Roni had gone out for the night with some dude or another she was sleeping with, so I put on Dead Crazy, Dirty’s second album, cranked it up, and made myself some dinner. I’d had a mild hangover the last three mornings in a row, thanks to the concerted efforts of Katie and Maggie to drag me back out into the land of the living, and while I’d appreciated their efforts, I really needed a booze-free night in.

I was dancing around in the kitchen in my woolen knee socks, worn old Brody T-shirt and panties, making my patented low-fat zucchini-and-eggplant lasagna—which tasted a lot better than it sounded—when Roni walked in, scaring the shit out of me.

With a couple of dudes.

Biker dudes, on second glance. Big, serious bikers, wearing the telltale leather vests; vests with patches on the chest that said Sinners MC.

The scary, shaved-headed one was looking me over, slowly, his eyes lingering on my panties. The blond one was grinning ear-to-ear.

“Uh… hi,” I choked out, trying to discreetly cover myself with a tea towel. “I thought you said you were gone for the night.”

Roni grinned, cocking an eyebrow at my outfit. “Couldn’t leave you all alone, now could I?”

Guess not.

After I’d put on some pants, I ended up sharing my veggie lasagna with them, sort of; Roni’s “friends” opted to snort some lines and didn’t seem to have an appetite for much else. I politely declined when they offered to share, as did Roni, though I got the distinct feeling she was doing so for my benefit—that if I wasn’t here, they would’ve been snorting the coke off her boobs while they fucked her on the breakfast bar.

Since I had no interest in witnessing or taking part in such activities, I figured I should probably make myself scarce—like before they got impatient with me cockblocking them. The party had moved into the living room, but I was cleaning up and more or less hiding in the kitchen when Roni walked in.

“You wanna hook up or what?” she asked, sashaying over to me and grabbing my hips, dancing with me. “Usually I’d just go ahead and enjoy them both myself, but for you, to get you out of this rut you’re in… I’m willing to share.”

“That’s what I love about you, Roni,” I said. “Your generosity.”

“Come on, it’ll be fun. Like old times.”

“In what old times did we tag-team a couple of bikers? Because if we did, I sure as hell don’t remember it.”

She huffed and pulled away from me, heading to the fridge for more beers. “You’re so unimaginative. What are you saving yourself for anyway?” She slammed the fridge door shut. “Let me guess. Brody.” She rolled her eyes.

“It’s not like that.”

“The hell it isn’t. At least be honest with yourself while you’re pining away. Which one of you are you trying to bullshit anyway?”

I didn’t answer that.

“I’ve seen the way you lick him with your eyes. It is so like that.”

Maybe it was. But if I’d never talked to anyone else about it—and I hadn’t—I wasn’t about to talk to Roni.

“Even if it was,” I said lightly, busying myself wiping down the counter, “I don’t think he wants to go down that road with me, you know?”

“Oh, Jessa,” she said. “All roads lead to fucking.”

She walked past, beers in hand, and flashed me a parting smile. “Door’s always open if you change your mind.”

* * *

I ended up in my room and put some music on, just in case the festivities down the hall got loud. I locked the door and wedged a chair against it for good measure, in case either of Roni’s guests decided to get “lost” on his way to the bathroom.

Then I flopped on the bed and thought about what Roni’d said.

Which one of you are you trying to bullshit anyway?

Him. I was definitely bullshitting Brody if I’d somehow convinced him I didn’t want him.

Because I sure as hell knew I did. No way I could lie to myself that well. Even if my brain wanted to believe it, my body knew differently. My heart knew it, too. Which was why every time I was around him I lost the ability to think straight.

Just like when we were kids.

Worse, because now I was a grown-up. I was supposed to have my shit together and all that.

I picked up my phone and held it a while, working up the nerve to send him a text. But what to say?

I knew I still needed to have a talk with him; there was no way I was going to skip doing that before I left town. I needed him to know why I ran all those years ago; that it wasn’t because I didn’t want him. Even if it meant he’d never be able to forgive me. Even if he couldn’t stand me after what I had to tell him. Even if it meant he was finally going to realize that I was never the girl he thought I was… that girl he thought he loved.

