He seems like a regular at this place and I can’t imagine coming here again, unless I need to cry over a cheap beer. The prospect is pretty unlikely. I never feel sorry for myself and frankly feel a little guilty doing so, now.
There’s a whole lot of people worse off than me.
I mentally tic off my blessings, something I usually do before chugging three beers. First, I got a nice apartment, a sister who adores me, and a good job. And an ex-fiancé.
Damn. It still hurts and I don’t get it. We were so, so good together. We’d talked about kids, jobs, careers, and retirement. The only thing we’d never discussed is what would happen if suddenly I had sole responsibility of my disabled sister.
I can’t believe he made me choose.
We’d been arguing about her for weeks. Scott wanted me to put her in a group home and while some adults do well, I just couldn’t picture my sister there. She’d lived most of her life with just my mother who’d treated her like a five year old. Sure, Karen has issues, but nowhere near as bad as my mom made them out to be.
Given a little time and some instruction in life skills, she can be self-sufficient. No matter how I pleaded, my fiancé wanted nothing to do with her. He said it was unfair of me to ask him to support her. She was never part of our deal.
Our deal? He spoke as if our love was a business arrangement.
While I recall my last fight, Mr. Sexy returns with a greasy burger and fries. Leaning over, he grabs a bottle of ketchup from the table next to me and I catch a glimpse of some serious abs.
I don’t know this guy. He shouldn’t be picking up my tab so I pull out a twenty and set it down on the table.
He regards it for a while before nodding and sticking it into his empty wallet. The gesture wasn’t meant to insult him but his lips purse and brows grow angry like when I first walked into the bar.
I take a big bite of the sandwich and sigh. “God, this is so good.” I push the plate over. “Help yourself.”
He does, watching my every move, making my body parts tingle as if his hands were caressing me.
“Okay. I told you my sob story. Time for yours. That was our deal, right?”
He sips on his beer, contemplating the bubbles. “Yeah.”
“And?”
Another fry hits his thick lips and his tongue flicks out to lick off the red. His eyes dart up into my face as if trying to read me.
He hisses out his teeth. “Fuck. Why the hell not. My name is Chris Vance.” He waits as if it should have some meaning.
“Sorry.” I shrug. “Not ringing any bells.”
His eyes go wide and his mouth drops open. In the next instant, he nods. “Not a football fan, huh?”
“Ah, no. As I mentioned, I’ve been a little busy.”
His face does look a little familiar but not enough where I can place it.
“Soon after I was drafted into the NFL, a drunk driver crashed into me and ruined my career, my life, my everything. That about sums it up.” His eyes narrow again, as if daring me to do or say something but I have no clue what.
“That stinks.” It might not be the right response because he closes his eyes with brows furrowed.
“It does. My leg hurts like a motherfucker all the time. The doctors can’t figure it out and would rather have me addicted to some shit which I refuse to take.”
I understand maybe more than he knows. I watched my mother fall down that hole when her cancer came back. I couldn’t fault her, but her last months were spent waiting for her next fix.
My hand covers his as a few rough looking types with helmets and biker badges walk in. A few nod at my companion, brows raised. I’m guessing he doesn’t often sit in a booth with the only woman in the room.
“I should go.”
“Will you come home with me?” He says it so casual, like, can I get you a drink? Or, can I call you an Uber. I almost don’t catch his meaning.
“As in have sex with you?”
He chuckles for the first time since I met him. The difference in his looks is truly remarkable. Instead of a dark, brooding, alpha, I picture him as an NFL-bound collegiate. Maybe he’s the man who advertises razor blades and Ford trucks during half-time. He’s rugged, yet approachable.
“Well?” He hones in on me and my sex twitches.
“I’m thinking.” I tic off the months since I was with a man and also do a beer count. While more than my usual, it’s not enough to be considered drunk.
He slides all the way around the booth so we’re side by side. His hand reaches behind the back of my head, and he halts, waiting the last inch for me.
