by Piper Rayne
Don’t glare at him. Don’t glare. Don’t do it.
I glare at Tom.
Then Tom catches my evil eye and winks. I’m not sure if it’s for me or Colton, but I kind of want to punch him in the nutsack either way. And when my fucker starts laughing in response, I want to punch Colton’s sack too.
Bunch of assholes in here.
As I try not to start fuming, Claire catches my eye. There’s something questioning in hers, reminding me to get my shit figured out quick. So I force a laugh too, playing into it.
Leaning out of Colton’s arms and closer to Tom, I smile. “And the opportunities are limitless,” I say as a little bit of panic starts to well up inside me.
I hide it okay—I think—with an exaggerated wink and flip of my hair. The corners of my mouth turn up, but I know it’s only half of my genuine smile.
As my nerves start to feel exposed, like my skin is shrinking around them while they turn raw, my eyes start to dart around. And sure as hell, an opportunity presents itself, in the form of a lit-up sign.
Pointing, I mouth to Claire, “I gotta pee.”
But I don’t wait for any sort of response, from any of them, before twisting myself to fit into the closest empty spot around us so I can start walking. Weaving my way to the bathroom, I keep my eyes on the neon arrow above the hallway that holds my time-out.
There’s absolutely no reason for the dread that’s scratching at the back of my neck. I don’t think there is, anyway…until it hits me.
Tom made it abundantly clear how little Colton and I have talked since we started doing other stuff. We’ve been using our mouths and brain power for other, much more fun, things. But in neglecting conversation we haven’t talked about what we want. Either of us.
Every time we could bring up what the plan is, what we hope to get from each other, we just start fucking again.
Not that I’m complaining.
Obviously.
But now that the realization has smacked me in the face, it’s all I can see.
At least I make it into the bathroom before my breathing starts to pick up the pace. I don’t really want to be breathing deeper or more in here, because it smells wet and stale and vaguely like something might be rotting just on the other side of the wall.
Passing the mirrors, my brain kicks into ultra-overdrive.
What should we do—what should I do?
Better yet, what should happen for me to have the best chance of keeping Colton in my life forever? I don’t know. Or maybe somewhere inside I do, but because I feel overloaded, overwhelmed, I can’t process.
And because of that I almost walk right into one of the stall doors.
Shit.
“Get it together,” I whisper with a little jerk of my balled fist. My voice is too quiet to sound as angry at myself as I feel, but the smacking of my palm on the stall door to swing it open—now that I caught myself right before headbutting it—does a better job.
The reverberating sound of the slap almost stings my ears. And feeling like a moron, I know I need to calm the fuck down. So I close and latch the door way more gently than I otherwise might have, which feels ridiculous but whatever, with my free hand. Then turn with my phone in the other.
But of course, because that’s how these last few minutes are going, I start to slip on water on the tile floor.
God, I fucking hope that’s water.
And there’s a horrifying moment where my cell starts to slip from my fingers.
Toward. The. Toilet.
The nasty, public, bar toilet.
I’m woman enough to admit that the shriek/squeak/yelp that comes from me is loud and terrified, as I lose control of my phone and it takes a nosedive.
I’d prefer a shattered screen over the whole thing being forever unclean. Maybe I have some telekinetic powers too, because it misses the edge of the seat by no more than a couple millimeters and lands on the floor instead. Even on a dry spot.
Because I’m still not totally positive that is water a few inches away.
Maybe I’ll leave it there anyway, forever. I’m not convinced that I want to touch it again.
And this night took a real fucking turn in the last few minutes.
15
After sitting for a moment, not even able to pee, I somehow manage to get my head back into a relatively collected state. Mostly.
Then at the sink, after splashing a little water on my face and taking a couple deep breaths—with longer exhales than inhales—I feel pretty much back to normal. We can talk about the important stuff later. Right now is fun. It has been fun. And I want to keep it fun.
Tonight can still be fun.
And it will be if I stay chilled the fuck out.
Nodding at my reflection when I look up to the mirror, I even manage a smile. It might not be the cutest smile, but there’s something there. And I’m able to walk to the door with my shoulders back and my chin a little higher than before.
I’m ready to have fun.
That is, until the door swings toward me while my hand’s on it, and I’m flying back into the bathroom.
I have one of those moments where I’m irrationally pissed off, even though no one could've known I was on the other side. It's not like these doors have windows. And I guess even if they did, that wouldn’t be a good thing.
But I'm able to right myself, one hand on the door handle. My dress went askew in the chaos, and in a panic, I look down to make sure all of the necessary body parts are still covered like they should be.
And I'm glad I did, because there was a nip about to slip.
Not that my nips aren’t worth slipping, but not tonight.
While I'm looking down, whoever was coming in manages to move the same way I do. And we do that stupid awkward dance thing—that thing I absolutely hate, because it makes you feel like such a moron—like, why can’t you just walk normal, why can’t they just walk normal, why do you have to be around this stranger for any longer than necessary? It’s awful.
“Oh god,” I say.
And it’s weird.
“Shit,” she adds.