I had to do it.

Even if I was never, ever going to be his princess again.

And I really should’ve done it by now. Except that I hadn’t. I hadn’t answered his call two days ago, and I hadn’t replied to his texts.

I was leaving town in three days for my shoot in L.A., but somehow the really chickenshit part of me had convinced the rest of me to leave it until the last minute. Just talk to him right before I left town, so I could disappear afterward.

Yeah. Mature.

All I was accomplishing by putting it off was torturing myself anyway. I wanted to talk to him. I wanted to see him, too, but seeing him was a slippery slope. There were only so many times I could see him without kissing him again, drunk or not. There were only so many times he could get in my face without me throwing myself at him and rubbing my pussy on him again, and there were only so many times I could do that without suffering a major blow to my self-esteem when he refused to fuck me.

But maybe, eventually, he would fuck me?

All roads lead to fucking.

And that was a bad thing, right?

Why, again?

Oh, right. Because I’d been lying to him for years. Well… lying by omission.

Same thing.

So no seeing him, then, until I was prepared to suck it up and come clean.

In the meantime, the phone was a safe option, right? No possibility of accidental fucking.

So I texted him; I said the only thing I could think of to say to him right now if I wasn’t bullshitting. The same thing he’d said to me many, many times over text.

Thinking about you.

I sent the message and tossed the phone down on the bed. He wasn’t going to respond. I knew he wasn’t.

Even if it wasn’t for all the times I’d recently pissed him off, or failed to respond to his texts, or the fact that he thought I was trouble for the band, those six-and-a-half years of radio silence, which he’d shoved in my face ad nauseam, made it pretty clear where he stood.

He’d said it himself, right to my face.

Brody Mason thought I was “unstable” and “unreliable.” Translation: fucking crazy and a big fat load of pain-in-the-ass.

Oh, and judging from our make out session on that bathroom counter, during which he’d pretty much accused me of intentionally giving him blue balls, it seemed he also thought I was a cock tease—never mind that he was the one who’d put a stop to things and left me hanging.

What the hell would he want with a cock tease when he had the lovely Amanda?

I ditched my jeans and panties for some well-worn sweats and took off my bra, but I left his shirt on. I thought briefly about masturbating, but that seemed too depressing. So I got comfy with my laptop and watched some junk on YouTube instead.

Then I put on Romeo + Juliet so I could watch Leonardo DiCaprio and Claire Danes kill themselves over each other, because at least I still had a sense of humor. Just barely.

The night wore on.

Brody didn’t text.

* * *

I’d almost fallen asleep when a burst of laughter from Roni’s room jolted me awake.

Okay, maybe I was asleep.

Slow, sexy music was still playing faintly from my laptop. Pink Floyd’s “Hey You.” The words jarred me from my daze. Something about being naked… and sitting by a phone…

I wasn’t naked, but… I groped for my phone to check it.

There was a new message.

I blinked as the light from the screen stung my eyes, making sure I’d read the words right.

He’d texted me back.

And he was thinking about me.

Instantly, I was wide awake. I turned the phone to vibrate so I wouldn’t miss any more messages, and texted him again.

Then I chewed on my lip and waited, but I didn’t have to wait long before he texted back.

Well, he sounded pissed. Still.

But at least he was texting me back.

Hmm. Progress.

If only it were that easy.

I took a breath and took a leap.

Okay. Maybe it was that easy?

Because I got a definite visual on that. A visual he wanted me to get?

Brody lounging back on his bed, long legs crossed at the ankles, all naked and tattooed except for a pair of… briefs? Black briefs? Really, really small ones that barely covered his big dick.

Yeah, I was a pervert like that.

I pictured him with a take-out container in his lap, next to his big dick, and maybe some chopsticks? Slurping on noodles…

I could really go for some noodles right now.

