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I only give my number out to girls whose kisses make me wonder if I ever really kissed and pussies are my new addiction.
I set the phone down and continue cutting the vegetables as I watch the dots jump around the screen for a bit and stop. I finally get a text
Her:
And here I was trying to be tricky and cute.
I wipe my hands on the towel and pick up my phone.
Me:
You don’t have to try to be cute. Even with a bloody nose, you’re beautiful. Feeling any better? Rested at least?
Her:
Much better, thank you very much.
Me:
Do you need a ride to the game tonight?
Her:
Nope. All set. Are you all coming over after?
Me:
Not sure who else is coming, but I’ll be there.
Her:
Cool.
Cool?
Her:
See you then.
I mind-fuck what that all means until I can’t. There’s no way she could fake an orgasm with me, let alone three consecutively, and the last being wet and hot as fuck.
When Koa walks in, my heads clear and I’m pulling steaks off the electric grill.
“Perfect timing.” I nod to the barstool. “Hope you’re hungry.”
His eyes hone in on the calendar hanging on the wall by the fridge. Then he looks back at me. “Nope.”
“Nope?”
“I’ll eat with you and appreciate the gesture, but I’m a grown ass man and don’t need a watch party. Gonna eat, shower, and go to sleep. Not because I’m fucking fragile, but because I’m dragging ass.”
“No game then?”
He groans as he sits down. “Said I’d go.”
I slide a plate loaded up with a steak, roasted vegetables, and rice. “If you’re not feeling it—”
“I’m good.”
