I was ashamed of myself. Not so ashamed that I probably wouldn’t do it again, but the kind of ashamed where I would make the unbreakable vow to never speak about it to anyone.
Everything was going fine. My body was submerged in the hot water, my paperback was perfectly balanced on the side of the tub, and the story I was reading was good. But the sex scenes, they were hot. I could feel a tingle in my stomach when the hero lifted the heroine off the ground and slammed her into the wall, and I decided that was exactly what I needed. To be slammed. But of course, as slightly anti-social and completely single, my chances of that happening at the moment were pretty slim.
So I took the problem into my own hands.
Literally.
I closed my eyes as my hand slid down my body, and I imagined the hero’s light blond hair as he threw me on the bed and had his dirty way with me. It was perfect. My stomach tightened as I imagined my hand as his. I sped up as my imagination did.
Then it all went downhill.
The hero’s hair changed from the perfect sun-kissed blond to a light brown. His bright blue eyes morphed into a dark brown shade, and somehow it managed to get so much hotter.
If I had any sense whatsoever, I would have stopped what I was doing and cleared my head. But I was too far gone, and apparently, Tucker was going to be the guy to take me to the end.
My body lost control as I imagined his hands running down my body, his scruffy facial hair dragging against my skin. I could see his satisfied smirk in my head when he successfully got me off, and once again I had mixed emotions. I wanted to kill him, slap myself, and then beg him to do it again.
I sank my head under the water, the warmth covering my already overheated body, and I screamed out my frustration. Clearly, self-care wasn’t the best option for relieving my stress today. It seemed to make me crazier.
When I got out of the bath, Brooke was waiting for me in my bedroom. She was sitting on my bed acting innocent, but I knew the look on her face.
“Hell no.” I pointed straight at her while holding my towel up with my other hand.
“Why not?” She pouted.
“Because I’m not a Barbie.”
“I know you’re not a Barbie, but it’s not a sin to let me do your makeup, you wench.”
I smiled at her insult.
“What do I get out of it?”
“To look extra gorgeous tonight.” She smiled.
“Try again.”
“You can choose what we watch next movie night.” She knew she had me with that one and you could see the victory all over her face.
“Deal.” I huffed before plopping down at my vanity like a brat. “But don’t make me look like a slut.”
She put her hand over her heart like that would somehow make her innocent. “Me?”
“Yes. You.” I looked at her through the mirror. “I know your makeup bag is filled with slut dust. You sprinkle that crap around like you’re a fairy and poof! Sluts everywhere.”
“Glitter is not slut dust.”
“Whatever you say, slut dust master.”
...
By the time everything was said and done, my hair and makeup looked awesome. She lined my green eyes with a sharp, black liner that winged out at the edges and created a sultry effect on my eyes. The rest of my makeup was light except for the bright red lip that, despite my doubts, looked awesome with my hair and light skin tone. She piled my hair on top of my head in a large bun that made me happy because I wouldn’t have to deal with it all night.
I put on a Brooke approved pair of black skinny jeans, a white V-neck T-shirt, and a pair of Brooke’s black sparkly sandals. I drew the line at heels. Especially if I wanted to make it through the night.
The bar that we chose was pretty packed, but we still managed to get a seat at the bar. The place was ordinary. Nothing special. Just a hole in the wall place where people came to drown their sorrows or drown themselves between each other’s legs.
Brooke ordered a martini, and I ordered a whiskey sour. Somehow our drink choices seemed to fit our personalities perfectly. I looked around the bar and watched the people around me. It was an ordinary night with ordinary people.
The guy to my right was leaned into the pretty blonde sitting on the stool who was clearly giving him the “Fuck off” vibes. He either didn’t have a clue or didn’t care. I wasn’t sure which was worse.
The hottest guy in the bar had already saddled up next to Brooke, and she was giggling and throwing him her flirty eyes. And yes. Flirty eyes are a real thing. Not all women are accomplished in the art, take me for example, but Brooke was the master. She could bat her eyelashes a few times and men were eating out of the palm of her hand. I was in awe of her skill.
