Back in the Saddle (Jessica Brodie Diaries #1)

Back in the Saddle (Jessica Brodie Diaries #1)
K.F. Breene



Chapter One

I had done it again.

I promised myself I would never end up here.

Not again.

But here I was, opening my bleary, make-up crusted eyes to a strange room, with strange lighting, and a strange man next to me, currently trying to hump my back in his sleep.

While I didn’t usually wake up in these situations with a guy trying to hump me—wait, yes I did. Usually the guy in question was awake, though.

I rubbed my eyes, trying not to smear my make-up any more than it already was, and decided I needed to figure out if this character was an ex-boyfriend, a hot guy, or simply an ugly loser like usual.

One might argue that the first and the last were the same person.

Trying not to stir the bed, and potentially wake the hopefully gorgeous stranger behind me, I cocked my head at an unnatural angle to get a glimpse of the guy’s face—I’ll call him Joe. Having a name for the dude I just slept with made the blockage in my chest loosen slightly.

Joe lay with his nude groin against my back, slightly rocking and pumping to an erotic dream. His head was angled away, slightly turned toward the pillow, making seeing his features impossible. The way he robotically thrust against my back reminded me of a dog humping a leg; its head turned to the side with a look of grim determination as it worked away at something that wasn’t working back.

I could sure pick ‘em.

Joe’s buzz cut could’ve possibly been a flat top, but I couldn’t quite glimpse the top of his head. Regardless, it was similar, which meant he was either in the military and therefore had probably just given me an STD, or he was stuck in the 80’s and had just lost his virginity. Either way, I did not know Joe.

One thing caught my eye. His body. From what I could see, and being that the sheets were around our ankles, I could see plenty, he was head-to-toe muscular. Not only that, but each muscle was fantastically defined. In fact, I must have noticed this last night. Must have, right? Or else, why would I be waking up next to him today?

I figured, in a ridiculous, hung-over, stuck in the fog sort of way, that I might just wait the morning out and see if I stumbled upon a blessing in disguise. Granted, if he was in any way cute, he would shove me out of his…apartment? condo? house?! as fast as he could. But what if he had noticed how witty, charming and amazing I was last night, and didn’t mind that our looks didn’t match up? In fact, maybe he’d be excited I didn’t sprint out of here.

“If hopes were nickels, Jessica, I would be rich,” my Dad’s voice echoed through my pounding head.

I shouldn’t have started on the Cuervo last night. The world always got a little too colorful when tequila was thrown in the mix. It’s a bad decision that led to other, worse decisions.

Like going home with a random stranger.

Again.

With a sinking feeling in my gut, I decided it might be worth a try to grab the sheet, get it up over the bad parts of my body—so to my neck, since putting it over my head would be weird—and rustle around to wake the sleeping Adonis. It was do-or-die time.

I eased myself up, unable to help myself, and giving a discreet look down at Joe’s stiff cock. My insides fluttered. Good size. Not too big or thick to give fears of a second virginity, but big enough to get the action that a girl in her mid-twenties deemed necessary. Being that it was attached to a mouth-watering body of pure toned muscle, I might’ve actually landed a keeper.

Maybe instead of cursing tequila, I should praise it. Hmm.

I clutched the sheet in two fistfuls and yanked. It came free from his legs and slid nicely over our bodies. I was just about to turn toward him when I noticed the smell. It wafted up and flirted with my nose.

I gagged.

It smelt like mildew mixed with intense body odor. Imagine being in New York at the height of the summer with the moist heat, add a male German exchange student after a day of not using deodorant, mix that with a musty aging process, and you might have it. It was vile. Intensely vile. Fucking rancid if I’m being honest.

And, correct me if I’m wrong, please correct me because hopefully I'm wrong, but the smell originated from his sheets.

I bent my head for a close-up sniff, and then almost passed out from the pungent aroma. My queasy belly rolled as the odor lodged at the back of my throat. I could handle the headache, the cotton mouth and even the constant reminder that throwing up was inevitable. Collage years made those sensations seem normal. But nasty smelling sheets? I had to draw the line somewhere.

Compromising between my bare body and sheets that could probably walk out of the room on their own, I bunched the fabric right above my br**sts. I took a deep breath—through my mouth so I didn’t need a Hazmat suit—to focus.

Okay, let’s get our bearings. In a bed that smells like moldy ass. With a dude that is sculpted in the image of a god. A Roman or Greek god, perhaps. Or maybe a son of theirs.

I loves me a good body.

I hates me terrible smells and unquestionably bad hygiene.

I really loves me a good body. I love to touch said body. Kiss it. Run my mouth along the muscles and ripples of it.

Suddenly my nether regions were rousing to the thoughts of playing with his body. There had to be a positive side to this. I wanted to step out of my current rut as a single girl and settle into something more predictable. With someone more predictable. I was getting too old for the constant drunken nights and guilt-ridden mornings. I wasn’t quite out of college, but I was ready to be out of the college lifestyle.