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“Sure—okay,” I say trying to sound as casual as I can. “Listen, I gotta go—I’m in the middle of an extraction.”
Ryan laughs. “Pretty sure your idea of an extraction and mine are pretty goddamned different.”
“Don’t bet on it,” I say, thinking about the woman in bed behind me. As soon as she realizes I was serious about not sticking around for the post-fuck wrap-up, shit is going to get dicey.
“Wish I had your life,” he says, his tone heavy with humor.
“You want it? Come home and it’s all yours,” I say, hanging up on the sound of him laughing his ass off. I pull my jeans up, not bothering to zip them before shoving my phone into the back pocket.
“You’re leaving?”
What? She wants me to take her out for pancakes or some shit? There’s only one girl I eat pancakes with, and it’s not the one I just fucked. “Duty calls, Candy,” I say, shooting her a quick smile over my shoulder before pulling my shirt on over my head.
She’s glaring at me. I can feel her narrowed eyes digging into my back. “My name’s not Candy,” she hisses at me.
I know her name’s not Candy. Not even close. It’s Donna. She flies for Delta. She has a birthmark on her left hip and likes having her hair pulled during sex.
I’ll remember it for the rest of my life, but I’ll never think about it again. That’s how my brain works.
I shoot her another grin, giving it a careless edge. “Sorry.”
Sitting on the edge of the bed, I lean over to pull on my socks. I immediately feel her hands on my back. “Are you sure you I can’t convince you to stay?” she purrs in my ear, her mouth sliding along my jawline, looking for a place to land. I angle my face away before she can make contact.
I don’t let her kiss me on the mouth.
Matter of fact I don’t let her mouth anywhere near me. I imagine I’m the only guy on the planet that regularly turns down blowjobs.
Instead of getting the message, she seems to take my disinterest as some sort of invitation. Reaching into my open fly, she wraps her hand around my dick and starts trying to convince me.
I jam my foot into my boot and jerk my laces tight, tying them while Donna gives me what just might be the most awkward handjob I’ve ever received. Not because she doesn’t know what she’s doing but because I am 100% not into it.
At all.
Boots laced and tied, I sit up, and as gently as I can, remove her hands from my cock. As soon as I stand, she starts grumbling. I don’t have to look at her to know she’s pouting.
“I have another layover next week...” she says, even though I told her the rules.
“No,” I tell her, shrugging into my jacket. “That’s not how this works, remember?”
“I remember.” She flicks her hand dismissively. “It’s fine,” she says, even though it’s obviously anything but. “Maybe I’ll see you around sometime.”
“Sure,” I say, shooting her a vague smile on my way out the door. She’s saying something as I pass through it and shut it behind me but I can’t make it out, and I don’t really care.
I’m thinking about a girl with bright orange hair and a chipped tooth. A flat, crooked nose and too many freckles to count. A girl I haven’t seen in almost ten years.
Ryan gave Henley my phone number.