Page 33

Patrick
“Hey, roomie… you’re homeearly.”
As soon as I say it, Lisa pulls her mouth off my cock and looks over her shoulder.
When she sees Cari, she scrambles to her feet out the door before I can say, thanks for the blowjob.
I take another swig from the bottle, grinning around its rim before letting it fall away from my mouth. The bottom clunks against the wall I’m leaning on and the booze inside it makes a sloshing noise. It’s the only sound I hear aside from the cacophony of noise that drifts up from the bar downstairs. Cari’s got her eyes nailed to the spot on the wall just left of my face. Her cheeks are stained red and for some reason I look at her shoes. That’s when I remember that my pants are yanked down around my hips and my johnson is still on full display. “Well... this is awkward.” Looking down, I see candy-pink lipstick smeared all over my cock. I know I should be embarrassed. Probably even ashamed but I’m neither. I just keep grinning.
She doesn’t say anything, she just shifts herself out of the doorway and shuts it softly before turning the lock. She clicks on a lamp while I stay where I am, shoulders pressed against wall the only thing holding me upright while I watch her move across the room, tossing her purse on the coffee table before disappearing into the bathroom. I hear the hinges on our linen cabinet squeak a second before the quiet rush of water. She’s back in less than a minute, wet washcloth in her hand.
“Are you okay?” She sounds half-pissed, half-concerned, an odd combination that has me laughing. She’s looking at me like she’s taking inventory. Like she thought something was wrong.
“Well, if you’d waited another five minutes before storming the castle,” I say, pulling that cocky grin on like a mask. “I’d be a damn sight better.”
She scoffs and nods, glaring at me like she’s trying to figure out what the hell is wrong with me. “I’ll have my things out by the end of the week,” she finally says, tossing the washcloth at me, hitting me square in the chest. It sticks there for a moment before it falls, hooking itself around the semi I’ve still got going. She doesn’t wait to see if I use it, she just turns away and leaves me standing there.
Her words are like a bucket of ice water tossed in my face. One second, I’m half-plowed and feeling pretty full of myself. The next I’m stone sober and I’ve got a cold, wet towel hanging off the end of my dick.
The bottle of Jameson slips through my fingers and I barely take the time to clean up before I’m pushing myself back into my pants. I see myself going downstairs. Getting drunk with Conner while he talks some wasted co-ed into letting us do body shots off her tits on one of the pool table. Maybe I can even talk Lisa into finishing what she started. The night is salvageable. She wants to move out—let her. Like I give a fuck.
But I don’t. Because I do.
About two seconds after I wrangle my cock back into my pants, I storm after her. She’s in her bedroom and this time her door is shut.
Like throwing gasoline on a fire, I pound on the door with the side of my fist. “So, now you close the goddamn door,” I say on a laugh, my voice slightly raised. “Too little too late, sweetheart.”
I can hear her on the other side and for a second, I think she’s going to ignore me. Or maybe call the cops. Instead, she throws the door open, cutting me down with an ice blue glare.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” she says, her cheeks flushed. She’s wearing that fucking robe again. And pretty much nothing else.
“You know exactly what I’m talking about, Cari,” I say, barging into her room. I turn on her and she takes a step back, pressing her shoulders against the doorframe. She’s looking me in the eye and I realize she’s still wearing the heels.
“You don’t close your bedroom door—not ever.” I take a half step, throwing up a hand, bracing it against the frame, hemming her in so she can’t run away. “Do you know I can see you? That every time you change your clothes, every time you get out of the shower, I sit on the couch and watch you in the living room mirror?”
“I—” She starts to deny it but then the flush blooming across her chest spreads, the heat of it collecting under her collarbone before inching lower, into the soft valley between her breasts. “Of course I know, Patrick—” She says it softly, the tip of her tongue licking at her lips like her mouth has suddenly gone dry. “Why do you think I hung it there in the first place?”
There it is. Confirmation that she’s been playing me since the day she moved in and it’s all I need to hear.
Keeping her hemmed in, gaze locked on hers, I use my free hand to tug at the hastily knotted belt keeping her robe closed.
She doesn’t try to stop me.
“Did you fuck him?” I say, finally managing to pull it loose. The slinky length of it slips through my fingers and lands on the floor between us.
She’s looking at me, eyes wide and blue enough to drown me. “Who?” The word skates across my bare chest on a warm breath that shoots down my spine. My cock is rock hard again in the space of about five seconds and all she had to do was breathe.
I slide a hand into the open space between the silk of her robe and the silk of her skin. My fingertips glide over trembling flesh and it’s hard to tell which is softer. “Tim/Travis,” I say it easy, like I couldn’t care less. The truth is, the thought of that asshole putting hands on her makes me want to kill something. “You know, Mr. 5th date.” I finally drop my other arm to circle her waist with my hands, popping her hips off the wall, feathering my thumbs across her bellybutton. “Did you fuck him?”
She furrows her brow for a moment, her blue eyes glazed and cloudy. “His name is Trevor.”
Her breathing has gone ragged. Each pump of her chest pushes her breasts against the robe. Her nipples are stiff and swollen. Begging for relief. Begging for me.
I can feel the corner of my mouth lift in that trademark Gilroy grin again. It’s new to me but fits perfectly. “Answer the question, Cari.” I lower my head to her breast, drawing the hard, swollen tip of it into my mouth, sucking her hard through the silk, grazing her nipple with my teeth.
“I didn’t,” she shutters out on a broken sigh, her fingers threading through my hair. “I didn’t.” she arches into me, pushing her breast against my mouth. “I wouldn’t... not after...”
I wouldn’t... not after...