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And that’s all I need to toss the book on the floor, roll to my back, and go to town. Stroking myself up and down tightly, I imagine — no, I wish — it was Wren riding me. Tasting me. Closing my eyes, I picture her mouth on it, teasing the tip. Sucking. Her hand cupping my balls. It’d be just like those words I heard coming from her phone yesterday.
Shit.
This is fucked up. But I’ll never get to sleep tonight if I don’t finish.
A quiet rapping on my door interrupts my frenzy.
I fr
eeze.
I look over at the alarm clock on the nightstand; it’s 8:30 pm. Who the hell is knocking on my door so late at night?
I cuss, sit up and throw my jeans on, prepared to feed someone a knuckle sandwich.
But when I throw open the door, I see that it’s her.
Wren.
And she’s standing there wearing a flimsy tank top, pajama pants, open bathrobe, and no bra.
How do I know? Because her nipples could not be more erect, or fully outlined, in that tie-dyed orange fabric.
I thought her sexy tattooed legs were a problem for me, but now I know the outline of her breasts, her nipples. My clouded brain now pictures her small frame with a swollen belly, carrying my baby. Where the hell did that image come from? She’s killing me.
I can barely rasp out, “Ma’am?”
For a second I can see a shadow of fear cross her face when she looks at me. I must look angry to her. She recovers and turns on that smile again and holds up something in her hand. A box that looks like one of those stupid party games.
“Jenga?”
Chapter Four
Wren
Sam looks mad.
How does someone get mad in the face of Jenga? It’s delightful.
I have to say I was pretty excited to get assigned a seat next to Sam in the jury box. I have no idea why nobody seemed all that interested in sitting by him at lunch today. But he looked so lonesome I could have cried.
He seemed to have a hard time making eye contact whenever I sipped on my soda straw.
“All you’re gonna eat is fries?” I asked him at one point.
“All you gonna drink is sugar water?” he asked me. I like the way he sometimes answers a question with a question.
“I thought cowboys lived on Mountain Dew?” I remarked.
He didn’t say anything, only raised one eyebrow at me. That look creased his forehead, giving me serious Daddy vibes, and I liked it. I kind of want to make him a daddy for real and have ten of his babies right away. Oh man. I like him way more than I should, I thought to myself. Does he even know how sexy he is?
Maybe it’s the fact that I’m in my late 20s, have been single for so long, and I’m starting to get baby fever from watching Juror Number 8 crochet baby blankets all day. That’s gotta be it. My head was clouded by being stuck with these same people all day, combined with hunger.
We ate in comfortable silence and I was careful to keep that silence when I drained my cup by not making any noise with the straw. I find that extra annoying myself.
“So. You got a wife or what?”
His face changed—darkened even more, if that’s possible.
