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I facepalm energetically.
First day of the chastity vow and my pussy is currently throwing a pool party at the thought of what’s hanging beneath those knee-length navy shorts of his.
I take another sip, absorbing the sight of his legs, his tanned calf muscles a sculpture, down to his sandalled feet, which even from here look very big.
As my gaze climbs upwards, I manage not to sputter out my drink, swallowing instead as his eyes collide with mine and, I shit you not, he licks the inner seam of his bottom lip in a way that makes the happy pool downstairs begin to overflow.
Managing to pull myself together, I decide that his glower is a bit too stormy for my tastes and I return one back to him before deciding to ignore him for the rest of the night and instead focus on my friends.
I mean, we are all here for a feminine power yoga retreat after all and not to drool over Mr. Probable Big Dick.
Well, that’s the plan, anyway.
“Oh, nice of madam to join us,” Fran jests as I lean into them. “I thought you were gonna be dick-stracted all night.”
“God, sorry,” I wince.
“It wasyouridea to do this Inner Woman’s retreat,Tornada,” says Rami flatly. “You said it would be the perfect detox from dick, or whatever you straight women obsess about day and night.”
My spine snaps up straight. “It will be! Sorry, it’s just…”
“You have a thing for assholes,” she deadpans with a smirk, but her words make me flinch without meaning to as she conjures up Micah’s face.
“Sorry,” she sighs out as I peer at the dark liquid in my glass.
Micah wasn’t an asshole at first. In fact, he was sweet and kind. It’s only with time that he became more controlling, more possessive, to the point that I was being told what to wear, who to see, and if I wanted to go out, even with Fran and Rami or other female friends, he’d park outside the bar we were in, texting me non-stop until I was so on edge that the entire evening was a bust.
I've had my first and last taste ofasshole, and I never want to go near one again.
“I don’t like assholes. And I've only datedone.One.”
“We know you don’t, hun,” replies Fran, elbowing Rami in the arm.
“Sorry,” Rami repeats. “I’m just mama bear over here. And as for the other one”—she tips her head in the direction of the man now walking through the bar in the direction of his friends carrying three drinks—“my spidey senses are tingling and they’re sayingAsshole,Asshole, Asshole,” she whispers, making me burst into a grin.
As Grey takes a seat opposite me, with one booth between us, I can’t help but catch his eye, my gaze feeling like it’s magnetically drawn, constantly checking to see if he’s looking at me… which he invariably is.
I've been watched a lot in the last year. Micah has stalked me on my way home from work, on the way to the grocery store, has sat outside my basement apartment waiting for me to come out.
At times I've confronted him, shouted at him, pleaded with him, played nice, and at others, I’ve threatened to call the police, actually going through with it once. I've ignored him, gray-rocked, shown no emotion as I've been told to do. Nothing seemed to make any difference.
Which brings me back to the man staring at me from one booth away. His stare isn’t like Micah’s was. It’s not desperate or unhinged. It’s bold, sullen and borderline indecent, but there’s some hint of warmth to it—a self-assuredness that Micah doesn’t have.
What’s more important is that it doesn’t make me feel less than human.
I drag my eyes away from him.
“Look, I know, okay? Big red flags. Moody prick energy. I get it, believe me. It’s just”—I dip my head a little, lowering my voice—“it’s the first time I've been attracted to someone since… you know. I honestly thought my libido was gonna be dormant for the next five years. This guy just… awakens things.”
“Oh well, it’s good you made that vow of chastity this morning then, isn’t it?” cackles Rami, making me and Fran burst into giggles.
“Fuck off,” I snigger, sliding my eyes to his to find them bright as he watches me before making a concerted effort to keep them positively glued either to Fran, Rami or my glass for the rest of the night.
“Your lady parts are waking up because you can finally relax now that he’s in jail,” Fran says with a smile about my ex.
“Yeah.”
I don’t dare tell her quite how bad the text messages have got this week. It’s not him—it’s some piece of shit he’s paying or one of his sadistic family members, but still, every message shoots that same freaking arrow of despair and panic into me as when he was banging on my door demanding to see me.
