by Kacey Shea
“Sorry,” my driver, Mike, calls out for what feels like the hundredth time. “Looks like they’ve shut it down.” He points ahead and my eyes catch on the flashing lights in the distance. An SUV flipped. A half a dozen smashed cars. Emergency vehicles everywhere. The enclosed space of the vehicle suddenly feels too confining. Suffocating. We move forward another few feet, then stop. Trapped. The urge to bail is immediate.
Bile rises in my throat, but it’s not from my hangover. “Here’s fine,” I mumble and reach for the door, popping it open before Mike is able to pull over. Doesn’t matter. We’re barely moving as it is, and I doubt he prefers I stay to puke in his car. My feet hit the pavement, and I draw in a long breath. Still, it’s not enough. Heat prickles my clammy skin. The flash of lights and blare of sirens assaults my senses. I can’t get away fast enough. I barely register the blare of horns from annoyed drivers as I cut through the stalled traffic and cross to the other side. If I felt better I’d flip them off, but the only thing my brain can process right now is getting away.
I duck inside the first fast food joint I come across, order a burger, fries, and soda before sliding into an empty booth. I eat as though my life depends on it, and my pulse finally slows. The sheen of sweat covering my body cools at the arctic setting of the restaurant’s air conditioning and I shiver. I check my GPS and conclude the apartment is only a half mile walk from here. Totally do-able once I stop freaking out.
That’s when it hits me. I haven’t heard from Alicia or Callie. Strange. At least, it’s strange Callie hasn’t called or texted. Alicia’s known to ghost, especially after finding a new boy toy for the night, but Callie is more responsible. And she’s alone. I know because I walked her to her door. Fuck. Dread fills my stomach. I hope she’s okay. She drank too much last night. I should’ve run interference with those shots. Or stayed with her last night. A sickening thought flickers through my mind. Callie, face down in her own puke. I swallow back the urge to be sick myself and trash the rest of my uneaten food. Pushing outside the doors, I shoot off a group text to my friends.
Wellness check. Please tell me you’re alive.
Nothing.
No bubbling dots. No text back. Zilch. It’s as if they’ve disappeared. Dropped dead.
I can’t stand the thought.
They’re probably sleeping. Hungover. Misplaced their phones. The rational part of my brain tries reason, but that pressing panic in my chest squeezes tightly with each passing second. My strides are long and determined as I hike back to my car. I check Snapchat, Instagram, and even Facebook searching for some sign of my friends’ presence but find nothing. When my car comes into view, I run the rest of the way and throw myself inside.
The time on my dashboard taunts me and adds another layer to my nerves. I should be home, resting, making myself appear halfway decent for my date, but instead I drive straight to Callie’s. I won’t be able to relax until I know she’s safe. Alive. I shake away the alternatives. Of course she’s alive. She has to be.
I blast through a yellow as my phone pings from its spot in the center console. My pulse stutters and breath slows. It’s probably Callie. Or Alicia. I’m overacting for nothing, letting my imagination run wild with every worst case scenario. It pings again. Then again, but there’s no opportunity to check the screen without taking my eyes off the road. Damn it. I should’ve splurged on a hands-free system for this very situation. At the next stop light, I eagerly glance down at the screen.
What the—?
My eyes practically bug out of my head. The messages are all from Cam.
Cam the Man: Thought you might be missing this guy so I made you something.
Cam the Man: If you print these out they make a naughty flip book.
Cam the Man: You’re welcome.
Attached is a photo of Cam in his boxer briefs. Tight, second-skin-hugging boxer briefs that leave nothing to the imagination. And apparently I’m not the only one remembering last night. The dick print is everything I remember it to be.
Wait. How did he get my number? I scroll up to see a text from my phone to his. Last night, when he programmed it in, no doubt.
Me: Thanks for the best fuck of my life.
Seriously? I scowl at the cockiness of his message. Maybe he meant it as a joke, but it sparks annoyance regardless. Another photo comes through before the light changes, this one showing the tip of his cock poking through the band of his briefs.