While I inhale the scent of the local beer on tap, I catch something pure male in his warm breath. The dark centers of his eyes widen as I reach and cup my palm to his soft beard.
He lids lower, his brows knit, and the vulnerability he shares is too much to ignore. When my lips brush across his, electricity snaps between us. My thighs tighten, as if he were trying to separate them with his knee but he’s only interested in my mouth.
His kiss rips the seams of my sanity. I’m no longer a good girl, doing the right thing. Tonight, I’m a biker chic with a hot clit.
I suck on his tongue and press my chest forward. My hands rake through the top of his head, the shaven sides tickling my finger’s sensitive webs.
Moaning, he slides a hand underneath the table and feels up my legs until he reaches my damp panties.
“Fuck.” His eyes pop open. “My place?”
Holy shit. I guess. His hand keeps rubbing between my legs, making my brain cells useless.
Unable to speak, I nod.
He grabs my purse and my phone, then places them into my hands. Outside, he presses my key fob and my Toyota blips with flashing lights.
An arm around my waist, we cross the street like two lovers, and he kisses me as he helps me into the passenger side.
Jumping behind the wheel, he eases into traffic and drives a couple blocks. Parking outside an apartment complex, he rushes around the car, and pulls me into a seething hot kiss.
My passion didn’t wane while he drove. If anything, the fire he started is all consuming. Like sparks on dry hay on the hottest days of summers, flames of desire leap inside me while he owns my mouth.
Scott and I made love but never has a kiss almost brought me to an orgasm. This man’s rock hard need pushes against my lower abs. His tongue thrusts in and out as he grips my butt cheeks.
I gasp for air when he lifts me, turns, and walks me up three steps. He remembers the keys in his hand are mine and shoves them in his pocket. After, he finds his, fumbles with the lock, and with one arm around me, takes the final step into his home.
Holding me against his living room wall, he lifts my skirt, and puts a finger to the wet cloth of my undies while I writhe.
Dear God, I need this man inside me.
He hears my silent plea, drops his jeans, and places his tip at my core. With my skirt at my waist and my mouth consumed, I close my eyes. I brace against the cold wall as he slides my panties aside and lubricates my nub with his silky tip.
Groaning, my body responds and my muscles clench on the brink of heaven. His fingertip rubs where I need it most and I scream into his mouth. I’m still coming hard when he shoves deep and the suddenness takes me higher.
He grunts, clamps onto my upper thighs and drives up repeatedly with my legs locked behind his back.
“Look at me.”
I do as he commands and whimper at the intensity. His focus is all about me. He stops for a moment and drives in deep with his muscles all sprung tight.
Both of us panting, me on the verge of my second orgasm, he grinds in tiny circles. Reaching between us, he slips a finger to my nub and I go off again.
At my screams of ecstasy, he swells so big I wonder how I’ll handle him, then he explodes inside of me.
He shouts and pumps repeatedly as liquid flows down my legs.
Muscles limp, my toes drop to the floor, barely touching.
When he’s done, he pulls out. My knees give way and I slide to the floor.
He pants with his forehead pressed against the wall, his jeans and jockeys at his ankles. Eyelevel with his knee, I cringe at the scars on his left leg. There’s missing muscle tissue on his calf which must be from the accident he spoke about.
“Don’t” His slacks go up and I crane my neck until I reach his face.
“What?”
“Pity me.”
Was I? Maybe. But who wouldn’t? “Sorry. Just looks like it was painful.”
“Maybe you should go.”
“Excuse me?” Shame rushes to my face, starting at my cheeks, then my ears, and down my neck.
I stand, his stickiness all over me, and close my eyes. What the hell did I just do?
This isn’t his fault. I knew he was an asshole and willingly let our passion play out.
Thank God I’m still on the pill.
In that we haven’t moved more than a foot inside his place, the door is easy to find, and I quickly exit. It isn’t until I arrive at my car, I realize he has my keys.
