Caleb is smiling from ear to ear as he grabs the pot of money. A tingle of satisfaction traverses through Brian.
Mission accomplished.
Of course, there’s now that little thing about losing his bet. But he’s confident he would be able to waltz through it easy-peasy. A weekend full of sex (albeit with the same person) may be not be as torturous as it initially sounds. He wouldn’t mind it if she got kinky either. Maybe he could tie her to the bed and go for a smoke when she gets all wet and horny. Or maybe she can tie him to the bed.
He can’t remember the last time he actually spent more than a night with a woman. It must have been in twelfth grade. And he must have been desperate.
Caleb looks up. “Uh oh.”
Brian turns his head to gaze at what his best friend is looking at.
A thundercloud of a woman storms into the poker room. She has a mass of appealing brown curls that make her look blow-dried and ditzy, but nevertheless extremely attractive. She has a cute button nose, so he would guess her age to be under twenty-five. Her complexion is slightly freckled. She gives off the aura of being passionate, robust and healthy – with a clear zest for life.
And her eyes. She has the most incredibly mesmerizing eyes. They are a vivid blue, and so large that he thinks he can drown in them forever.
Careful, he warns himself.
Oh boy, but she’s so fuckable. He wonders if she would make a pass at him – in which case, he would drag her into the pool room, clear everyone out and fuck her on the table immediately amid all the colored balls rolling around. Hell yeah, he can even imagine the table creaking and groaning under their collective weights. Balls rushing into their pockets everywhere as he sinks himself repeatedly into her.
It’s amazing. He had just fucked somebody a mere hour ago, and he now has a raging hard-on under the table. The familiar rising of his cock sends the entire crotch area of his jeans into massive strain. Enough strain to pop his zipper.
But he can’t help it. Whoever this woman is, she’s just fucking adorable.
She’s staring at him.
Great.
They all do.
Her eyes flash blue fire as she strides up to him, still seated at the poker table. Everyone’s eyes are riveted upon her.
“Brian Morton?” she says.
Behind her, a gaggle of women – including the brunettes who were eyeing him from the bar and the blonde he had just fucked – troop into the room, hanging around the doorway bemusedly to watch.
“Yes?”
“Did you go to St. Theresa Academy? Around thirteen years ago?”
“Give or take a few, yeah.”
She’s very close to him. He can smell her perfume – a light summer scent that brings daisies and bright meadows to mind. He smiles up at her. That cocksure, predatory smile that renders women, so he has been told, weak at the knees.
Oh, she wants him. He can tell.
She says, “Good. Because there’s something I want to give you.”
With that, she draws back her fist and punches him right in the face.
4
“What did you do that for?” Brian splutters, nursing his jaw. He has gotten to his feet, erection notwithstanding.
She could be some woman he had fucked and left high and dry. But he doesn’t remember fucking her. And hell, he would have remembered someone like that.
“Because you made my middle school a living hell.”
“Middle school?” Brian eyes the woman warily. His entire middle school is a blur, especially since he was yanked out midterm to go to another school. “I don’t fucking remember middle school.”
Caleb laughs. “And you weren’t even smoking joints until you were fifteen.”
“Typical,” the woman says angrily. “Bullies like you never remember your victims.” She jabs a finger at his chest. “I sat in the second row, two seats away from the window in Ms. Mulholland’s class. You used to scatter sweet wrappers all over my desk.”
Brian’s eyes go wide. It’s coming to him now. But he just can’t recall her name.
It’s …
Jenny?
Janey?
“Jaws?” Caleb’s mouth is open.
A startling memory blindsides Brian like an oil tanker slamming into him full frontal. Rapid images of the geeky girl with braces he had teased mercilessly as a rite of middle school passage stream in procession through his churning mind.
B-but she was stick thin then. Flat-chested. And her hair was short … not this glorious wild mane that just begs for his fingers to claw into while she writhes under his hard body and screams out his name.
And she wore braces to keep her buck teeth in. The biggest, flashiest, brightest braces this side of the sun.
No, it can’t be.
And yet here she is, all grown up. With an amazing body to die for. Although she is dressed in officious work wear – a cream blouse over a plaid A-line skirt – he can see that her tits are straining at the buttons. God, they must be 38D at the least. He has had plenty of women with big breasts, but he never tires of playing with protuberant tits.