by Meghan Quinn
“Back pocket,” he grunts. “Condom in my wallet.”
Not even taking a second to think about what he’s demanding—because Jack doesn’t ask—I reach around him, remove the condom from his wallet, and rip the foil open. Hands still on my thighs, Jack looks at me through his lashes and says, “Put it on, slowly.”
My breathing picks up as every nerve ending in my body is on fire. Mouth watering, hands shaky, I lower his black Calvin Klein boxer briefs and expose his impressive erection.
Sweet Jesus, he’s huge. I glance at him and catch the small smile that plays across his lips. He’s satisfied with my reaction. Prideful. Hell, I’ll give him this cocky moment, because the man is packing something large. Hallelujah.
I roll the top of the condom over the crown of his penis and like he asked, slowly roll it down, inch by very long and thick inch until it’s at the root of his cock. When I look for more direction, he spreads my legs even wider and nestles the head at my entrance.
“So fucking wet,” he whispers. I’ll admit I love seeing his neck muscles contract as he strains for self-control. Gripping his length, he runs the head up and down my wet slit. I prop my hands behind me, pressing my chest forward and bracing myself as my head falls back, loving the feeling of his sheathed cock running up and down my arousal, feeling how turned on I am.
“God, you’re beautiful, Noely,” Jack mumbles right before inserting himself inside me in one hard thrust. My eyes shoot open and a gasp falls out of my wide-open mouth. My breasts begin to bounce as Jack starts to thrust in and out, his hands gripping my thighs, pulling me in with every thrust.
There is nothing I can do but brace myself against this powerful man who seems to have lost all control as he slams into me, his balls bouncing off my ass, his fingers pressing deeply into my muscles, his sweat-coated hands never letting up on their grip.
“God, yes,” I moan when he starts to bottom out, widening my legs even more.
The girth of his cock, the length of it, the way he swivels his hips in and out has me aching for more, quaking for a finish, bursting to scream his name at the top of my lungs.
“So tight, so perfect,” he grunts, picking the pace up, sliding in and out with such force that my toes start to tingle and my vision starts to tunnel.
The prickling of my skin, the throb my of clit, the hammering, my stomach clenching with each thrust . . .
So hard.
So forceful.
So freaking good.
“Oh God,” I whisper, my teeth biting down on my lip as my inner walls start to contract. Jack growls and swivels his hips even more. And that does it. My orgasm finally consumes me as everything around me fades and the euphoric feeling ripping through me takes over. Jack stills inside me. He grunts as his head falls to my shoulder, his breathing erratic, just like mine.
I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard, and from the look in Jack’s eyes when he lifts from my shoulder, neither has he.
His chest heaving, his hair disheveled from his thrusting, and his clothes out of place, he pulls out of me, disposes his condom, and quickly cleans up. Feeling shy, I put my breasts back in my bra and scoot the hem of my skirt down. But before I can pull my dress back up, Jack cups my neck and pulls me close to him for a searing kiss that reaches my toes.
Barely pulling away, he speaks softly, “Go out with me.”
I must be in a serious post-coitus fog because I swear he just told me to go out with him.
“What?” I ask, leaning back to study his features.
“Go out with me, Noely.”
Yep, okay, I heard him correctly.
Snapping my legs shut, I push past him, right my dress, and try to zip it up with my back turned to him. When he sees me struggling, he steps behind me. His body heat hits me hard as his fingers graze across my exposed skin when he helps me with my zipper. Holding me in place, he kisses my neck gently, sending my mind into a tailspin.
Did he just tell me to go out with him?
But better yet, did I just have sex with him?
From the gleeful way my body is feeling, I’m going to say that’s a yes. And not just sex. Oh Lord, not just sex. I didn’t believe sex could actually be so . . . salacious. Erotic.
Carnal.
What the hell was I thinking?
