Love Song(30)
This is so wrong. On so many levels. I recognize this. Not proud of it either. But knowing all this doesn’t stop me from scrolling through her feed until I find a photo that shows some skin.
It’s a selfie she took last summer at the Di Laurentis place in St. Barts. She’s sprawled on a lounge chair, wearing a skimpy red bikini. Her hair is twisted up into a messy bun, wavy strands framing her face to emphasize sun-kissed cheeks and an array of freckles. She’s got one knee propped up in a pose that draws the eye—my eye, at least—right between her legs.
I imagine nudging aside the thin strip of fabric and exposing her pussy—and holy hell, my dick practically leaps into my hand. I bite my lip to stifle a groan, gripping the base tight before I come too fast. But then I realize, why prolong it? The faster I release this tension, the faster I can go back to looking at Blake Logan in an unpornographic way.
My strokes are fast, fueled by pure, helpless, inappropriate lust. I jerk off to the sight of Blake in that slutty bikini, thrusting into my fist while pretending it’s her greedy mouth. Her perfect face gazes up at me from my phone, and I imagine those pink, pouty lips wrapped tight around me, sucking me dry.
The climax hits me like a train, unleashing a rush of pleasure through my body. I grunt, coming all over my stomach and squeezing my tip to get every last drop out. Breathing hard, I grab some tissues from the bed table and clean myself up. After that release, I should be relaxed. Drowsy. Ready to finally, finally, sleep.
But it has the opposite effect. I’m more awake than ever now. With a sigh, I kick the covers off my legs and climb out of bed in search of my clothes.
Guess I’m writing on the dock again tonight.
GOLDEN BOYS
WYATT
Mullets. Not hot, right?
BEAU
Fuck no.
AJ
Not in the slightest.
GRAY
They’re hot if you’re a bassist in a country-metal band called Moonshine Possum.
BEAU
Name of your next band, Wyatt.
OK, but we’re in agreement? Like a mullet is on the same level as that mustache Gray grew last year, right?
GRAY
wtf don’t drag me into this. That stache was elite.
AJ
You looked like a gym teacher mid-divorce.
Or the narc on a cop procedural.
Or one of those pervs on the predator catching shows.
BEAU
Bahahahahahahah
GRAY
Dude, that stache got me laid three times in one week, and one of the times was in a hammock.
BEAU
Wait that’s actually impressive.
AJ
idk did she call you sir or detective, tho?
Forget I brought it up.
Chapter 8
BLAKE
GIGI CALLS THE NEXT MORNING while I’m getting dressed. It’s a workday for her, but she has a home office in the Dallas house she shares with her husband, who also happens to be her biggest client. When she didn’t make the Olympics women’s hockey team in college, Gigi pivoted to a career as a sports agent. Because she was able to bring in Luke Ryder, the best player to come out of college hockey in a decade, she landed a junior agenting role at one of the top agencies in the country.
“Is my brother driving you insane yet?”
I pull my denim shorts up my legs and zip them. “Oh yeah.”
Gigi laughs. “Figured. He’s a handful.”
He’s a moody asshole, more like it. Which is something I never knew about Wyatt. I’ve spent time with him on family vacations but never just the two of us and not when I’m hyperaware of everything he’s doing. Or not doing. For example, looking at me. When I came downstairs in my pajamas earlier and told him my plans for the day, he didn’t look my way even once as he made himself some coffee.
I looked, though, and what I saw was a cause for concern. Eyes heavy with fatigue. Days-old stubble on his face.
“I don’t think he sleeps,” I tell Gigi. “Should I be worried about that?”
“Oh, that’s nothing new. He’s had insomnia most of his life.”
“He has? I didn’t know that.”
“He doesn’t really talk about it. But you can usually tell it’s getting worse when he acts like a bigger dickhead than normal.”
“Then he must be suffering from it big-time.” I’m unable to stop the sarcasm. “He acted like a total jerk last night.”
Her tone sharpens. “What did he do?”
Deciding it’s not a can of worms I want to open right now, I backpedal. “Nothing heinous or anything. He just snapped at me a few times.”
You’re desperate for attention from any guy who’ll give you five seconds.
You’re not trying to be friendly. You’re trying to be wanted.
My chest tightens with embarrassment as Wyatt’s accusations echo through my mind.
Fuck him for saying that. And fuck him for mocking me about how everyone knew Isaac would cheat on me. If they all knew, why didn’t they warn me then? Why did they let me play house with the man and plan a future with him?