Back in the Saddle (Jessica Brodie Diaries #1)(2)

There was a chance I picked a winner last night. While black-out drunk. On tequila.

Yeah, a chance, alright. It didn’t take a math major to figure out the odds on that one.

Decision: Wake up the dude, hopefully learn that this is his friend’s bed, and that he is visiting from Italy where he will be returning in a month. I will then need to clear my calendar and go with him when he asks, because he will. Obviously.

Pushing down my instincts to scream and run from this room, I turned toward his now still body. I allowed my glass-mostly-empty mind to think about the location of my clothes as I gingerly put my hand to his arm and gave a little shake.

A harder shake.

I know he is alive because he was gyrating against my back not ten minutes ago.

A good push and he finally grunted, swinging his head from deep inside the pillow’s recesses.

I jerked back with a grimace. My head pulsed in agony. An exit plan solidified out of thin air.

The kid got beat with the ugly stick! And you know how nuns can whack really, really hard? And it hurts? And they do it over-and-over again when you’ve been bad? I went to a Catholic school as a girl, and I know.

Well, think of this kid as getting hit with the ugly stick by God; the Guy that taught the nuns everything they know. Not only that, but made an example of this poor fellow in order to prove a point, because Christ-on-a-cracker, this dude was f**king ugly!!!

His buzzed flat top did a poor job of covering the point at top of his head. His fuzzy side burns and thick, black mustache were unkempt, riding atop a short, thick neck. The list continued with a hooked nose, eyes too close together, and other horrors, but I was too busy shivering with the heebie-jeebies to analyze.

And who did I have to blame? When I was so anxious to lick his clothes off last night, did I not look up to meet the face of the man I was speaking to? And if I did, because I might have, why-did-I-not-turn-and-run? It was like introducing Mr. Hyde to Mr. Cuervo, and then getting really mad when a hooker ended up dead.

I eased myself toward the edge of the bed, away from my captor. Trying to keep my violent gagging at bay by breathing through my mouth, I made good time without too much bed movement. Small miracles. As I slipped out from under the sheet, I put my foot on the ground and something squished.

I gagged again. It was last night’s condom and some spilt KY jelly. The KY squeezed up between my first two toes like jam. The condom wrapped around my foot and hooked onto my pinky toe.

Well, at least we were safe! I thought desperately, shaking my foot with vigor.

My stomach lurched viciously as I threw another gag into mid-air. Nothing came up—another stroke of luck. But now, looking down, where the hell were my clothes?

Eyes scanning the ground with fervor, I couldn’t find a stitch that was mine.

What, did I strip at the bar and take a taxi in the buff?

I gingerly tip-toed to his side of the bed and past a discarded pair of men’s white underwear. My eyes caught, then glued, to a deep brown poop stain in the crotch.

I groaned. What the f**k was I doing here with a guy like this? Why did my life keep replaying these bad scenes? I was way too old for this.

Freezing my ass off, but too afraid to pick up anything because of the possible insect infestation, I finally got glimpse of my underwear. Oh thank god!

I darted in like a wild animal scavenging the plains before a predator could find and kill it. Underwear, on. Bra, yes, straps…on. Nice! Pillage, pillage, snort… snort?

Mistake number one-million-and-eleven was waking up, feeling around my newly vacant side of the bed. Oh crap, hurry, hurry!

Pants. Got pants. It was tricky to get them on in a hurry with a bleary head. I got them over my butt and nearly buttoned when I heard, “Oh, hey, you’re awake.”

I froze. The high, squeaky voice reminded me of a boy before puberty. Slowly I raised my head, and met beady eyes.

In all fairness, his eyes were a nice shade of brown, but for our purposes here, they were beady.

“Oh hey, yeah, I really need to get going! I have class in about an hour. Sorry to run and all, but…”

Wait, it was Sunday. School on Sunday? That wasn’t even a good lie. Too late now.

I continued my desperate search for my articles of clothing. I only had a few pieces to go before I had a full set. I was prepared to walk home barefoot if need be.

“Oh right. I forgot you were still in school.” He grabbed something small and metallic off his night-stand.

“Yeah. Don’t want to be late. Lots to do. My group needs me. Don’t you need to get going for…anything?”

He paused to light a small, bronze object, then sucked on the end of it for all he was worth. Looking at me, scanning my br**sts and body, he held his breath for a brief period before blowing a plume of smoke into my general direction. The waft was sweet—definitely not tobacco.

“Don’t you remember?” he asked as he reached down to fondle his balls. His dick was at half-mast, probably from waking up. If it got any bigger, I would seriously leave without the rest of my crap. “I am un-em-ployed. Lay-offs. Yeah, I am enjoying it. I pretty much hang around and smoke weed all day on someone else’s dime. Well, and work out. Not as big as I want to be yet, but I'm working on it.”

“Uh huh, sure. Definitely, yeah.”

My shirt, a cute little number that showed off my cle**age and matched my browny-green eyes, would not let me hook the clasp! Of all the times to rebel!