Fuck It (Yama Yama)

“How could you possibly know that?” I interrupt.

“You talk sometimes when you think no one is listening,” he says, a small grin tugging at one corner of his mouth.

“Lovely,” I grumble.

“Now you’re asking me things like why I didn’t take your shoes off and why I’ve never hit on you before.”

“Both are logical questions,” I point out, though even I hear how random and contradictive I sound when he puts it on play-back.

He blows out a breath like he’s frustrated. “Most complicated woman ever,” he says quietly, as though he’s talking to himself.

“What’s your address?” I ask him, causing his eyebrows to go up as I spot my purse and stand to pick it up. I pull out my phone, still waiting on him to answer, while he stares at me like I’m an idiot.

“What does my address have to do with anything we’re discussing right now?”

“Just tell me.”

Rolling his eyes, he gives me his address, and I punch it into the app I’m on. I’m the queen of awkward, and I think I’ve just proven that.

“Are you going to tell me why you’re suddenly asking me questions like you asked today?” he asks me.

“Because you made me stop hating you,” I tell him, putting the phone down, my task complete. “I couldn’t ignore your sexy anymore.”

He closes his eyes, his jaw tensing. Apparently, me thinking he’s sexy pisses him off. I honestly find men far more complicated than the magazine articles like to paint them. In fact, the articles pin them as barbarians with one-track minds and no layers of thinking underneath that.

Sort of sexist, if you ask me.

Want to make your man happy? Give him sex.

Want to keep your man? Give him sex regularly.

Want to keep your man from straying? Keep things interesting in the bedroom.

Want to stay on your man’s mind? Offer him a blowjob in the morning. It’ll make him think about you all day long.

Heh. I call bullshit.

Sex is always the downfall for me, and I’m not that good at all the other stuff in a relationship either, so that says a lot.

I finally look back at him as his eyes open, and he narrows them on me like I’m the enemy. I guess we’re back to that hate thing.

He slowly stands, and I take a wary step back. “You’re really making this hard,” he says quietly.

“So you’ve said. You’re confusing the hell out of me.”

“You can’t be that oblivious,” he says, rolling his eyes and taking another step closer.

I bristle, slightly offended. “You’re vague and evasive, which means I’m not oblivious. I have a right to be confused.”

He gains another few feet, and I hold my ground, staring up at him with challenging eyes.

“You’re a fucking pain in my ass,” he volleys, his lips twitching as my neck cranes back to keep eye contact.

“You’re a giant fucking ass, so there’s plenty of room to be a pain.”

He’s suddenly shoving me against the wall behind me in one swift motion, and my breath escapes all at once. I’m pretty sure that expelled breath of panic runs into his mouth, because his lips are suddenly on mine, hard and demanding.

I drop my purse and phone in unison so my hands can shoot up, grabbing onto his waist to steady myself as both his hands tangle in my hair, angling my head right where he wants it.

I moan into his mouth when he kisses me harder, his tongue exploring and teasing. It drives me crazy. I’m totally pressing against him, feeling every hard inch of his body that I can feel, including one specifically hard area that’s pressed into my stomach.

After the ‘little’ penis jokes I’ve heard Kasha and Lydia make about Anderson, I was expecting…a little penis.

It’s not little.

Not at all.

Unless he has a big flashlight in his pocket, there’s totally a package in there that has me desperate to start stripping him down and explore him more thoroughly. He groans, and I drink in the tortured sound, refusing to analyze it.

His lips are as sinfully soft as I imagined. No person as sexy as him should have lips this incredible.

Just as abruptly as it started, he suddenly shoves away, leaving me instantly bereft. My eyes flutter open to see him running a hand through his hair, his jaw tensing.

“That’s why you’re a fucking pain in my ass,” he says on a long breath before his eyes meet mine. “We can’t do this. I can’t fuck my friend’s sister.”

Something inside me hardens a little. Rejection isn’t an acquired taste; you never learn to like it. It sucks, no matter what the reasoning behind it is.

“So you kiss me just to baffle me more, then tell me we can’t do anything, because of some bro code I’ve never heard of? Gee, I wonder why I’m confused.”

He scrubs a hand over his face, shaking his head while I touch my lips reflexively, still feeling the remnants of his feather-soft, perfect lips there.