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Sex trapwas what we called people we knew we had no business wanting to be with, but the sex was too good to let them go. It was a trap.
He was right. He had no business wanting to be with me, and I had no business wanting him.
I pushed off his body and took a deep breath. “I have to be up early. I should go.”
Hendrix took off his cap and raked his fingers through his hair the way someone does when they want to scream but can’t. But he didn’t try to stop me. I said goodbye to Kacey, who was too distracted to care. Then I rushed through the crowd and made a quick exit for the door.
Two hours later, I was lying in bed willing away the memory of his sweat beneath my fingertips and his body pressed against mine.
HENDRIX
Icouldn’t make it through the rest of the night without a healthy dose of whiskey as my morphine. Because the idea of not talking to her again, of this silence stretching on for days or weeks—or months—it fucking gutted me.
I rubbed my eyes with my thumb and forefinger and leaned my head on the couch cushion behind me. That was how I fell asleep sometime after two in the morning. On the couch, fully dressed, with my legs stretched out, one hand on my dick and the other holding an empty glass. Thinking of her.
Every day this week had been pretty much different versions of the same thing. I knew she was here, and not one single text message or phone call came through my phone. Not a peep in almost a week. Cue the chest pains… and another half a glass of whiskey.
Sometimes I’d work late to keep from sitting home alone. One night I fell asleep in the bed instead of on the couch. By Friday, I’d damned near lost my fucking mind. When Holmes came to me with the stripper idea, I was fucking ecstatic. No fucking way I was letting some asshole with an STD see her first, touch her first. That was my way in.
And I thought I had my shit under control.
I checked my phone one last time before I got ready to walk out the door and meet my Uber.
Nothing.
Nada.
Zilch.
As soon as I walked through the doors of the VIP, I spotted her. Like my vision had a direct line to her body. Her dark hair hung in loose, long curls over her shoulders. She wore this tank top with a neck that draped low and these fucking jeans that could make grown men cry. She was so fucking beautiful, I forgot to breathe.
Two years apart, and the sight of her still made my balls ache. It was hopeless. I would always want Kennedy. Always.
She stood next to Kacey, Lexi and Holmes, smiling and laughing at something they’d said. That should have been my smile. She should have been laughing at me.
I wanted all of it. Her smile. Her laugh. Her body.
But she left.
Again.
I’d scared her away.
Again.
Fuck.
That hurt.
My phone vibrated somewhere on the floor. I damn near fell on my face looking for it, hoping thatbuzz buzzwas Kennedy finally deciding to call me out on my bullshit like she always did.
It wasn’t.
It was Ashton.
Ashton: Add this shit to your calendar, dickhead: Pick up tux. Make sure it fits. Wash your balls. Volley Beach, 2:00. Rehearsal tonight, 6:00. Rehearsal dinner after.
Me: *middle finger emoji* Why don’t you come wash my balls?