I snorted to myself. But I decided to roll with it. He’s the one who mentioned his underwear, right?

Damn. Was Brody flirting with me?

Was I flirting with Brody?

Yes. Yes, I totally was.

All those years I’d avoided him, ignoring his messages… was this what would’ve happened if I’d answered back?

Flirting?

Sexting?

Yes. You know this is what would’ve happened. Which was why you didn’t answer.

Okay. That was the hard truth.

But was it wrong that I liked it when he flirted with me? That I’d liked it a hell of a lot better when I thought he had me on some pedestal, even though I told myself all those years that it was wrong? Because at least then, he didn’t hate me.

Shit. I was leaving him hanging.

Again.

Only this time… he’d accepted my apology. A lame one, but still. A door had cracked open, and I wasn’t about to let it slam in my face.

I had no idea if that was sarcasm or not.

I decided to rid myself of any doubt.

Shit.

Shit.

He wasn’t answering.

Why wasn’t he answering?

One sec?

Okay. I was sweating. Blatant, blatant flirting.

If he didn’t say something one hundred percent flirtatious right back, after his “one sec,” I was going to backpedal the hell out of here and call it a night.

The minutes. Ticked. By.

One sec, my ass.

I put the phone down and tried to get into a video about how to cut an onion without crying. Because that was a handy thing to know. I was planning to make Roni nachos and margaritas tomorrow night, to thank her for letting me stay with her longer than expected, saving me from booking myself into a lonely hotel room or crashing with the horny honeymooners over at my brother’s place.

After that, I pulled up a vid on how to make a killer strawberry margarita.

After that, I started thinking about Brody in his skimpy black briefs—not that I’d really stopped—and my hand found its way between my legs. Just kind of rubbing the crotch of my sweatpants, but still. If he was going to leave me hanging, again, I was prepared to take matters into my own hand.

Things were just starting to get good when finally, fucking finally my phone buzzed.

Stock the bar? A little shiver of horror ran through me.

Zane was a recovered alcoholic. He didn’t mean…?

Oh. Right.

Of course. Even if Zane was drinking, Brody wouldn’t be stocking booze for him. He’d be checking him into rehab, like stat.

But Jesus. Scare a girl much?

My hand was nowhere near my crotch anymore.

The whole idea of Zane falling off the wagon, or even the mention of Zane himself, a dude who was like a brother to me, was enough to kill the buzz.

Um, no. I definitely wasn’t coming anytime soon.

Did I want to go to the party?

Yeah, I kinda did.

Especially if Brody was inviting me.

Come?

Like over to his place??

Now?

I stared at the message. Four little words, impossible to misinterpret.

Still…

Holy shit.

Okay, then.

This was… happening.

A shiver of excitement rippled through me, even as a weird, floaty unreality made me blink and look around, just to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.

But if I was dreaming, Brody would be here, right?

So I decided to follow orders. Not like he could see me. What harm could it do?

I was about to do it anyway, whether he told me to or not.

I slipped the sweats off and kicked them on the floor. Then I lay back on the bed in the glow of the screen of my phone wearing nothing but his shirt. Pretty much like I had many, many times before. I’d slept in the thing for years. Probably why it was falling apart.

No response. But I was reasonably confident that you didn’t get to be as bossy as Brody was and not like someone following your orders, and calling you boss or sir or high commander or whatever. Especially if that someone was a chick you’d just ordered to take off her pants.

I reached down and touched my clit, because I couldn’t help it.

Brody just told me to take off my pants…

Just the thought of it was getting me hot. And damn, that felt good. All warm and melty… I sighed into the bed. Might as well enjoy this while I could. It probably wouldn’t take very long; I’d only been hot for him all week.

Well, all my life…

And if Brody was into this… yeah, it wasn’t going to take long.

The pleasure spooled, hot and tight in my core, aching for release…

I struggled to balance the phone on my stomach and type with my left hand. My right hand was much too busy.

God, yes.

All. The. Time.

