Page 4

Chapter four

Colt

A month ago, I would’ve been all over finally taking things to the next level with HexXdoll. But lately, all I’ve done is put more distance between the two of us. Part of it’s because I feel guilty about Thursday nights and the way the girl at the bar makes me feel. The other reason is because I’m terrified my past will fuck up everything between the two of us. She doesn’t seem like the forgiving, look-past-major-red-flags type, and my past is full of them. Sighing, I roll onto my back. The bed sheets suddenly feel suffocating, so I kick them off in my restlessness.

My ceiling offers little solace as I stare at it, my mind refusing to shut off. I can’t stop overthinking things with her. There’s so much more riding on this for me emotionally. If I fuck things up, I can’t live with the thought of losing her as a friend. That’s a lie. If I’m actually honest with myself, it’s because I’m afraid of not having her as an option. Her flirty messages cross the line all the time. I know she’s into me, and the fact she doesn’t know anything about my past is the relief I need in order to let my guard down.

Who am I kidding? The clock is fucking ticking. For one, I’m not getting any younger, and Aidan’s wedding is in a few months. It’s a destination wedding, which means I have to convince a girl she likes me enough to leave the country with me—and maybe even have sex with me, more than once. My backup plan to buy a date is probably the worst plan I’ve ever had.

HexXdoll might be the easiest to get into a relationship with, but she’s right. We know nothing about each other. We don’t even know what the other looks like, and while I don’t want to be a shallow asshole, I require a certain level of physical attraction to a woman in order to get the job done. I don’t even know where she lives. The chances are high she doesn’t even live in the same state as me.

On the other hand, the goddess who comes to my bar every Thursday is real, tangible, and possibly within reach. I think I’m finally getting somewhere with this problem. It’s time to man up and talk to the bar goddess. Maybe I’ll give the table a round of complimentary drinks.

I run my hands over my face. The only thing I’m sure of right now is that I need to get some sleep. Time to force myself to go to bed. Tomorrow is going to be a busy night. I need as much rest as I can get. I close my eyes, trying to turn my brain off. My sleep is restless at first, but eventually, exhaustion takes over, and I fall deep into dreamland. But even in my dreams, the conflict continues, only now it’s playing out in a sexual encounter.

She feels so fucking good, but I can’t see who it is. Her head is buried face down in the pillows as I pound into her from behind. I’m going to come. Her walls grip me tighter and tighter with each warm pass until my balls tighten, then I’m coming.

But it’s not what I expect. Instead of her firm walls squeezing me, I’m drenched in cum.

I moan.

There’s so much of it, I jolt away, sitting up in bed. My sheets are soaked from my wet dream. What the fuck. I must have it bad. This hasn’t happened since I was a horny little teenager. I curse, vowing to never have another wet dream again, so long as I can help it. I’ve got it bad. S.O.S. I’m in way too deep, and I’ve never felt so sexually frustrated in my life. I swing my feet out of bed, gather my dirty bedding for the wash, then head to the shower to clean up. I feel just as confused and frustrated this morning as I did last night. I step into my hot shower, burdened by the weight of my inner conflict. The water does little to drown out the tangled mess of desire and doubt in my chest. If I don’t sort this shit out soon, I’m going to lose my mind—or worse, my options.