Oh God, I look like such a slut. And don’t try to tell me I don’t. I know what you’re thinking: look at that Noely chick. She just had sex with a guy who dropped her like a pelican with no wings—ignore the reference, I have no idea where that came from—giving in to him the minute he stuck her breast in his mouth.
Yes, this is true. I let the nipple sucking happen, but . . .
But . . .
God, there is no excuse. I’m slut-zilla, climbing dicks like skyscrapers.
Be disgusted, because I am.
“What the hell was that?” I ask, stepping away and crossing my arms over my chest.
Looking a little confused, Jack fixes his clothes and says, “Uh, from what I know, that was sex.”
“I know what it . . .” I take a deep breath. “I know that was sex. I’m asking what the hell it was for?”
“Well, usually sex is for pleasure and for procreating. Since we used a condom and are not in a position to be raising a child together at the moment, I’m going to say it was for pleasure. But then again, if you thought we were procreating, I’m going to have to—”
“I know we weren’t making a child. Jesus, Jack!” I fling my arms in the air. “Why the hell did you come in here? To get what you didn’t get on our second date? Well, congratulations, you got it, now you can leave.”
To say I’m upset with myself is an understatement. I got caught up in the moment, in the feel of his body, in the way he made me tingle from head to toe. And I’d be lying if I denied wanting that to happen. But now?
I feel stupid. Used.
Cheap.
“Noely,” he says sternly, taking a step toward me.
I hold my hand out to stop him. “Don’t, Jack. Just don’t, okay?” I shake my head. Why, Noely? Why didn’t you have an ounce of self-control? Why? “Please just leave. This was a mistake, a giant one.”
“Why was it a mistake? Your body didn’t think so. Neither did mine.” He takes another step forward, causing me to back into the wall.
Growing angrier with him and myself by the second, I answer, “Do you not remember how we ended things? You shut me out. You were the one to call it quits over something so asinine. I said your first name, that was it, it wasn’t like I said I dated Jack Valentine, the owner of Going in Blind.” I shake my head. “Gain a little perspective, Jack. We had a connection, something I thought could grow into a beautiful relationship, but you threw it away.”
Threw me away.
Blowing out a heavy breath, I walk past him to retrieve my purse. I need to get out of this room. I need to get away from him. From this shitty, shitty day.
But before I can make my way to the couch for my purse, Jack stops me with his hand on my wrist. Eyes cast forward, head bent down, he says, “I got scared.”
Not giving in, I say, “Scared isn’t my problem. You should have been a man and talked to me rather than running away.” Yanking my hand away from him, I say, “This was a mistake. Please don’t consider it an open window to a relationship we could have had. Because as far as I’m concerned, the chapter about us is closed.”
I hate him.
I hate myself.
I hate this.
With that, I grab my purse, fling my dressing room door open, and take off toward my car, face probably red, and a little stumble in my step from my wobbly yet angry legs.
***
“This biscotti is to die for. Want a bite?” Dylan asks from her side of the little bistro table we’re sitting at outside one of my favorite coffee shops in Malibu.
“I’m good.” I spin my coffee cup in my hand, staring at the lipstick-stained opening of the to-go top. Yep, grabbed the wrong lipstick today. Not su
rprised since I can tell I’m wearing my underwear backwards and have my left contact lens in my right eye.
Pay attention, ladies, this is what happens to you when you let yourself get fucked senseless by someone you should stay as far away from as possible.
And you know, it’s not that Jack isn’t a great guy, or we don’t have a lot in common, because we do. Hell, we know how to have one hell of a good time together, but it comes down to morals. And I had none yesterday. Zero.
He hurt me, made me feel so stupid, and yet when he claimed me, I couldn’t resist. That’s called lust, uncontrollable lust, and now, on the day after, I’m suffering with the biggest regret hangover one could ever imagine.
“Ugh, you’re starting to annoy me with your woe is me attitude. Are you still mad about this Jack thing? I mean, it sucks, yeah, he didn’t tell you he owned Going in Blind, and yet, that might have been deceitful, but at this point, who cares? You’ve moved past him.”
