LOVE ‘EM(72)

How do people not realize what a fucking hypocrite he is? How can no one see what I see? Hell, my own sister doesn’t; I guess I can’t expect someone outside the family to understand the level of hypocrisy he attains with each breath he takes.

Mo jerks. Her shoulders roll as she heaves.

Great.

I slide her to the mattress and grab the waste basket. I pull her across my lap and hold her hair away from the mess as she hurls. Again. And Again.

I shake my head.

Want to fuck a girl? Then fuck a girl who wants to get fucked. There are plenty of them out there, no need to drug one who isn’t game. Hell, he didn’t even get to the part of the date where you find out if the girl wants to get fucked. He skipped that part altogether. Double douche.

He better hope we don’t run into each other again. One punch wasn’t nearly enough. I should’ve beaten his skull in, broken his fucking fingers, and made sure he could never even think about doing this to another girl.


* * *

Mo pushes up from my chest, swiping her hair away from her face. “What happened? Oh, my God, Danny! Where is my dress? And where are your freaking clothes?”

I crack an eyelid. Gray light spills through the slats in my blinds. Man, she’s beautiful. I pull her against me and pat the back of her head. “You puked on it. And me. Besides, I’m wearing clothes.”

Her voice raises an octave as she scrambles to the foot of the bed. “Boxer briefs are not clothes.”

“Come on. It’s way early. Let’s go back to sleep.”

“No! And you’re—good lord, do you always have a—a…”

Damn. She’s not going to go back to sleep.

I push my fingers through my hair. “It’s morning wood, Sweets. Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

Mo stands, only to sink to the edge of the bed, her head between her knees. “What on Earth? Why am I dizzy? I didn’t even drink anything.”

“Whatever your date gave you must’ve been some potent shit. And you did down half of your soda before you tossed it in his face.”

She mumbles something unintelligible.

I lay across the bed next to her, arms hanging off the side. “What’s that? Couldn’t hear you.”

“Where’s my dress?” She pronounces each word as though she’s speaking to an imbecilic dog.

“I told you, you puked on it. It’s gross. I threw it into the tub.”

Shit. I should’ve probably put some clothes on her, instead of leaving her in her bra and panties.

Screwed the pooch on that one.

She groans. “I need to get dressed. I can’t go back to the guest house in my underwear.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Moan-uh; you’re pretty fucking hot dressed like that, if you ask me.”

“I didn’t ask you. Gimme.”

I shake my head.

“Fine. One of your T-shirts then.”

I roll off the bed and dig through my drawer. I grab a shirt and tug. Damn thing’s stuck. I yank harder and the shirt pops out, along with three condom packages, which land on the carpet at Mo’s feet.

“Seriously?”

I gather them up. “Hey, at least I use protection.”

“Whatever.”

I hand her my shirt. She flops backward onto the mattress, arm over her eyes, my shirt lying over her lacy bra. That blue scrap of fabric and the one barely covering her curls will be burned into my memory forever.

I lay beside her.

She slides away from me and slips the shirt over her head, poking her arms through. She gives me a falsely bright smile. “Okay. Well, thank you for the rescue. I’m going to head back to my place. See ya.”

When she stands this time, she weaves a bit on her way to the door.

“Maybe you ought to stay for a while.”

She pauses, grabbing the doorframe. “And have the staff find me in your shirt and nothing else first thing in the morning? Yeah—no thanks.”

“And people thinking you and I are hooking up is such a bad thing, why?”

“Because you’re a manwhore and I’m not anyone’s one night stand.” Mo tosses my cock a look that would wither a lesser man’s woody. “No telling where that thing’s been. There’s no way I’d sleep with you. The very thought disgusts me.”





CH. THREE





It takes all I’ve got to make it to the guest house without falling over. The cotton stuffed into my head clouds my thoughts. I grab the door handle and try to turn it. It doesn’t budge.

Perfect. It’s freaking locked.

I plop down on the warm concrete at the edge of the porch. I need my keys. They’re in my bag, probably in Danny’s room. But, after that last exchange, I can’t face him again. Not right now.