Page 29 of Hideaway Heart

“I agree. People are assholes.”

Her eyes met mine. She had to squint slightly in the sun. “Did you look at comments on my post?”

“Some of them,” I allowed. “Do the negative ones bother you?”

“Sometimes.”

“Is it worth it? I mean, why post at all? Why give millions of strangers a chance to pass judgment—publicly—on your life every day?”

“I feel like I have to, to stay relevant. And connect directly with fans. And at least I control that narrative. It’s worse when those gossip sites just get hold of paparazzi photos and make shit up to get clicks. Last year, I had to have physical therapy for an injury to my foot, and the story accompanying the photos of me leaving the medical building was that I was getting my boobs done.”

My eyes dropped to her chest. “Don’t touch them, they’re perfect.” Then I squeezed them shut. “God, I’m sorry. I should not have said that. I’m a dick. You should fire me.”

She started to laugh. “I already tried that.”

“So posting to social media,” I said, trying to swerve back onto the road of acceptable conversation. “It’s about control?”

“Partly. Yes.”

I understood a little better where she was coming from. I liked control too. “And is it worth it? All the shit you have to endure to feel like you have that control?”

“Sometimes,” she said with a shrug. “Not all the time. But maybe that’s all I can ask for, you know? Anyway, I’m going in to take a shower.”

As I watched her walk away, I wish I could say that I was pondering the high price of fame, the invasiveness of paparazzi, or even the effects of social media on mental health.

Nope.

I was thinking about her perfect tits. I was looking at her magnificent round ass. I was wondering if she was going to use that rabbit thing in the shower. Did she use it often? Had she been with anyone since Duke? If not, she’d gone as long as I had without sex. Maybe she didn’t miss it. There had to be something reliable about a vibrator. It was like jerking off, right? You knew it would get the job done.

But a toy didn’t have hands to touch you, or lips to kiss you, or words that would make you blush. It couldn’t make you feel wanted. It felt no desire. It wasn’t personal. It wasn’t likebeingwith someone who wanted to put his hands in your long red hair or lick every inch of your radiant skin or hear you moan his name while he fucked you with his tongue.

Not that I was thinking about doing thatpersonally.

I’m just telling it like it is.

EIGHT

xander

To give Kelly more privacy,I waited on the porch while she took her shower. While I was out there, I texted a friend of mine from high school that bartended at a place called the Backwoods Bar and Grill that wasn’t too far from here. Normally, I wouldn’t have been too concerned about a crowd, but it was a holiday weekend.

Hey Eric. You guys slammed already? Any way to reserve a table for two?

It took him a few minutes to answer.

Place is packed. But text me when you’re leaving. I’ll see what I can do.

Thanks man.

After that, I couldn’t resist typing “pink rabbit vibrator” into Google.

Let me tell you, the search results were an education.

I didn’t see the exact one Kelly owned, but many looked similar. And none of them looked like any human dick I’d ever seen. There were tickling rabbit ears, swirling beads, multiple speeds, curved shafts, dual motors. One of them had 36 vibrational patterns.

Thirty-six! My cock didn’t even haveonevibrational pattern. Would my tongue make up for it? My fingers? The rest of my body? Maybe my voice?

Dismayed, I closed the page and put my phone away. What got her off was none of my business, and I needed to stop thinking about it.