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“So, you didn’t…” she trails off and does her finger boinking thing again.
My laugh is genuine this time, and I smack at her hands. “No, we didn’t have sex. I wanted to. Oh, did I want to!” I pinch my lower lip between my teeth hard enough to hurt and then in a rush confess all. “His body is insane!”
A dreamy smile overtakes me just remembering it and I let out a little giggle. “I gave him a hand job on the way to his place. Oh Blaire, it was so amazing. He’s such a good kisser, very passionate, very sexy… And then I barfed!” I wail, still unable to believe that actually happened.
Sniffing hard, my best friend’s face is blurry as more tears cloud my vision. “He cleaned me up, put me to bed, and then he slept on the couch.”
With a groan, I bury my face in my hands, my shoulders rounding in humiliation.
“Wow, a gentleman.”
Peeking through my fingers, I nod. “He really was.”
“So?”
Lowering my hands, I stare at her. “So?”
“Well, when are you going to see him again?”
I flop back against the seat. “I can’t! It’s too embarrassing.”
Blaire frowns and pokes a sharp nail into my shoulder. “Okay, let’s rephrase that. Do you want to see him again?”
There’s zero hesitation on my part. “Yes.”
“Then call him. If he says no, he says no. But if he says yes…” she trails off, her red brows lifting and a wide smiling spreading across her face.
A bit of hope breaks through my misery. He did leave me his number.
CHAPTER EIGHT
JAKE
Getting the call this morning, I was torn. Her getting sick didn’t bother me. It was the fact that she was so drunk, and I hadn’t realized it and had almost slept with her, that bothered me.
I wanted her. Absolutely.
But I wanted her willing, not just because the alcohol made her inhibitions drop away.
She called me the trash guy. And I am the trash guy, but I needed more than that. I needed her to want me and to know it was my cock filling her. My name she screamed as I rammed her and made her come. Jake. Not just the trash guy.
And that’s ultimately why I left. I tried convincing myself I wasn’t running out on her and that I couldn’t turn down the chance at extra money. But that was a lie. I was doing okay and could have said no and still paid my bills.
I left because I didn’t want to face her. Couldn’t face the rejection or disgust in her eyes when she saw whose bed she was waking up in and realized exactly who she went home with last night.
The note I stuck on the door was because some small part of me wanted her to not be like that. To prove me wrong. That she might be some rich, spoiled little Daddy’s girl, but that she had seen and wanted the man I am.
All day it eats at me.
The heat, the stink, the long hours sitting on my ass, those things fade, becoming background clutter. It’s her cute little nose crinkle, the way she gripped and stroked my cock, and mostly it was how she kissed me that takes up almost every square inch of space in my head. She kissed me like I was something good and delicious and she couldn’t get enough.
Going home and seeing the note gone from my door, something shifts inside me. I feel lighter than I have in a long time and when my phone rings later that night; I know it’s her.
Part of me still howls that nothing good can come of this and that I’m nothing but a dumb piece of meat to her. For the first time in a long time, I ignore that nasty voice inside my head and answer the phone.
“Hello.”
“Jake?”
