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“Before or after you fucked with me by picking the wrong guy?”
I don’t answer.
“You confused me, because when you stepped on that stage, you looked directly at me and whispered, ‘I can’t wait to fuck you.’”
I gasp. I didn’t realize he’d read my lips.
“But then you picked the asshole sitting next to me.”
“It wasn’t...It wasn’t like that...”
“Are you sure?” he asks. “Because it seemed like you wanted him more than me.”
“I’m sure...”
“Maybe it’s good that you picked him.” He hesitates. “I’m not sure if I would’ve let you finish your routine if you opened your legs for me like that, if you put what I wanted right in front of my face.”
“Liar...” I whisper.
“No.” His voice is firm. “When you arched your back and said, ‘You can tip me wherever you like,’ I would have tipped you with my dick.”
I tilt my head back and sigh.
“I would’ve made sure that everyone in that building knew that you were mine.”
My fingers slide deeper and my breath catches in my throat.
“I don’t like games, Emerald.” His voice is low. “And trust me, the next time you invite me to watch you perform and you pick someone else to touch you, I’ll jump on stage and fuck you against the pole.”
“Carter...”
“I’m going to remember this shit...” He sounds upset, but then a smile returns to his voice. “I’m going to make sure you regret it in numerous ways.”
“I...I do...”
“Do you regret it enough to let me hear you cum? Are you almost there?”
I nod as if he can see me.
“Is this what you’ve been doing in bed since we met? Fucking yourself to sleep?”
I don’t respond. My thoughts are all over the place and I’m seconds away from coming. I hear him asking me to say his name again, him telling me to promise that I’ll never pull that stage shit again, but everything around me begins to blur together and my body starts to tremble.
“Ahhhh....” I let a moan escape as he whispers, “Next time I’ll make you cum personally.”
It takes me several minutes to calm down, and I knock my phone onto the floor when I stretch my arms out. Rolling off the bed, I grab it and hold it up to my ear again.
He’s still there.
I’m not sure what to say.
“Do you still think I’m gay?” he asks as if nothing happened seconds ago.
“No, but you could be bi-sexual.”
“Next time I see you, I’ll make sure you never question my sexuality.”
“Looking forward to it.” I climb back into bed and hug a pillow to my chest. I’ve never been a fan of talking on the phone—or having phone sex because I’ve always had to fake it, but with him? I don’t want our conversation to ever end, and I enjoyed listening to him get me off.
“Are you going to be busy tomorrow?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I admit. “I have AA.”
“All day?”
“More than likely.” I pause for a second and debate whether I should tell him more. “It’s ‘look into our pasts’ day so it usually lasts for at least eight hours.” I stifle a groan. Everyone in the group is only supposed to get twenty minutes to talk, but they always go over and we always end up being there past midnight.
“You’ll call me when it’s over.”
“What? I didn’t hear the inflection. I believe you meant for that to be a question.”
He laughs. “The next time you get out of my car without me opening the door for you, I’ll chase you down.”
“And tickle me?”
“I’ll do more than tickle you.” He pauses. “You should go to sleep now.”
“And why is that?”
“Because you don’t live alone, and if I stay on the phone with you I’ll be tempted to come by and do everything I should’ve done to you hours ago.”
I can’t help but smile.
“Good night, Emerald.”
“Good night, Carter.”
Chapter 12
For the past two weeks, my mind has been picking the worst times to meander down memory lane.
Whenever I want to think about things that make me happy—things like Robyn and Sarah inviting me to Georgia to shop, it decides to remind me about “Amy fuckin’ Houston,” as if it doesn’t want me to completely give in to the idea of having friends.
When I want to think about things that make me “feel”—things like talking to Carter on the phone a few nights a week and him bringing me to my knees with a single kiss, it shows me what happened the last time I dated a guy, the last time he screamed his girlfriend’s name mid-climax.
