The next-next time, I’d helped her find something on Netflix.
The next-next-next time, she’d told me she’d fixed Nora up with a job at one of her mom’s restaurants, which made Nora super grateful for her wallet and us super grateful for our health.
In short: we were basically avoiding each other. Again.
The first few days, I’d been adamant that Sailor could do whatever the fuck she wanted with her time. As long as the weekly snitch-a-thon established I was as clean as a whistle, I didn’t have to make her a friend. Never mind that I was lonelier than a functioning brain cell in Brody Jenner’s head. Obviously, I had my pride (okay, I called Vaughn and Knight so often they legit changed their numbers, but that was purely in the name of comedy).
Today, the fifth day of our cold-war bullshit, I got home at nine, strolled into the hallway, too tired to check what Sailor had ordered for us, and headed straight to bed.
“Ohhh,” I heard a soft moan from the door leading to the main bathroom. My dick stood up alertly.
Hold the goddamn press.
“Hmm,” Sailor’s little voice sighed once again.
Even though a small part of me said I was being a grade-A creeper, a bigger part told the small part to STFU, duct taping its mouth and throwing it into some strange dude’s trunk. The devil on my shoulder chided me to take a peek through the door crack. In my defense, it was ajar. She knew what time I was coming home and was perfectly capable of locking the bathroom door, as she’d done dozens of times a day.
“Ahhh,” came her voice again, and my dick roared with blood, so hard I could feel the friction from my briefs against the ridge. I wanted to rub myself against myself. That was a level of horny even I wasn’t accustomed to.
Sailor was masturbating, and suddenly, the day—despite containing ten hours of work, bickering with Da and Cillian, following Syllie secretly like some strung-out puppy, and going to evening classes—looked a lot better.
Taking a step forward, I glanced through the sliver of space between the door and its frame. Sailor sat on the edge of the Jacuzzi, butt naked, staring at the water inside through squinted eyes. Weird orgasm face, but I wasn’t judging.
She lurched forward, her body folding in two.
I realized she wasn’t pleasuring herself, much to my dismay. She was wincing and massaging her right shoulder, which was swollen. And by swollen, I meant her deltoid was the size of a tennis ball.
Sailor tried to swing her legs into the Jacuzzi, still clutching her right shoulder, but ended up falling flat on her ass on the marble floor. The sound of her tailbone against the surface reverberated in the room. She squeezed her eyes shut, shaking silently with pain. I was about to take a step back and let her have her moment—Sailor would kill me if I burst in to save the day—when I noticed silent tears running down her cheeks.
Turn around and walk away. Not your problem, said the devil on my shoulder, same asshole that had wanted me to rub one out in the hallway to the sight of her masturbating.
The angel somehow managed to pull the duct tape from his mouth and said, You can’t be that much of a dick. Besides, it’s Sailor.
He was right. It was Sailor, and in my world, Sailor deserved better.
Annoyed, I shoved the door open, tromping in.
“Hunter! Jesus! What are you doing?” She went from sad to outraged in a second, trying to cover her tits with her arms, but she had zero movement in her right shoulder. I hooked my hands under her armpits from behind and brought her back to a sitting position on the edge of the Jacuzzi, ripping a bathrobe from its hook and wrapping it around her shoulders. Her hands still lay protectively over her chest, and her teeth were chattering. I didn’t know how to break it to her politely that I’d already seen her tits (and they were way nicer than I’d imagined, and of course I imagined them on the reg).
Also, if I were to defend my virtue in her position, I’d probably start by crossing my legs, because she had a nice, delicate fluff of red hair nestled between her thighs that I couldn’t unsee. It wasn’t a raging, curly bush that screamed neglect and lice. Just a few, soft hairs I wanted to brush away softly as I ate her pussy like In-N-Out after a night of partying.
Redirect that thought, asswipe.
“Just got home. What happened to your shoulder?” I squatted down, feeling the strain of my pants’ fabric against my knees and dick. At this moment I missed living in Thom Browne sweatpants.
“You had no right to burst in here!” Her eyes flared wildly. She clutched the edges of the robe, trying to cover more of herself. I helped her by wrapping it around her and taking a step back, looking sideways at some decorative wooden log sitting on the edge of the champagne-hued Jacuzzi.