“Goodnight,” he finally says and walks away.
My heart is still racing, and my body is tender. But built within this lust is guilt.
Guilt for almost giving myself to him. Guilt for betraying my friend. And guilt for still wanting it anyway.
What the hell am I doing?
“Living,” a distant voice inside my head whispers.
7
Dash
My sister is still talking. I can faintly hear her voice in the speaker as the phone sits in my hand. I'm not listening to a word. I'm too confused right now.
Why is Anna going to bed?
Things were getting hot. My cock is still hard, and my blood is still pumping through my body like hot lava.
“Dash?” my sister says. “Dash, you still there? Where the hell did you go?”
“Uh, yeah, I'm here. Sorry, Betty, but I need to let you go.”
“Okay.” I can hear her uncertainty. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, everything's fine. I'm just getting tired. I had a long week at work.”
“Oh, okay. No problem. I'll call you tomorrow. Or maybe you can call me for once. It's not like this phone only goes one way.”
“I know, I'm sorry. I will. I'll call you tomorrow.”
I hang up with Betty and walk toward my room. My hand is on the doorknob, but I change my mind. It's not even ten on a Saturday night, why the hell am I even thinking about going to bed so early?
My eyes cross the kitchen and land on the fridge. I grab a beer from inside and pop the cap off. The alcohol fizzles down my throat as I chug a giant gulp. I hiss out an exhale, setting the bottle down on the counter.
What the hell just happened? Did I do something wrong?
I can't get the question out of my mind. I have no idea why she just got up and went to bed. I thought things were going well. I thought we were both thinking the same thing. Obviously, we weren't.
Resting open palms on the counter, I drop my chin to my chest and close my eyes. Nothing appeared wrong with her. She was happy and really seemed into me, and then in a flash, she changed.
Anna's skin went cold, her lips taut, and her eyes turned to glass. Wherever she went in that moment, she was no longer with me. I saw it flicker, the lights going out, then she just got up and walked away.
She changed her mind. But why?
How could someone seem to want something so badly one second, and then the next it's gone?
I open my eyes and they land on her door. My stomach twists with need. I ache all over. From my head to my toes the ache fills me like a hunger. I want her. I'm starving. There's no doubt in my mind that I have to have this girl.
Maybe I'm an arrogant prick who can't take a hint. Maybe I'm a guy who's consumed by desire. Maybe I'm being selfish, and this is nothing more than some trick my dick is playing on me.
I rip open the fridge, ready to grab another beer, when I spot the cool whip and a bowl of chocolate pudding I made earlier in the day.
My plan was to create an incredible date for her right here. Dinner and a movie, dessert for after. If things went well, I was hoping we might end up sharing a room for the night.
I snatch out another beer, frustrated that I must have done something wrong, and just can't figure it out. Taking the beer in my room, I strip down to my boxers, and drink it while trying to watch the rest of a Red Sox game.
Frustrated, I turn off the television. I can't even get into baseball right now. Yanking the covers up over my head, I submerge myself in complete darkness. I pinch my eyes shut and command myself to sleep. After tossing and turning for over an hour, I give up and decide to go hit the dessert in the fridge.
The light from inside is blinding as I open the door in the dark kitchen. I grab the bowl of pudding and cool whip. As I close the door, I turn around and pause. Anna is standing there in a long t-shirt, with her hair pulled up in a messy ponytail, and her mascara smudged slightly under her eyes.
“Hey,” she says, crossing one leg over the other, and her arms around her chest.
“Hey,” I say back. “Pudding?” I ask, holding up the bowl and whip cream.
“Sure.” Anna relaxes her arms and grabs a couple spoons from the drawer beside her. She walks to the counter and passes me the spoon.
“I thought you went to bed,” I say.
“Couldn't sleep.”
“Me either.”
She leans over onto the counter and scoops a small spoonful of pudding. “Chocolate's my favorite.”
“I know,” I say.