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And the only way he knew how to do that was with anger, sarcasm, and sex.
But Rylie had run. He’d seen the flare of interest; she couldn’t deny that she wanted him, but she was just so damn good. Way too good for him.
He hardly remembered fucking Paula last night. She’d just been available and he’d wanted someone. Anyone.
Rylie wouldn’t be a convenient lay, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to push her skirt aside earlier and slide up into her. He could still feel the curve of her ass in his lap, the warmth of her skin coming through the fabric of her skirt.
Dustin reached down and gripped his aching cock in his hand. Her lips, so pink and lush, just a few inches from his. He’d almost done it too, but something had held him back.
Respect. He respected Rylie, even liked her. He wouldn’t touch her. Wouldn’t use her.
Think about her when he was jacking off? He could do that.
He pumped his dick several times, imagining what she looked like under the hot pink dress she’d been wearing. Was she the type of girl who wore matching bra and panties? He imagined she was.
When he finally found release, he took several deep breaths, knowing deep down that this would never be as good as the real thing.
Too bad, asshole.
This is as close as he’d ever get.
Chapter 9
Later that night, Rylie got wasted, which she never did, especially at a client’s wedding. She was the epitome of responsible, but after this morning with Dustin and the flowers she’d found on her car today after lunch, she’d needed a drink.
Or five or seven. She’d lost count after a while.
She didn’t know what to do about Asher. He’d left flowers and a note that read I need you on her windshield. He hadn’t signed it, but she recognized his handwriting. She’d told Dustin she didn’t need a restraining order, that they didn’t work, which was true, but Asher wasn’t taking the hint and she didn’t know how to make it any clearer that it was over. She was emotionally drained and stressed.
And then there was Dustin. He’d come into work after their interlude and acted as though nothing had happened. She had no idea how he could do that, but it was maddening.
Thus the liquor to chase her troubles away.
They’d already seen late night talk show host Anderson Grady and his barely legal bride, actress Gwendolyn Thomas, into their limo and most of the guests were trickling out. There had been a guy in the corner giving her the eye most of the night, but when she hadn’t given him any signal, he’d moved on to one of the other bridesmaids.
Which was perfectly fine, because she was over men. As far as she was concerned, the entire male species could go suck a dick!
Rylie made her way to the parking lot, and climbed into her car, but she knew she couldn’t drive. Hell, she could hardly walk.
After retrieving her phone from the middle console, she dialed Marley. When it went straight to voicemail, Rylie ended the call, then squinted at her phone screen. She scrolled through her contacts, trying to make out the blurry names.
She stopped on Dustin’s, and she hesitated. The last thing she wanted to do was ask for his help, but she didn’t really want to sleep it off in her car and have someone see her looking like a hot mess. And there was no way in hell she was calling Kelly or Asher.
With a sigh, she hit the green phone icon and waited for him to answer.
It rang several times and by the fourth, she almost hung up.
“Hello?” he said.
She opened her mouth to say hi, but that wasn’t what tumbled out. “I just want you to know that you behaved abomibly…adomably… You were a meanie pants and if I wasn’t out of options, I wouldn’t be calling.”
Several beats of silence before he spoke. “Rylie? Are you drunk?”
“Stupid question. Course I am drunk. Thus, the call.” She knew she was slurring but couldn’t seem to fix it. “So, will you or not?”
“Will I what? You haven’t asked me anything, just insulted me.”
She huffed in frustration. “I need a ride. Can’t drive.”