Fuck. I am not going inside to retrieve them. Instead, I open the passenger side door, grab my purse and walk the mile of misery back home.
All the while I chastise myself for being such an idiot. What the hell had I done? What if he does this all the time? I’ll need to be tested for any number of diseases. Oh, shit.
At my door, I realize I don’t have my house key, so go around to the back. After trying all the windows, I thank God my sister left hers unlocked. I shower and scrub but nothing removes the stain of stupidity. This was my first and last one night stand.
Tears sting my eyes.
Happy birthday to me. My gift was the most incredible orgasm of my life. Perhaps, in the future, I can focus on that but right now, all I recall is how used he made me feel.
I toss and turn all night. When I do sleep, I have dreams of being left at the altar by a man who morphs between the stranger in the bar and Scott. The garbage truck stops outside my window at daybreak and clunks the bin on the pavement repeatedly.
“Argh! Fine! I give up.” After peeing, I grind some beans, and make coffee so thick, it glugs out of the pot.
I pour in some cream and stare out my apartment’s back window. Because I’m on the bottom floor, I have a sliding glass door overlooking a small lake. I’ve been warned, in a hurricane, it may flood which is why all my belongings are on the shelves and my furniture all has feet.
Best be prepared.
Oh sure, just like last night. I moan.
I need my keys and my car. Damn it. What if he already sold it to a chop shop? What if…
Oh fuck.
Chapter 3
Chris
The pounding on my door matches the throbbing inside my head. No matter how much I ignore both, they grow more intense.
“Christ almighty. I’m coming!” I grab my jeans and slip them over my ass before padding barefoot to the door.
Oh fuck. It’s her. I’m not ready to deal with an irrational female, especially, her.
What the hell did I do with her set of keys?
“I know you’re in there. Open the God damned door.” Her voice grates worse than chalk screeching down a blackboard.
I take a deep breath and let it out. I suppose I should apologize and explain. Last night, watching her impassioned face as she came was the sweetest moment of my whole fucked-up life. I thought maybe, just maybe, I could get my shit together and move on.
Then, she slid to the floor, viewed my injured leg, and wham. I was right back where I started.
Sure, I was angry. She made me hard for the first time since the night before my first NFL game and unmanned me in a single horrified look.
I open my door and motion her in with a grand sweep of my hand. “Stop shouting. You’ll wake the whole fucking complex.”
“Good!”
“My neighbor to the right? She just had a baby.”
When tiny cries hit our ears, she turns bright red. “Shit. Tell her I’m real sorry.”
“And I’m sorry. I didn’t handle last night very well.” I rasp a hand over my beard as I search my pockets for her car keys.
I moved them, but where?
I’m pretty sure I had a few more drinks after she left. I must’ve thrown her keys at some wall, but which one?
“My keys please?” Tearful, she holds out a palm.
“Yeah, I’m trying to find them, okay? Give me a second.” I lower onto my hands and knees and check under the couch while she sticks her hands in her pockets.
“C-c-can I ask you something?”
“Uh-huh.” I check behind the long curtain covering the front window then turn when she sniffs.
Ah, shit. A few drops slide from those beautiful eyes and despite my better judgement, I catch one with an index finger. “What do you want to know?”
“D-do you do this lot? Do I n-need to worry?”
The laugh bursting out of my gut is bitter-sweet. “You want the gospel truth? The doctors thought I might have injured myself in the accident… permanently. I haven’t been able to get it up for over two years. How about you? Do I need to worry about a paternity suit?”
She glares. “First off, I wouldn’t let you within a foot of any kid I might have. Secondly, I’m on the pill. Would you mind? My keys?”
Her phone rings, she frowns, and puts it to her ear. “All right. I’ll be home in a minute. I’m just finishing up something.”
She hangs up but it pings immediately. Texting with a roll of her eye, she places the phone on my coffee table. Then, she joins me on my hands and knees as I check under my futon and leather lounge chair.
