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I don’t need to think about who might be doing those things with her now.
“Herc, are you going to use that bar towel or Hulk out and rip it in half?”
“Huh?”
Leondra has caught me staring into space. Dad is already busy at work, checking in with diners like he owns the place and letting them think he does. Leondra is smiling, and I don’t know if she has dollar signs in her eyes or if she’s just staring at my dad’s butt.
Jesus, I gotta get out of here and shake off this day.
“Hey, boss, I’ve gotta go upstairs for a minute. I smell like pond scum,” I bullshit to Leondra.
And maybe I won’t bother coming back down if I know what’s good for me.
The boat tour earlier today ended with decent enough tips. Almost decent enough to make up for the fact that Meghan was apparently on a date with that tool.
When they’d deboarded the boat, however, that tool of hers had handed me the biggest tip I’ve ever had and said, “Thanks for taking care of my girl.”
That, after the guy spent the entire tour scrolling through his phone, from what I could tell.
I hate him, officially. But am I keeping the money? I might be an asshole, but I’m not an idiot.
The way I see it, I had the last word. I saw the way Meghan’s eyes were on me. The way she fanned herself with the neckline of her shirt.
“Getting warm out here. Haven’t seen Frosty in a while,” Meghan commented, her long lashes batting as she raked me over. “He been busy?”
I shot her a look that was neither yes nor no.
She has to know Frosty’s been doing nothing but sitting dormant since we broke up.
If that weren’t enough, I felt her eyes on me while I twisted the rope around the cleat, taking my sweet time to tie it extra tight with a loud grunt.
I swear to god, I’d heard a small whimper come from behind me just before her footsteps disappeared down the flimsy metal dock.
And I’d smiled.
At Shambles, I must still have a stupid smile on my face that has no business being there because Leondra looks at me strangely and says, “Fine, whatever you need to do, sweetie.”
Upstairs, I shower, scrubbing my thoughts as well as my body. But nothing—nothing—is going to get Meghan out of my head.
My right hand knows what to do about that. My hands full of suds, I pump my cock once, twice, my eyes closing against the view of cracks in the half-assed tile. And I see Meghan’s face. Her dark eyes assess me, raking up and down, taking in the sight of my dick. My memory goes back to the last time she took me in her mouth, swirling her vicious tongue over the head, sucking…swallowing…opening up her throat…eyes watering…pleading…moaning…
I force my hand away and open my eyes.
Not yet.
Instead, I turn off the water, towel off, then pad naked to the kitchenette. I fill a glass with ice water. Then I head to my bedroom and find the little friend wedged between the mattress and the floor.
I stare at my switchblade — Mr. Frosty, she calls it — and turn it over in my hand.
This is a bad idea.
Without thinking, I drop the switchblade into the water. The glass then goes into the freezer, and I shut the door.
It doesn’t mean anything. It probably won’t happen. We’re not ready. I’m not prepared. I’m not even sure I ever want to go back there.
But addictions die hard. And I might need it.
SEVEN
