Cale (Walk of Shame #3)(2)

“I’m keeping this by the way.” She smiles with a sad look in her eyes. “I’ll be back. I promise. Time will fly by. Just watch.” Her voice comes out sad and hesitant, because she and I both know that’s not true. Time will definitely be a bitch while she’s gone, and I’m sure it’s going to feel like a lifetime without seeing her smile or hearing her beautiful laugh.

I nod my head and turn away from her as she starts walking away. I can’t stand to watch her walk out of my life. It hurts more now that it’s actually happening, especially knowing that there’s nothing I can do to stop it, but . . . I need her to know one thing before she leaves. One thing that I hope will mean something to her in the future.

“I am still a virgin by the way,” I say, wanting her to know I wasn’t lying about that. I would never lie to Riley. I can’t.

I hear her stop walking before I hear a small, but painful laugh. “Yeah, me too,” she says. She whispers something afterwards but I miss it, too scared to look her way. I hear her footsteps in the grass as she starts walking again and it hurts so damn bad that I can’t breathe.

By the time I get the courage to turn around she’s gone . . . out of my life and soon she’ll be out of Chicago. She’s the one and only girl I have ever loved and I never even got the chance to tell her.

Life can be a bitch . . .





Present day . . .

WALK OF SHAME IS FULL of people partying and getting wasted beyond sense, but really, I just can’t seem to get my head into being here.

My mind has been on one thing and one thing only: Riley. Ever since Aspen blurted out that Riley would be home soon, my mind has been stuck on her. I’ve been replaying our last moment together, before she left, and it almost feels as if it were yesterday. The ache is still there, weighing on my chest.

We haven’t spoken in over two years now, and even I know that I’m not over her. I’m not sure that I ever will be, and knowing that she’s coming home reminds me of the promise I kept to myself six years ago, when I was still just a stupid teen.

We kept in contact for the first four years, talking on the phone at least once a week, late into the night, until she mentioned that she’d met someone that was interested in her. It hurt like hell, but knowing that she wouldn’t be back home for a while I realized that I needed to let her live while she was there. There was no way I was going to hold her back by breaking down like a pussy and telling her how much I loved her. Asking her to wait for me as I have planned on waiting for her would be selfish.

Eventually, the calls slowed down until we were at the point that we barely talked but once every few months. Then . . . they ended all together. I think it was necessary in order for us both to go on with our lives, because every time we talked I could hear the ache and longing in her voice. I had to make it easier for her to live in hopes that it would make it easier for me.

Knowing that she’ll be back any day now, possibly even now, has me unable to function properly.

I’ve been holding back from fucking other women, only giving them oral pleasure, because to me she’s more important than just a meaningless lay. I thought that after we stopped calling each other every week that I would just forget about my promise to wait, but I never did. It’s always been in the back of mind, fucking with me and making it impossible for me to take a woman to bed and give myself to her. I want her to find peace in knowing that when my cock enters her that she’s the only woman I’ve been inside of and that I plan on pleasuring her over and over again until she can no longer handle me. I won’t be able to stop and I sure as hell don’t have any plans to.

Standing up straight, I run my hands through my hair while letting out a frustrated breath, bringing myself back to reality. I’m not much of a drinker, but right now . . . I feel like downing a fifth of whiskey.

Trying to get my head back into my performance, I twist both of my arms into the chain hanging above my head and thrust to the slow rhythm, while letting my unbuttoned jeans fall lower and lower with each movement. The screaming of the crowd causes me to put on a fake smirk and get into the moment as much as I will get, enough to at least finish my last performance of the night.

I’m close to the edge of the stage. Girls are reaching out to grope me as I give them a show. I can feel the sweat rolling down my body, dripping onto the marble stage at my feet as I continue pretending that I’m fucking every single girl in this room.

That’s what they all want. That’s all they ever want. These girls are here because they want to feel as if I want them, so . . . that’s what I make them believe. As fucked up as it sounds, it sends them home happy. That’s what matters here at Walk Of Shame.