I closed my eyes as the image of him in his bed washed over me, and my pussy clenched. I was tensing up, just trying to relax as the pleasure built. He wasn’t eating take out anymore, I decided. Nope. He’d tossed the noodles on the floor and shoved his skimpy underwear down and grabbed hold of his long, hard dick—

My phone rang and I almost screamed.

Brody.

I fumbled with my incompetent left hand and answered on the third ring.

“Hello,” I gushed, breathless. My fingers were driving me right to the edge. I could go off any moment. One too-deep breath, the sound of his voice…

“Do it, now,” he said, his voice all husky and thick.

“Do… what…?” I bit my lip.

“Get off,” he said. “I wanna hear you.”

“You should… maybe you should come over?” I gasped out, because really, if we were doing this… maybe we should just do this.

“I’m in Chicago,” he said.

“What?” I paused what I was doing down below. I blinked, took a few breaths, got my bearings.

He was where?

“I’m in Chicago,” he repeated. “My mom needed help moving into her new place.”

My head spun a little, trying to keep up. “Your mom lives in Chicago?”

“Yeah, for about three years now. She’s on her second divorce since my dad died.”

“Oh.” My hand dropped away. Back away from the pussy. This is not the time. “You’re at your mom’s house?” Nothing to make a girl feel like a perv than the mention of a guy’s mom.

“I’m at a hotel. Are you touching yourself?”

“Uh… no.”

“Focus, Jessa,” he said, his husky tone laced with amusement. “I know you want to come. I can hear it in your voice.”

I bit my lip again.

Really?

What did he know about the sound of my voice when I was about to come?

Of course, there was the other night, in the bathroom… or maybe he was just speaking from general experience.

Which reminded me—Shit!

“What about Amanda?”

“What about her?”

“You know what.” Jesus. I’d totally forgotten about Amanda. “Shouldn’t you be doing this with her?”

“She didn’t text.”

My mouth dropped open.

“I’m joking, sweetheart,” he said softly. He laughed a bit, very Brody-like, and tingles ran through me. “We broke up.”

“Oh.” I sighed my relief and relaxed back into the bed; didn’t even realize how much I’d tensed up. I didn’t know what else to say. The wires in my head were crossed. My body was throbbing. All I could hear was my pussy screaming at me to keep doing what I was doing, just listen to Brody’s voice and forget about everything else.

“Have I killed the mood?”

“Uh… no…” I slipped my hand back down and picked up where I’d left off. “Just… talk about something else.”

“Like what? Like how I’m gonna slide my tongue between your legs the first chance I get?”

“You are?”

“Yeah. Definitely. You gonna let me?”

“Um… okay…”

“I’ll be home around eight tomorrow. You should be at the party.”

“I… I will be…” I was panting now, softly, trying not to do it into the phone for some reason.

“Good,” he said. “Then maybe you can show me what you’re doing right now. It’s not fair you’re doing that shit for me and I don’t even get to see.” He sounded frustrated; a little anguished, even.

And maybe I was a terrible person, but it was turning me on.

Maybe I was a cock tease?

“Yeah,” I breathed, my brain completely disconnecting from reason. He could say about anything right now and I’d agree.

“Or touch,” he said.

“Yeah…”

“Or taste.”

I came then—I couldn’t stop it if I tried. The thought of Brody tasting me, of him wanting to taste me… and I just blew up. I cried out softly, kind of into my pillow, remembering Roni and her guests. Likely they couldn’t hear me. I still had music on, and they were probably too busy anyway.

Brody could hear me, though. For sure, he could.

He heard me all the way in Chicago.

“Fuck… Jessa…” I heard him murmur, and he was breathing heavy.

“You should touch yourself,” I managed to say. “Take your cock out.”

Geez. I’d never said anything like that to a man.

Felt good.

“It’s already out,” he said, his voice thick with arousal.

“What are you doing?”

“What I always do when I think about you getting yourself off.”

“Oh,” I sighed, still touching myself as I came down. “You think about that?”

