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And every way I planned to punish her when I got back to New York.
20
HOLLAND
“Prosecco? Fuck
a Prosecco, bitch, you are getting Veuve Clicquot for making me prouder than I’ve ever been of anyone in my life,” Mia declared, making me burst out laughing as she popped the cork on a fresh bottle of champagne.
Sitting at the end of the bar, I grinned, feeling for the millionth time grateful that I had this girl in my life. Time and again, Mia had proved crucial to my survival in New York, and today was yet another one of those instances, considering the state I woke up in.
Which was still insanely hot and bothered from last night.
After tormenting Iain on the phone, I’d gone home and given myself to the best solo orgasm of my life, because apparently, nothing turned me on more than the idea of him being pissed as all hell at me while jerking off to me—several hundred miles away, no less, so he was helpless to actually get his hands on me.
Just imagining the sounds he made when he came sent me over the edge last night, moaning freely in the incredible bed he bought me, and thanking God that Mia worked nights and wasn’t home to hear me.
But then morning came, and I was still writhing with arousal.
I couldn’t stop thinking about Iain, so after forty minutes of trying to stave off the need, I foolishly texted “good morning.”
And he didn’t respond.
It was sent at 9AM and by noon it was still radio silence, which admittedly drove me a little bit nuts.
But at the same time, I refused to let it derail my day because to start, it was Saturday, which was my Me Day, and I’d already missed my last one due to Iain-related distractions.
And that was no small deal.
Because since the start of me time, I’d been diligent about it. I’d refused to ever write it off no matter how silly and self-indulgent it sounded some days. I knew it wasn’t, so I made sure to never miss a day or go more than two without writing all my things down in the journal.
But I was running on nearly a week now, which was a record, so after my weekly FaceTime at 3PM, I packed up my notebooks and pens and walked to my usual bakery on 21st and Broadway.
Of course, I couldn’t settle my brain for long enough to write a single thing down on paper, so after sitting fruitlessly for an hour, I made a self-diagnosis on what I needed more than anything now, paid the check and headed straight for the place I said I’d never go back to after they fired me, but fuck it, I was never one to hold grudges
And I was in desperate need to talk to my roommate.
It was clearly what the doctor ordered since after just twenty minutes of catching up at the bar, talking in hushed voices about my sexcapades with Iain, and confessing that I was getting stupidly worked up over his lack of a reply to my latest text, I felt miraculously better.
Amid all the emphasis I’d put on being self-sufficient, I’d apparently forgotten how much it helped to simply have a friend sometimes. Someone to talk to—specifically a girlfriend who was great at listening and making me laugh.
Yet another simple pleasure to remind me that I’d missed out on a lot in my twenty-two years.
But I didn’t feel bad about it anymore.
Like I’d said to Iain that first night he spotted me working here, I was doing a good job of making up for lost time. It was a total lie back then, but it definitely wasn’t now, because I was beyond making up for lost time now—in both the social and romantic departments.
And it felt pretty darned good.
“Lil bonus for ya,” Mia smiled, garnishing my flute of champagne with a strawberry. “That’s for engaging in phone sex with a dangerously horny man while on two percent battery. You’ve got some nerve, baby girl, but I like it.”
“Thank you,” I laughed. “So glad I made you proud with my—what did you call it?”
“Vicious cock-teasing.”
“Ah, yes. That,” I snorted as she set a cocktail napkin down in front of me before placing my drink daintily on top.
“Here. I’ll pour myself a bit so we can do a proper toast to your newfound sex life—and stone-cold badassery,” Mia said, pouring an ounce of champagne into a rocks glass and holding it up to me. “Cheers, ya little cocktease.”
