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by Lisa Suzanne

  He collapses on top of me, and I feel his heavy weight pressing into me. “Was that even better than before?” he mumbles.

  “Definitely,” I say, pushing lightly on his shoulder to give the indication that he’s sort of crushing me.

  He moves. “Sorry, I forgot you’re not a cuddler.”

  “I like to cuddle!” I protest.

  He chuckles. “No, you don’t,” he says, settling into the pillow beside me. His brown eyes are warm and satisfied. “You always push me away from you after sex.”

  I do? I never realized that. I suppose I can try to be more conscious of it going forward.

  “Let’s cuddle,” I say. I turn in toward him, and he slips his arm under my neck so my head rests on his chest. His heart is beating against my cheek, and it’s all I can focus on…and then I start thinking about what the heart actually does: pumps blood all over the body. Blood really grosses me out—like to the point where I once vomited when I saw a friend bleeding. It wasn’t even a lot of blood; she just fell and scraped her knee on the sidewalk. Well, now blood is basically the only thing I can think about. Each beat of his heart says blood-blood, blood-blood as I listen, and I start to feel a little dizzy.

  I’m not enjoying the quiet moments after sex. Instead, I’m thinking about the function of the heart and blood.

  Blood.

  Ugh. Perhaps this is why I’m not a cuddler, as Liam just pointed out.

  I shift my head upward so my cheek is a little closer to his shoulder. That’s much better, except now I’m just getting hot.

  Is it like a hundred degrees in here?

  I need a shower.

  COURTING SANDY EGGO

  posted by Courtney Sanders

  THE POSSIBILITIES ARE ENDLESS

  Is there anything better than that feeling of reconnecting with someone you never wanted to let go of in the first place?

  Liam is back. You may remember him from my past. We had started getting pretty serious when he took a job in Chicago, and now he’s back permanently. He texted me the day he rolled into town, and I’ve got a quick FAST FIVE in me before I head back to the bedroom…

  FAST FIVE: WHY SEX WITH AN EX IS THE BEST

  5. No surprises when it comes to what’s beneath his belt.

  4. You already know (and fit in with) his family and friends.

  3. It can rekindle something you never wanted to end in the first place.

  2. It’ll bring back memories. So many memories.

  1. He knows what to do to put a smile on your face for the rest of the day.

  CHAPTER 4

  It’s like I can’t stop running into this guy. I’m at the damn gas station later that afternoon, filling up my BMW and minding my own business when Carter King walks out of the store. He carries a cup presumably filled with coffee and glances around as he strolls. Sunglasses are perched on his nose again, but this time I know what’s behind them thanks to my online stalking.

  His eyes land in my direction, and I quickly look away and back toward the pump as if watching the numbers ascend is the most interesting thing I’ve ever witnessed in my life—but I don’t look away quite fast enough. I notice the tiny smile playing at his lips before he makes his way over to me.

  I don’t care that he’s here.

  He’s not that hot.

  Scratch that, he’s not hot at all…not even a little. He’s ugly.

  I refuse to look at him.

  “Courtney Sanders,” he booms, as if it’s a complete sentence and a greeting all rolled into one.

  I look over at him and feign confusion. If I haven’t mentioned it, I’m a pretty amazing actress when I need to be. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

  He chuckles. “As if you don’t remember. I’m the one responsible for your ruined dress.”

  Maybe I’m not as good an actress as I think I am.

  “Oh, right, the jackass from Dog Beach.”

  He lifts one shoulder. “A quick judgment, but probably not entirely inaccurate.” He pulls out his wallet. “Let me take care of the dress. How much?”

  My glare behind my own sunglasses is futile, but I do it anyway. I’m not going to make him pay for the dress, even though I know it wouldn’t even make a dent in his rather full bank account. I act like I’m going to take the money anyway because it’s this douchebag’s fault I’m out one gorgeous Marc Jacobs dress. “Twelve hundred.”

