by J B Heller
Pfft, and she thinks I’m the dramatic one of the two of us. Please.
Rhett’s arms squeeze my middle. “Why are you awake?”
My fingers are flying across the screen when I answer him. “Sun woke me up; it’s after eleven. And Char is having a nervous breakdown because I haven’t answered her calls.”
He nuzzles his face in my neck and breathes deeply. “Okay, you deal with that. I’m going back to sleep. You wore me out, you little sex fiend.” Then he presses his lips to my throat, and all of a sudden, I’m thinking about sex again.
I wriggle my arse against his morning wood. “Don’t act like you don’t like it.”
“Never said I didn’t.” He chuckles, then moves his head back up to rest on the pillow beside mine, keeping his arms wrapped securely around me.
Shaking my head, I drag my attention back to my phone.
ME ~Settle down, psycho. I’ve been wrapped up in an orgasm-fest. I’ll call you later.~
Little dots appear immediately on my screen, signalling Char’s imminent reply.
CHARLOTTE ~You dirty little whore! I want details right damn now. You can’t say orgasm-fest, then not share the deets.~
ME ~So your sexy-time sensors weren’t as far off as I thought they were …~
CHARLOTTE ~I KNEW IT! Tell me everything. Every filthy little detail. I need it all. You know how long it’s been for me.~
ME ~Can’t I just call you later? I’m in bed with him right now. He’s sleeping next to me.~
CHARLOTTE ~I need photographic evidence.~
Licking my lips, I lift my head to check if Rhett has fallen back to sleep or not yet. And yep, he’s out. With sloth-like slowness, I lift my phone above us and snap a selfie, belatedly realising my phone isn’t on silent. Shit.
“Did you just take a picture of me?” Rhett asks, his eyes still closed.
“Huh? Uh, no. What a weird thing to ask,” I deflect.
“Then why did your phone just make the camera shutter sound?”
Shit! When in doubt, use half-truths to sound convincing. “I was taking a selfie… for Char.”
“You just took a naked picture of yourself for your friend?” His eyes remain closed, and he doesn’t sound phased by any of this.
“No. The sheet is covering all the important bits,” I tell him.
“Can I see it?” he asks, then he’s on top of me, pinning me beneath his big body, a wolfish grin covering his mouth, showing me his white teeth.
I squeal, “No! It’s private!”
With everything I have, I fight him, trying to keep my phone out of his grasp. And with a pathetic amount of effort, he snatches it from me. Looking at the screen, he grins, taps it a few times, then hands it back to me. He rolls to the side, wraps his arm back around my waist, and makes himself comfortable again.
“What did you do?” I ask when I see there are no signs of vandalism on the picture staring back at me.
“I sent it to myself, then your friend, with the caption ‘he has a huge cock’.”
I snort with laughter and check my sent messages. Sure enough, the little dots in Char’s message window are flashing away.
CHARLOTTE ~You tease. You didn’t need to be in it. And you could have moved the sheet down a few inches. I can tell he’s hard under there, but an unobstructed view would be preferable.~
Closing my eyes, I shake my head at my best friend. “She’s as big a perv as you are. She’s requesting a photo, sans sheet and me.”
Rhett chuckles beside me. “Not happening; I don’t do dick pics. And if I did, I wouldn’t be sending them to your friend.”
Rolling into his side, I kiss his cheek. “I’m glad to hear it. And just so you know, I wouldn’t be opposed to receiving them,” I whisper against his ear, then suck the lobe into my mouth.
His hands move down to my arse and drag me on top of him until I can feel him between my legs. I throw my phone over my shoulder and move my mouth back to his.
She is insatiable; it’s fucking awesome.
We spent the whole weekend between her bed and the couch. Now, it’s Monday morning, and the last thing I want to do is leave the warmth of her small body tucked into mine. But it’s time to return to real life.
She’s sleeping soundly, and I do my best not to disturb her as I slide out from behind her and collect my clothes off the floor. Tugging my jeans up, I head for the door.