A rhythmic beat of text alerts sounds from my phone, serenading my drive. Jesus. Fuck. How many dick pics can one man send? I need to concentrate on driving—on checking on my friend—not this . . . fucking hell, he’s got a nice one. I shake my head, ashamed at how easily he distracted me. It’s exasperating. Rude. Presumptuous, even. And yeah, so maybe for the first time all day laughter bubbles in my chest, fighting to break through at the ridiculousness of his actions. This is definitely a new one. His efforts are unconventional, and quite creative. Just like he is in bed. A flush spreads over my body as my skin heats.
Does he send flip books to all the girls? Show off his rocks? At that thought, my good humor sobers and at the next opportunity to stop, I text him back.
Me: Please stop.
He does, and a little piece inside is disappointed that one text is all it takes to shut him down. Which is stupid. So stupid. I should be relieved. Happy even, that he respects my wishes. Only, his quick retreat feels too easy, and not at all like the challenge I saw in him last night. Whatever. We don’t really know each other beyond the biblical sense, and I have bigger worries at the moment. Callie. She still hasn’t called or texted.
As her home comes into view I breathe a little easier. She’s okay. She has to be. At least that’s what I tell myself as I force my feet up her walkway in steady steps. I bang against the door and wait, the minutes passing like an eternity. The weight of the world presses down on my chest, or maybe it’s my hangover; either way, my legs go weak and I lean against the column of her front archway to keep upright. “Damn it, Callie. Open the fucking door.” I’m seconds from calling Emergency when it swings open.
“Jill.” Her voice croaks. She looks like complete shit, and I think that’s dried puke matted in her hair, but she’s alive. Thank fuck. “You came.”
She’s here. Alive. Of course she is. I push into her place, angry at myself for even thinking otherwise and relieved as hell that nothing’s wrong. My anxiety won that round, and an unsettled energy buzzes in my veins, making me restless.
I can’t help but give her a verbal thrashing for scaring me—after I hug the shit after her. She explains how she must have lost her phone at the party, and her apology is heartfelt. I can’t stay mad. It’s not her fault, and it’s not as if I didn’t also sleep most of the day away. While she gets dressed my conscience gets the better of me and I admit to hooking up with Cam, then about my current predicament. “I’m dating someone else.”
“What?” Her eyes go wide with shock and maybe a little hurt, too.
“I know!” I heave out a sigh, more guilt etching its way into my mind. “I should have told you but it’s still new and we work together so we’ve been keeping it on the down low. We haven’t slept together yet, but we aren’t seeing other people. And last night I had no intention of hooking up with anyone!”
We don’t keep things from each other. Not most things anyway. I don’t know exactly why I didn’t confide in her about Preston. Maybe I always knew I’d screw it up? Maybe I was fooling myself. “Stupid. I’m so stupid. I should have seen it coming and I should have said no, but he was so good and hot and—fuck! Callie what do I do?”
“First, you take a deep breath. Everyone makes mistakes and like you said, this guy and you aren’t sleeping together so it’s not really cheating.” Her smile is understanding, and I appreciate her attempt to placate my guilt. But she’s wrong. Last night was cheating. If anything, hearing it aloud only makes it more real. I slept with Cam when I promised Preston we wouldn’t see other people. No matter wh
ich way I cut it, or how good it felt in the moment, what I did was wrong.
“It’s cheating. We’ve already had the discussion about not seeing other people. We’re together. I’m sure you know what I mean since you’ve done the same with Chase.”
Her gaze drops to her hands, and she picks at her nails. “Do you really have to have that conversation to be considered exclusive?”
“Wait?” Hold the front door. “You and Chase haven’t discussed that yet?”
Her eyes widen. Shit. I glance away. I can’t pretend that isn’t alarming.
“Not in so many words.” Her voice is soft and full of trepidation. “But I trust him and we’re together together. I mean, you saw how he was with me last night, right?”
