“Yeah, I kind of like it,” Sasha says, smirking at me. It’s black. It’s tight. The hem ends right below her butt cheeks, and she’s wearing four-inch heels that make her legs look way longer than they’re supposed to. Her hair is actually off her neck, which I haven’t seen and it’s in some kind of tousled mess that looks like she just got fucked. And dark red lipstick. Give me a break. She’s totally punishing me right now. I have my beer pressing firmly over my cock to prevent that show from happening, but the pain is real. The. Pain. Is. Real.
“Thanks for your suggestion, Jags. I think, maybe you were right about this. You’ve been a good friend to me,” Sasha says, smiling in mock innocence. Friend? Oh hell no, she’s not friend-zoning me.
“I’m not trying to be a good friend,” I tell her, sounding a little like I’m growling. I’m not trying to, or maybe I am.
“Well, whatever the case, thank you. I need this. I’ve been…” She looks over at Cali, and Cali raises her brows, urging her to say whatever she’s trying to say. “So horny for weeks now. Someone needs to ease this pain between my legs.”
I think someone just kicked me in the nuts. Yup. That’s what I feel like right now. I might actually puke from the nut-kickage going on. “Maybe I was wrong,” I say, not wanting to say this. Am I groveling?
“No, actually, just the opposite. You’re a genius. I’ll be so much less stressed out if I can just get this little situation taken care of,” she says through stuttering words, making me think this isn’t something she prepared to tell me. Yet, she’s still saying it.
“Situation?” I question her.
“Like you said, I need to know what living in the fast lane feels like. Fast and hard…that’s the way it should go, right? Or should it be hard then fast?”
“We should go,” Cali says, looping her arm with Sasha’s, giving me the most sinful look I’ve ever seen this chick muster.
“Cal, don’t forget what I said,” I tell her.
“Get the girl laid? Got it. I told you. I’m on it.”
I hate women. I hate all fucking women. Why do they have to act like this?
An hour after I’ve put Tyler to bed, I’ve jerked off twice in the bathroom, and the ache is still there. Except the pain isn’t so much in my cock as it is in my chest. I don’t want her sleeping with some random dude. I want her to sleep with me. And it’s not because I just want to rip that dress to shreds but it’s because she drives me nuts in the most incredible way any woman has ever driven me nuts before.
When I plop back down on the couch in front of the Barney marathon I haven’t shut off yet, I reach for my phone, ready to text Tango and ask him for advice, even though I know he’ll just call me a moron and a pussy for doing what I did. I know that for sure since he said it to me earlier today. As I unlock my phone, I find a missed text from Cali.
Cali: Mrs. Anderson from next door will watch Tyler if you need relief.
Relief? Like…my balls are aching kind of relief? Even at a time like this…I can still think clearly. Amazing.
I look at the time stamp from this text, and it’s from forty-five minutes ago, which is only an hour and a half after they left.
Me: Just saw this. Is it too late to call her?
Cali: It’s not too late to call her, but…
I don’t know what the but is for, and I don’t know what the delay means but my heart is fucking pounding, and I’m slowly losing my mind.
Cali: Because of this…
A picture follows her message, and it’s of Sasha grinding up on some dude in the middle of the dance floor. His hand is on her ass, and his tongue is down her throat, and it feels like a punch to my gut and balls, both at the same time.
Cali: I called Mrs. Anderson. She’ll be over in a couple of minutes. We’re at Chet’s.
Fucking Chet’s.
Me: How much has she had to drink?
Cali: More than that little body can handle.
It’s ten minutes before some old lady shows up at the front door. When I open it, she seems either disgusted by the sight of me or