“You going already?” Her husky sleep-filled voice hits my back.
Glancing at her over my shoulder, I’m struck by just how perfect she is. I can’t go without kissing her one last time. Striding to her, I kneel on the side of the bed, brush her hair out of her face, and press my lips to hers. She’s so sweet, so pliant under my touch, so perfect.
Her hands snake up into my hair, holding me to her. “Stay a little longer,” she whispers.
God, do I want to.
Using her grip on my head, she lifts her upper body to mine, pressing her bare tits into my chest. Her nipples pebble, and my hand slides between us, plucking one between my fingertips. My decision is made; I can’t leave without one more taste. I’m the fucking boss—if I want to come in late, I will.
Reagan’s hands leave my hair. Digging her nails in, she scrapes them down my back, then slides them into my pants, squeezing my arse. She really does love my arse. I grin into her mouth. Then, she’s tugging on my zipper and shoving my jeans down my thighs.
“You’ve turned me into a sex-crazed maniac.” She chuckles when she can’t get my pants off quick enough. She hooks her good foot into the fabric gathered at my knees and pushes, trying to force it down.
I lose my balance over her and topple off the side of the bed. She’s on top of me in seconds, eyes alight with need. Her hand slaps around blindly on the bedside table, her gaze never leaving mine. She grins wickedly and produces a condom, holding it in two fingers between us.
Snatching it from her, I rip it open with my teeth, then slide it down my shaft. I’m so fucking hard; I’m aching to be inside her.
As soon as the condom is in place, she positions herself above me and lowers her sweet pussy onto my cock. My muscles clench as she takes her time sliding down until she’s fully seated, then she rocks her hips back and forth.
My fingers sink into her flesh, and I jack knife up, sucking one of her nipples into my mouth. Her hands are back in my hair, gripping it in her tiny fists as she rides me. Nothing has ever felt better.
I move my mouth to her other nipple, and she moans. I suck harder, then let it pop from my mouth and bite down on her lush tit. It’s going to mark her, and I love knowing she will be carrying the imprint of my teeth with her when we’re apart.
Her movements lose their rhythm, she clenches around me, and I have to grit my teeth, holding back. I help her get there, moving her hips for her as I suck on her throat. Seconds later, she’s shuddering, whimpering, and coming all over my cock, and I come with her.
We stay like that on her bedroom floor for I don’t know how long, until Reagan tugs my head back by my hair. Her eyes sparkle like sapphires. She lightly runs her nose over mine, then her lips whisper over my cheeks.
“Are we okay?” she breathes across my parted lips.
I swallow. I knew this was coming. The talk. I have no fucking clue what to say. I can’t remember ever being this happy, this comfortable with a chick, this content. “I think so,” I tell her honestly. That’s the best I can give her right now.
Resting her forehead against mine, she breathes, “Okay.”
She doesn’t seem angry or annoyed with my less-than-confident reply. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.
Striding into the shop an hour after opening, I ignore Jake and Taj’s stares and go straight into the break room. I need more caffeine.
Jake follows me—the prick. “Where were you this morning, big man?”
I flip him off. “None of your fucking business.”
The arrogant bastard grabs a chair, swings it arou
nd, and sits on it backwards, arms crossed over the top as he stares at me. “You’ve been in a good mood recently,” he says, then raises a brow. “Who is she?”
I turn my back to him and go about making my coffee. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
To make matters worse, the door swings open with a bang against the wall. “Where the fuck have you been? Jessie had a meltdown yesterday because you weren’t at the fucking rehearsal dinner.” Simon is in my face, shoving at my chest.
I frown. Rehearsal dinner? “What are you talking about? The wedding isn’t for two weeks.”
His eyes are feral. “I told you we had to do the rehearsal dinner early because Jess was freaking out about the catering. Don’t you listen to anything I say? You’re supposed to be my best man, and where were you? Off fucking some bimbo?”
My fist launches into his jaw before I even know what I’m doing. Shit! “Simon! Fuck. I’m sorry, man. I didn’t mean—”
“You son of a bitch,” he yells, wrapping his hands around my throat.
