Cold like me.
“What?” He stopped by his bedroom door and turned a little. The sight of him naked and glaring down at me turned me on, and my body ticked with desire. I wanted more than oral sex. I wanted him buried inside of me again, his body pressed against mine, his mouth consuming mine.
“Are you really going to make me sleep on the couch again?” My tone shifted from needy to annoyed. I couldn’t help it.
He chuckled. “Absolutely. Stop making more of us fucking than you should. You’re a quick and cheap way to get off. Nothing more.” He shrugged. “You should know how that feels. You’re a pro at it.” He closed the door behind him, and fuck me if my eyes didn’t fill with tears.
Maybe sleeping together wasn’t a good idea at all. I couldn’t stand feeling cheap and used. I stood and dressed quickly before grabbing a blanket off the chair closest to me. After curling up in it, I let myself blink out a few tears and decided to stop being a child.
It was a business deal. Nothing more.
Chapter Nineteen
Gavin
I waited until the fifth alarm to finally roll out of bed and grab my phone. I turned off the alarm and sat on my bed, forehead in my hands, as I attempted to massage a light headache away. Maybe I was dehydrated, and possibly drinking too much whiskey for my own good. The headache would be gone with two painkillers, but that meant walking down the stairs and toward the kitchen, and I didn’t have the energy for it yet.
I took my time getting ready. A long shower, followed by staring at my reflection as I routinely brushed my teeth for several minutes longer than normal, and another ten minutes of shaving. The razor cut along the edge of my skin, just below my neck, as I considered the day.
Maddie would be coming over in the evening, followed by a dinner with Mom and then maybe another night spent releasing some frustration. It was a decent arrangement, and my cock twitched at the memory of Maddie climbing on top of me and proposing a no-strings relationship. It had been somewhat of a surprise; after all, I hadn’t known Maddie to be so vocal about what she wanted, but I wasn’t going to complain.
She wasn’t so difficult to please, and in a way, I supposed I actually enjoyed our time together. But she was still shaking money out of me, and despite all of her other positive attributes, I was still pissed at her.
I finished getting ready and started cooking up a simple breakfast. I was used to protein shakes in the morning, but I had a craving for a greasy, unhealthy breakfast with a plate full of bacon and a side of dollar pancakes smothered in thick maple syrup. I sent a quick text to Mom, knowing full and well that she wouldn’t respond until much later in the day when her energy was at a decent level. I would most likely visit before then, but I knew that she liked receiving messages during a time that almost no one bothered with talking to her.
I could tell that it bothered her, how three-fourths of the attendees from the party had practically ghosted her after the reveal. It made me want to scream at each of them. Was their time too precious to talk to a dying woman? Mom said they just didn’t know what to say, and that there was no reason to feel any animosity toward them. But fuck that.
A loud sizzle interrupted my thoughts, and I turned just in time to avoid getting a bubble of hot oil popped in my face. The bacon was blackened to a crisp on the pan, and I quickly turned the stove off before the fire alarm could be notified. The last time the alarm went off I had spent nearly ten minutes hitting it with a broomstick before I thought to restart it.
I hadn’t considered the funeral. I knew in a logical mindset I would be the one planning it, or more likely throwing a shit ton of cash at some poor man, but I hadn’t truly processed the idea. Would Mom want a certain type of flowers? Did she expect sad music or fun, upbeat songs that celebrated her life? Was I supposed to ask her these questions?
I forced myself to scarf down the burnt bacon; I wasn’t the type to let food go to waste. I pushed the soaked pancakes around until they were a soft mush swimming in butter and syrup. I winced slightly; it didn’t look appetizing in the least, but I was a man of honor and finished the pancakes in record time.
I figured I should probably make a list of things to discuss with Mom eventually, but there was little motivation in that, so I decided I would deal with it at a later time. There was no reason to worry about funerals, not when she was alive and breathing.
I didn’t bother telling Ron about spending the afternoon on the boat. I knew that he would fill the conversation with topics of Maddie and Mom, and I wanted to spend just a few hours not thinking about either. I leaned against my chair as the gray clouds in the sky moved at a slow pace and opened a book that I hadn’t read in nearly a month. It was the middle of an older story of the origins of literature and science, but while I enjoyed it before Mom’s prognosis, I was finding it impossible to focus on anything afterward.
I kept the boat docked and waved at several people as they passed mine toward theirs or the end of the dock. A few stopped to make casual conversation, and I quickly regretted trying to find quiet time on a boat.
“I haven’t seen you by yourself on here in a while,” a woman said as she leaned against a light pole. Her name was Betty, a regular at the bar that Ron and I frequented, and always seemed much kinder to me than anyone else.
“Wanted some peace and quiet,” I said and gestured at my book. She smiled and invited herself onto the boat. I gritted my teeth and offered her a chair.
“Oh, no need, I just wanted to ask how you were doing,” she said. “I heard about your mother.”
Despite the cold temperature, she was wearing a sho
rt skirt that revealed long, smooth legs and a tight polo shirt. She looked like she was on her way to a tennis match at the Golden Oaks.
“I’m good, thanks,” I said. Betty flipped a perfectly curled strand of blonde hair behind her shoulder and stood closer.
“If there’s ever anything you need, sweetie, you know where to find me,” she smiled and glanced toward my trousers. I had a faint memory of Ron drunk-telling a group of women one night in the bar that his best friend was a billionaire who would offer him his private jet if any of them was interested. Most of the women rolled their eyes and ignored him, but Betty had some sort of gleam in her eye as she looked past him toward me.
I frowned. Maybe it was because of my recent dealing with Maddie, but Betty could have at least made it less obvious that all she wanted was to get cozy with any rich guy that looked her way.
“Thanks, Betty,” I said and stashed the book beneath my chair. I dumped a half-empty beer can in the trash and forced her off of my boat. “But I already sold my soul to another devil.”
“What?” If she was going to pretend to play dumb, the least she could have done was wipe the stupid grin off of her face. “Gavin, I just want to be there for you.”