Good Girl(40)

"You should probably read the fine print before making a deal with the devil, Lydia," I interrupt her and I'm a bit more snappish than I'd intended. I shake my head, annoyed with myself and with her even though it's unreasonable, then close the distance between us and snap up the remote. I turn on the TV and flip it to regular cable and then hand it to Lydia, telling her I'll be back in twenty minutes. I can be ready in seven but I need the extra time to jerk off in the shower because after watching her bounce her knees and nervously pick at her jeans, I'm hard again.

When I return Lydia's curled up on the couch, her legs tucked beneath her as she watches a home decorating show. She glances at me as I approach, running her eyes up and down me in a way that's obvious yet I suspect she's completely oblivious to the fact that she's so openly ogling.

"Do you have a DVR?" she asks, turning back to the show. "I'm dying to see how this renovation turns out. Maybe you could record it for me?" She turns her eyes back to me, big green eyes wide with optimism and faith that I might happily take care of this one small thing for her. She drops her chin a fraction and blinks, a hint of doubt covering her face as if she's asked too much. A rogue strand of hair falls across one cheekbone and it makes her seem entirely too real to be anywhere near me.

I pick up the remote and set up a series recording for her as she stands and slips her bag over her shoulder. She's wearing a t-shirt that says ‘I love Jesus and tacos.’ Jesus help me with this girl, is the first thought that comes to my mind and a smile tugs at the corner of my mouth.

"That's what you brought to wear home from a night of debauchery?" I ask, nodding at her shirt with a laugh as I power off the TV and toss the remote onto the couch.

She looks at her shirt and back to me, and I've made her uncomfortable, I see that immediately. "I didn't know." She fidgets with the straps of her bag as she speaks. "I didn't know if I was staying or—I don't know. I didn't know," she says quietly.

I've made her insecure about a t-shirt. Way to go, asshole.

"It's funny," I toss out as I open the door for her and we head out to my car. We're on the Strip heading towards Tropicana Avenue before I bring it up again.

"So tacos?" I ask her.

"What?"

"You must really like tacos."

"I guess so. But who doesn't like tacos?"

Fair point.

"And Jesus. You like Jesus too," I add and immediately wonder how in the hell I ever got laid without paying for it. I sound like a fucking idiot.

"I guess so," she mumbles but her head is buried in her phone, working again now that it's attached to the charger in my car.

"How are you feeling today?" I ask so I can change the subject.

"Feeling?" she questions, turning in her seat to face me. We're at the corner of Las Vegas Boulevard and Tropicana, waiting to make a left. "Like emotionally or physically? What do you want to know?" The turn signal clicks like a tiny time bomb in the ensuing silence while I try to gauge her mood. I side-eye her and decide it wasn't a trick question, that she's genuinely waiting for me to clarify.

"Physically," I answer. "Are you good?" Was I too aggressive with her last night? "Are you sore?"

Because if you're not you will be before the day is over.

"I'm okay," she says. But she answers with a tiny shrug of her shoulder which tells me I'm missing something.

"You're okay but what?"

"But nothing." She turns back to her phone and replies to a text.

I make the turn onto Tropicana and drum my fingers on the steering wheel, annoyed. Annoyed with her for holding back and annoyed with myself for caring. What does it matter?

"I don't think you can help," she adds. "It's embarrassing. Forget I said anything." She fidgets in the passenger seat. "I didn't actually say anything though. It's just girl stuff. Forget it."

I give a slight nod of my head and remain silent. Okay then.

"I'm kinda wet," she blurts out when I'm stopped at another stoplight on Tropicana.

Fuck me.

"Not wet like I want to have sex right now, wet like I think you're still dripping out of me from yesterday. Which is so weird and nothing anyone taught me about in high-school sex education and I was worried about—I don't know what I was worried about. But I looked it up and it turns out that it's fairly normal and can last anywhere from a minute till a day after sex and there's no real rhyme or reason to it. It was just, you know, I didn't know and so it freaked me out for a minute but I'm fine now."

Fuck me, that's hot.

"The light is green, Rhys."

I clear my throat and accelerate the car.

"You might as well get used to it because I'm going to fuck you every day."

"Really?" The question is laced with genuine surprise. "You won't be too busy?"

"I'll squeeze you in."

"Oh. Okay, cool."

I take a right in a Del Taco parking lot and merge into the drive-thru lane.

"We're getting Del Taco for real?" Lydia's eyes light up as if I've taken her to a champagne brunch.

"It's your Sunday," I tell her and I wonder how in the fuck this became her Sunday. I was a no. I was a firm no on the twenty-two-year-old from the bar. The twenty-two-year-old working for my company. The twenty-two-year-old who I knew would be trouble for me.