Page 39 of His Turn

Chapter Eleven -Bric

“Why are you so nervous?” I ask Jordan. We’re sitting in Smith’s bar. The table is elaborately set for a nice dinner, our glasses are full of expensive alcohol, and our cocks are happy. Why does he look like shit is about to hit the fan? “She had a good time,” I say, sipping my brandy.

“Yeah,” Jordan says. His eyes are glued to the elevator doors, just waiting for her to come downstairs. “But it was sneaky, ya know?”

“What was sneaky about it?”

He shoots me a look that says, Come on.

“She gave in, Jordan. We didn’t make her do anything.”

“Right.” He sighs. “But you’re what, just pretending we didn’t have that conversation this morning? You know, the one where you said, ‘I’m gonna fuck with her head so bad, she’ll spin like The Exorcist?’”

“It was a joke.” I laugh. “All we did was make her feel good tonight. She loved every fucking minute of it. Even when I choked her with my cock. She couldn’t get enough.”

“That’s because she was drunk on your dick at the time, Bric. But that feeling is gonna wear off and she’s gonna run the entire night through her head, and then—”

“Then she’s gonna realize we know what the fuck we’re doing. That’s all.”

“No,” he says. “She’s gonna realize you’re just playing with her emotions. Like you do with every fucking woman you’ve ever been with.”

“So?”

“So then she’s gonna up her game, Bric. And this is gonna turn into a mind-fuck shit-fest. I like her,” he says. “Maybe more than like her, OK? I don’t want her thinking I’m like you.”

“You are like me,” I say, getting pissed off. Why the fuck is he sharing her with me if he likes her so much?

But I don’t ask that question.

Because I like her too. Just not in the same way.

“See,” Jordan says.

“See what?” I ask

“That fucking evil grin you’ve got on your face. I know you well enough, Bricman. Well enough to see the Machiavellian wheels turning inside your head. Do not play with her emotions.”

“Why?” I ask, my temper rising. “Is she some kind of fragile flower?”

But then I realize this intrigues me.

“Stop it,” Jordan says. “She’s not a puzzle, OK?”

“Then why are we even playing?”

He huffs out some air. Runs his fingers through his still-wet hair. “Because she’s not…” He trails off.

“She’s not what?” I ask. What the fuck is wrong with him tonight?

“She’s not my type.”

“OK,” I say, not really understanding.

“I mean I’m not really her type.”

“Hmm,” I say. “Do you love her?”

“No,” he says. “Definitely not. But I like her. I could see myself playing with her for a long time. And if you fuck it up, that won’t happen. You, of all people, understand how fucking hard it is to get a girl you can trust in this game. One who just gets you, ya know? We get each other, Bric. I realize it’s only been a few weeks, but we know each other. I just like her. And we have an understanding. I get to boss her around and be a dick, but she knows I’m not a dick, right? She knows I’ll show up the next day and treat her nice and give her a gift. She knows I’m just playing. We’re playing.”