“Why, may I ask, are we checking the floor?”
“Huh?” I picture myself moving behind her, holding her hips, and plunging into her while she screams her pleasure.
“Never mind.” Her cheeks go red, eyes on the bulge behind my fly.
Standing, I move the search to my bedroom and she follows.
“Do you mind waiting in the living room?” I turn in the doorway, not wanting her in my private space. I never let women into my bedroom.
“I will if you tell me why my keys are not in your pocket where you left them.”
Fuck it. She is one annoying woman.
“Because I had a couple more drinks, was pissed at myself and at you, and threw them across the room.” I glower as I loom over her.
“Me? What did I do?” Her eyes go wide.
“You have no idea, do you?”
“Truthfully, no.” Her hands cross over her ample chest as she juts out her chin.
“Oh, come on now.” Fuming, I slide one leg out of my jeans and lift my leg. “This remind you of anything?”
Her brows furrow. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” She pushes my chest and I wobble, before falling onto my bed, mostly naked.
“You made me feel like shit because of that?” She points to what used to be my normal leg.
I slip my pants back on and shout, “Yeah, because after the best goddamned sex of my life, you looked at me like you are now.”
“No, I’m looking at you like you’re a complete ass. Before, I had some compassion. And I’m sorry I hurt your delicate feelings. It came as a bit of a shock. God, over-sensitive much?”
“Maybe. A bit.” The left side of my mouth lifts and it’s been so long since I smiled, the muscles twitch.
She responds with a partial grin of her own, her brows lift, and she rushes to my dresser.
“Here they are.” Lifting her keys in the air, she backs out of the room, eyes on the bulge behind my fly.
“Ah, I’m late. I need to go.” She rushes out the door and slams it shut.
When the engine roars to life, I shake my head and pad into the kitchen for coffee.
What to do about her? She’s hot and cold, fire and ice, on and off. Whatever it is, she makes my cock do some kind of happy dance in my jeans. I reach inside my pants, grab
it and squeeze.
Damn. Being broken for so long, I guess it needs attention. I close my eyes, slide my fingers around my length, and picture her.
I unzip, lean against the wall, and pump while imagining her sweetness around me. It doesn’t take long to lose my load.
Heart still pounding, I wipe off with a paper towel. While I’m washing my hands an unfamiliar phone rings from the living room.
She left it on the coffee table. I chuckle.
She’ll have to come back for it.
I would bring it back but for the life of me, don’t recall her name. I remember telling her my mine and how insulted I was she’d never heard of me.
Was I such an asshole that I slept with her without asking for her name? Damn, I may have reached a new low.
I pick up her phone, hoping to learn more but it has a password.
Hmm. What do I know about her? She lives nearby, her sister has mild Asperger’s, and she just broke up with an ex. Oh, and yesterday was her birthday.
I guess I’ll have to wait for her to return. Eventually she’ll need her cell phone and funny enough, I’m looking forward to it.
After making coffee, I sit in my kitchen and call my Dad.
“Christof? That you? You okay?” Motorcycles roar in the background and I wait for them to fade before answering.
“Yeah.”
“Shit.” He hisses out a breath. “Worried me for a second, there.”
“How so?” I sip on my coffee, preferring it black and thick.
“Well, son. You’ve been pretty fucking depressed for some time now. I figured you’d either come out of it, or not. Been waiting to see which path you would take. Glad you didn’t put a bullet in your head.” And that’s my Pops. He doesn’t pull any punches.
No doubt, it’s where I get my attitude. “I thought about it more than once or twice.”
“I figured as much.”
“Thanks.”
“For what?”
“Giving me some space. Letting me off myself if I wanted to.”
He grunts. “Nothing I said would’ve helped anyhow.”
“True.” I nod and glance out the front window, wondering how long it’ll be before the brunette returns.
Tough Break (FSCU Pitbulls Book 3) Page 2
