CHAPTER SIX
Sarah
Back in Saratoga Springs, New York
There’s something to be said for running from your problems.
Or rather running from the man who came so close to making you scream his name only to send you fleeing from his biting and spanking. And we won’t give mention to the other words he sleep-mumbled that night.
Of course, I hadn’t been able to completely distance myself from what I’d left behind in Saratoga. The first text had come in the day I’d been packing up to start my drive to San Diego.
Yeah, well… I may have programmed Jack’s phone to replace the word “sorry” with “blue balls,” but I refuse to feel bad about it. It could be worse. Much worse. Especially considering the fact that during the “debacle,” I’d been on the brink of orgasming before he’d spanked me.
The only consolation is the knowledge that Jack was just as painfully aroused that night.
I hadn’t disclosed to him in those text messages that I’d accepted an out of town job, packed up my car, and was intent on leaving everything behind in Saratoga Springs for nearly a year. I’d let him find out through Maggie and Ry.
A cop-out, for sure, but my damn collarbone hurt for days. That damn bruise took forever to fade, and I had to be sure to cover that sucker up, fearing people would think I was either a battered spouse or into some freaky shit.
Did what happened with Jack make me consider sinking down into a hot bath, chugging champagne straight from the bottle while listening to a compilation of the saddest—and depressing as hell—Adele songs? To mourn the fact that the delectably gorgeous man I’d been lusting over apparently preferred to channel his inner freak-ho?
Nope. Not at all.
Okay, yes. But that stays between us. Because we all know that’s a cry for help. I can’t help that when it comes to Jack, my brain never really tends to be my ally.
I’d exchanged a few text messages here and there with Jack, and obviously, he’s tried to apologize. The thing about horny vaginas, though? They never forget. They remember everything—especially when they’re halted on the brink of an orgasm. And they hold grudges. Big time. My vagina is still scarred even now. If she could talk, she’d be like, “Honeychild, don’t you ever bring me close to that man again, ya hear?”
I probably should’ve mentioned that my vagina’s voice resembles a version of Aunt Jemima, shouldn’t I? Mmm, my bad.
But seriously. She was scarred from the “incident” with Jack, and I’m telling you, she kept repeating, “What the hell just happened?” on the cab ride home that night.
Also, I should have disclosed the fact that my vagina speaks to me. Try to ignore how strange that is.
Now that I’m back in Saratoga Springs, though, I must admit that it feels good to be here. It really does…for a moment. For an extremely brief moment. Because after that moment’s up, I recall why I’m back and what I’ll soon have to face—the sole reason I couldn’t muster up much excitement or interest in any other guy during my travel nursing stint. The one person I was unable to get off my mind; the man who seemed to cast some crazy spell over me, ruining me for other men.
Jack Westbrook.
Maggie and Ry’s wedding is fast approaching, and me as her maid of honor and Jack as the best man, we’re going to be thrust together once again. I have to fortify myself so I’m fully prepared to face him; the man I’m not entirely sure I’m looking forward to encountering after that god-awful debacle.
“Are you sure you’ll be able to make it down to the dress shop to have your final measurements taken?” Maggie asks me for what I calculate to be the sixth time. I’m not annoyed, though—I’ve noticed that tiny crease between her eyebrows. I don’t want her to fret and doubt her and Ry’s special day will be anything but perfect.
“Yes, sweetie. I promise I’ll be there.” I hold up my cell phone. “I even programmed a reminder an hour beforehand.” Reaching down from where I’m seated on their couch, I grab my purse. “I’m going to head home and…” I catch a silent exchange between Maggie and Ry. “What was that?”
Maggie’s expression is one of utter innocence. “What was what?”
My eyes narrow in suspicion as I gesture between them. “That little look you two had just now.”
“It was—”
“We just—”
They both start and stop abruptly before Maggie finally lets out a long sigh, fixing an expectant look upon me. “We hoped you and Jack could try to move past what happened and help us with everything for the wedding.”
Biting the inside of my cheek before answering, I attempt to school my expression. “Sure thing.”
And fail because best friends…yep. Best friends are all-knowing.
“Sarah.” My name is spoken on an exhale. And I know what’s coming next. “Please.” Maggie’s expression is pleading, hopeful. “Can you do this for me?”
Damn it. I’ll have to willingly be in the company of the man who left me high and dry in the worst way possible.
Mr. Blue Balls, here I come.