by Lane Hart
Alex
I am seriously fucking this up, I think to myself when the sexy little woman parks her red Audi in front of the pharmacy. Talking to girls was never this hard before. They always seemed to like me no matter what I said, but now I'm starting to think that had everything to do with my money and nothing to do with having actual charm.
“I’ll go in and buy the condoms since you’re shirtless and all,” Whitney turns and says to me from the driver seat, her eyes lowering to my chest and down to my abs. “Not that I’m complaining…”
With that proclamation, she climbs out of the car with her red leather designer purse on her shoulder and then sways her ass all the way through the automatic doors. Her black dress is so short her cheeks are nearly hanging out the back. And if I can succeed in not screwing this up before we get to my apartment, she might just let me touch all of that perfection.
It feels like I won the lottery. Not only does she come into the gym asking for no-strings-attached sex, which is great since I can’t afford to go on a date, but she’s really fucking hot. Even if I hadn’t gotten laid in forever, Whitney is the type of girl I’m usually attracted to. A “spinner” they’re called, the petite ones that are so tiny you can spin them around your dick like a top. They’re perfect for picking up and fucking in any position imaginable.
God, tonight is gonna be awesome, that is, if I can manage to keep my mouth shut and not piss her off.
“Okay, I bought some lube and a ten-pack. That should be enough, right?” Whitney asks when she hops back in the car.
“Ten, for one night? Ah, yeah, sure,” I reply, not really sure if she’s joking or has never spent the night with a guy before. My endurance and stamina are no joke, but I’m pretty sure four times in one night is my current record. And one that has not been repeated.
“So, where’s your place?” Whitney asks as she backs out of the parking spot.
“Turn left out of here, and it’s the first complex on your right.”
“Complex? So, you live in an apartment?”
“Ah, yeah,” I reply. Isn’t that where most single people in their twenties who aren’t rich live?
I guide her to the right building and show her where to park. At least Luke’s orange Mustang is not here, so we’ll have some time alone.
“Your place is…really small,” Whitney says when we step into the two-bedroom apartment. “And empty.”
“Yeah, it is,” I agree with a wince. The whole thing is not much bigger than my bedroom back home with only the necessities, just a sofa and television in the living room. From what I’ve seen (her brand-new Audi convertible) and heard so far (that she’s allergic to poor boys), I’m guessing Whitney is from a wealthy family too.
“So, um, I need to take a quick shower,” I tell her since after my failed job search I had been working out and sweating for two hours before she waltzed into Havoc. “Make yourself at home,” I tell her over my shoulder as I start down the hallway.
“I think I’ll just watch,” she replies from right behind me.
“Sure, put the TV on whatever you want to watch,” I call out.
“No, I want to watch you.”
“You’re gonna watch me take a shower?” I turn around to ask her for confirmation.
“Why not?” she asks with her hands on her hips, sparkling, golden-yellow topaz eyes dead serious.
“You could just join me,” I suggest with a grin while eying the small scrap of a dress she’s wearing and imagining it disappearing.
“No, thanks, I’m good,” she says, tossing her silky, waist-length bronze strands of hair over her shoulder.
I’m unsure how I feel about this. I mean, she did come here with the intention of fucking me, so having her watch me suds up while naked shouldn’t be a big deal. It’s just; I thought we would be getting naked at approximately the same time so that I could look at her while she checks me out. Now, if she’s the only one watching me in the shower, it’ll be all lopsided.
On the other hand, the fact that she’s in such a hurry to ogle me rather than just wait out here or in the bedroom is…hot. I don’t have anything to be ashamed of. Besides, she’s already seen everything except my ass and cock. A less endowed man may be afraid of showing her the goods and having her say, “No thanks,” and walk out the door, clearly unimpressed.
I’m not that man.
So, while still facing her to watch her reaction, I say, “Suit yourself,” and shove my shorts and jockstrap to the floor in one fluid motion to step out of them.