I swing my arms up from below and break his apart, loosening his grip, then shove him away. “I said I was sorry.”
He paces back and forth but says nothing, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.
Jake just sits there watching, not bothering to get in between us. Smart man. This isn’t the first scuffle Simon and I have had in here, and no doubt, it won’t be the last. He’s my best friend. Who’s going to pull us into line, if not each other?
Once Simon’s calmed down, he straightens his shirt and runs his hands through his hair. “So, where were you? What was more important than being there for me?”
Rubbing the back of my neck, I look at my boots. “I forgot. I’m sorry, man. I ah …” I swallow. “I was with someone.”
Simon balks. “Someone? That’s it? That’s all I get? You missed my rehearsal dinner, Rhett. I’m going to need more than that.”
I don’t know what this thing with Reagan is yet. I don’t want to tell Simon about her. Hell, I have no idea what I would even say. Oh, hey man, I completely forgot about your rehearsal dinner because I was screwing my trippy little neighbour girl all weekend. She’s awesome, and funny, and fucking perfect.
I’m not prepared to answer the inevitable questions that would come after that little confession. So, I lie to my best friend. “I fucked up. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. Whatever you need, man, I’ll be there.”
He narrows his eyes. “I don’t believe you.”
I shrug. “What do you want me to say?”
“I want you to tell me the truth. This isn’t like you missing my mum’s birthday party. This shit’s important.”
Cracking my neck, I fix my gaze on him. “Fine. Fuck. Okay, I was with my neighbour, Reagan. She hurt herself last weekend, and I’ve been helping her out.”
Simon’s brows raise. “You were … helping her out?”
I nod. “Yeah.” Dropping my eyes, I rub the back of my neck again. “It was kinda my fault she got hurt. So, I’ve been checking in on her, making sure she’s getting on alright. And we ended up spending the weekend together.”
Tilting his head, he sizes me up. “You’ve been checking in on her and spent the weekend with her?” Then his face splits with a grin. “You like her. After all these years, you’ve finally found a woman.”
My head is shaking, and I can’t stop it. “She’s just a cool chick, is all. It’s not a big deal.”
He smirks. “It’s a huge fucking deal. So, are you bringing her to the wedding?”
What the fuck? Where did that even come from? I stare at him like he’s lost his damn mind.
“What? You think I’m going to let you screw this up? Oh no, my friend. I’m going to make sure this chick hangs around. You’ve already put in more time with her than any other woman you’ve ever met. You checked in on her all week and spent the weekend with her; you’ve got it bad.” He claps me on the shoulder and heads for the door.
He’s gone before I can get my thoughts in order, and Jake is grinning like a fool. “Don’t you have a job to do?” I snap at him, then snatch my coffee off the sink, spilling it over my hand as I storm out to the work bays.
I got a few curious stares as I hobbled around the Pink Bits offices on my bedazzled crutches. But I had way too much on my plate to worry about funny looks. An issue had come up over the weekend with the submission tool on the website, so I was busy dealing with that all day.
By the time I get home, I just want to curl up and sleep for a week. Rhett and I didn’t sleep nearly enough over the weekend, and now I’m really feeling it.
Sinking onto the couch, I drop my crutches and bag on the floor then snuggle into one of my many throw pillows. It doesn’t take long for sleep to take me.
I wake with a start. My phone is ringing loudly in my bag, and I reach for it, rolling off the couch in the process. My face breaks my fall with a thud. Ow. I rub my sore cheek and pull my phone out. “Hello.”
“Hi. Listen, you don’t know me. My name is Simon. I’m Rhett’s best friend.”
The mention of Rhett has me jerking upright, and my head spins from the rapid movement. “Is he okay?”
“Oh, yeah, no, he’s fine, he’s fine. Look, I’m just calling to invite you to my wedding. It’s next Saturday. I know what Rhett’s like at remembering shit and figured I’d just call and ask you myself.”
