Waking Up in Vegas(48)

It had been surprisingly easy to put the worries out of my head this morning. They were safely stored on paper, and that somehow kept them from resurfacing in my thoughts. I hadn’t expected that.

I was still convinced that my work contract mandated no fraternization, so Jen had acquiesced about keeping our office affection to a minimum. I didn’t need anything else for BK to stuff into my disciplinary file. After that, the whole day had gone so smoothly…

I’d woken her with kisses again, but this time, I’d crept up her body, and I’m pretty sure she was awake by the time I reached her lips. I got to take a hot shower for the first time all week, even though it was a little cramped with both of us in there. And though I started the day with a hard-on because of Jensen, she also helped me resolve it right then and there.

I introduced her to butt-cleavage sex, which, in case you’ve never experienced it, is similar to titty sex but you use the mounds of flesh on a woman’s backside for friction, instead. It was amazing, warm water cascading down my back as my cock slid through the soap suds in the cleft separating the perfect cheeks of her ass.

I’d put off her request to take her against the tiled wall by saying there were no condoms handy, but she’s going to be seriously pushing for actual sex soon. I can feel it. I’ll address that when the ultimatum comes, I suppose.

We also toned down the on-air flirting that day to a level lower than our usual R-rating, and let me tell you, that wasn’t easy to execute. We’d just kissed ourselves senseless in the alcove outside of the entrance door not ten minutes prior. I’d practically been driving myself crazy ever since, planning all the different ways I was going to explore Jensen’s body before she went back to her own place on Monday.

Until the damn doctor had to go and try to ruin it with his relationship and figure out what you’re doing crap. I didn’t want to analyze it. Not out loud, anyway. That particular torture could stay between my ears, where I could ignore it in peace.

My guess was Dr. Cooper expected that a man and a woman couldn’t just enjoy each other without there being some deep significance to it all. Sure, I was hyper-aware of every little thing Jen did, knew each kind of laugh she had, could tell her mood by which eyebrow she quirked or just how high her smile hitched (and which dimple popped first), but that didn’t mean anything. It was just familiarity and Jensen’s particular breed of charm. Nothing more.

The good doctor’s words didn’t change a single thing.



***



“Are you sure? I could ask my mother to watch the dogs. She loves having Lita over.” That was a total exaggeration, but Jen didn’t need to worry about that right now. And I didn’t need to worry about her driving to Phoenix with so much on her mind.

“I don’t know how many visitors they allow at one time, so you’d probably be alone in some waiting room. And I don’t think my dad would want to meet you for the first time when his butt is hanging out of a hospital gown.”

In the space of five minutes, my weekend plans went from leisurely dinners, wine, and carnal explorations, to dog-sitting and checking up on the wood samples the exterminators had taken from Jen’s condo. Oh, and let’s not forget, pondering her phrase ‘meeting my dad for the first time.’

“At least fly there, then. You’re too distracted to drive.”

Jen rolled her eyes at me. “It’s only a few hours. And, besides, I can’t afford it. I don’t get my first paycheck until the end of the month.”

Damn, had she really only been here three weeks? It seemed like so much longer.

“I’ll buy your ticket. I’ll even rent you a car.” She glared at me with one cocked eyebrow. This was a look that said she was annoyed, and I knew it well. I smoothed my thumb over her eyebrow to push it back down.

She giggled. Mission accomplished.

“Please, Jen,” I said, taking her hand and using it to tug her to me. “Let me do this.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Last-minute flights are expensive, Tack.”

“So what? I won’t put a price on your peace of mind.” Or mine.



I dropped her off at the airport a few hours later.



***



Nine-thirty on Friday night, and while I wasn’t drunk yet, I was definitely getting there.

I’d skipped dinner; cooking a single steak from the package of two had just seemed too sad. Pathetic, really.

Which was exactly what I was.

Shortly after Jen called to let me know her plane had landed, I’d reached into to the fridge for lunchmeat, and my hand came back with a bottle of wine, instead.

That one somehow got empty, and so did vino bottiglia numero due. I considered opening a third so I’d have enough corks to juggle with.