Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 70630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 283(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 283(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
With Jeremy, none of that existed. The world narrowed to him, to what he was doing to me. I’d never been that consumed before. When his mouth was on me, I would’ve promised anything, done anything, as long as he didn’t stop. Anything except admit how goddamn good it felt. Fuck! Why couldn’t I talk to him afterward? Or act like a rational adult instead of a fucking freak?
I’ve been ashamed of wanting men plenty of times. And because of that, I hadn’t always treated them well. I wasn’t proud of that. But I’d never acted like a goddamn mental patient after sex before. Would he ever want to see me again? And even if he did… could I face him? I was a fucking recon Marine and a poet had me curled up in a ball on the floor. What the actual fuck?
My phone blasted some song from the coffee table across the room. I didn’t think my legs were steady enough to get me there, and I sure as hell didn’t want to talk to anyone, but it wouldn’t shut up. After the second loop, I realized it wasn’t a call—it was an alarm. The one I’d set to check on Sabrina. She said she’d be fine—didn’t need company to puke her guts out and then lie in bed quietly dying—but I wanted to be sure she was actually okay.
Get up, Marine. Act like a man.
Fat fucking chance after what happened with Jeremy.
I hauled myself up and grabbed the phone, calling Sabrina.
“I’m not dead yet,” she answered after the second ring.
“Good to hear. You need anything?”
“Not really, I…”
“Sabrina, you don’t have to tough this out.”
“Ha! That’s rich coming from you. If you insist, I’d kill for some ginger ale and Cheez-Its.”
I frowned. “Cheez-Its? That doesn’t sound—”
“It’s what I want, okay? I’m finally hungry after twenty-four hours, and I want some fucking Cheez-Its!”
Right. I knew better than to argue when she used that tone. “I’ll bring you some. Which flavor? There’s like, a million of them now.”
“The original. The way God intended Cheez-Its to be made.”
At least she could make me smile, even when I felt like a kicked dog. “Obviously. Anything else?”
There was a pause. I wondered if she’d fallen asleep. Then: “Lemon Popsicles. My mom always gave me those when I was sick.”
“Got it. Text me if you think of anything else.”
About a half hour later, I pulled up in front of her quadplex and used my key to let myself in—thank God I didn’t have to drag her out of bed. She wasn’t in bed. Instead, she was on the couch, watching Friends.
“Were you even born when that aired?”
“Not when it started, but my freshman roommate was obsessed, and she got me hooked.”
“You want one of these now?” I asked, holding up the box of Popsicles.
She nodded, reaching out. "Yes. Thanks for getting this stuff.”
“No problem.” Better than sitting in my apartment crying like a baby after torpedoing my chances with the only guy I’d ever actually wanted more than a quick fuck from.
I set the crackers and ginger ale on the table and put the rest away. “I brought some chicken soup too, for later.”
“You’re awesome.” She smiled, already looking better. Maybe the Popsicle cure had merit. “What’d you do tonight?”
“Nothing. Just been… nothing.” I sat in the chair beside the couch.
“Jeremy didn’t stop by?”
“Wh…” Shit. Jeremy had asked her for my address. “Oh. Yes, he dropped off my supply bag.”
“I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me why he called me instead of just calling you?”
I shrugged. “No idea.”
She gave me a look that could’ve made insurgents confess to war crimes. I’ve resisted terrorist interrogation. I’ve run ops under fake identities, but one glare from Sabrina, and I was ready to fold. She should seriously consider the CIA.
“Connor.”
“What?” I tried to keep my face blank.
“Are you going to tell me what happened with Jeremy or not?”
Not. “Nothing happened.”
She glared harder. “I’ve been on death’s door, watching nineties sitcoms all day. The least you could do is not lie to me.”
“Sabrina, there’s noth—”
“Connor, do you think I’m blind?”
I leaned close, peering into her eyes. “Nope.”
She growled, and I leaned back. She wasn’t in a joking mood.
“I saw how he looked at you.”
I shrugged again, pulling on that polished Marine exterior. “So he thinks I’m hot. What am I supposed to do about that?”
“And I saw how you looked at him.”
I started to speak but she cut me off.
“Connor, I don’t care who you sleep with. I’m insulted you think I would, but I’m furious that I’ve been trying to set you up with women for over a year and you never told me you’d rather date someone with a dick.”
“I do—”
She held up a hand. “If you’re not going to be honest, don’t say anything. I will not be lied to while I’m surviving on Popsicles.”