  He glances through his wallet. “I don’t have that much on me. Take four hundred,” he says, shoving his money at me. “I’ll get the rest to you later.”

  What kind of dickface carries around four one-hundred-dollar bills?

  “Buzz off,” I say, pushing his hand away and ignoring the little spark I feel when my hand touches his skin.

  I didn’t feel a spark.

  There was nothing.

  He’s ugly. So unattractive. His abs are the worst, and he’s a total douche.

  I look at the numbers on the pump again. I’m stuck talking to him until the damn thing finishes its job, but I just want to escape. I’m not sure why the feeling comes on so strongly, but this guy just rubs me the wrong way, and when I’m rubbed the wrong way, I feel the need to get out as quickly as possible.

  “Take it. I’ll feel better.”

  I chance a quick glance at his face, and it’s even more beautiful than I remembered. I shake my head in disgust. “Even more reason not to take it, then.”

  “You want me to feel bad?” He’s playing with me. He’s smirking through this entire conversation, and I want to slap that damn sexy smirk right off his handsome face. I want to feel that little bit of stubble under my hand as it smacks against his cheek.

  “You should. Your dog ruined my dress.”

  “The best part?” He leans in close and whispers. “He’s not even my dog.”

  “Go away.”

  “Let me take you out to dinner.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  I use the one weapon I know will scare him off; it scares all men off unless they’re into chasing women in relationships. “I’m with someone.”

  He laughs. “No, you’re not.”

  “How the fuck do you know?”

  “You might be getting back together with an ex, but you’re not with someone. It’s never going to work with him. You were a mess when you two split. My ex used to tell me every detail.”

  My jaw drops. Fucker read my blog post this morning. This is why I shouldn’t write about my personal life—or why I shouldn’t be so honest about the fact that I write about my personal life.

  “Fuck you, Carter King,” I spit at him.

  “I thought you didn’t remember who I am.”

  I have no response other than some huffy sort of harrumph, but my gas clicked off somewhere in the middle of our banter so I shove the pump back into its cradle, skip the receipt, and slide into the soft leather seat of my car. I flip him off for good measure before my tires squeal as I peel away from the pump.

  I don’t realize how hard my heart is pounding until I’m nearly five blocks away.

  I take a deep breath and guzzle half a bottle of water until my heart rate returns to normal. Who the hell does that guy think he is?

  He does nothing but infuriate me. He’s not even from here, yet he’s on my home turf, throwing insults at me. I don’t like it, and an idea forms in my head about how to get revenge.

  An article: The Biggest Douchebag in San Diego.

  Or, better yet, a series of articles, since this city seems to be filled with men who fit the description. Between Emme and her connections plus my own experiences, I could do a weekly segment on my blog warning the ladies about what’s out there and who to avoid.

  I’d avoid naming last names, of course. I shoot my lawyer a quick email to make sure I won’t get slammed with a lawsuit if I run with this idea. Even if every single word I say in an article is the truth, too many people out there are looking for ways to make money, and I’m careful to ensure that I�
��m not the one who will be lining their pockets.

  A few obvious clues and a first name should do the trick. Ladies will know who I’m talking about and they’ll stay the fuck away from the guys who have in any way offended me or my friends—or friends of friends, or any other woman in this city.

  I’ve already filled the number one spot for all of San Diego: Carter King, King of Douchebags.

  It’s got a cute ring to it.

  I may wait a bit, though. I don’t know him well enough yet to post a blog proclaiming what a douche he is, so I’ll start with someone else. Emme’s most recent ex springs to mind, actually.

  I check the blog when I get home and there are a bunch of new comments on the article I posted this morning. I reply to a few and write some notes about my weekly segment on the city’s douchebags, which I’ve tentatively titled “Top DBs of SD”.

  Just after I send Emme a text to inquire about the biggest DBs she knows, another text comes through.

  It’s Liam.

  Liam: Meet me for dinner and a fuck.

