of acting like this person who I’ve been forced to be. My mother, I guess. I don’t want to be her: cleaning the house while her husband is cheating with his secretary. Is that what I’m heading toward? The June Cleavers of the world are all getting thrown to the wind in this century. I don’t want to be that woman.
I leave the bathroom and find Cali and Jags still fighting over something. Who knows what it is now, but they stop when I come back over. “All set?” Cali asks me.
“Yup.”
I follow the two of them outside and up to the car waiting for us with headlights on. Jags opens the back door and Cali slides in first, then I get in.
The car is small, and the outside of my very bare thigh is rubbing up against Jags’s torn jeans that I’ve been admiring all night. There’s something about a man with torn jeans. It’s kind of sexy. I said sexy, pff.
I try to get comfortable, considering this dress is riding up my butt, and the last thing I want is for any part of my butt cheeks to touch this dirty seat. As I’m fidgeting around, though, my foot accidentally kicks Jags’s boot, forcing me to look down to where I kicked him, even though I don’t think I did much damage. Holy moly, his feet look like they’re twice the size of mine and wow, those are some big feet. “You okay?” he asks, placing his hand down over my knee. The touch of his fingertips against my skin makes my thighs clench together. Every time he touches me it’s like I haven’t been touched by anyone before. It’s igniting and exciting, and he has more effect over my body than anything I’ve ever experienced before.
“Yeah,” I say breathlessly.
“You have big feet,” I tell him, pulling my feet in the other direction.
“Well, I don’t need to tell you what they say about a man with big feet because you already know the truth there,” he emphasizes every one of his words as if I need to listen carefully and pick up the not so subtle hints he’s offering.
“Yeah, Jags, it means you have a real big fucking mouth,” Cali says. “Can we make it home without you bringing up your dick size every three seconds? It would really help me keep my alcohol where it should be. Burning a hole in my stomach.”
“Sure, Cali. I won’t talk about the size and girth of my very incredibly well-endowed, oversized really, cock.”
“Can we just stop cocking for a few minutes? Maybe then you two would stop arguing for a while.”
“Did you just say cocking?” Cali asks me.
“No? I said talking.”
“No, you said cocking,” Jags argues through a mumble.
“This, you two agree on?” I fight back.
“You said cock,” Cali says, laughing. She’s laughing. I don’t remember the last time Cali laughed.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
JAGS
GOOD GUYS FINISH last. Or not at all. Sasha is passed out in the Zuber car, sooo this is awesome. At least I know she’s not passed out on some random guy’s cock right now.
Cali stumbles out of the car and waves me off. “You take care of Miss Piggy tonight,” she slurs out. Miss Piggy? I’ll have to inquire about that in the morning.
I scoop my arms under Sasha’s body and pull her out of the car. “Thanks, man,” I tell the driver.
“Good to know where y’all are living now,” he says.
What?
I know I’ve had a few, but he definitely just said that.
“What do you mean by that?” I ask the dude while sticking my head in through the open passenger side window.
It’s pitch black out here, and the headlights aren’t doing much for me to see inside. The only light illuminating this guy’s face is the glow from the green radio buttons. “When she wakes up, tell her I hope she’s doing well.” The voice alarms me, and while the conversation I’ve had with him in the past lasted less than thirty seconds, his voice isn’t one I’d easily forget.
“I have no problem finishing you off the next time you come near Sasha or any of the other people living in this house. You got me?” I seethe through gritted teeth.
The jackass laughs at me as if what I just said was funny. It’s not funny. I’m more serious than a heart attack. “Right, well, I only told you to send her my best.” This is what I don’t like about Zuber. It all appears to be