Watch Me Fall (Ross Siblings, #5)(23)
Not. Worth. It. Her brain repeated the mantra to her over and over. Pre-Max Starla would’ve ignored her brain. Post-Max Starla edged closer to her car and forced words past the desire slowly uncoiling through her belly. “Well. I’ll be seeing you?”
He grinned, the white of his teeth a glint in the darkness. “I really do hope so.”
And with that, she got the hint. He’d said the right words about wanting to see her again, but he wasn’t exactly falling over himself to set a second date just yet. She’d blown it by being presumptuous about sleeping with him. Her damn f*cking mouth. Disappointment and relief mingled as desire waned, and she knew—she knew—it was for the best. But dammit, it didn’t have to sting so much. Absently tapping her open palm on the top of her car door a couple of times, she breathed a hasty “Okay,” and retreated to the safe, dark interior. But before anything else could happen, Jared reached in and caught her hand, bringing the back of it to his warm lips.
Firm. Oh God, firm. Strong. If she’d been standing, her knees might have buckled. The brief touch was there and gone almost before she knew it, leaving her skin tingling. She almost snatched that hand to her chest and put her other hand over it, like a dumbass, and God only knew what her face looked like as she gazed up at him. “Chivalry,” she choked out in a failed attempt to be cute and flirtatious. “I like it.”
He smiled again. “Good night, Starla. You know where I am if you need me.” She nodded mutely. He shut her door.
Wow. Fucking wow. Okay, maybe it would be worth it. Maybe she should jump out of her car and jump his bones. But no, the kids, the kids. He would shoot her down whether he wanted her or not. She couldn’t get all worked up when there wouldn’t be any payoff.
Oh hell, you idiot, she scolded herself as she drove down his driveway, noticing in her rearview that Jared stood on his front porch, watching her leave. The porch light cast him in silhouette, accentuating broad shoulders and narrow hips and…unf. Thighs. She loved powerful thighs on a man. Something to sink her fingernails into while she sucked him deep…
It’s not like he can’t have sex because he has kids. People with kids have sex all the time. How else would they end up with more kids?
But she’d done it; she’d accomplished her mission. She’d had dinner with someone she was powerfully attracted to and hadn’t jumped vagina first into anything. She should be celebrating her victory. She should be feeling good about herself.
So why, then, did it feel like such a loss?
***
“It could be the start of something wonderful,” Janelle said cheerfully the next day as she and Starla poured themselves coffee in the break room.
Starla shook her head. “I doubt that.” She didn’t want to elaborate. Jared obviously still carried a torch for Macy, but that wasn’t Starla’s secret to share. She had to work with Janelle, and they both had to work with Ghost, and Ghost had to live with Macy. It was all a little too close for comfort, and she didn’t need to be the cause of strife among her friends. “Maybe it could be wonderful, but I’m pretty sure it would be very much temporary. I’m getting a little sick of temporary.” Sighing, she stirred creamer into her coffee. “It’s scary out there, Jan.”
“You think I don’t know that? That’s why I don’t go out there.” Janelle grinned. “As long as I have a full pack of batteries, I’m good to go.”
“You know, I had almost that exact same thought last night. Like, what’s the point of all this? Why do I bother?”
Jan nodded knowingly. “B.O.B. doesn’t argue, B.O.B. doesn’t turn into a drunken *, B.O.B. asks no questions, B.O.B. doesn’t come first.”
Chuckling, Starla tried not to think about the workout she’d given her own personal B.O.B. last night after she’d gotten home from Jared’s. The problem was blatantly apparent. B.O.B lacked a hot, hard, sweaty male body, B.O.B. didn’t have callused fingers to touch and tease her with, B.O.B. didn’t whisper dirty things in her ear. A vibrator didn’t make her feel safe, and it certainly didn’t tenderly doctor her bloody finger.
She’d lain in bed after reaching a silent and wrenching climax, panting softly, trembling, staring at the ceiling as her fantasy Jared disappeared from above her. God, that would’ve been ten times more powerful with him. With those blue eyes looking down on her as she came. With the rhythm and technique that he alone would possess. With no one in the next room who might hear, because she didn’t want to bite her lip and lock down tight on all that energy zinging through her. She wanted to let it out. Let it rip. Dammit, she had a lot to release.
“You’re turning red,” Janelle said merrily, turning to carry her coffee up front. “Compose yourself, woman.”
“When the f*ck have I ever been composed?”
Starla ran errands during a lapse between appointments that afternoon, taking time to replace her ruined phone—she should make Max f*cking pay for it, but that wasn’t a fight she was willing to have now or ever—and doing some shopping for the house. Cooking last night had put her in the mood. She was tired of living on sushi and pizza and burgers, and her scales and clothes hadn’t been very forgiving of late.
Jared’s kitchen had been a dream to cook in. Her cramped little kitchen left her barely enough room to turn around, with scant counter space, no pantry, and only a few cabinets, not to mention a temperamental oven that seemed to have two settings: cold and burnt. It had done fairly well on the cookies yesterday, though.