“Wow. If I had known poor boys are hung like porn stars, I would’ve tried them a long time ago,” Whitney says, making my jaw drop at the insult, even if it is mixed in with a compliment.
“I’m not poor –” I start to explain, indignant at her quick judgment.
“Aww, I know, baby,” she croons with a caress of her manicured fingernails down the center of my chest. “I’m sure you’re rich of the soul, blah, blah, blah. At least you were blessed with a big ole cock.”
Any other protest I have shrivels up and dies right there in the narrow hallway when she squeezes my length, making me groan and go from semi-hard to let’s do this!
“Now, go hurry up and wash away your gym sweat so we can start mixing ours together,” Whitney tells me when she, unfortunately, releases my dick.
My feet turn automatically toward the bathroom, following her order as if on command. And I can’t say that I’m all that surprised when she smacks my ass cheek to get me moving faster.
Chapter Five
Whitney
Damn. If I knew there were single guys at Havoc this fine, I would’ve taken one of them for a spin a long time ago rather than allow my mother to control my dating life.
Watching Alex soap up his muscles while deliciously scented steam fills the bathroom, sitting within an arm’s reach on top of the sink counter has me all hot and bothered.
And if I wouldn’t end up looking like a drowned rat with makeup running down my face, I would be right there with him, helping him suds up all the hard to reach places.
“Screw the rinse and repeat. Let’s do this already!” I tell him in exasperation.
I hear what sounds like a chuckle before the water finally cuts off. The shower curtain pulls back and, no shit, drool nearly runs down my chin at the sight of Alex standing before me, his ivory muscles dripping wet and looking carved from granite.
Grabbing a towel from the nearby hanger, he rubs the cloth over each of his thick arms, down his pretty face and the center of his chest before starting on his long legs and making his way upward before stepping out.
Knowing that it’s almost time to get down to business is a little…scary. While I’ve never had a one-night stand before, I didn’t think it would be all that hard. Now, though, when it’s go time, and I’m expected to get naked in front of a stranger, I’m having second thoughts.
“Could I…could I have a moment, alone?” I ask Alex while he shimmies the cloth over his backside, making his junk sway hypnotically. He wasn’t lying about being a grower and a shower. Even soft his cock is long and thick.
“Yeah, sure. I’ll, ah, be in the bedroom,” he replies, dropping his towel on the floor and walking out the door, shutting it closed behind him. Jeez, his ass is so nice and tight I could just slap it all night.
Hopping down off the counter, I turn around and take a look in the mirror over the sink and comb my fingers through my long hair while checking my makeup. The deer in headlights look is not a good one on me.
Shit.
I’ve got to get myself together.
What’s my problem, anyway?
Maybe because it’s still daylight outside since it’s only five o’clock in the afternoon? Scandalous rendezvous like this are supposed to take place at night, in the darkness, so the other person can’t see you as well when you’re naked. Everything is too…bright here. I’ve made a horrible mistake with my lack of planning.
I’ve never even kissed
the man in the other room before, and now I’m gonna go have sex with him? What if I can’t get…properly excited down there and he realizes there’s something wrong with me? What if he’s a bad kisser? That’s probably something I should’ve considered and tested while we were still at Havoc.
Ryan was a horrible kisser. I knew that from the start, yet I still ended up sleeping with him after a few dates. He wasn’t even half as hot as Alex either. Ryan was so scrawny he had chicken legs and his ribs always showed, nothing like the rippling muscles the fighter has going on.
Wait.
Did I even shave my legs today?
Between ending a relationship and deciding to get it on with a hot stranger, I’m not sure if I did. I reach down and smooth my palm up my shin, which finds prickles.
Dammit!
I lurch for the tub to find Alex’s razor when one of my heels slips in a puddle of water, sliding out from underneath me and sending me face first toward the toilet.
