The man has a temper and a jealous streak I never saw coming.
Good fucking riddance.
I stare at the laptop sitting on my desk, opposite my bed. I should get rid of it. I don’t know why I haven’t yet. I guess because it works, and it’s a decent back up if I need it. But Jason gave it to me, and I hate it on principal. I hate him.
Focus on Glitch.
Backing away from resentment and anger, I go where my safe space is in my head. Now that I’ve experienced the real man, it’s easy to conjure him in my mind. I lean back on my bed and close my eyes. I focus on the details of Glitch’s face that I’ve already committed to memory and pretend he uses that sensual mouth to say dirty things to me.
“Let me see that pretty pussy. Mmmm. Bet you taste so good.”
I pull my jeans and panties off, kicking them away.
Glitch’s mouth is sinful. He flashes me a smile that I’ve also committed to memory. White teeth, devilish grin. I pretend he tips his head to the side, eyeing me like he can’t decide what part of my body he wants to fuck first.
“You need my cock, don’t you?”
Yes. I. Do.
I’ve never experienced arousal like this before. It’s borderline embarrassing.
“You’re so wet for me, Kitty.”
I tighten my thighs, fighting the urge to seek better friction. Like I said, my appetite is insatiable. But for once, I want to hold out a little.
“Open your thighs wide for me.” He growls with appreciation. “I love how wet you get. This is mine. Say it. Fucking say who owns this pussy.”
“You,” I whisper before biting my lip.
The phone vibrates next to my leg, startling me.
Holy shit, it’s Glitch! I can’t make my body uncoil enough to answer without hitting the button five fucking times. “H-hello?” I’m shaking. Talk about a head rush. My cheeks heat, and I press my hands to them. I’m so glad we’re not on Facetime.
“Hey, Ara.”
My heart runs panicked circles in my chest. “Hey.” I clear my throat and sit up. “Any luck?”
“Afraid not. I was able to salvage some parts, but I’m not comfortable giving them back without testing each one first to make sure they don’t catch fire too.”
I get all warm and gooey inside. See? This is what I mean about Glitch being safe. He says things—or types them—that make me feel protected.
“I’ll make sure all pieces are boxed up beautifully… for the burial.”
I laugh and it comes out so husky and awkward. I want to die. “I’ll write an obit.”
“Mmmph. I can set up flower arrangements.”
“Wonderful.”
Did I mention my hand is still between my thighs? I can’t seem to move it away, and I don’t want to rub my clit on the phone with him. I need to get off. Points for the double entendre, please. “Okay. Umm. I can pick it up tomorrow, then.”
“Or I can drop it off tonight.”
It wasn’t a question.
“Sure.” I hope my voice doesn’t give my excitement away. “I’ll text you the address.”
“Perfect.” Glitch’s tone matches mine, and I swear I hear his smile.
“Perfect.” Wait. I… he… shit, I sound like a parrot. “Okay well…”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t fix it.” He genuinely sounds like he feels bad about it.
“It’s not a big deal.”
“See you soon.” He hangs up first and I panic. Instead of getting myself off, I beeline it to the bathroom. I get halfway there before I trip on my own good senses and pitch forward, arms pinwheeling. I don’t catch my balance in time and end up skidding on my knees across the floor. “Ouch!” I rub my knees and feel so silly.
I don’t know why I’m this giddy. He’s just coming to give me back my broke ass pile of computer pieces. He’s not coming in. He’s not taking me out. We’re not fucking. He probably won’t even stay for longer than five minutes.
So, I’m going to make sure that for those five minutes I look good enough to eat.
Chapter 6
Glitch
When my sister texted earlier saying she was already home, I closed up shop and gave everyone the rest of the evening off, then took my nephew home.
Beetle drops his bookbag and kicks off his shoes the instant he’s through the door. The house smells like spaghetti and garlic bread. My stomach rumbles because I haven’t had anything other than a granola bar since ten this morning. I find my sister in the kitchen by the stove.