Ethan

It was hot. Even this early, it was too fucking hot. I was sweating already and I hadn’t even reached the Turtle Pond. I had been close to waking her up and burying myself in her again this morning, she looked so fucking sexy as she slept. But I didn’t do morning sex. So I left her there, looking sexy as hell, and now I was running off my hard-on.

Wrong choice, bud, my dick whispered to me. No morning sex was a rule of mine. I liked that she had rules, too. I grinned as I remembered her trying to think them up on the spot. Mine were set in stone and no morning sex was at the top of the list—Number One. Number Two was no sleepovers. Everything looked different in the morning. More real. And I didn’t do real. Not with women. It was only ever sex. Great sex. Lots of sex. Lots of women. But nothing more. More than that was too complicated, and rule Number Three was I didn’t do complicated.

I wasn’t sure who fell asleep first but I hadn’t gotten around to leaving the hotel. I’d booked the suite earlier in the day. I didn’t bring women back to my place—rule Number Four—and I was tired of schlepping over to bridge-and-tunnel land. Did no one live in Manhattan anymore? The Mandarin Oriental always impressed, and besides I loved the view from the Oriental Suite.

My cell rang and I took it, pleased to have a distraction. “Scott,” I answered.

“Hey. How’d you do last night?” It was Andrew. We’d known each other since college and we had a healthy competition between us in everything we did.

“Good. I’m out on my run.”

“Man, I’m sorry you didn’t score.” He was baiting me and I wasn’t biting. “Maybe you’re just too old for the young, hot girls these days. You should think about settling down before the quality of women who will fuck you dives too low.”

“You have me bent over double from laughing, you prick.”

He knew she was hot. He knew I would have fucked her, just as I told him I would when I first caught sight of her across the bar last night. When I went over to her, Andrew had left to go home to Amanda. His wife. Of five years, although they’d been together since college. Ten years fucking the same woman. Or not fucking her, as Andrew so often complained. Jesus. I knew I couldn’t do it. I didn’t even pretend it was a possibility. I had rules and I didn’t keep them to myself. I was clear with the women I fucked. I didn’t pretend it was anything other than sex. There were no broken promises, no ambiguity. They never wondered if I would call—I never took their number.

There were a few women that had my number and I saw semi-regularly. And when I say saw, I mean fucked. Joan, who called me whenever she was between boyfriends. I was happy to help her out. Phoebe who lived in Boston but came to New York once a month and was a fantastic lay. And Fiona, who hadn’t called in a while, maybe she got married or something. But I never called them. Not ever. That was rule Number Five.

“Mandy wants to know if you’re still coming up to the Hamptons this weekend. I think she has a friend she wants to introduce you to.”

“Fuck, Andrew. I’m not fucking one of Mandy’s friends again.” Mandy had introduced me to Susie last December. I’d been clear—very clear—with her that I didn’t date. She seemed to be cool with that and she had great legs, so I’d taken her back to her hotel. The sex had been very average and then she tried to give me her number, which I politely refused, and she had gone bunny boiler crazy. Mandy was pissy with me. Andrew had tried to talk me into going to dinner with her. It was a fucking disaster.

“If I come to the Hamptons this weekend, I won’t be fucking any of Mandy’s friends under any circumstances. Can you tell her that? Can you make it clear that it’s not a case of not having found the right woman? It’s that there are too many right women for me to limit myself to one. Tell her, bud, or it’s going to get ugly.”

“You’re a dick.”

I grinned. “Likewise.”

“Later.”

I hung up.

“Anna” had been anything but average last night. She had been exceptional. Feisty, demanding, hungry, responsive. My dick twitched at the images invading my head. I picked up the pace to try to shake it off. When women understood that it was only ever going to be one night, it was better. They let go. Unusually, last night, it had been Anna who had made it clear that there was going to be no follow-up. That had never happened to me before. I found myself grinning. Her accent was cute. Her ass was better. Perfect—round, smooth, firm. I felt stirrings again. She was on vacation, right? Only stateside for one week. Enforced no strings. I’d already broken the no sleepover rule. I might as well use it to my advantage. I stopped dead. She would be naked right now. It was still early. I looked at my watch. I’d only been out fifteen minutes. I’d been planning on running for an hour, giving her time to get out before I got back. If I ran back now, she’d still be there and I could wake her with my tongue between her legs.

Fuck.

Morning sex didn’t count as real if you knew they’d be 3,000 miles away within a week. I started the run back to the hotel.