response, she undoes my belt and slides her hand inside my boxers, grabbing me as I slowly kiss her neck. I don’t know who this Sage girl is or what her last name is, but I know one thing: she knows how to have a good time, and she’s not shy about letting me know it.
* * *
I inhale deeply,the tension released and grogginess taking over my body. Sage’s arm is against mine, and the feel of our skin together feels good…. Not as good as a few moments ago, but good nonetheless.
I turn to look at her now, her hair stuck to her forehead not making her any less beautiful. Her full lips, her blue eyes—she’s the total deal. She’s everything I’m sexually attracted to.
For a moment, I stare at her, liking the sight of her in my bed, liking the feel of her beside me so much that I consider what it would be like to fall asleep beside her. I think about what it would be like to let her fall asleep in my arms. I think about breaking my steadfast rule, one I haven’t broken in five years—I think about letting her stay.
But then reality sinks in. This isn’t some cheesy-ass romance novel. This is a one-night stand about to become a few-hours stand. It was fun, it was wildly fun, but that was it. Asking her to stay will just lead to clingy phone calls and tears and all sorts of things I don’t want to deal with. I look to her, ready to tell her I have an early morning and I need her to leave—accompanied by my smooth, charming smile, of course.
“Well, it’s been fun, but I have to get going,” she says, sitting up abruptly before I can choke out the words.
“Wait, what?” I ask, the words spewing from my mouth.
She looks at me as she wraps up in the comforter, standing to gather her clothes. “Yeah, it’s been fun, Cash. But I’m going to go.”
She blows me a kiss before heading to the bathroom with her clothes in hand. I hear the door shut, and I stare up at the ceiling.
What the fuck just happened? Did she really just get up and leave? No asking to stay, or waiting for me to tell her to leave? She just… left? After all that? Was it not enough? Was it not good for her? All of these questions swirl in my mind, panic setting in for a moment.
And then I come to. What an egotistical idiot I’m being. I mean, I was just about to ask her to leave. So what if she left first? I’m being a chauvinistic ass right now. Still, I have to admit—it stings a little. She doesn’t want to stay. Is this how I made all those women feel over the years? Shit, I didn’t really think about that. Before I have time to psychoanalyze myself anymore—how the hell did this thing get so complicated?—I stand up, heading to the hall in my boxers, feeling like a bit of a weirdo. She emerges from the bathroom a few minutes later, dressed, with her bag on her shoulder.
“So, can I call you or something?” I ask, not filtering my words before they just burst out. This is not routine. I never ask for a girl’s number. Again, it’s just not in my rules. But seeing her leaving, thinking this could be the last time I see Sage, it doesn’t sit right. At all. I don’t want this to be goodbye. After sex like that, after chemistry, how can we just say goodbye? Wasn’t it at least good enough to do this—whatever this thing is—again?
“Um, no. Sorry, but that’s not really my thing,” she says, shrugging. “It’s not you, it’s me. Really. It was fun. Really fun, Cash. Maybe I’ll see you around sometime. Thanks,” she says, as if I just delivered her a pizza or handed her grocery bags at the supermarket. With that, she marches right out the condo door. Killer doesn’t even get up and bark at her, passed out on the couch. The door to my condo clicks shut, and I stand like a moron in the doorway to my bedroom for a long moment in my boxers.
And just like that, Sage is gone, and I’m left behind asking: what the hell just happened?
