I want her. Fuck, I want her.
A hand pushes against my chest. Beth breaks eye contact, looking at something else. Or someone else.
I can’t think straight. God, I’m so hard. So fucking hard because of Beth. Always because of Beth. I close my eyes.
“Stroke my dick. Ah, yeah, like that. Fuck, look how hard I am. Look what you do to me.”
The night air hits me. My back presses against a wall. Something tugs at my belt as a burst of images fill my head.
Beth kneels between my legs, fists my cock, and swallows me whole like she’s been starving for it.
“Fuck.” My hands thread through her hair. “Your mouth. Holy shit,” I moan, lifting my hips off the mattress. So good. So fucking good. “God, Beth. Ah, fuck, don’t stop.”
A soft hand wrapping around my base snaps me into coherence. I look down at Kellie, on her knees outside the bar, hungry eyes staring up at me. The wrong color. Blue, instead of brown. Her lashes not as thick, not fluttering like they should be as her breathing quickens. She leans in to take me into her mouth.
“Fuck, stop.” I push her hand off and tuck my cock back into my jeans. I can’t do this. I don’t want to do this.
Kellie lifts her head and glares up at me with wet lips. “What the hell?”
“This isn’t working for me. No offense.”
“Isn’t working for you?” She sits back on her heels and gestures to my cock. “You’re rock hard.”
Yeah, and it has nothing to do with you.
“How is this not working for you?” Her mouth falls open, eyes widening. “Oh my God. Are you gay?”
I laugh, zipping up and tightening my belt. Offering her my hand, I help her to her feet. “You have no idea how easy my life would be right now if that were the case. Go back inside to your friends. This isn’t going to happen.”
She looks up at me, confused, then shrugs her shoulders before turning and walking away. “Your loss,” she yells out, just before disappearing to the front of the building.
I palm my erection, rubbing my other hand down my face.
I should go in there. Talk to Beth, explain shit.
No, fuck, I need to get out of here. She said yes to CJ. What the fuck is there to explain?
I dig my keys out of my pocket, my other hand pulls out my phone. I send one message before I get the hell out of here. Why I send it? I have no fucking idea.
Me: Nothing happened.
Beth
“HOW ARE YOU DOING OVER there?”
I look up at Riley from across the small kitchen at Holy Cross. It takes a few seconds for my eyes to adjust, for the smile she’s fighting to come into focus. “Huh?”
She laughs, setting the baking sheet of dinner rolls on top of the counter. “You’ve been stirring those instant potatoes for the past ten minutes, which would be fine if the burner was turned on.”
“What?” I look down at the knob on the stove. I never turned it on? Are you kidding me right now? My hand clutching the spoon stills, my other forming over my eyes.
How am I doing? Not fucking good, apparently.
“Maybe I should switch with Wendy. I don’t know how I could screw up refilling the napkin dispenser.” I turn the burner on and continue stirring.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Talk about what?”
“Oh, I don’t know. The current situation in the Middle East? Kanye West’s unwavering affection for himself?” She lifts an eyebrow when I finally look up. “Obviously, whatever it is that has you spacing out over there. You can talk to me. My brother says I’m irritatingly perceptive when it comes to stuff.”
Riley moves around the kitchen, grabbing the serving trays and getting everything ready for the crowd we’re expecting today.
Maybe I’ll feel better talking to somebody about this. I debated on bringing it up to Mia when she called me over the weekend, but after making plans for another girl’s lunch, she had to get off the phone. She was at a doctor’s appointment and her name had been called. The more I think about it, the more I’m glad I haven’t asked her opinion on this. She’s friends with both Reed and CJ. I wouldn’t want Mia to feel like I’m putting her in between the two of them. Same with Tessa. But Riley could give me an unbiased opinion. And I need an opinion. Bad.
I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, what I’m supposed to be thinking, feeling. I’ve read that last text from Reed more times than I can count. The conversation we had in the bathroom has been playing on loop in my head. He’s miserable. He wishes he could remember what happened between us. But he went out the next night and picked up another girl. What am I supposed to do with that?
Is he miserable? Or is his dick miserable?
I whip the potatoes vigorously. “There’s this guy,” I begin, and Riley is in front of me in seconds.
“I knew it. It’s always a guy.” She grabs a stool and sits next to the stove. “Go on,” she encourages, pushing her glasses back on her nose.
“Well, there’s technically two guys.”