Page 2 of Feels Like Forever (Undercover Lovers #6)

JUDE

“ C ome on, Ronnie.” I’m sitting on the couch, my foot bouncing up and down, tapping, and it’s not to the beat of any music.

A new nervous tick I’ve seemed to pick up, one I didn’t fucking need.

I’ve already had my allotted number of smokes I give myself for the day, ate more candy than normal, and had a session with my tattoo artist, and it hasn’t done dick.

All of this to keep myself busy until Ronnie’s username appears on the screen.

It's been eight minutes, four hundred and eighty seconds to be exact. I called her this morning while Ronnie was on her way to work. It was easier for her to discuss the time we’d be meeting for our game.

I’ve got the controller in my hand, thumb moving the joystick around to keep me from doing something stupid like grab my keys and pull up the app on my phone, the same one I use for all of my friends.

The same one I’m tempted to use on Ronnie.

My hacker skills could have me in and out of her phone with her being none the wiser.

There’s one little thing that’s holding me back— my fucking conscience.

I’m ready to crawl out of my skin. Sitting around and waiting is doing nothing to calm my shit.

My mind won’t stop. Too many scenarios are playing through my head, and every single one of them is out of my control.

I stand up from the couch, my feet move, and now I’m pacing.

“Fuck’s sake, man, get ahold of yourself. ”

My phone takes that moment to chirp, and I’m grabbling with the couch, yanking cushions, a blanket, and any wrong damn thing in my haste to climb the fucking thing.

All of this could have been avoided had I not taken up walking the length of the house in order to keep from checking my phone every twenty seconds.

And yes, I fucking counted. After a few moments of wrestling with everything that seems to get in my way, I finally wrap my hands around the black metal device.

My muscles unclench, my jaw is no longer locked tight, and my heartrate is slowing down to a normal rhythm.

Foxy: I’m so sorry, Jude. My shift ran late, and I’m just now walking to my car. I’ll be on in thirty minutes. I have to hop in the shower before I do anything else.

Mother fuck. There’s a reason Veronica, or Ronnie, as she goes by, is in my phone as Foxy.

The woman is gorgeous, bite your fist, balls drawing tight, and has you dropping to your knees to pay homage to every surface of her body.

She’s not the only one who needs a shower.

I look from my phone down to my pants. A noticeable bulge presses against the zipper, causing my dick to only get harder.

The sensation is enough to have my knees locking.

My spine starts to tingle, and my eyes close as I think about having her naked and dripping wet.

Me: Want help?

I delete the two words. We’re not there yet. While we talk on the phone daily, play online just as much, and send each other texts back and forth throughout the day, I’m pretty sure she’d kick me in the nuts for offering to help her shower the first time we meet.

Me: Take your time. I’ll be here when you’re ready.

And because I have not one single ounce of grace, I follow it up with something that gets my point across while not being a total douchebag.

Me: Also, can’t lie. The mental image you just gave me might just kill me. I’ll try to survive until you’re on. Maybe.

I wait to see what how Ronnie will respond.

The bubbles appear then disappear. I’m about ready to give up when she finally responds.

The first time we started really talking, when she finally turned her mic on, I did my own kind of reconnaissance.

I pulled up every damn picture I could find, then, as the days went by, we exchanged numbers, and she sent me a couple of pictures, mainly of her making a funny face and very rarely with her completely in the frame.

This time, it’s a different picture entirely, one I’m not prepared for, and it has me salivating. Ronnie is fully in the image, with not a single obstruction, nothing to hide her beautiful fucking body. I’m definitely going to need a shower myself.

She’s standing outside of a building. From my digging, I can tell it’s her place of employment.

A dual business of sorts—on one side, there’s a bar, and on the other a tattoo shop.

I’ve yet to be any more of a stalker or creeper by doing a drive-by, plus I’ve got my own tattoo artist, and making an appearance there could raise some questions.

Ronnie’s long dark hair is down, pulled over one shoulder, and loose with tousled waves.

Her blue eyes are bright and vivid, surrounded by dark eyelashes similar to the color of her hair.

Full lips are painted a deep red, a slight flush coats her cheeks, and I’m locked on every inch of her image.

I lick my lips. Her tan complexion is on display, patches of skin here and there, making Ronnie that much more alluring.

She’s in a black cropped tank top that has a band logo on the front and is wearing black fish nets beneath her jeans.

The light wash is ripped on her upper thigh on one leg and similar on the other side, except at her knee.

A black choker-style necklace is wrapped around her delicate neck, and a stack of bracelets adorns her wrist that isn’t holding the phone out in front of her.

That’s not even getting into the tattoos she has here and there, tattoos I’d give my left arm to drag my tongue across.

The only part of Ronnie I’m missing is getting a view from behind, and damn, do I want that visual more than anything.

Foxy: Maybe this will hold you over ;)

Me: Looking damn good, Foxy.

Foxy: Pony up, big guy. Tit for tat.

