Waking Up in Vegas(53)

Jen countered with her aging parents, topping it off with: “A few weeks of friendship is not long enough to make presumptions and demands.”

That was way out of line. I had no demands, I was simply withholding my dick unless she changed her mind. And that torture went both ways. “For other people, Jensen, that might be accurate. But we’re not other people–and we’re a lot more than friends here.”

I thought people only did double-takes in the movies, but once again, Jensen proved that I didn’t know everything. “Wait–what?”

For a second, I wondered if I’d given voice to the other thought flitting around inside my head: that she was perfect. And there’s that perilous word again. Funny, though, this time, it didn’t feel so dangerous. “You said it yourself–‘Don’t you want to see where this goes?’ And, I know you probably won’t believe me, but I really do want to see.”

For the first time in my whole damn life.

“Tack,” she began slowly, “Where this goes is… nowhere. I’m leaving. Relocating. Moving away.”

“Not if I can help it,” I muttered under my breath.

I should have known her supersonic ears would pick that up.

“Really? How do you plan to stop me?” She shrugged and shook her head. “And why? It’s only because you can’t have me that you think you want me. And I refuse to be that insignificant. I had a life before you, and I’ll have a life after you. This,” she waved her hand between us, “was fun, but lust is not a relationship.”

Karma really is a bitch in a spiky leather collar and stiletto heels.





Chapter 15




*Free Fallin’*



Yesterday morning, I said hello again to celibacy and lukewarm showers. Can’t say I missed either one of them, although the chilly water has come in handy because I refuse to rub one out for relief. The premise is that all the sexual frustration will keep me focused on changing her mind–and if it doesn’t work out that way, I’ll be too focused on my failure by then to notice the backup in my balls.

That’s the theory, anyway.

Our last two shifts have been a consummate disaster. We were friendlier on our first, awkward morning together. Case in point: yesterday, after a commercial break (which included a spot for Cialis, of all damn things), I flipped my mic on before I cleared my throat, because I was so effing distracted.

Jen scowled at me just because, then reached up to hit her own microphone switch to start reading the traffic report. No laughing over my mistake, no chit-chat, and no opportunity for me to say a damn word when she was done. She finished with a Now back to the music and I had no choice but to hit play.

I was still in charge of the song list, though.

I played Motley Crue’s ‘Without You’ and hit her with an intense look of my own. My look, however, was an attempt to mentally will her to listen to the lyrics.

Who am I kidding? If I could control her mind, we wouldn’t even be in this standoff.

She must have picked up at least some of my unspoken plea, because she pushed off her headphones and glared back at me. Not an unusual response, based on our entire morning, actually. She’d been glowering at me since I woke her up. I still don’t know why she was so mad about that. The dogs were really happy to see her once they were done squabbling over the trail of bacon I’d lain out all over her bed.

‘Cause there sure as hell wasn’t any way in the bright blue fuck that I’d be kissing her awake anymore.

The morning droned on like a Presidential debate until I couldn’t take another minute. I set up a handful of songs and signed us off for the day just so I could get the hell out of the booth.

Jensen popped off her stool, stuffed her headphones into their cubbyhole, and left with her coffee mug still sitting on her side of the counter.

Too bad for her that I was her ride home.



***



Dear Journal,

I’m supposed to have something written in here because Dr. Cooper’s going to check. So hey, Doc, if you’re reading this, you can just stop here, notice that there are words below, and let me have some privacy.

Jensen is planning to move to Phoenix.

I’m planning to prevent that.

How? I haven’t the foggiest.

Flowers are trite and stupid (even if I went the overkill route and sent a vase every day), and if I were a woman, something that wilts and dies wouldn’t give me much confidence about placing my faith in a guy. Besides, I always send flowers as a goodbye after a weekend, short-circuiting any possible discussion of ‘maybe more.’ So if I sent some to Jen, it could backfire and jinx everything. Besides, it’s not like she could keep them anywhere private—she’s living in my damn house. So if she wanted to get all sentimental and squishy over them—or worse, throw them out—I’d know. And she’d know that I know. So just… no.