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Wait. Why do I care what my place looks like? His opinion of me means nothing.
“Take a seat. I’ll grab us a beer.”
“It’s one o’clock.” He sits in one of the two recliners that make up my small living area, a four-seater dining set and kitchen directly behind it. The bathroom is opposite the kitchen, and my bed is tucked into an alcove next to that. Despite the few windows scattered around, it’s dark since the walls are debarked logs and stained a deep brown. But I like the dark. It suits me.
“So? If there’s ever a day that deserves an early beer, it’s one where you just got coldcocked.”
“I guess you’re right.”
After popping the tops off our beers and handing him one, I sit in the second recliner. “I’ve been thinking about what you said—”
“I told you, it was wrong for me to imply your mom was doing anything nefarious to secure your tuition.”
I pin him with a look. “As I was saying, I was thinking about it, and if—and that’s a big if—she was doing favors, you must have theories about who for.”
I don’t like to think about how Sugar was back in the day, but if I’m being honest, sleeping with someone to better my life wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibilities. When I was thirteen, I caught our landlord in her room. They explained it away by saying he was there to inspect a leak, but I always thought it was weird that he zipped up his pants as he was leaving.
Though thinking she might’ve used her body for rent money or tuition really fucks with my head, I also know there’s nothing that woman wouldn’t do for me. Nothing in the whole world. And the second I was grown enough to take care of her, you bet your ass I stepped up and did it, including getting rid of her last abusive boyfriend. I’m not a bloodthirsty man but watching him bleed out in the desert is one of my best memories.
“I really don’t, and honestly, what does it matter?”
“I guess it doesn’t.”
Jenson stands. “Just forget I ever popped back up. I promise it won’t happen again.”
As much as I hate the guy, thinking about never seeing him again doesn’t sit right, but I can’t think of one reason for him to stay.
Except one.
“We’re not even,” I say, standing too.
“Even?” He removes the ice from his face, and I wince. His cheek is so swollen, I can hardly see his one eye.
“I owe you.” I shift my gaze to the ground and mumble, “For what you did yesterday.”
“You want to give me a blow job?” he asks, a lot less timid about the situation than I am.
“I don’t like to owe nobody nothing.”
“And I don’t want an obligation blow job. Consider us even.” He takes two steps before I stop him with my next words.
“What if I want to?”
He smirks. “You want to suck me off?”
“Wouldn’t be opposed to it.”
He holds out his hands. “Then, by all means.”
“Maybe you should sit down or something. So you don’t fall over.”
His brows lift. “With all this build-up, you better rock my world, Mustang.”
I roll my eyes. “Just do it.”
He strides over to one of the leather recliners and lowers himself into it, resting his hands on either side. Wiping my damp hands on my jeans, I follow and sink to my knees. He must like this idea more than he’s letting on because there’s already a hard bulge forming underneath his slacks. I palm him, impressed by his size.
It’s a little degrading to practically beg to let me blow him, but I didn’t know how else to make him stay. It doesn’t mean he has the upper hand. After all, allowing me control over such a vital organ is basically submitting, right?
