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I hauled ass to my apartment and quickly showered. My eyes were red, and I looked as if I hadn’t slept at all. Which wasn’t far from the truth.
Because I had been fucking Lena for most of the night.
My dick twinged and I tried not to think about it. Too late. I couldn’t get the image of her gorgeous tits and creamy thighs out of my head. And the feel of her hands in my hair as I sucked her clit. I hadn’t been able to get enough of her. Even now I craved her. I wanted to taste her again. Smell her. Touch her. Screw her into oblivion.
“Mmmm,” I groaned, fisting my cock and stroking hard. I braced myself against the tiled shower wall. The memory of being buried inside her was enough to make me cum all over my hand in under five minutes. That was the quickest I had blown a load since I was a horny teenager. I was both aroused and mortified by that fact.
How the hell was I going to work beside her day after day knowing what she looked like naked?
That was one of the problems of sleeping with a coworker. That and the inevitable awkwardness that arose from making the situation overly complicated. Especially now that she hated me all over again.
I quickly got dressed and grabbed my briefcase. I had six minutes to get to the diner to meet Rob, but I slowed down. I wasn’t the kind of guy to rush anywhere. I’d get there when I got there. And Rob would be understanding if I was late. Rob was Type A and a stickler for schedules, but he was cool about not imposing his impossible demands on Adam and me. He was harder on himself than he was on anyone else.
I pulled out my phone as I got in the car, thinking about messaging Lena. But what would I say? What could I say? Once again, she believed the absolute worst about me. Maybe it was partially my fault. I could have explained that I hadn’t slept with Sheila, Greta—or anyone else for that matter—in almost a month. It was my longest bout of self-imposed celibacy.
But why did I need to explain myself? I didn’t owe Marlena Ducate anything. Even if she had been, hands down, the best lay I’d ever had, and I would saw my left arm off to have another round of hiding the sausage with her.
It didn’t matter. It was only sex. Just two people getting their rocks off many, many times. Damn it. Now I was thinking about the way I had pressed her against the shower wall. Her skin slick, my dick deep inside her tight, hot cunt.
“God, motherfucking damn it!” I growled, slamming my hands against the steering wheel. I didn’t have time to flog the log again, so I needed to get myself under control.
But her face was all too present in my mind. Her hair. Her smile. Her gorgeous, unbelievable body. Christ, I needed to exorcise her and quickly.
I drove to Jesse’s Diner and pulled into the parking lot next to Rob’s ten-year-old BMW. I gave him an endless amount of crap about his beat-up vehicle. He could afford five decent new cars without blinking but my partner seemed to hold onto his austere, penny-pinching mindset with the tenacity of a grandpa raised in the depression. The guy didn’t know what it meant to live a little.
“Hey, sorry I’m late,” I said by way of greeting, sliding into the booth across from Rob.
He barely glanced up, typing something on his phone. “I ordered you the Denver omelet and black coffee.”
“You’re the best, dude,” I said sincerely.
Rob put down his phone when our coffees arrived, going straight for the sugar. He always put way too much of the stuff in everything. He had the appetite of a five-year-old. “So, want to tell me why you look like a warm pile of assholes? Did you get any sleep last night?” Rob asked blandly, stirring his coffee.
I ran a hand through my hair. “You wish you could look this good,” I lobbed back because that’s what I would be expected to do. Jeremy Wyatt with the quick wit and cocky banter. No one could know that I was feeling turned inside out.
Rob shook his head, sipping his coffee. “The bags under your eyes could have their own area code. You’re in front of Judge Radner this morning. He’s a ball breaker. You need to bring your A-game if you don’t want him to screw you sideways.”
Shit. I had forgotten that Dick Radner was the presiding judge. He was your stereotypical small-town judge who liked to carry a grudge and used his authority accordingly. He had disliked Adam for years and by extension, Rob and me, for no other reason than because we were associated with Ducate. I could typically turn on the schmooze and, with a little flattery, coast through, but today I wasn’t feeling very coasty. And I sure as hell wasn’t in the mood to placate a giant man-baby in a black robe.