When I move left and she goes the same way to try to walk around me, I almost sigh in frustration. But instead I keep my eyes on our feet so I can see which way she's going next, and just when I think I have it figured out, this time she bumps into me. Fucking hell.
And I don’t know if she's just wasted or that rude, because as she bumps into me, half of whatever fruity—read sticky-as-fuck—drink spills down my dress. Also, I don’t just mean it only spills on my dress. Down it too. Between my uncaged boobs.
And sticky cleavage is…a form of torture.
But the bitch doesn’t apologize. She just finds the gap and finally walks around me, the rest of the way into the bathroom.
Maybe she’s about to burst and has no brain power left to use some common curtesy. But still.
Okay, but still.
She’s in a stall—with her drink by the way, which is gross—before I look up and turn. All I see is a glimpse of her tacky-ass dress. Loud colors, just screaming for attention.
I know on another night, I would not be this bitchy. I can feel that I’m taking it too far, that I’m pushing my rage onto someone else who may or may not deserve it.
But whatever.
Out of the bathroom, and after a deep breath, I manage to make my way to Colton, who’s dancing with Charli. Not without more frustration, though. Because apparently some of what smells like bananas—I hate bananas—made its way into one of my shoes too. And every step I take feels awful.
“Hey, you,” Colton says through a huge smile as I let both of my palms land on his chest.
“Can we talk?” I jump right in.
With only a half second of hesitation, Colton nods, his smile no longer reaching his eyes.
Jerking my head toward the bar, for something resembling privacy—at least from our friends, who are living it up on the dance floor. Colton shrugs but doesn’t hesitate to lead
the way, grabbing my hand to pull me along.
When we get up to the bar, Colton pulls out a stool for me, melting some of my frustration.
“What’s up?” he asks, trying to mask the wariness in his voice.
“I wanted to know—” I start, trying to figure out what I want to say, even though I’ve already started. I probably should have had that figured out before opening my mouth.
Not that I’m the best at doing that the right way, anyway.
“Can I get another?” a nasal voice says from behind us. Then she leans in directly between me and Colton to order her drink, so I can’t see him at all.
I roll my eyes. I don't mean to, but it happens without my permission. At least Colton doesn’t see it. And you know what, I don’t even regret it.
Before I can lean around her to see Colton’s reaction, all of the things that I want to say to him finally come to mind. I want to ask if we can go back to the hotel to talk in private. Because my feet are sticky, my boobs are sticky, and I’m pretty exhausted. And I really just want to lie in his arms for the rest of the night. Preferably after a shower.
But I don't get to say any of that, obviously.
Instead, I actually focus on who’s between us and see that damn tacky dress, and a face that I recognize. Not only is she the reason I’m feeling gross, she's also the same one who was all over Colton before. The chick with the big tits and the fake laugh, who knows how to flatter and hook her guy. The doll.
“Oh my gosh,” she says with the fakest shock I’ve ever heard in my life. Enthusiasm is probably real though. “Look who it is. Fancy seeing you here,” she adds.
I'm pretty sure I’d like to punch her in the face.
And if Colton actually believes that she only just noticed who he was, that she interrupted us by accident, then I think I might puke. Because this bitch plans everything out, every detail. She might be annoying the shit out of me, but it's only because I'm on the wrong end of her brilliance. Girl isn't dumb.
“How are you?” Colton asks her. And I wish I could see his face, see if he smiling. Because I’m getting nothing from his tone.
Granted he doesn’t sound super engaged, but he’s also not telling her that he was in the middle of a conversation with me. I don't want that to bug me, but it does.
Then a thought flits through my head quicker than I can stop it. I feel a little bad, but it’s also not wrong. This is why I don’t date friends. Oh god. This is why.
Because if something goes wrong…
If something goes wrong I stand to lose so much more than good sex, than a fling. I lose half of life.
Fair or not, just when I was starting to calm down, it all goes to hell again. And the stickiness is drying, turning into something worse, a crusty kind of glue. And the length of the day is starting to set in; I really am tired.
I don't know what else they’ve been saying since I can’t get out of my own head. But I’ve got to get off this train before I take it off the rails. I think I just need a shower and to sleep.
“Hey, Colt,” I interrupt, leaning around her annoyingly perfect ass so I can see him. “I am gonna go back to the hotel. I’ll see you later.” And I smile, trying to make it look completely normal. I even manage a happy wave as I get off the barstool and turn, since none of this is his fault. Not really. And then as I take a step away, I physically shake my shoulders to try and get rid of my anger and the doubts that started to seep in. Everything will look better in the morning.
Though, I sort of feel bad that I left before giving him time to say anything, but I just don’t have the energy for it. I really don’t.
And then, when I hear her open her mouth to say something, I’m really glad I didn't stick around for a debate.
“Now that I have you all alone, all to myself, I was thinking…” she says, but I don't hear the rest as I book it out of the damn bar.
Back in the hotel room, I let out a huge breath. I hadn’t been holding it but in my rush to get back, I definitely went fast enough to get a little winded.