Now I feel even worse. She’s in a good place, and Chase was all over her last night. I don’t need to project my own guilt onto her budding relationship. “Hey, of course I saw.” I take her hand in mine and gently squeeze until she meets my gaze. “He’s totally into you. Had eyes for no one else.”
Callie’s smile brightens, and even though her mascara is smeared under her eyes, and her skin pale, she appears a thousand times better from my words. I make her promise not to tell Chase about my tryst with his brother, then tug her off the bed.
“Come on, let’s get you back to your car.” I sigh, checking the time on my cell again. I could cancel my date with Preston, but I won’t take the coward’s way out. I’d only see him at work tomorrow anyway. I have to deal with the consequences of my actions. I’d rather rip it off like a Band-Aid.
“I hope my phone is still at that apartment,” she says, locking her front door and then following me down the drive and into my car.
I could offer to text Cam for her, to see if anyone left a cell behind since that’s where he lives, but my pride refuses. He programmed his cell in my phone, and the only reason I can think he would do that is because he assumed I’d be back, begging for a round two. Ha! Fucking idiot. I don’t play needy girl games. Never have and never would.
A few minutes into the drive downtown to Alicia’s condo and it’s clear Callie’s feeling her hangover. I keep the music low, and take each turn with care. We don’t talk either, which is probably why the text alert from my phone sounds off like a bullhorn. Once. Then twice. Again and again. I give my phone a glance, but ignore the message. It’s probably Alicia. Has to be. I told Cam to stop and he did.
It pings again.
Callie rips the phone from the console before I can stop her.
“No! Don’t!”
“Jill!” My name leaves her mouth a screech and I just know. Her eyes are wide as they stare at the screen. “That’s Cameron!” She doesn’t look away, as if she’s stunned, and I don’t blame her. I was too the first time my eyes locked on that monster. “My boyfriend’s brother, Cameron!” She drops my phone into the console and clenches her eyes shut.
“I know! I know!”
“He just texted you a pic of his dick!”
“He’s been doing it all day! I swear, I asked him to stop at first, but it’s kinda hot,” I admit and sneak another glance at my phone. Oh. My. God. These photos have captions. My legs press together. “He’s a great sexter.”
“How am I supposed to act like I didn’t see that?”
That’s the exact question I’m asking myself. Right now I’m having a hard time remembering why I told him to stop. Or why I’m even going on this date later. Fuck. I shake my head. As Callie gets over what she just saw, I pull into the parking garage at Alicia’s condo expecting her car to be next to Callie’s where we left it last night. It’s not, a sign Alicia’s already been home and back out again. Party girl should’ve been a rock star. She could’ve at least texted me to let me know she’s alive.
Callie slides out of my car and I roll down the window, waiting for her to get in her Jeep before pulling away.
“Good luck finding your phone!”
“Thanks for the ride.” She lifts her hand in a wave. “Good luck with the BDC.”
I frown, not understanding, “What?”
“Big Dick Cam.” She laughs heartily for the first time all day. “You’ve got your hands full, quite literally, with that one.”
“Oh my God!” I shake my head, but my lips spread with a grin. “Pretend I never told you. Please!”
“Impossible. You saw the size of it!” She laughs again and shuts her door, the engine of her vehicle roaring to life behind me as I steer my car back home. I need to change. Hell, another shower wouldn’t hurt. Another text alert sounds and my body heats at the thought of what lies waiting in my inbox. No. I can’t think about what Cam’s packing. I have a date with Preston. I press my foot on the gas, anxious to get home. It chimes again, and my head fills with naughty images. Shit, the least I can do is mute my notifications. No more Cam. He’s off the menu. Tonight is Preston. Ping. My sex clenches. Fuck, at this point I need a cold shower just to make it through this damn date.
Chapter Five
Preston is nice. He’s pleasant. He wears the hell out of his dress shirt, and he smells good too. Still. I can’t stop thinking about Cam. Every little thing Preston does or says dims in comparison to Cam, which is completely unfair. They aren’t in a battle for my attention. There’s no competition. Preston is the man here with me, dating me, and patient as hell when I asked to take things slow. Cam is some guy I hooked up with. One hot night. That’s it.
