Making up my mind, I drew in a breath and reopened the message I’d been sent.
Define good, I typed, and then walked the rest of the way to my truck.
I’d just opened the driver’s side door when my phone buzzed. My dick jerked in response, knowing my correspondence directly involved him.
The definition of good: You have not had your penis in any other woman since it’s been in me. So...have you been good?
With a laugh, I shook my head. It’s barely been twenty-four hours since I was in YOU. Just how much do you think I get around?
“I know exactly how much you get around. Answer the damn question.”
I knew I was having more fun with this than I should, but I grinned. You have a dirty mouth. I like that.
For some reason, I thought she’d like that comment. Instead, she wrote, I take your avoidance of my question to mean that you’ve been a very bad boy and dirtied your dick in some other whore. So bye-bye now.
I sniffed, not liking her ultimatum-type threat. Actually, no, I haven’t been with anyone since you. But if you want a different answer, give me an hour. I’m sure I can find some chick to screw. I growled as I jabbed the send button, wondering who the hell she thought she was to demand monogamy from me.
Instantly, she answered, No! Please don’t.
I didn’t immediately respond. I let her sweat. I didn’t want to lose my shot with my Caroline wannabe, but I wasn’t going to let her boss me around either.
I started the engine of my truck and muted my phone, muttering under my breath about how no one owned me.
She’d written another message by the time I’d driven home and parked in front of my apartment building. Since I wasn’t the patient type, I opened it before heading up to my apartment.
I’m just asking you not to fuck anyone else while you’re still fucking me. She sounded much more humble this time around, which made me smug. If that’s acceptable with you, then…Tuesday night. Midnight. Your room. Keep the lights off. I’m doing a sniff test, and if your cock smells like anything but Ivory soap, I’m leaving, and you’re never touching me again.
Okay, that second part wasn’t quite as meek. My scowl returned, but then I realized something else and pulled back in surprise. “Holy fuck.” How did she know I used that brand of body soap? I could’ve sworn I’d never had her before last night, but this chick had been in my apartment, in my very bathroom. Fuck, she’d figured out my passcode on my phone. She knew my buddies had dubbed her Midnight Visitor. And not only that, she knew my work schedule because Tuesday was the next night I had off.
Damn, I had a freaking stalker.
I grinned, because having a stalker was kind of hot. Crazy chicks were so much more interesting than the sane ones.
See you then, I said.
To which she immediately responded, No, you won’t. You better not see shit. I said no lights.
I shook my head and chuckled under my breath. This woman really did have a mouth on her. That was so awesome. Fine. Touch you then? Lick you then? Fuck you then? Which term do you prefer, princess?
Any of those will do. Thank you.
Okay, fine. Lick you later then, baby.
Looking forward to it. Goodnight, Oren.
A bit of sadness and regret gnawed at my stomach. I stared at her smart-ass, kinky comments and realized I’d actually had fun sparring with her. I didn’t particularly want to have fun doing anything but fucking this woman. My heart already belonged somewhere else. I didn’t want the stupid organ straying on me.
But it felt wrong not to respond, so I typed, Night, Midnight Visitor.
I was stress drawing on Monday in the campus’s main courtyard between classes when Gamble and Ham found me. I’d been doing that more and more lately, absently drawing when my mind wouldn’t stop thinking shit it shouldn’t be thinking. And I knew exactly what it was about, but I was in serious denial.
Four years ago, a part of me had died. The biggest part. The fucking best part. To combat the pain that was left, I’d closed off other parts because I could never picture myself loving any girl, in any capacity, ever again. Hell, I’d never really even planned on making friends with dudes, either. But Noel Gamble had obliterated that plan the day I met him.
We’d been two complete strangers forced together as freshman dormitory roommates, and he’d just kind of swept me in. After he’d realized I’d played some ball in high school, he’d coaxed me outside for a game of catch, then he’d told me how impressed he was by my skill, and before I knew it, I was a walk-on for the team and we were starting in games by the end of our freshman year.
