I woke up that morning with the taste of a stranger on my lips and a used condom on the floor next to me. This was why people needed to clean up after sex. But I had been too tipsy last night to do anything but fall asleep after getting the job done with the woman from the bar. I groaned as I threw the covers off me, and then a small whimper came from the other side of the bed.
“Watch it,” a woman said.
I recognized that sultry voice. Those low tones and that sensual accent. I looked over at the one window in my apartment and saw the sunlight streaming through.
Shit. This chick had stayed the night.
“Morning,” she said.
She threw her arm over me, and her lips attacked my neck. My morning wood was throbbing, but my mind was whirling. How many fucking beers did I have last night? Not enough to be drunk. That was for sure.
Was I that tired from work? It hadn’t been a strenuous day. Not compared to some of the days I’d had.
I fucking got lazy. That was what happened. And now I was about to pay the price.
“All right, you need to go,” I said.
“Before I make us some breakfast?” she asked.
“Yep.”
I slid off my bed and tugged on my pants. I looked back at the woman in bed, and I could see the heated stare rising up in her eyes. Her fiery red hair was mussed from our romp in the sack, and she was clinging to the comforter as she pulled it up over her naked body.
I couldn’t even remember what her naked body looked like.
Like all the other ones, I supposed.
“But you have this nice comfy cabin and no one to share it with. It’s so quaint and cozy; perfect for enjoying a morning meal together. Let me just fix us something—”
“I’ll call you a car,” I said.
I grabbed my phone off the floor and opened up the Uber app. The first time I found out that one of those drivers would come all the way out to the edge of nowhere, the rugged forest where I lived, I was so grateful I decided to use them every time I found myself in one of these situations— whether I was too tipsy to drive, or too close for comfort with a girl who needed to leave.
I requested the closest driver so he could come dig me out of this shithole I’d found myself in. Thank goodness for Uber. I could hear the girl murmuring behind me as she pulled her clothes on while my legs carried me down the metal staircase of my warehouse apartment.
“The least you could do is offer me some coffee,” she said.
“Don’t drink it.”
“You don’t drink coffee?”
“Nope.”
“Who the fuck doesn’t drink coffee?” she asked
“Me. Your ride will be here in seven minutes.”
“Well, that gives us seven minutes to have a bit of kitchen-counter fun.”
Her hands slid around my waist, rippling across my bare skin. I could feel her lips pressing kisses into the tattoos on my back, but I wasn’t going to have this. She needed to leave before she got more attached. She needed to go so she didn’t get any ideas.
Women always loved the bad boy. The brooding one that didn’t talk. They thought they could change him. Make him into a better man and pull out some decent husband and father type material that was buried in his gut or some shit. They didn’t want a man like me. They wanted what they thought they could turn me into.
And they were partially right. Women had no fucking business being with a man like me. But where they were wrong was in thinking they could change me. So I always had them hit the road before they could try.
“Want some tea?” I asked as her lips attacked my skin.
“You drink tea?” she asked, giggling. “How cute.”
I grabbed her arms and ripped them off my body. Her eyes were wide with shock, and her tits poked through her blouse. She was ready to go another round— I knew she was— but her scent was growing mustier on my skin, and it was filling my cabin, and all I wanted was for her to leave. To get out.
“What the hell’s gotten into you?” she asked. “Last night, you couldn’t wait to get in between my legs.”
“Alcohol will do that to you,” I said.
“Sweetie, you don’t need alcohol to know I’ve got decent love to give.”
“Sometimes decent doesn’t cut it for guys like me,” I said.
“What the fuck is your problem?” she asked. “Can’t keep it up without alcohol?”
I heard a car horn beep outside, and I sighed with relief.
“Ride’s here,” I said.
Another thing I loved about Uber is that they were usually way quicker than the app predicted.
“Good. Because this place is a fucking dump. View of the waterfall, my ass. One measly fucking window. You’re pathetic, you know that?”
Their true colors always came out once the fun was over and things got serious— or at least once they wanted them to get serious and I stopped it.
“I bet you don’t even remember my name,” she said.
“Adriana?” I asked.
She scowled at me and I shrugged.
“Amber!” she practically yelled.
Well, I was close.
She ripped the door open and tried to slam it going out. Women always tried to do that. Slam a door that opened to the side. Being an ass to them was the quickest way to get them out.
As she left, in a huff, I was happy to see her go. Her ass didn’t even look nearly as good as it had in the dimly lit bar.
These women thought they were on the prowl for a one-night stand, but many of them were actually on the prowl for their fairy tale. Sleeping with the bad boy, only to wake up and find out he’s a soft guy at heart. They want to fuck him senseless, ride his face a bit, then wake up with his arms wrapped around their bodies and hear him begging for them to stay.
Women didn’t want one-night stands. They wanted impossible fairytale endings. The easiest way to burst that fantasy, if they didn’t listen, was to be an ass.
And I was fucking good at it.