Preston clears his throat, scooting closer in our booth after he hands our server his card. He paid for dinner, even when I offered to split it, and an extra dose of shame washes over me for thinking of someone else.
“Thank you.” I edge away from his body, needing a little space. “Everything was delicious.” I pick up my water and take a sip before meeting his gaze.
“Wanna come back to my place for a drink? Or we could watch a movie?” His gaze is hopeful.
“Uh.” It’s the time of judgment. My time to come clean. I either tell Preston what I did last night, or I break things off. There’s no way to have both. Not for me.
He reaches for my hand, stilling it from where I cling to my water glass. His fingers wrap around mine, and his gaze heats as he brings them to his lips. He presses a chaste kiss to the back of my hand and I can tell he’s holding back. Like he wants to devour my lips, or drag me back to his apartment. If I could let myself remember why I wanted normal with Preston, I might actually enjoy that. But it’s never gonna happen.
I don’t want Preston. Not because he’s a bad guy, or even that we work together, though that probably should be reason enough. No, it has everything to do with the man who sent me immature and inappropriate texts all day. The one who rocked my world last night. Fuck. Am I really that woman? The one who passes on a perfectly good man for another who’s probably a total player. Who is the total opposite of safe. Who I clearly can’t stop thinking about. “I’m sorry.”
“Maybe another night?” I hear the optimism in his voice. I see it in his unguarded gaze.
“I’m sorry, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Because we work together? Because I already checked the HR manual, and it won’t be a problem. We’re in different departments, and I’m not your supervisor.”
I did the same. I don’t know why I thought I could date like a normal person. I’m not cut out for this. Even this conversation gives me hives. I hate hurting him, but the truth does that sometimes. “That’s not it.”
“There’s someone else?”
Yes. No. I’m not with Cam, and he’s not the only reason I’m ending things tonight. But I won’t deny being with Cam opened my eyes to how foolish I’ve been to think this thing with Preston could be more. That I could date him and not hurt anyone, because my heart won’t ever be fully invested. He doesn’t deserve that from a partner. I deserve more than a relationship void of mind-blowing sexual chemistry, too. “I’m sorry, Preston. It’s not you, it’s—”
“It’s fine. You don’t need to explain.” H
e holds up a hand, his smile tight and lacking his usual easy-going manner. “I’m glad you told me now, because I don’t want it to be weird at work. For either of us.”
There’s no malice or anger in his words, and for that I exhale in relief. Not that we really work together. I rarely see him but for the occasional run-in at the shared lunchroom since he’s in accounting. We wouldn’t have even started talking if it weren’t for the company-wide training for new hires a few months ago.
“Thank you. For not making it weird. And for these last few dates. You’re a good guy.” And he is a good guy. Respectful. Intelligent. Kind. Handsome, too. Safe. My heart never once raced when he called, or even when he pressed his lips to mine for a sweet kiss goodnight. Until last night with Cam, I thought I was the one in control. Now that I know how it could be . . . I can’t pretend to want safe. Maybe that makes me a complete idiot. It probably does. But one thing is perfectly clear: I should’ve stuck to the plan. No relationships. No commitments. No messy feelings, safe or otherwise.
“I can drive you home.” It’s considerate of him to offer.
“No, thanks, I’ll just grab an Uber.” I slide out of the booth and he follows. I take a step toward the restrooms while he heads toward the door. I wave good-bye, and dig my phone from my bag.
Preston offers another smile, but I sense it’s more forced than natural. He liked me. More than I felt for him, and for that I feel another sliver of guilt. I wish I could’ve returned his feelings. He’s the kind of man who’s looking for a true partnership. He doesn’t want kids. Doesn’t even believe in marriage. He’s the perfect candidate for someone like me. I all but pictured us spending weekends together, alternating apartments, going out for brunch and discussing politics. The fact my daydream never included hot, sweaty, orgasmic fucking should have been a warning sign. I wanted to use him for a companion, one I could keep at a distance.
