“Impossible.”
“You don’t want to believe it. You’ve nursed this crush for so long, I think it’s the fear of letting go of it that holds you back more than anything.”
“When did you become my fucking psychologist?”
Jan scoffed. “I’ve always been your fucking psychologist, and you know it. Brian and I, it’s like our calling in life to talk you into, through, and out of everything. Not that we ever have much success.”
And she didn’t know what she’d do without them. “Thanks for that. Really. Maybe I’ll start listening. Someday.”
“You won’t, but that doesn’t mean we’ll stop trying.”
She could definitely use a shot of willpower where sex was concerned. A hot body and smoldering eyes, and she was a sucker. No use denying it. The guys standing by the pool table right now, for instance—one of them was a current booty call. God, he was fine, and a beast in the sheets. If he strolled over right now and flashed that cocky shit-eating grin of his, she’d probably be under those sheets with him tonight.
It wasn’t that she had any measure of guilt over having a healthy sex drive. She loved sex: having it, watching it, fantasizing about it, and anyone who didn’t love that about her could fuck off. But last night had been a wakeup call. She was tired. Tired of…emptiness. Pleasure for the sake of pleasure had its merits. But she felt like she had so much more than that to give someone. All these years spent directing her love where it wasn’t wanted or needed… How would it feel to have it appreciated? Even returned?
She damn sure wasn’t going to find it in that group over by the pool tables. She damn sure wasn’t going to find it with guys like Max. He was a beast under the sheets too; the two occasions she’d let him between her thighs, she’d felt like one gigantic walking bruise for days afterward. She’d climaxed around his punishing thrusts until she couldn’t think anymore. Which, she supposed, had been the point.
Seemed she was an expert in picking out the guys who were an excellent lay but either closed off emotionally or freaking insane. Hot sociopaths were her specialty. Sex was all they had to offer. Hell, was there anything more? She was beginning to wonder.
But there had to be. It just sucked that the only man who’d ever made her feel alive was Brian, and he’d never laid one fucking finger on her, except to give her tattoos or platonic hugs. Never would.
Despite Janelle’s words, she wouldn’t feel that way with someone like Jared, though he’d felt damn good against her earlier. The light scratch of his beard against her cheek, the hardness and the heat beneath the soft old T-shirt he’d been wearing—damn. She was too fucked-up for a man like him. She wouldn’t ever want to inflict herself on someone else’s kids anyway. Probably have them chain-smoking and saying “fuck” all the time. The whole church-going, God-fearing set wasn’t her thing. At all. She’d been there, and she’d fled like a bat out of hell when she’d had a chance.
“Oh great,” Janelle said, snapping Starla out of her miserable musings. She followed her friend’s gaze to the couple of guys ambling over with beers in hand. “God forbid we sit and have a conversation by ourselves.”
Wouldn’t you know it, one of the guys was Starla’s booty call, Drew, wearing the aforementioned shit-eating grin. The bastard just knew he would get lucky tonight, didn’t he? Must be slim pickings tonight.
Starla suspended her arm and made a circular motion with one finger. “Run along, gents. Carry your asses back to your game and play with your own sticks and balls.”
The shit-eating grin crashed and burned. “Heyyy—”
“No need to be a bitch,” his friend spat out as he swayed drunkenly on his feet.
Starla batted her lashes at him. “You’ll know when I’m being a bitch. It’s not now. But might be in a few seconds.”
“Well,” Janelle said happily as the guys ambled grudgingly back to the pool tables, “that’s that.”
“I hate men,” Starla grumbled. “Wanna run away and get married?”
Janelle laughed and lifted her glass. Starla clinked hers with it. “Thought you’d never ask, babe.”
***