Oh, if she only knew.
“Which reminds me, are you really not going to ask for another date?”
I shake my head. “No, not after knowing Jack owns the place. I’m sure he’s keeping tabs on me. Also, the first date is a given, the second is acceptable, because not everyone hits it off on their first blind date. The third date is pushing my luck, and the fourth would be downright desperate. I can’t show my face there again. It would be completely humiliating.”
“They see so many people every day. I don’t think they’d remember you.” She is so wrong. Danny saw the mess I was on my date with Hayden. Veronica probably did too. I have lost every ounce of respect for myself, so I can’t expect it from them.
“They know me by name there.” Dylan snorts, which should piss me off, but at this point, I’ve given up caring. “I know this is going to sound cliché from a scorned woman in my position, but I’m done with men.”
Dylan grandiosely rolls her eyes, making a giant spectacle out of her response. “Oh please, you’re not done with men. You say that, and just watch, you’re going to fall for a man who accidentally is plopped on your lap. Happens in all the movies. The heroine swears off men, and then all of a sudden, BAM, she’s married.”
“That’s not going to happen here. I promise. I think I’m cursed. I had three wonderful men I could have dated and none of them worked out.” None of them wanted me. For the long-term.
“Maybe you didn’t brush your teeth enough.” Dylan shrugs her shoulder and sticks the rest of her biscotti in her mouth.
“What?” My brow creases. “What does that have to do with anything we’re talking about?”
Dylan flicks her front tooth with her fingernail. “You have a poppy seed stuck in your tooth.” In an instant, I’m running my tongue over my tooth. “Maybe you had food in your teeth while eating your fancy meals with these men. That could have been a real turn off.”
I shake my head. “I don’t know why I talk to you.” I press my palm to my forehead, my elbow leaning on the table. “It wasn’t because of something in my teeth. Believe me, I didn’t have anything in my teeth.”
“How do you know? You didn’t know about the poppy seed. Could have been food in the teeth.”
“It wasn’t food in the teeth,” I shout, drawing attention from the people around us. “Everything just seemed so off when I was with each guy. Like with Jack, something so benign threw him for a loop. Beck, he was so amazing—”
“So hot,” Dylan points out with a smile.
“Yes, so hot, but his reserve put a huge line in the road between us. And then Hayden.”
“Ugh, that poor bastard.”
“Still hung up on an old relationship.” I take a sip of my coffee. “And what sucks is that honestly, they all seemed so perfect for me, but not ready for what I wanted.”
Dylan wistfully shakes her head. “The Suit, The Rebel, and The Jock. If you had to choose, given they were free of all demons, who would you choose?”
I press my lips together, trying to compare them in my head, which I’m learning is an impossible feat.
“I have no idea, honestly. They were different in their own way but could fit easily into my life . . . into my heart.”
Could they, though? Fit into my heart and life?
Would I really have been able to fit into theirs?
Jack’s? No. He made that clear. Case closed. Beck’s? No. He was so reticent to offer anything of substance to know if I’d fit. And Hayden’s? With my schedule and his traveling, would we have fit together? If I add up how much time I actually spent with each guy, did I really have enough information to believe in a happily ever after with any of them? Yes, the blind date idea can work wonders when you’re matched with someone. But it takes intentional time to work out the glitches, to see the future, to believe in long-wanted possibilities. I sigh and press my head against the table. “This is stupid.”
In her absentmindedly motherly way, Dylan pats my head and strokes my hair. “There, there. If you want, Chad has a few accountant buddies who rock the numbers well, know Excel formulas by heart, and have a steady collection of calculators, something rather riveting to see in person. The evolution of the little counting machines is fascinating. We can set you up with one of them. Who knows? Short-sleeved plaid shirts might be exactly what you’re looking for.”
Yeah, that’s a big fat no.