Chapter Six
Alex
While I wait for Whitney to come out of the bathroom, I run around my bedroom naked, picking up the dirty clothes lying on the floor and tossing them in the closet to worry about later. I’ve never had a woman over here, so of course it’s a mess. I miss having housekeepers that do my laundry and cook and clean for me. The bed sheets look rumpled, so I try to straighten them up, not certain of the last time I washed them.
When I’ve made my room look as clean as possible, I realize that Whitney has been in the bathroom for a lonnng time. Is she having second thoughts? That will suck if so. Did I do something to change her mind? I know it wasn’t my cock’s fault; he’s swinging nice and proud.
I give her a few more minutes before I rap my knuckles softly on the door to check on her.
“Whitney, is everything okay?” I ask but get no response. “If you…if you don’t want to do this, just say so,” I tell her. My dick won’t fall off if I don’t get laid for another day. It will definitely suck, but I’ll survive.
“Whitney?” I knock again when there’s only silence on the other side.
Starting to get worried, I warn her, “If you don’t say something in three seconds, I’m coming in!”
When I try the door handle, it turns easily, so I open it up just a few inches to peek inside and…
“Oh, fuck!” I exclaim, throwing the door wide open when I find Whitney sprawled on the floor in front of the toilet, her long, bronze hair lying in a puddle of blood. “Jesus Christ!”
I rush over to her and roll her over. That’s when I find the source of the blood --- a huge gash on her temple. I grab my discarded shower towel and wrap it around her head as tightly as I can before I scoop her into my arms to take her to the emergency room. It’ll take less time if I drive her than if we have to wait for an ambulance. On the way out of the bathroom, I hook one of my fingers in the strap of her purse that’s still sitting on the counter since I’ll need her car keys.
Thankfully, her topaz eyes begin to blink open as I struggle to open the Audi’s passenger door with my hands full.
“Oh, thank God! Are you okay?” I ask her.
“Huh?” she mutters softly while lifting her hand to her head. “Who…where am…what is…”
“Shh, it’s okay,” I assure her when she can’t form a sentence. “You hit your head, and I’m taking you to the hospital.”
I finally get the car door open and quickly place her in the passenger seat. Then, I get in behind the wheel of a car for the first time in months. Luckily, the hospital is just a few blocks away.
Pulling up in front of the emergency room entrance, I slam the car in park and then rush around it to pull Whitney out. Her eyes are closed again.
“Whitney? Whitney!” I yell at her as I carry her inside, trying to rouse her awake. Other than a few mumbled words, she doesn’t respond.
“I need a doctor!” I tell the two old women sitting at the front desk. “She hit her head and won’t stay awake!”
When neither of the elderly, snowy-haired women moves other than their jaws dropping, I realize belatedly that I’m not wearing a shred of clothing.
“Come on, grandmas, get moving!” I yell at them, more concerned with the unconscious woman in my arms than my public nudity at the moment.
Finally, one of them picks up a phone, and a few seconds later a gurney is being rolled out of the big double doors into the lobby.
“What the hell happened to her?” the nurse holding the gurney asks me.
“I think she fell and hit her head on the toilet,” I explain. “She’s been in and out for several minutes. Is she okay?”
Reaching for Whitney’s wrist, the nurse nods. “She has a good pulse. We’ll get her vitals in the back, and I’ll have someone bring you a gown.”
“Thanks,” I tell her as two more nurses come out to help her get Whitney through the doors.
And then, I’m left standing in the lobby in my birthday suit, blood on my hands and chest, while a waiting room full of people stare at me. Some even hold up their cell phones for photos and videos. Awesome.
“A woman’s bleeding to death and you’re on Facebook live?” I shout at them. “You’re pathetic!”
Rather than jerk the devices from their hands and destroy them, I plop down in one of the chairs, crossing my arms over my chest to wait for an update on Whitney.
…
Whitney
“Ow! Fucking hell, man!” I yell at the tall, lanky ER doctor when he shines that damn flashlight in my eyes for the third time. The sharp stab of pain in my temple hurts almost as much as the four stitches he had to sew into my head. Almost.
“Sorry,” the doc mutters.
