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When he asks me if I want him to walk me to my car, I tell him no, that I’ll be fine. He gives me a quick nod and goes back to keying in numbers on a calculator.
I don’t think that Jude would ever let me walk alone after being yelled at the way I was, but not everyone is like that man. Hell, I know I’ve just built him up in my head to be perfect and chivalrous and protective. It’s amazing how easy a brain is to fry, and apparently for me, it only takes a handful of orgasms.
I feel like I need him, and it’s unsettling considering I took the shift tonight to avoid him altogether. Thursday nights, even though it’s only been two, have somehow started to feel like our night. I knew if I were home alone, I’d end up on his doorstep, and I’m battling with myself as I pull my keys from my purse and walk toward my car. Do I waste time going home, only to go to his condo, or do I just drive over there right away?
I gasp when I look up—the words WHORE and HOMEWRECKER have been keyed into the shiny paint of my little car, the harsh scrawl done with a hand so heavy it looks like the words are scraped clear down to the metal.
Tears burn my eyes as I backpedal, my eyes darting all around and trying to assess if there’s more danger.
Maybe this is what the man needed, and I’m just the person he decided to kick tonight. I’m not a whore, nor am I homewrecker. I don’t set out to ruin lives. I have a rule about hooking up with married men. The left hand is the first thing I look at when approached by someone interested in me. If there’s even the hint of a tan line, I back away completely. I’m not my mother. Although to her credit, she swore until the day she died that she didn’t know my father was married when they met, but she was so in love with him when she found out that she never thought about walking away, and even begged him to stay when he threw her out like trash.
I stay under the harsh light hanging over the back door to the bar, eyes still scanning while I use the app on my phone to order a car. When it finally arrives, I give her Jude’s address instead of my own.
***
“Hey,” Jude says, his arms stretched to the top of his doorjamb. “You look—what’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I lie, a smile on my lips. “Ready for your next lesson?”
He steps back so I can enter, but he doesn’t grin at me the way he did last time even when I was berating him for stuffing that card with his address into my palm like a hooker at a hotel bar.
“You’re upset,” he says the second the door closes us into his condo.
“I’m horny,” I argue, needing him to focus on feeling instead of investigating my mood.
“You’re—”
I shut him up with a kiss and my arms around his neck, groaning with need when his tongue brushes mine.
“It’s blow job night,” I whisper against his lips, knowing I need the distraction and something else to fixate on rather than my car getting towed to the body shop to get someone else’s anger removed from it.
“God, that sounds good,” he groans when I press fully against him, my hands already seeking the zipper of his jeans.
My hand is sliding home when he clasps my wrist.
He looks torn between concern and desire as he looks down at me.
“Don’t,” I warn.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” he insists, and I have to break eye contact when I feel heat behind mine.
“I told you. Just let me—”
Strong yet soft fingers clasp my jaw, forcing me to look back at him.
“It’s sex, Jude, and it’s Thursday. I only see my therapist every other Tuesday. I came here to get fucked, not get counseled. Are you in or are you out?”
Chapter 15
Jude
I wish I could say her ultimatum is an easy decision. My cock is hard, leading the charge for the former, but the pain I can read in her pretty blue eyes is really all I can focus on.
I drop my hand from her face, wondering if I’ll be able to give her what she’s saying she needs without either of us regretting it.
This is where Wren gets back in my head, urging me to keep it fun and light and keep my heart out of it.
I lick my lips when she shoves my jeans and underwear a few inches further down my hips.
I’m nearly a goner when she drops to her knees, but instead of the pink tongue that sneaks out of her mouth, it’s the tear at the corner of her right eye, that I can’t ignore.