I shake my head, no, unable to stomach the thought of going out with one other man at this point. Playing the get-to-know-you game, asking the same damn questions over and over again? No, thank you. I’ll pass. It’s time to accept my reality.
I’m joining the ranks of the single ladies, by far the safest choice for my heart.
Chapter Thirty
NOELY
“Press the button! Press the button!” I shout at the TV, my mouth full of popcorn, my feet dressed in fluffy socks, and my body draped in an oversized T-shirt that covers my knees and elbows. “Come on!” I bounce on my sofa, praying one of the coaches from The Voice presses their button for the girl who’s singing her heart out on stage.
I don’t get to watch much TV during the weekdays, so I make sure to record my favorite shows and binge watch on Sundays. It’s the perfect way to be lazy and forget about the world around me. It’s been a little over a week since my dressing room mishap, and I’m still trying to find ways to distract myself.
Just as the beautiful-voiced girl finishes her song, Adam Levine presses his button. The crowd goes wild, the girl starts to cry, and I feel myself getting choked up.
“That’s right, Adam, you sexy beast. You press that button.” I toss a piece of popcorn at the TV when they show Blake Shelton. “Moron,” I mutter just as my phone beeps at me with a notification.
I glance over at my phone on the arm of my navy-blue sofa and see a notification from the GiB app; I have a message.
What?
Picking up my phone, I study the notification for a few seconds, as if I’m waiting for it to telepathically tell me what it says.
Surely I wasn’t set up with another date? Is Jack messing around with me? Did Hayden change his mind? Can you tell I might be still holding out for him? Just a little?
Feeling curious and a little self-destructive, I open the app. Expecting to see a handle I know like WindsorKnot or even RebelWithACause, I’m surprised when there is a completely new message waiting for me from a VERY familiar handle.
NY152.
I know this handle. I know it very well, and I know the story it belongs to, or movie per se.
Noely,
Don’t you love Malibu in the fall? It makes me want to buy a bouquet of newly sharpened pencils. Don’t you agree?
Me
Errr . . .
What kind of message is that? Who loves Malibu in the—
And then it clicks.
Duh.
It’s the first email Tom Hanks sends in You’ve Got Mail.
Joe Fox writes Kathleen Kelly and says, “Don’t you love New York in the fall? It makes me
want to buy a bouquet of newly sharpened pencils.”
NY152 is Joe Fox’s handle in the movie . . .
Confused, intrigued, and shamelessly giddy, I cautiously write back.
NY152,
Charming, but confusing. Who are you?
Noely
I sit back on my sofa, wishing this app worked more like a text, so I could see if they were typing back. The only thing that indicates they might be reading my note is the green circle next to their name, which shows that they’re logged into the app.
I turn my attention to The Voice just when my phone beeps with another message. Pausing the show, I open the app again and read,
Noely,
What if I were to tell you I could possibly be The Suit, The Rebel, or The Jock? Would you be interested in seeing one of them again? Maybe give one of them a second chance? Or have you written them all off?
Me
Stunned, I lean back on my sofa, staring at the message in front of me. Is this a joke? Or is this real? Could this just be a viewer? No, because they wouldn’t have my handle. The only ones who have my Going in Blind handle would be the three men I dated. And they’re the ones who know about my You’ve Got Mail obsession. I shared my obsession with all of them, and I watched the movie with Hayden.
Twisting my lips to the side, I contemplate my answer. Could I give any of them a second chance? Well, I know who I won’t want to give a second chance to. But Hayden and Beck? Hell, possibly. Beck told me to call him if things didn’t work out. Did he catch the show when I said nothing happened with The Jock? He was very intense and handsy at the hockey game.
What about Hayden? He was always very gentle and slow when it came to our relationship because another girl still owned his heart. If they’re out of the picture now, why wouldn’t he simply message me that? Say he is ready? He did talk a lot about Joe Fox and his swagger. Thinking back to our conversations, hell, he said he’d woo me Joe Fox style. Is it Hayden? And would I want to give him a second chance?
