Jilted Jock - Rebecca Jenshak Page 0,32

in his cheek popped out.

After we ate dinner, I forced Finn to let me clean up to thank him for the delicious meal.

“Do you want to watch a movie or something?” I asked as I loaded the dishwasher.

“Oh, actually, I can’t.”

“Hot date?” I joked.

He smiled awkwardly. “Just drinks.”

I hadn’t realized how much fun I was having with him until I pictured myself sitting in front of the TV alone all night. Having someone at home to talk to in the evenings was nice.

“I should probably work a little anyway. I’m taking off Friday to go to New York for an interview and I need to make sure the office runs as smoothly as when I’m there. Or at least seventy-five percent as smooth. Don’t want them to have it too easy or they’ll forget how much they need me.”

“I doubt very much that they don’t already know that.”

“Thank you.” I appreciated the compliment even if there was no way he could know if it were true.

“Wait, did you say a job interview?”

“Yeah, I’m uh moving to New York.” I held my arms out to my side in a display of excitement.

“With the boyfriend?”

I nodded.

“Wow. Congratulations. That’s really…” He struggled for the words. “Really great.” He grabbed his wallet and keys absently and without looking at me added, “I should get going. See ya later then.”

I went to bed early. No amount of telling myself it wasn’t my business and that I didn’t care how Finn’s date was going could keep my brain from trying to imagine it. Thoughts like, what was the girl like? Did she look like Cindy? Where had he met her? What were they talking about? Were they talking at all or was drinks just code for have sex at her place?

It was none of my business. None. Zilch.

But seriously, why her? Of all the girls in Hermosa Beach why had he selected… whoever he had? I was genuinely curious where one went after Cindy.

I even hoped he might call and need a sober driver. I’d be willing to get out of bed in the middle of the night if it meant getting a good look at his date.

I was frustrated and feeling restless, more so than I had in years. I needed to release some of the emotions that had me keyed up or I’d never sleep. My hands trailed down my body, a light caress over my cotton shirt and stopping at my navel. Closing my eyes, I slipped a hand inside my sleep shorts. My fingers hadn’t even touched my sex before I was swimming in ecstasy.

I flipped over onto my stomach and muffled my cries with the pillow. Moving my hips and grinding down, I rode my hand. Richard’s face flitted by, his sweet smile and kind eyes. I could almost pretend my touch was his, slow and tender.

Then the face changed, shifted into another – this one younger, cockier, harder. My breaths came faster. The phantom touch on my skin was different too – frantic and rough. I fought my body and brain, wanting both slow and tender and frantic and rough. A war waged inside my body and my emotions, and I let the two have equal parts of me. My heart raced, body slick and wanting. I focused only on the pleasure as the delicious pressure splintered me in two and sent me over the edge.

After work the next day, I stopped by the store for a few groceries. Cooking, or rather eating a home cooked meal (since all I’d done was dice vegetables), had been fun and the thought of eating my leftover salad from lunch was more unappealing than usual.

Finn was sitting on the couch watching TV, kitty on his lap when I walked in. He stood and moved toward me, taking the bags from me while I stood still in the entryway.

“That’s really not necessary,” I told him feeling a bit awkward about how domestic the whole thing felt. Coming home, a man sitting on the couch, him helping me with the groceries.

I guessed that’s what it would be like when I moved in with Richard. I tried to picture the whole scenario that’d just happened but with Richard instead of Finn.

“Everything okay?” Finn asked.

Apparently, I’d stood still too long. “Sorry, yeah.”

He emptied my bags, placing everything on the counter and then holding up the steak – though he couldn’t tell what they were from the brown butcher paper.

“Please tell me this is steak?”

I smiled. “It’s steak.”

He