I shrug, taking a step back from her. “I’ll give you that one. Best almost-blow job I’ve ever had.”
Phina stops a waiter passing by, setting her empty glass on top of his tray and grabbing another full one.
“It’s not my fault you couldn’t handle my mouth and had to push me away,” she replies cockily.
Dammit! I hate that she’s right. A few minutes of having her mouth wrapped around my dick and that damn fantasy of hers was almost over before it started.
“So, how come I don’t remember you being such a kinky little shit in high school?” I ask once the waiter has walked away. This earns me another glare and I ignore it as I polish off the last of my beer.
“It seems there’s quite a lot you don’t remember about me from high school,” she replies vaguely. “How about we just pretend like the other night never happened? It was fun while it lasted, we got it out of our systems and now we can just move on.”
Funny, but her words don’t mirror the look on her face. Her lips are pursed and I can see the whites of her knuckles as she clutches tightly to her glass of champagne. She’s definitely pissed about something and I’m going to guess it’s the fact that she’s feeling the same as me. She hasn’t had her fill, and it’s annoying the fuck out of her.
“You expect me to just move on now that I know you’re into threesomes and there’s a lot of kinkiness buried underneath that hard exterior you wear so well? Maybe if you’d have been a little sluttier in high school, I would have fucked you back then and you wouldn’t have needed to wait so long to get a piece of me.”
The smack across my face is quick and pretty fucking painful. Phina’s got some power in those small hands of hers. I flex my jaw and calmly set my empty bottle down on a side table next to me even though my blood is boiling.
“You’re a fucking asshole,” she seethes before stepping around me and walking away.
“Right back at you, fiery one!” I shout to her, ignoring the questioning look from all the art enthusiasts scattered about the room.
Shit. I AM a fucking asshole. This night is for Finnley and I just made a scene.
Glancing around the room, I see my best friend, Collin, standing next to one of Finnley’s pieces hanging on the wall and I head over in his direction.
“Everything okay over there?” he asks when I walk up next to him and he hands me a fresh beer.
I clap him on the back, grab the beer from his hand and nod. “Don’t worry about me and my bullshit. How’s Finnley?”
Collin glances over to where she stands, currently surrounded by a group of art critics as she explains one of her pieces on the wall next to them. His face lights up as he stares at her, and all I can do is shake my head at him. What a fucking schmuck. I love the guy, but I still can’t believe he got back together with his high school girlfriend and is so damn blissfully happy. His hands nervously fiddle with something in the pocket of his pants and I know it’s the engagement ring box that’s been burning a hole in there the whole fucking night.
“Finnley is amazing. Jesus, I’m so proud of her. Can you believe she’s about ready to sell almost every damn print in this place? Blows my fucking mind,” he tells me.
Now, that I can believe. I may not be on board with the whole happily-ever-after, tied down to one woman for the rest of your life bullshit, but it’s apparent how talented Finnley is. Collin and I are in agreement on that part, at least.
“She’s doing good, man. You’re looking good, too. When do you come back to work?”
Collin gets a huge smile on his face. “Next week, thank fucking God. I can’t stand sitting around with nothing to do. I need to be back at the station getting shit done.”
Collin and I both work for the Franklin Fire Department, and I’ve been filling in for him as captain since the fire that almost cost both his and Finnley’s lives a few months ago. Bureaucratic bullshit and babysitting grown ass men have worn me down and I’ve had enough. I’m anxious for him to come back to work and take his job back.
“You still set on taking some time off after I come back?” he asks.
“Yeah, going to take on some extra hours with the paramedic squad. Need a change of scenery,” I tell him with a laugh.
It’s bullshit and I’m pretty sure Collin knows that, but he doesn’t say anything. Ever since that damn fire where I had to race up a ladder and yank Collin out of a window with flames shooting out of it, I’ve had a hard fucking time going on calls. Every time I get on a ladder, all I can think about is the fact that I had to toss my friend out of a second story window and let him drop. I can still see his body bounce off of the bushes and smack against the ground, his leg pinned beneath him at a weird angle. I didn’t know if he was alive, I didn’t know if he’d ever walk again and instead of racing down there to make sure he was okay, I had to ride the fucking ladder down with the house when it collapsed and try not to get myself killed.