My shoes go flying as I kick them off, and one bounces off the wall. Somehow, instead of settling down, I work myself back up. At least I'm not crying the stupid, angry tears that only come when you're on the wrong side of irrational and tired. But my irritation is spiking, without anywhere to land. Because I don't even know exactly why I’m annoyed. Not really.
“Why don’t you just ovary up and talk to him?” I mumble, as I start ripping my dress over my head. It’s time for a long, hot shower. In the steam, in the water, I know I'll relax.
“Isn’t the saying ‘nut up?’” Colton asks walking into the room and scaring the shit out of me.
As I was undressing, I didn’t hear the door open.
I yelp in response and whip around to see him happier than ever.
He doesn’t get it. I can see it written all over him that he’s happy to have me all to himself again.
“Ovaries are a hell of a lot stronger, and more powerful,” I say.
“Fair enough,” Colton agrees as he walks toward me. It’s halfway between a saunter and a jog like he's trying to be sexy and can't get to me fast enough.
And just as I was starting to work up the courage to say something about my stupid jealousy, that maybe this was a mistake, he makes my heart melt.
“Brilliant exit strategy, Ev.” His smile is so genuine as he wraps his arms around my sticky body. “Now I get you all to myself. All night.”
We can talk about it tomorrow.
I sink into his arms, distracted and a lot happier.
“Let me pour us some drinks, since we left a little early. And we can search for the worst thing on tonight,” Colton says—those magic words.
I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
Standing in just my panties, I can see in the mirror the dried drink down my chest. And not even Colton and his sweet promises can distract me enough from that.
“Just let me take a quick shower, and then I’m all yours,” I tell him.
“Deal.” Cotton nods.
In two seconds flat I'm in the bathroom with the shower on. I strip off the last of my clothing as the water heats up, and then I let my shoulder sag, happy for the turn in the evening and the distraction.
In the pounding water, as hot as I can stand it, I barely have time to get my hair wet before I’m startled again. The lights flick off, and my shoulders jump up instinctively. But there’s only a moment in the dark before I hear his voice.
“Would you rather always have relaxing showers to yourself forever, or never get to shower by yourself again, but have amazing shower sex every time you do?” Colton asks.
“Hmmmm,” I say, drawing it out. “One can’t put too high a price on a rejuvenating solo shower,” I tease.
“Is that your final answer?” he asks as he peeks around the shower curtain.
“Get in here, dummy, and screw me,” I beg him. I don’t recognize the tone in my voice. It almost sounds like it's coming from someone else, someone with a lot of practice in front of a video camera. There's need in my tone, somewhere in the husky depth.
“Your wish is my command. Anything,” Colton agrees as he steps into the water behind me.
“Everything,” I correct him.
But that's about the last thing either of us are going to say, I’d guess.
Colton grabs both of my hands with his and walks us towards the shower wall. From behind me he pushes, his body coming up against mine, and then lifts our hands up to the tile.
Pressing my palms against the wall, he nuzzles against the back of my neck after moving my wet hair aside.
“Leave your hands there,” he orders me.
The command, the gruffness in his voice, sends tingles down my spine, where they collect in my pussy. The warmth there grows, and with barely any effort, I’m already ready for him.
Half of my brain, somewhere way back, wonders why we haven’t always been doing this. Or maybe it's the excitement of the newness,
of what I’d always considered forbidden. But even deep down, I wonder if it could be more than that.
Either way, I let go, and lean into him taking charge.
Arching my back, I press my ass harder against him even though there really wasn't any space between us before. And I feel him twitch, getting harder.
Colton grabs my hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh. He moves my body an inch forward, away from him, and I suck in a breath. But before I can whine or beg for his touch, he pulls me back against him again. With force, with need.
I sigh. But it's not a content sound like I meant. Instead both of us hear the longing. So he doesn’t make me beg.
One of his hands goes between my legs, his fingers finding their rightful home immediately. In long, slow strokes he lets just the tips of his fingers go into me before coming right back out. He brushes against my clit and then moves away too fast, without giving it enough attention.
He’s trying to drive me crazy.
And the worst part is that it’s working.
I move my hips in circles, pushing backward, and grinding my ass against him. Two can play this game.
I sort of forgot that he has two hands as the other one grabs my shoulder. He digs his thumb in, massaging me for a moment before walking his fingers around to the front. He grazes over my collarbone and keeps going until his palm is on my neck. A finger up on my chin and his pinky on the other side of my collarbone, he holds there.
Without too much pressure Colton holds on to me, my hands still braced on the wall.
I almost forgot that we were in the shower, though the hot water still falls all around us, between us, a little pooling at our toes. The steam, the heat, in the dark bathroom. It’s all intoxicating. A little dizzying, but in the best way.
And that’s when Colton removes his other hand, leaving me wanting. Though, it’s not for long, as he guides himself inside of me. He glides in easily, my body having been waiting for him and ready.
“Oh fuck,” Colton murmurs into my shoulder as he leans against me.
The hand that had been playing between my swelling lips, the lips between my thighs that is, moves to my stomach now as he wraps his entire arm around my waist.
