Again.
I’m not sure why I’m so pissed off, but I am.
Cruising around, I see the redhead who blew me a few nights ago but don’t approach her. I watch Loretta getting into a silver Camry but still see no sign of Alina.
Maybe I should consider watching a porno on pay-per-view.
I turn the Camaro around and get back on I94, floor the accelerator with the intent of going back home, but then turn around and head back again. Porn isn’t going to help me sleep, and I need sleep more than an orgasm.
This time, I see Alina’s long hair flowing around her shoulders as she gets out of a car up the street. I stare at the back of the dark-colored sedan, memorizing the license plate and wonder
ing how long it would take to find the john’s address.
Did she blow him? Fuck him? How many times?
Alina looks up as I pull the Camaro to the curb and stop. She tilts her head, nods, and holds up a finger as she rushes over to a guy near the alley and hands him some cash.
I try to get a look at him, but it’s dark and I can’t see his features. I haven’t bothered to ask her who her pimp is, but now I’m curious. She speaks with him for a minute before coming over to me.
“Hey.” She smiles as she leans over and peers through the car window.
“You ready?” I realize I sound like I’m picking her up for a date. “I mean, do you want to… or rather, are you free…?”
Shit, why do I sound like a fucking teenager looking for a prom date?
Alina snickers and licks her lips.
“Just get in,” I finally say with a sigh.
She checks the contents of her purse before she opens the door and settles into the passenger seat.
“How are you, Evan?” she asks.
I find the question odd. I’m tempted to give a bland, standard response, but the look on her face tells me she really wants to know.
“I feel like shit.”
“Worse than usual?”
“Not really.” I pull onto the highway but stay around the speed limit. The last thing I need is to be pulled over with a hooker in the car. “I’m probably ten percent better than usual.”
“Well, that’s something.” Alina reaches over and places her hand on my leg. She doesn’t squeeze it or move up toward my dick, she just lays her hand there and lightly rubs my thigh with her thumb.
We don’t exchange any more words, but when I pull off the highway and have to stop for a red light, I place my hand over hers until I have to move it back to the gearshift. The leather is cold compared to her fingers, and I slow down a bit to make sure I end up stopping at the next light so I can lay my hand on hers again.
If Alina notices, she doesn’t say anything.
Unlike the previous times I’ve brought Alina to my apartment, sleep is not the only thing on my mind. As soon as we are through the door, I pull her up against me.
With my hand cupping her chin, I press my mouth to hers. Guiding her backside to the wall in the entryway, I lean against her, meshing our bodies together. She reaches up and rubs the hair at the back of my neck.
Slipping my arm around her back, I bring our hips closer together. There’s no doubt she can feel how hard I am, but I don’t grind into her. I just keep kissing her—tasting her lips and tongue until I start to feel light-headed.
I move my lips to her neck, lick her just below her ear, and inhale. Pausing, I notice a difference in the way she smells. Tensing slightly, I understand why.
She was with that guy in the sedan.
I know my thoughts are ridiculous, but that doesn’t seem to matter to me. Of course she was with another guy—probably several. She was with other guys the last time I picked her up as well. She could have been with dozens of guys a night when I hadn’t been able to find her.