Hit the Spot

And admitting that shit would be just like begging.

Tori looked back at me when I didn’t speak, furrowed her brows as if she was thinking hard, and then turned away, shaking her head through an exhale that sounded as exhausted with this bullshit as I was.

She swung the door open again and walked out.

I watched her leave, standing there feeling all kinds of weird shit I didn’t want to be feeling, except for the anger. That I didn’t mind. I understood that. The other shit? No.

Fuck no. I didn’t get any of it.

I waited until I knew Tori would be cleared out and gone before I stepped out myself. I said my good-byes and paid for another round of lap dances to keep Quinn from bitching at me for leaving. Then I strode outside, got to my bike, and took off.

Not heading in Tori’s direction.

Chapter Nine

TORI

I’d lied to Jamie.

Had to. I needed to get out of there.

After dry humping against him like some sex-starved preteen and getting off, really getting off, kissing him, too, which was just as good as I remembered only better since I’d actually participated this time, I knew I couldn’t head back out to the table where Quinn and her friends were sitting and hang there the rest of the night. Jamie would be hanging out.

He had plans on staying, I was sure of it. It was his sister’s birthday. Plus, strip club. Hello. Why would he leave?

And him hanging out meant sharing a table, sitting a foot away from each other, if not inches, and I didn’t think I could handle being that close to Jamie after what we’d just did and how I still felt.

I stood in that room, facing away, while he cleaned himself up, but it was as if I hadn’t moved at all. I could still feel his fingers on my neck and his desperate pressure on my hip. I could hear his growls and smell his skin and his hair still tickled my forehead, his thighs beneath me and the way they tensed, I felt them too, and his mouth.

Touching my lips, he was there. Still.

Jamie was all over me.

I couldn’t stay and have Jamie look at me while I tasted him in my mouth and felt his dick throbbing between my legs, because I would look back. I know I would.

And I would wonder … Do you still feel me, too?

So I lied about being tired, then rushed home and showered under water too hot for my skin because I wanted to feel that long after I was finished instead of everything else.

Skin flushed and warm and muscles loose, I dried off and dressed. It hadn’t worked. I still felt him. His fingerprints and his fevered kisses. The scratch of his stubble. His pounding heart.

They were mine to keep.

But I didn’t want them. Or at least, I shouldn’t want them. Wanting them was terrifying and thoughtless. It was stupid. And I didn’t want to be that girl. Ever. Or at least, not again. I was stupid with Wes. I didn’t see sign after obvious sign of what he was keeping from me—his wife and kid. I was too caught up. And I wouldn’t get caught up with Jamie. I wouldn’t lead myself toward heartbreak again. I didn’t mean for this to happen. Honest.

Jamie McCade wasn’t anything good or right or safe. I was sure of it. He didn’t respect relationships, meaning he was the worst kind of man to build hopes and dreams on because he would look at those hopes and dreams and laugh at you for building them. So I wouldn’t be that girl. I wouldn’t want him.

Only … I totally wanted him.

A little, if I was lying. A lot, if I was being honest.

So okay, I would try not to want him. I could fight it. I was getting good at fighting it. These feelings I had would go away. The echo of tonight would go quiet, and I’d forget how his body felt beneath me.

Another hour and I wouldn’t feel anything. Another two and I’d forget tonight ever happened. The idea seemed promising enough. I was hopeful.

And my house was quiet. Quiet enough to hear the slightest noise coming from outside as I sat knees bent and legs tucked underneath me on the couch with my notepad resting on my thigh and my pen in my hand. I was darkening the “m” on my doodle with a heavy outline when a car door shut, too close to be a neighbor’s or someone parking along the street.

My hand stilled. My eyes lifted, head following a second later. I stared at my bay window.

A knock sounded at the door. My stomach fluttered and warmed all over.

Jamie.

I stood and dropped the notepad and pen on the couch, and my mind, that was left there, too, along with any sense I had in me, then I tucked overgrown bangs behind my ears as I crossed the room with quick, anxious steps.

“Jamie,” I whispered, hand reaching for the knob.

He was here. And I was going to let him in. I wasn’t fighting. I wasn’t thinking.

Clearly …

There was no other explanation for what I was about to do.

Pulse racing, I opened the door and my mouth to greet him, but my “hey” got stuck in my throat and swelled until I choked on it.

I coughed, hand to my chest and eyes wide and watering. The man who took my heart and squeezed the life out of it smiled and braced his forearm on the door frame, angling closer. His deep brown lying eyes did a slow, meaningful appraisal.

“Goddamn, sugar, I’ve missed you,” Wes said, his voice carrying that thick Southern drawl I used to find sweet and endearing as he looked me over.

He was still in his work clothes, meaning he most likely hadn’t gone home yet to his beautiful wife and adorable-looking daughter, who I was now very much aware of thanks to our shocking introduction at the mall a couple of months back. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">