Sweet Cheeks(102)
I take a minute at the top of her stairs to wait for my dick to calm down. I pull my phone from my pocket and with my fingers still wet from her, fire off a text.
While victory may be sweet, it’s also reserved for those who are willing to pay a price.
And damn it to hell, I’m paying the price by walking away with her scent on my fingers and her taste on my lips.
Your A-Game? It’s damn good, Ships. You almost had me. But mine’s better. See I can show restraint too. Rematch in about 40 hours?
I stare at the text for the hundredth time, my body still strung taut from his touch and the smile still wide on my lips. I’m sexually frustrated but so damn content because he loves me. No man would go through this much trouble if he didn’t.
You’re a bastard.
I consider finishing myself off. Claim my orgasm he left unfinished but know half the fun is doing it with him. So instead I sit in the quiet of my room, with the paparazzi clamoring outside and the media filming downstairs. With a business proposal for a game-changing contract in the sent bin of my email, and a man I never thought I’d get back, owning my thoughts . . . and I wonder how all of a sudden this is my life.
And then he texts again.
Does it make you feel any better that I can still smell you on my fingers and it drove me crazy during that whole last interview?
No. It doesn’t make me feel better at all. My turn: Does it make you feel any better knowing I took care of what you didn’t while you were in that last interview?
But that sure as hell does.
I watch the clock. Let three minutes pass while picturing him gritting his teeth as he imagines me up here getting off without him. And then I text him again.
Just kidding. See? A-Game.
ZERO DAYS LEFT - Finally
QUESTION:
Where were you when you first knew you were in love with your soul mate?
#MovieRoleResearch #UnDeniable
I stare at the post for the longest time. Wishing I knew more about Undeniable’s movie plot to see where he’s leading his fans with the question. I’m sure it has a purpose. I just don’t know what it is.
I type several answers to the post but then delete them. Anything I post is up for public fodder, and I want to keep our relationship as private as possible.
So I read other peoples’ comments instead. Try to waste time as I wait for whatever it is I’m waiting for from Hayes. I skim my other social media accounts, check my phone, but there’s nothing written from him to me. No countdown until I get to see him. No corny pick up lines.
No anything.
Just radio silence.
Two days full of it to be exact. He left the bakery to give one last interview with a prominent entertainment journalist over a late dinner. And of course the cocky bastard gave me nothing more than a nod of his head and a crooked smile on his lips when he closed the door behind him.
But there are reminders of him everywhere: In the crooked lampshade that was knocked askew in our little make-out session. In the bakery’s furniture I decided to rearrange when we put it back after the interviews were over. And in the absence of paparazzi out front but in the presence of a line of people waiting to buy cupcakes today.
A line. That’s a first.
So I’m baking like a mad woman. DeeDee’s helping me too, along with a friend she brought in, so we can keep up with the demand. It’s a good problem to have.
And yet, a part of me keeps looking around, keeps waiting for Hayes to show up and tell me the ten days are up so I can answer his question and tell him yes to all of the above, whatever that may be.
I tell myself it’s no big deal. That he’s done enough and the only thing I really want is him. But I’m frustrated. Hell, if he’s still trying to prove his point, it’s been proven. We can survive the paparazzi. We can handle the craziness. And even when we’re surrounded by both, I still want him. Still need him. Still choose him.
Work overwhelms us. The sheer volume of customers today is ridiculous. Time passes quickly, but Hayes is always a constant on my mind. I look up every time the bell rings, grab my phone every time it alerts a text, and obsessively wonder when this ridiculous show or game or exercise in willpower will be over.
“Holy shit,” DeeDee says as she plops in exhaustion onto one of the stools when we have our first lull of the day. “Today is incredible!”
I smile because I’m still amazed at it myself. Joining her on a stool, I drop my head in my hands, and close my eyes for a moment just to soak it all in. When I look up, DeeDee is reading something on her phone, and her smile just keeps getting wider and wider.
“What is it?” I ask, curious but exhausted and suddenly realizing that I still haven’t heard from Hayes.
When she looks up at me, there are tears swimming in her eyes that contradict the ear-to-ear grin on her face. “Here.” She thrusts her phone out to me.
When I look at the screen, it displays a new post on Hayes’s Facebook page. And this one is meant for me.
ANSWER:
I knew I loved @SweetChks in this tree house. She thought I wanted to be with the cool senior girls when all I wanted was to look at the stars with her. Or maybe that was just my excuse to get closer to her. I knew it again, thirteen years later, when we came back here on the way home. I never told her the words though. Third time’s a charm. I wonder if she knows where to find me so I can tell her this time?