Did I even want to talk to this guy anymore? Wasn’t this weird? We didn’t know each other. Our encounter was a mistake. A onetime mishap, never to be repeated.
Right?
Chapter Three
BRIAN
I passed out last night pissed off and ready to beat the shit out of my best friend/roommate, who didn’t understand the premise of fucking quietly in the bedroom down the hall.
Moans and earsplitting screams echoed off the walls of our beach house, seeping underneath the crack of my door.
Filling my fucking head. Keeping me awake.
Nothing was unusual about that scenario. Jamie brought home lots of women, and I swore to Christ he tested out their vocal range before even considering their pussy as a temporary home for his dick. The louder the better seemed to be his philosophy.
I didn’t give a fuck what he did, or who. I just didn’t want to hear it.
Taking every pillow I owned, I submerged my head and muffled the sounds well enough to fall asleep.
Six hours, that was all I was asking for. Six hours and I could function enough to push through another mindlessly objectionable day in the life I was slowly living. Quickly hating. And unarguably deserved.
I barely settled into a dream when the shrill ring of my cell phone jerked me upright in bed.
It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkness, for my hand to seek out the bastard device on my nightstand. I didn’t recognize the number. I was fucking exhausted and could barely focus on the screen my thumb was hovering over.
I almost let the call go to voice mail. I almost said to hell with it and shattered the fucking thing by hurling it against the wall.
Thank fuck I didn’t. I would’ve missed out on the most amusing conversation I’ve ever had and, quite possibly, the most perverse.
And the voice that gave it to me.
Unfuckingreal.
Didn’t know what did it, the vulgar she was throwing at me, her fiery tone that paired with it, or the sweetness I heard underneath, but I was hooked. Every muscle in my body tightened as her voice seeped into my ear and awakened my mind.
Fuck sleep. I was no longer interested.
That feisty thing on the other end of the phone was filthy and unquestionably infuriated, ready to sink her claws into me and draw blood.
I would welcome an assault from her with arms outstretched and the biggest grin smeared across my face. I couldn’t help it. She was fucking fantastic. Passionate in her defense. Silver-tongued and ballbusting.
My ears weren’t the only parts of me enjoying that conversation.
I wanted to taste her voice. I thought about what her lips looked like as those words left her, if they were pink and wet and swollen and if she bit them while she was silent and waiting, hearing out my objections.
Strange how quickly an obsession can build.
One phone call had me reeling, and it was never even meant for me.
I hadn’t laughed like that in months, and it felt good.
The kind of good I wanted to keep feeling, and I could’ve.
I could’ve kept her going. Lied. Revealed nothing and let her lay into me as much as she needed to. But she deserved to know I wasn’t the person she was seeking out. And her response?
“Fuck you.”
Yeah. Fuck me.
How long would I be consumed by this mystery woman?
Hours, at least. That was for certain. It was eleven o’clock and I was trying to busy myself at work on Wednesday, but nothing was taking my mind off that voice.
“Would you fuckin’ relax?” I glared down at my lap, pressing my palm against the tent in my shorts.
I got hard every time I thought about her. It was becoming a major fucking problem.
My gaze lingered until the heat in my groin subsided, then I resumed the tedious task of staring at my phone on the counter. The very phone containing her number.
Fuck this. How pathetic was I going to allow myself to become today?
I pushed away from the counter with a grunt and went to the corkboard on the back wall displaying this week’s lesson sign-ups.
I removed old advertisements and sales that no longer applied. I studied the list of names, noted the instructors posted next to them, then dropped my shoulders and glanced back at the phone.
If that piece of shit devil of a device had a mouth, it would’ve fucking smiled at me.
It was winning. No contest. I knew it. Apple knew it. It was only a matter of time before I caved and dialed her up, giving in and fully acknowledging my fucked-up obsession.
I raked a hand down my face as I remembered how abruptly she ended our conversation last night. How quick she was to apologize and get off the phone.
Red flag, right there, dick.
I didn’t even get to utter a partial good-bye before she hung up and left me reeling. She wouldn’t answer me. I’m the guy she didn’t intend on calling.
I moved back to the counter, but instead of caving and grabbing my phone, I pulled the crossword puzzle off the shelf behind me and tossed it on the wood, grabbing a pen and leaning over the paper.
I read the clues. Filled in a few answers. Got pissed when I filled shit in wrong and had to write over it, all because my mind wasn’t on that damn crossword or the answers I was filling in.
Not one bit.
I had officially run out of things to distract me.
My phone vibrated and shifted on the counter, snapping my attention off the spot on the paper I was spacing out on.
I reached for it and glanced down at the text from my sister. My hand readied to reply.
And then …it hit me.
A text …a text I might be able to coax her to respond to. It was, without a doubt, the less personal approach.