no sense because I’ve had a lot of sex. I’ve fucked plenty of women. Why does Norah have me so keyed up?
Maybe Kate and Lynsey were right, and those girls I was picking up at the bars bored me. I certainly never popped boners in public for any of them.
Or maybe the stakes are higher because I dropped a crazy truth bomb on her at that mountainside brewery, and that’s so unlike me. Talking about my parents is not something I do. Ever. Kate and Lynsey don’t even know as much as Norah does.
My parents are a subject I avoid because the relationship I have with them is strained at best. My dad moved to Denver for work years ago and is with a new woman every six months, and my mom still asks me constantly who my dad is seeing. It’s exhausting. One would have thought a divorce would make it possible for them to move on, but they both seem stuck in an endless loop of dysfunction.
Yet another reason I never want to get serious with anyone. Getting serious means you’re permanently fucked in the head. And who wants that baggage? Honestly, my situation with Norah is a win-win. I get to have repeat sex with someone I genuinely like, and we both get to go our separate ways when this is over. It’s the perfect situation for me.
I finish showering and dress for what Kate referred to as “game night” tonight. I have no clue what the hell game night will be, but knowing Kate, it won’t be fucking Monopoly.
Oh my poor, poor ass, I cry to myself as I slowly walk down the hallway to join everyone. The pain wasn’t bad when I got my pedicure. It wasn’t horrible when I took my shower. But when I started to apply my makeup and put on my burgundy sweater dress and thigh-high, nude suede boots, my ass felt like it had been the victim of a wicked tumble down some stairs.
I find everyone in the large living room. A wood fire is crackling, and a giant charcuterie spread, complete with champagne, is on the coffee table. Dean smiles as I approach, gesturing for me to sit beside him on the couch. He is seriously hot in his jeans and dark green shirt, but my attention is distracted when I have to sit beside him…on my poor, poor ass.
Gritting my teeth, I gently lower myself next to him, and he instantly wraps his arm around me, drenching me in his spicy cologne. “You look gorgeous, sugar butt.”
“Don’t say butt,” I croak, my voice catching in my throat as I lean back on his arm and try not to cry.
“Why not?” He frowns and adjusts his glasses as he looks me up and down curiously.
I rub my lips together slowly and stare forward with my hands splayed out on my thighs. “My ass feels like it was whipped by my KitchenAid mixer on high, and I’m suddenly very sorry for my croinut dough.” Dean trembles beside me, and I look over to see he’s laughing. “Don’t laugh, you asshole!”
“I can’t help it!”
“This is your fault!” I exclaim and shove him in the chest. “You could have told me to buy some stupid butt-pad shorts.”
“We didn’t ride that long,” he replies, failing miserably to hide his amusement. “I didn’t think you’d get saddle sore from one downhill ride.”
“I’m going to kill you,” I grumble and cross my arms over my chest. I attempt to cross my legs but wince when a shooting pain bolts up my left ass cheek.
“It’s really that bad?”
“Yes,” I pout.
He tightens his grip around me as his other hand reaches over to caress my bare thigh. “I’ll just have to take your mind off it then.”
Butterflies.
Glorious, delicious, wispy butterflies take flight in my belly, effectively erasing my ass pain.
Dean’s smiling eyes sparkle and lock on my lips as he leans in closer. His shirt brings out the little flecks of green in them I’ve never noticed before.
“Would it help if I rub your ass later?”
“Only if you do it with IcyHot,” I murmur and then smile when he laughs again. I’m seriously enjoying the image of a laughing Dean. It could get addictive.
His hand moves up my thigh, and I gasp, anticipating his higher touch later. I tilt my head, hoping he’s going to kiss me because that would definitely help with the pain.
“What’s up, party people?” Kate’s voice chimes in, tearing my focus away from