Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 106806 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106806 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Right. Because if she came here to hook up, she’s probably doing it behind a door. I smile, proud of my brain for still working at some level.
“We are smart,” I sing. “S-M-R-T.”
I turn the knob. The door flies open, and I stumble into the room where, yes, Julie is indeed mid-hookup, her blond head bobbing over the crotch of a dark-haired guy I don’t recognize. A bearded guy that’s definitely not her boyfriend.
“So sorry,” I slur, turning my back to them in a stumble. I grip the doorframe to steady myself.
“I think you’re lost,” a deep, rumbling voice says behind me.
“Yeah.” I cringe. “I’m here for . . . uh, her.” I glance over my shoulder to nod toward my friend, but Julie just keeps doing her thing, totally unaware of my entrance. Or maybe she’s into an audience. I wouldn’t judge, but I hope it’s not because she’s drunk. She’s my DD and I really want to leave. Also, last I knew, she was really into her guy, and I’d hate for her to ruin that.
In my peripheral vision, I see the guy cup Julie’s face and gently pull her up. “Sweetheart, we have company.”
Julie whips her head around, scowling at me as her guy pulls his pants back up. His shirt is unbuttoned all the way, revealing the most impressive six-pack I’ve ever seen. The schnapps must be eating away at my brain because I can’t tear my gaze from that body, those strong hands.
“Holy hell. Way to go, Julie.” No wonder she forgot about her boyfriend. This guy is as hot as an Atlanta summer. The kind of hot that turns smart girls dumb.
“Who the fuck are you?” the blonde snaps. The blonde who is definitely not Julie.
Oops. “Oh. Sorry. I’m looking for . . . my friend?”
“Does it look like she’s here?” She stands, and I realize only as she pulls it up that the top of her dress was around her waist. I’m so glad I’m drunk right now, because this whole thing is fucking awkward. What’s the appropriate etiquette for interrupting a blowjob? If only Mom had found the money to send me to that finishing school she always threatened me with.
Footsteps sound in the hall and a short Black guy pokes his head in the open door. “Crissy, your ride’s out front.”
“Dammit.”
“Hey.” Mr. Chiseled Abs grabs her hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. “You okay?”
She plops in his lap and wraps both arms behind his neck. “I don’t want to leave yet,” she whines.
He kisses her neck gently. “So stay. I’ll take you back to the house.”
“Can’t. Those bitches are serious about curfew until I’m off academic probation.”
“Ah. Well, be safe,” he says as she pulls herself off him.
“You’ll call me?”
He shrugs. “Maybe sometime. I have to focus on my classes this term, though. Lots of hoops to jump through if I want to get out of here in December. You know how it is.”
I snort out a laugh. The girl just had his dick down her throat and he’s giving her the brush-off. Real nice.
Crissy glares hard at me. Yes, I’m the bad guy here. Obviously. “I’ve gotta bounce,” she snaps, then heads out, knocking into my shoulder unnecessarily on the way. I stumble back. The floor does another tilty thing, and I fail to catch myself before I hit the ground.
The girl—what was her name again? Not-Julie laughs as she jogs down the hall.
I try to stand but can’t quite manage it. I stumble and only make it to my knees. Mr. Chiseled Abs unfolds himself from the blowjob chair to help me up, and I find my eyes right in line with the hard ridge in his jeans. A dark, wild thought springs to mind, and before I can push it away, my tongue darts out to wet my lips. How pathetic and sex-deprived am I that I still find him so attractive after what I just witnessed?
So pathetic. So sex-deprived.
And so drunk.
He offers me his hand. “Unless you had other plans for your time down there.”
I haven’t given Chuck a blowjob in three months, which might be fine if his whole sex-fast didn’t also include his not touching me. Not that it matters. Once I found out my brother, Nathan, placed that bet, any remaining sexual attraction I felt for Chuck went out the window, but I still think his sex-deprivation-for-increased-testosterone theories are bogus. “It’s unnatural,” I mutter.
Mr. Chiseled Abs releases a dry laugh as he helps me to my feet. “Blowjobs, unnatural? I beg to differ.”
I recoil then adjust my stance so I don’t lose my balance again. “No.” Jesus. Do I look like some kind of prude?
Going without sex just for a fight is unnatural. And now, apparently, I’m a fucking voyeur. That’s how bad things have gotten. I really miss sex. But I might not miss it enough to have it with Chuck again . . . which is gonna be a problem.