  Me: You used to be so much more eloquent.

  Liam: Fine. Meet me for sustenance and a fuck.

  Me: You’re a dickface.

  Liam: You used to be so much more eloquent.

  I giggle at his assessment. I don’t have dinner plans, but a little courting does go a long way. I didn’t name my blog Courting Sandy Eggo because I like when boys text me that I should meet them for dinner and a fuck.

  Me: I’ll meet you for dinner, but you’re going to have to earn the rest.

  Liam: I can do that. I promise to behave myself.

  Me: You never behave yourself.

  Liam: Seems to me you like it that way.

  I have to admit, he’s not wrong about that.

  * * *

  We plan to meet at a little Italian place not far from my condo. I get there first and grab a table and a glass of wine for myself.

  I sometimes feel like I don’t venture away from home enough, but I love my little area of San Diego. Restaurants and bars are close enough to walk to, and the area is very safe, which is great for someone like me: a twenty-something woman who likes to go out and have a good time. I don’t have to worry about how I’m going to get home when it’s within walking distance, and it helps when I bring dates back to my place, too—we can stumble home together.

  I know that despite Liam’s rather uncouth invitation this evening, the two of us are bound to end up back at my place. It’s as if we’ve fallen right back into old habits, which is at once terrifying and comforting.

  Emme’s cautionary tale about the blue bins springs to mind, and I’m a little afraid I’m hopping right back into something that could be an epic mistake.

  On the other hand, it could be the best thing I’ve ever done for myself.

  Only time will tell, so I’m keeping an open mind. I have a lot of hope for us because things were great the first time around, and even though we had a bit of a rocky start last night, ultimately this morning paid off big time—epically, if you know what I mean.

  I think back to the Epic Quake from this morning, and I can’t help the little smile that plays at my lips.

  “What’re you smiling at?” His deep voice catches me off guard. He pulls out a chair and sits across from me, and part of me feels a slight disappointment that he didn’t sit closer to me.

  Also, he didn’t kiss me when he walked in. Actually, now that I think of it, he didn’t even give me a proper greeting.

  “Oh, I was just thinking about this morning.”

  He winks at me, and I can’t help but remember how he always used to do that. Sometimes I found it endearing, and sometimes it made him seem far older than he actually is—grandfatherly, almost—but for now at least, it’s cute. I’ll let it slide.

  “Which part?” he asks, leaning in closer toward me.

  I lean in closer, too, and lower my voice to nearly a whisper. “The part where your giant cock slammed me into an orgasm.”

  His eyes widen, and I giggle. “Jesus, Courtney.” His tone indicates that I might’ve said something inappropriate.

  “Hey, you’re the one who asked me to dinner and a fuck.”

  “I’m well aware of that, sweetheart, but I’m getting a bit dizzy from the blood rushing out of my head and straight to…well, you know. I don’t know if I can eat like this.”

  I lift a shoulder. “Sounds like you’ve got yourself a little problem there, because I’m really hungry.”

  He glares at me and picks up his menu, and I giggle as I peruse mine.

  “You wanna split a pizza?” he asks me.

  I scrunch up my face in disgust. “Seriously?”

  He rolls his eyes. “Sorry. I forgot your weird little pizza thing.”

  “My weird little pizza thing?” My voice gets a little louder than I intend it to. “It’s not weird that I don’t like pizza.”

  “Uh, yeah it is. You’re the only person I’ve ever met in my life who doesn’t like pizza.”

  “It’s endearing.” I set my menu down and take a sip of my wine.

  “It’s weird.”

  “You’re weird.”

  “Real mature.”

  “Get your own pizza. I’m ordering ravioli.”

  “Remind me why you don’t eat pizza again.” He says it like a question.

  “One time I ate it and got really sick, and then the next time I ate it, I burned my mouth, so I never wanted to try it again. Now it’s just my thing.”

  “Weirdo,” he mutters, earning himself a glare.