“Yeah,” he said. “A lot. Jessa…” His voice got huskier and all breathy as he jerked himself off, which I was pretty sure he was doing by now. “You asked me to come over…”

“Yeah,” I said.

“You want me to?”

“Yeah. I want you to.” I swallowed, but I’d been this brave already; I could be braver. “I wish you were here.”

“Why? You want this, sweetheart…?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I want it. I want you… deep inside me.”

Oh, shit. Did I say that?

Truth. It was nothing but truth. But… wow.

Brody liked it; his breathing got faster, heavier still.

“Tell me what you’re doing right now,” I said.

And he told me.

He told me how hard he was for me, how much he wanted me. He told me about what his hand was doing, and how much better it would’ve felt if it was me; how hot it was when I came, and how he was going to come too, soon, but he didn’t want it to happen too fast, because this was all just way too fucking good, and he could barely believe it was real…

“It’s real, Brody,” I whispered.

And for some reason that I now could not fathom, I realized that the thought of a guy jerking himself off had never seemed all that incredibly appealing to me, yet the thought of Brody with his dick in his hand, all hard and throbbing and wanting into my body… oh, God, yeah… I was all over that.

And he was really, really good at phone sex.

I’d never had phone sex before. I’d never had a long distance relationship. I’d never had any relationship where I needed to get off, like now, so bad that I had to do it over the phone while just listening to him breathe and coax me along.

It was new. Hot. And familiar, somehow. Because my eyes were closed as I pictured him, and that I’d done plenty of times.

Hundreds of millions of times.

Really, when had I ever had sex, with myself or anyone else, when I wasn’t thinking of Brody?

Never.

Never, ever.

“I’m gonna come, Jessa…”

“Yeah,” I whispered. “Come.” And as I listened to his tight breaths, the low grown as he lost control of himself—picturing him coming, his cock in his fist—I came again, losing myself in the sounds of his ecstasy, in the image of it in my head. All the while just kind of blown away that this was happening.

And wondering how we’d gotten here.

Lasagna. I’d been making lasagna.

Then Roni came home and turned my night inside out with her Which one of you are you trying to bullshit anyway? Because that’s what a wild card did.

For once, I’d have to thank her for it.

“Sweetheart…? Are you crying?”

“No,” I sniffled, realizing I was. “Shit. I’m sorry.”

“Babe. What’s wrong? You okay?” His voice had softened and filled with worry.

I took a few shaky breaths, my mind gone all to mush in the wake of that last orgasm. But one thought stood out, prickling at me like a burr.

“Why did you go to Chicago, Brody?”

“I told you, sweetheart. My mom.”

“Yeah. But… you were getting away from me, right? You wanted to get away.”

There was some rustling around as he changed position. “Babe. I had some shit to take care of. That’s all. Don’t read anything into it. I’ll be back tomorrow night, okay?”

“Okay.”

“You good with what we just did?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”

I was. It was a total rush.

A rush that had let loose a whole flood of shit I didn’t even know how to process. A whole flood of shit that was sweeping over me now, threatening to take me under.

“I just… I wish I could hold you now,” I whispered.

Brody swore under his breath. “We shouldn’t have done that over the phone. What the fuck was I thinking.”

“No… seriously. It’s okay. It was good. Great. I just… I miss you.”

I did. I so fucking missed him.

Not just today, or the last few days.

I’d been missing Brody my whole fucking life, and these few moments of intimacy we’d just shared, over a phone, had brought that to light.

I wanted him home. In my arms. Now.

He was silent a long moment.

Then he sighed and said, “I miss you too, Jessa,” his voice rough with emotion.

This.

This was exactly what would’ve happened if I’d ever texted him back, if I’d ever returned any of his calls over the years. We would’ve ended up right here… only without all the wasted years between us.

I cried harder, cradling the phone, trying to hold my sobs in so Brody wouldn’t hear. I just sobbed and sobbed as I listened to his voice, muffled, from far away.

Jessa?

Sweetheart… don’t cry.

I’ll be home soon.