LUCAS
I wasn’t in the mood to get my dick sucked.
Not that I didn’t appreciate the offer—all three times this chick had made it. But this wasn’t the girl I wanted down on her knees.
I ran both hands through my hair because, Jesus, what the fuck was wrong with me? I should be begging this girl to suck me off. A BJ was a BJ—that was just plain Guy 101. Part of the handbook we all signed off on when we were in junior high. If Zane knew I was about to turn down the sweet piece of ass he’d tossed my way, he’d revoke my guy card. He’d fucking run me out of Dodge with a pitchfork. The dude was from Iowa. I think they still did that kind of thing there.
Plus, right about now, I was pretty sure my balls were the size of Iowa. I could use the release.
She wasn’t half bad . . . the girl, I mean.
And she was willing as fuck.
At the moment, I was drunk as shit, which made it a million times easier to ignore the fact she wasn’t Emerson.
Emerson.
Damn. Why the hell did I have to think of Em at a time like this?
“What’s the matter?” The girl had prodded when we’d been in the backseat of Zane’s car, while her hand had been inching higher and higher on my thigh. Her idea of enticement.
Since when did I need enticing?
“Nothing,” I’d told her, doing my best to convince myself that was the truth. There was nothing wrong with me, I just need to get my head in the game. I’d leaned back against the seat, trying to appreciate the feel of her fingers so close to my dick. I’d reached out and cupped the back of her neck. It was all the encouragement I could manage, still not able to bring myself to kiss her.
When her thumb had flicked out to run the length of my zipper, she’d mistaken my groan for one of pleasure.
If only that had been the case. But the sensation was closer to disgust. I should’ve felt something. A pretty girl was this close to rubbing me off. It should have moved. It should have been standing at full fucking attention.
Whiskey dick, I told myself, wanting to believe my own line of bullshit.
“You like that?” she’d cooed triumphantly.
Thankfully, the car had jerked to a stop then, saving me from having to lie again. When we’d all piled out and I led her up the walkway, she’d laid it on pretty thick—the whole needing me for support act. I’d played my part, though, letting her shamelessly paw all over me.
Until the moment she’d leaned up to my ear and said, “Who’s your weird neighbor?”
It had been such a strange question that I’d almost started laughing. “Weird neighbor? What neigh—” But before I could even finish, I knew.
Emerson.
I swung my gaze toward Em’s house, and sure enough, she was there. Staring back at me from her bedroom window. The look on her face was . . .
It was haunting, and it nearly dropped me to my knees.
Those blue eyes of hers seemed to look right through me.
Suddenly, all I could think about were all the unreturned calls and text messages I’d sent her. All the times I’d stood outside her door, waiting for her to answer. Willing her to come home.
The nights I’d spent tossing and turning, wondering where I’d gone wrong.
The booze I’d consumed, trying to dull the sharp edges of her from my memory.
And now there she was, looking out at me like . . . like I was doing something wrong for living my own life. For moving on.
Well, fuck her.
I leaned in close to the girl—a girl whose name I’d probably heard and never bothered to commit to memory. Later, I told myself. After.
I grinned widely, remembering her earlier proposition. “So how, exactly, does one become a blow job artist? Is that an undergrad degree? Or is it a natural gift?”
Her lips parted, just the right amount of devilish as she answered eagerly, “Baby, I got my master’s.”
And then I kissed her.
She didn’t know the kiss was all for show, and for a second, when her tongue shot out to mine, I almost forgot too. She wasn’t just eager, she was greedy. She took control, making it easy for me to get lost in the moment. To withdraw in the sensation of it all.
To pretend she was someone else.
She cupped my ass as she drew me toward her. It was a rush, the feel of her body rocking expertly against mine, her hips pulsing lasciviously, restlessly, rhythmically with mine. My dick was no longer soft. It swelled with need as I reached into the back of her hair and dragged her closer, inhaling her scent, my tongue battling hers.
I backed her against the wall near the open door, where Zane and his girl had already gone inside.
This would change everything, I thought as I ground against her, my hands reaching up to cup her breast. This would fix everything.
“Emerson,” my voice scraped. “I forgot how good this was.”
Two hard fists against my chest shoved me away. “The fuck did you just call me?”
I blinked as I stared into the furious face of the girl who most certainly was not Emerson. She made a show of wiping at the bold lipstick, which was now thoroughly smeared around her mouth—a mess there was no fixing. She looked like a distorted clown. “Did you just call me Emerson?”
“Shit. Sorry.”
“Shit, sorry? That’s all you have to say for yourself?” Her entire body slouched to one side as she cocked her head at me. “You are a dick.” She leaned her head inside the door. “Sierra! If you’re not out here in two, I’m leaving your ass!”
Zane was definitely gonna kill me. “Don’t do that,” I said, but my attempt was unimpressive. “You don’t have to go.”
The girl, whatever her name was, wasn’t listening. She didn’t care whether my roommate got his or not. “The fuck I don’t. You think I’m sucking your dick after you just called me some dude’s name? You’re fucked in the head.”
I couldn’t hold back the grin, the idea of Em as a guy was . . . well, it was ludicrous. “Emerson’s not a dude.”
From the look on her face, that answer didn’t help my case any.
“Know what?” She started stomping down the walkway, making it clear she could walk just fine on her own. “Go fuck yourself.”
She said it like it was a bad thing, fucking myself. I was beginning to think of it as part of my everyday routine anyway, like brushing my teeth or shaving.
And after seeing Emerson tonight, I would definitely be fucking myself.