Holding my smarting cheek, I pull my phone away from my ear to stare at the screen. Am I awake right now, or is this a weird dream? Placing it back against my face, I ask, “How did you get my number?”
The man on the other end chuckles. “I had to be resourceful. When Rhett mentioned you this morning, I went back to his apartment building and checked the name registry. I knew you were his neighbour, and that your name is Reagan, so I just needed your last name, Miss Moore, then I was able to Google your number.”
I scrunch my face up. That’s a lot of effort to get my number. “Okay, that’s kinda creepy, but I guess it sort of makes sense. I still don’t understand why you’re inviting me to your wedding, though.”
He sighs. “Rhett is going to do something to screw things up with you. I’ve known him my whole life. And not since we were seniors in high school has he spent more than a single night with a woman. But he said he was with you all weekend. You have to realise what a big deal that is.”
Rhett’s words from Thursday morning run through my head: I don’t do girlfriends. I don’t date. I don’t hang out. That’s just not me, Reagan. My eyes sting because I can’t help but hope our time together means as much to him as it does to me. But I have to be realistic. “I’m not trying to make him something he’s not,” I tell his friend. “If he wants me to come to your wedding, he can ask me himself.”
“I guess I can respect that,” Simon mutters. “Just … can you do something for me, please?”
I lick my dry lips. “Maybe. Depends what it is.”
“Whatever he does next, don’t take it to heart. He has hang-ups that he needs to work through. Can you just—I don’t know—keep that in mind for me?”
I’m nodding, then I realise he can’t see me. “Yeah, I can do that.”
“Thanks. I’m really looking forward to meeting you, Reagan,” Simon says, and he sounds genuine.
“Umm, thanks?”
He chuckles. “Okay, well, I’ll be seeing you. Hopefully.” Then he hangs up.
Well, that was strange and unexpected. Getting off the floor, I make my way to my bedroom, too tired and confused by that phone call to even bother having a shower. I strip off and crawl into bed.
The next time I wake, it’s to sunlight streaming through my curtains. I roll out of bed and shuffle to the shower.
I half expect Rhett to show up for breakfast, but he doesn’t. I wait an extra half hour before finally making my morning coffee. He isn’t coming.
We didn’t make any plans yesterday morning after we parted ways. Maybe that was his way of ending things
. But why get my number if he was just going to drop out of my life two days later?
My traitorous emotions get the better of me, and my eyes prickle right before a few tears escape. I sniffle and scrub them away—I refuse to cry about this. We had a really good time together. I won’t regret it. I won’t. Even if I wish it wasn’t over.
I wanted to go to her last night. But I didn’t.
Instead, I went to the pub and ended up nursing the same beer for two hours before I slid it back across the bar and left. I didn’t go home, though. I couldn’t.
My sister’s couch is nowhere near as comfortable as Reagan’s. And her coffee mugs are boring as shit. I scowl down at the plain purple mug in my hands, wishing it had some smart-arse quote on it.
“Okay, I let you sleep on my couch, and I didn’t ask any questions. But now I want answers. You’re even more grumpy than you usually are in the mornings. What’s going on?” Piper asks, standing on the other side of her kitchen table, hands on her hips, presumably waiting for me to spill my guts.
Averting my gaze from her expectant glare, I look out the kitchen window. “Nothing. My air conditioner is broken. I just needed somewhere to crash that wasn’t a sauna. I’ll get it fixed this week.”
She says nothing, but I hear the distinct sound of her tapping her foot against the floorboards. Glancing back at her, I know she’s not buying my story, even though it’s partially true.
I sigh. “Okay, I’m avoiding my neighbour. Don’t worry, it’ll blow over in a day or two, and I’ll be out of your hair.”
She cocks a brow. Her electric-blue-streaked hair falls around her shoulders as she leans over the table, bracing her hands on it. “You’re a shit liar. That’s why you always got busted when you pulled stupid pranks as a kid, and I got away with murder.”
Jesus Christ. Why can’t I just figure this shit out on my own without everyone trying to make me talk it out?