I’ve got to say that I’ve done a lot of embarrassing shit in my life, but this takes the freaking cake.
A thick band of gauze is wrapped around my head like a mummy, there’s blood clumped in my hair, and I’ve got the motherfucker of all headaches. But the worst part is knowing that Alex is the one who found me on the bathroom floor and brought me here.
“I’ll be back to check on you again in half an hour,” the med-school-aged doc tells me. “Do you feel nauseous or dizzy?”
“I’m okay,” I tell him yet again. “Can’t I just go home?”
“You have a concussion, and we have to make sure the bleeding has stopped. Would you like any pain medicine?”
“No, I’m fine,” I mutter.
“Should I send in the young man who’s been asking about you?” he questions when he pulls back the curtain to leave.
I don’t want to face Alex after the shit that went down; but at the same time, he’s been out in the waiting room for over two hours now. I wish we could both pretend that none of this ever happened. There’s no way he’s gonna want to sleep with me now anyway.
“Yeah, I guess,” I tell the doctor as I snuggle down further into the white sheets. They’re not as soft as the Egyptian cotton ones on my bed, but at least they’re warm.
Maybe it’s best if I just pretend to have amnesia when I see Alex like I don’t remember him or the embarrassing shit he witnessed. Then, maybe he’ll feel so bad he’ll leave and not tell anyone else what happened.
“Hey! Fuck, you scared the shit out of me,” Alex says when he peeks into the curtains that form my room. My words initially fail me when I notice he’s wearing a blue and white hospital gown that matches mine with my newest baby, a red leather Louis Vuitton, clutched in front of him. The sight nearly makes me bust out laughing.
Shit, did I bleed on his clothes?
Oh, my God!
Was he still not wearing any when he brought me in?
Did he drive my car?
“Who are you?” I ask groggily, going with the pretend-it-didn’t-happen plan.
Alex glances over his shoulder toward the nurses' station and then back at me. “Um, I’m Alex.”
“What are you doing here? Do I know you?” I ask softly.
“Oh no!” he gasps, his face falling as h
e steps closer to the bed. “You don’t remember me?”
“Uh-uh. Never seen you before,” I lie, relieved that my plan is working.
“You’ve lost your memory? Don’t you remember anything from the last three years?” he asks, his silver eyes shimmering.
“Three years?” I exclaim.
“You don’t remember any of our time together? Or…or little Alex Junior?” he says through sniffles. “How are we gonna tell him his mama forgot him?”
“What?” I exclaim in confusion, sitting up in bed so fast the room spins around me.
When a grin stretches across Alex’s face, I realize he knows I’m pretending, and he’s fucking with me.
“The doctor told me you were fine and that you knew where you were and how you got here,” he teases, resting his hands on the hips of his gown.
“Ha-ha,” I reply.
“No, but really. How are you feeling? My toilet packs one helluva punch, huh? You were out cold.”
“God, I can’t believe that happened. Please don’t ever tell anyone,” I beg him, covering my hands with my face when my cheeks begin to warm.
“Then how will I explain why I was running around the ER bloody and naked today?” he asks, making me giggle as I picture the scene he probably caused.
“I hate that I didn’t get to see that,” I tell him when I let my hands fall from my face.
“Oh, you probably can. I predict the videos are all over Facebook or YouTube by now.”
“Oh, my God. Okay, so that may be worse than my head trauma,” I say honestly. “Seriously though, all of this sounds like something from an I Love Lucy episode.”
“A what episode?” Alex asks with a hand cupping his ear.
“I Love Lucy,” I repeat louder.
“Ooh, that’s hot. I love me some girl-on-girl action,” he says with a wink.
“Do all poor boys have your sense of humor?” I ask him, trying to fight my smile.
“I wouldn’t know; I’m not poor.”
“Whatever.”
“Here’s your purse,” he says when he places it on the bed next to my sheet-covered legs. “Carrying it around with me after I went and parked your car didn’t help my street cred much either.”