Just watching her made me smile.
“Hey there, hot stuff.” I heard a voice call from behind me.
Please don’t be talking to me. Please don’t be talking to me. Please don’t be talking to me.
The man leaned against the bar and stared at me expectantly.
“I’m sorry?” I asked before taking a sip of my drink.
“What’s your name?” He moved in closer to me and beer sloshed out the side of his glass.
“My name is Kennedy.”
“Kennedy.” He rolled my name over his tongue. “That’s a good name. I could see myself calling it out.”
“Did you seriously just say that?” I looked around me as if I was being punked.
A snort came from my side, and I turned to see Brooke trying to hide her laughter.
“What? You’re not interested in knowing my name? Don’t you want to know what it would feel like to scream it out?”
His stale breath blew in my face and I fought the urge to retch. I didn’t know if it was from the smell or from his words.
“What’s your name?”
He was drunk, and I could see the fuzziness in his vision.
“Brad.” He took another sip of his beer. “Do you want to get out of here?”
“Sorry. That’s not going to happen.” I shook my head softly.
“You don’t have to be a bitch.” He snarled up his nose. “You’re not that good looking anyway.”
I pretended like his words didn’t hurt me.
He brushed against my side, and I clearly heard the “slut” he tried to say under his breath.
It was the exact reason I wasn’t the bar scene kind of girl. I wasn’t into empty compliments, if that’s what you want to call it, or the empty hookups.
It was the lack of expectation and romance. I wanted sweet words, passionate touches, and grand gestures. I needed to be swept off my feet, not expected to drop to them and open my mouth as soon as I met a guy.
Instead of letting the jerk get to me, I ordered another drink and turned toward my best friend.
“Why are guys so sleazy?” She wrinkled up her nose.
“It’s not all guys. At least I don’t think so. It just seems to be the men in this bar.”
“What’s your idea of a perfect guy?” She practically sighed as she said it.
“Well he has to be hot, preferably a six pack, sweeps me off my feet, is alpha enough to piss me off just a little bit, and then he will fuck me like a champion and make it all better again.”
“You just described one of your book boyfriends,” she said blankly.
“I know and wouldn’t it be wonderful if one of them were real.” I fanned myself dramatically.
“I think you need to quit reading and get out more. You might actually find a guy that interests you.” Her eyes were searching the bar looking for a victim.
“Or maybe you should read more and then you wouldn’t have such low standards.”
She stuck her tongue out at me, and I laughed.
“You know I’m not a reader. If I was though, I would start with Pride and Prejudice. Mr. Darcy is dreamy.”
“You got that right, babe. He is the king of angst.”
“Well, I say since there are obviously no Mr. Darcy’s in this place, we should drink our fill then go back home and watch him be amazing.”
“That sounds like the best plan you’ve had all day.” I raised my glass to hers and we toasted to Mr. Darcy and the unrealistic expectations he gave us.
Brooke and I managed to consume way too many alcoholic beverages, and by the time we made it back to our apartment and started Pride and Prejudice, we were a giggling hot mess. Wine was consumed and our worries went out the window.
When I finally climbed into bed in the early hours of the morning, all concerns regarding my mother were gone, and all that was left were thoughts of Tucker. I had been trying to clear him out of my head as well, but there was something about knowing that he was lying in a bed just behind the thin wall behind me that just wouldn’t budge. I was still reeling from my earlier lapse of judgment in the bathtub, but something deep inside my gut was telling me how much I loved the thoughts of him. I completely blamed it on the alcohol and his abs.
I mean did he really have to have abs like that. And that V cut. That was just ridiculous. Nobody really needed that. The only thing it was really good for was tracing it with your tongue. It was really just a cocky display to even have it, but God, I loved it. The urge to run my tongue over his entire body was fierce, and I needed to snap myself out of it.
My body was on fire, but I refused to give into it. One Tucker masturbation a day was all I was allowing myself. I was drawing the line there because clearly, my libido was needing some ground rules.