  “Look, do you want a ticket into my bed tonight or not? Because if the answer is yes, you should probably stop calling me names.”

  He shrugs his shoulders. “Good point. I’m sorry. Your pizza thing isn’t weird; it’s adorable. I support whatever eating habits you have.” He lowers his voice and waggles his eyebrows. “Including sausage.”

  I make a face at him. “That’s real nice.”

  “Salami?”

  I roll my eyes.

  “The bologna pony?”

  “Oh my God. Never say that again if you want a chance of getting in these pants.”

  He laughs. “Deal.”

  He orders his pizza and I order my pasta, and I can’t help the little voice asking me why I’m bothering with him. Sometimes he says things that are just demeaning, but sometimes he can be the perfect boyfriend. Memories of our good times wash over me as we laugh through dinner. When he takes me home and fucks me as promised, I’m reminded of why I’m bothering with him.

  We are dynamite together.

  There are times when I just want to look at his pretty face and not listen to him talk, but the sex is hot enough that I think I can forgive a little immaturity.

  When I wake up the next morning, Liam is already gone. He didn’t leave a note, and I haven’t heard from him yet. He used to stay the night, but maybe that’s not his MO anymore.

  It hasn’t been that long since we dated, but I do feel like he’s a slightly different person. Part of me feels excited and hopeful about what lies ahead, but I want all of me to feel that way. Instead, that nagging voice in my head keeps throwing up warning signals.

  What the fuck does that nagging voice know?

  That nagging voice doesn’t feel him when he’s inside me. It doesn’t feel his tongue in my mouth or his hand on my breast. It’s just that—a nagging voice.

  So, I’m going to shut it up and shut it off, because I want to enjoy my time with Liam. I want to look toward a future where the two of us might get back together—or maybe we already have and I don’t even realize it yet. I want to look toward a future where he stays the whole night (or at least leaves me a note before he leaves).

  No sooner do I decide to bank on hope than I see a new text from Liam.

  Liam: We need to talk.

  Ah, fuck. That’s never good.

  COURTING SANDY EGGO

  posted by Courtney Sanders

  FAST FIVE: THINGS THAT�
�LL KILL THE MOOD

  5. Animals Staring at Your Naked Ass Bouncing in the Air

  4. Whiskey Dick

  3. Vomit (and other bodily excretions)

  2. Morning Breath

  1. Parents Catching You in the Act

  CHAPTER 5

  I meet Liam for lunch, and he drops the bomb on me just after he takes care of the check.

  I stare across the table at him with my mouth hanging open. I’m sure I look like a fool, and that sounds about right since I feel like a damn fool. “Are you fucking serious?”

  He looks away. “I’m sorry, Court.”

  “So your mommy said you need to find a more appropriate girl?”

  “Her words, not mine.”

  “Is that why you ran out last night? Did Mommy call you back home?”

  He looks uncomfortable for a minute, so I know I hit the nail on the head. “You left because your mom texted you, didn’t you?” My voice rises uncontrollably. “After you fucked me all night, you walked out like the coward you are.”

  He makes a shh noise, and I want to punch him in the throat and then in the dick. I’m not a fucking child and I don’t deserve to be shushed.

  I glare at him. I have no words, and words are sort of my thing. I have no idea what to say at this point.

  “She thinks what you do isn’t good for my family.”

  My glare turns into daggers. “I’m really fucking proud of my blog, Liam. I’ve worked damn hard to get where I am. Nothing was handed to me and I’m the one with everything to lose.”

  “Look, with my dad running for governor this year, I get what she’s saying. People are watching. I have to do what’s best for my family.”

  “So you’re breaking up with me before we even get started again because your parents told you to. Are you an adult? Or are you a fucking child?”

  “I’m an adult, but I understand where they’re coming from, and honestly, Court, I agree with them. We were barely even together before you spouted to the world that we’re having sex. People don’t need to know that. It’s personal.”