“Fuck yeah.” My shirt is already off after coming home from a tattoo session, which leaves me in a pair of army-style-colored camo shorts, sneakers, and nothing else.

After I finished at the tattoo shop, stopped by Johnny’s, and then made it home, it was time to take the clear plastic wrap off.

A shirt rubbing the skin where it’s freshly been inked is nothing but a pain in the ass.

I hold my phone up and snap a quick picture and send it.

I’d do a hell of a lot more for her, minus a dick pick.

Screen shots last forever, and even with my hacker skills, it can still be dicey.

By now, she’s probably in her car and driving home.

Now that I’ve heard from her, I’m a bit more settled down, enough so that I walk to the kitchen, toss my phone on the counter, and go for the fridge to grab a drink.

I’m halfway there when my phone starts dancing on the counter, the vibration hitting my ears before the ringing starts.

I backtrack and look down at the display, figuring it’d be one of the guys.

I talked to Johnny today about taking off for four days for my annual trip to a music festival that starts on a Wednesday and carries through until Sunday.

I’ve been trying to talk Ronnie into going with me, even offered to cover her tickets, but she’s worried about taking time off work and missing out on the money she makes as a bartender.

It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her I would cover it all—the tickets, her missing out on wages at work, and anything else—except I couldn’t.

My group of friends comes with their wives, and if I’ve learned anything, it’s not to put your foot in your mouth by inserting financial help unless they ask for it.

“Hey, Foxy,” I answer the phone when I see her name and image I set to the profile, one I’ll be changing to the one she sent me today.

“Are you trying to make me wreck, big guy? Seriously, no shirt, a new tattoo, and the backwards hat. Jesus, Jude.” There she is, the one who lets her guard down, speaks her mind, and is becoming bolder every time we talk.

“The same could be said for you. Damn near had me ready to throw cold water on myself. Then you tossed in needing a shower. Can’t help but think about offering you a hand,” I lay it on thick, thicker than I usually would.

I’ve gotten bolder each day, pushing the envelope to see what Ronnie could handle. Should have known she’d meet me match for fucking match.

“Jude.” Her voice takes on a breathless quality.

“Fuck.” My hand tightens around the device.

I’m almost at the end of my rope, ready to say the hell with it, hop in my Camaro, and drive at breakneck speeds to get to her.

There’s only one thing holding me back: she’d ask questions, I’d have to answer them, then she’d probably kick me out and block me from her life.

A day without Veronica Navarro is something I don’t want to experience.

She has me tangled in her web, and the kicker is she isn’t even aware she’s spun it.

“Hmm,” Ronnie hums, and I know it’s up to me to change the topic, or I’ll take this a step farther. One where my hand is wrapped around my cock, her fingers are sinking inside herself, and I can hear moans of a different kind.

I clear my throat. I’ll save that for a shower later tonight. “You think any more about the concert?”

“Oh, the old change the subject concept, huh? I see what you’re doing here, Jude.” Her soft laugh echoes in my ears, hitting me so fucking deep, my cock goes rock fucking solid.

“You gonna answer the question, Foxy, or avoid it until the final hour? I’ve got plenty of room.

” We’ve gone round and round with this. She’s hesitant, rightfully so.

We’ve yet to meet in person or in real life, as my pseudo niece, Briar, tells me.

Biologically, she’s Kennedy’s daughter, but Trent wasn’t having any of that, and the minute he could, he adopted Briar as soon as possible.

“I bought my tickets today, as a matter of fact, and have the time off work, too.” Thank fuck for small favors.

“Does that also mean you’re staying with me at the festival?” I press my luck once again.

“You wish.” No lie detected with her response.

“I’m going to drive back and forth each day.

It’s only thirty minutes from my apartment.

” I grunt a response of my own, one that conveys I’m not overly impressed, but my hands are tied.

“Jude, I’m not staying with you. Yet.” My hopes soar, thinking maybe I can convince her to at least stay one night.

I’m a selfish fucker, I know. I want her near me and not driving on a highway, where getting to her in a timely manner will be near impossible, not unless I rent a car or grab a hired car.

I guess that means I need to be prepared while also being glued to my phone, watching her travel the entire time until she’s locked inside her apartment.

“So, you’re saying there’s a chance.”

“You’re not making this any easier on me, and with that, I’m at home.

Time to shower, you know, where I get naked and wet.

Meet you online in twenty.” Ronnie doesn’t wait for me to respond.

Instead, she hangs up on me, and I’m left staring at my phone while simultaneously thinking about what she just threw down.

Fuck it. Two can play that game. I’ve got less than two weeks until the rock festival, and I’m going to do everything in my power to persuade her to stay with me.

But first, I’m taking a shower myself. I may have started this, but she sure as hell ended it.

My cock is fucking aching. Too bad I couldn’t convince Ronnie to continue our conversation while both of us get wet, in one way or the other.

My palm goes to my dick and presses down, and trust me when I say the relief I’ll get from my hand won’t be e-fucking-nough.