That’s okay. I’m not planning on it. I’m not going to want more than I know I can have. That’ll make me miserable.
That also means I need to stop touching his hair, remove his hand from my face, and get the everloving fuck out of his bedroom. I drag my hand away, resisting the temptation to touch his face. I’m only human, and he’s not even in his right mind. I don’t need to be giving him ideas, because I don’t have much resistance left in me tonight.
“Get some sleep,” I tell him, standing. “You’ll feel better tomorrow.”
I nearly make it to the door before he says, “Sure you don’t want to stay?”
Damn him. I brace a hand on the wall, trying to draw strength out of the drywall. Is there any way I could? Is there any way this would work?
No, it won’t. I want it to, but it won’t. Rebounds rarely last, especially for men. My feelings for him sprung out of a break-up, but it was an entirely different situation. He swept in like a knight in shining armor and unwittingly rose up on a pedestal. He became my hero, my example of a man who would never let me down. And he never has.
But he will, if I stay tonight, because I want things he is in no condition to offer. If he still wants me once he’s past Cassandra, that would be a different thing, but he only wants me right now because his heart hurts and I’m here. An hour ago, he wanted the crackwhore.
Somehow I find just enough resolve to look at him over my shoulder, offer a little smile, and tell him, “Not tonight.”
1
Rafe
I love fucking. I love everything about it—the sights, the sounds, the smells, the taste. Especially the fucking sounds. The wet, sloppy sound of my sizable cock gliding in and out of the wet pussy of a moaning woman—that’s paradise, right there.
Haven’t been to paradise lately. I’m not even sure why I’m abstaining at this point. When everything went to hell with my personal and professional life, I realized I needed to get my shit together. Between the whirlwind of Laurel Price’s burgeoning womb, the reappearance of Cassandra Carmichael, and the minor annoyance of Sin murdering the cute little waitress I had my eye on, I realized my shit was out of control. Business needed my focused attention, and I needed to clean my fucking palette where women were concerned.
So, here I am, cleaning my palette. Only I’m not sure when it’s supposed to end. On one hand, I could end it right now with a text message or two, but now that I’ve abstained from fucking casually for a while, I can’t help feeling like maybe I’m waiting for something.
It’s probably Laurel’s damn voice in my head, urging me to invite Virginia to family dinner. Maybe even the memory of my panic when I thought Sin fired his gun at her. He’d only been faking me out, but it worked. To be perfectly honest, there are not many women in the world I would give up guaranteed safety to try to save, and even up until that moment, I didn’t realize Virginia was one of them.
I guess I should have. Now I’m realizing out of all the women that blow in and out of my life, if they all disappeared, Virginia is one of the few I would miss.
Every time I think about ending my dry spell now, I wonder if there’s any chance Laurel is ri
ght. She insists Virginia doesn’t enjoy my bringing an endless string of women in here, that Virginia likes me more than I think she does. I’m not an idiot, I know Virginia likes me, but she doesn’t like me the way other women do. It has never bothered her before if I brought my dates here, so maybe I’m overthinking it. Putting too much stock in Laurel’s theories. Maybe Virginia wouldn’t care, but if she does, to be honest, it’s not worth it to me to offend her. If she would feel disrespected by me bringing them in, then I won’t. I like Virginia, she’s a good kid, and loyal as hell. I love that. Especially after the upheaval of my life these past few months, loyalty looks damn good to me.
Virginia’s also pretty easy to please, and I love easy. Easy is fucking underrated. My favorite part of every week is this part right here, because it’s fucking easy. No pussy involved, but eager service, and that’s the next best thing.
Ordinarily Sin, Laurel and their baby would be here on Sunday nights for family dinner, but tonight I’m alone. Virginia approaches my booth with a smile on her face, her order pad in one hand, my drink in the other. “All by yourself tonight?”
Contentment washes over me as she leans over and nudges my drink across the table. “Just me tonight.”
“Is Laurel feeling okay?” she asks. “When I talked to her earlier, she thought she might be having contractions, so I thought dinner might be canceled tonight.”
My mind drifts to one of the many events that changed the entire course of my life—the impregnation of Laurel Price. Right now she’s in a hospital, ready to have my baby. In most cases it would make me a pretty sizable dick to be sitting down to dinner while that’s happening, but Sin is there with her, and he’s got much more experience at this sort of thing; she doesn’t need me.
Instead of answering Virginia’s question, I tell her, “Yeah, I think family dinners will probably be canceled for a couple weeks. I can’t imagine she’ll want to come out to eat with Skylar and a newborn.”
“Well, she won’t want to cook, either,” Virginia advises. “That poor girl is going to have two babies to juggle. You guys should do take-out next week. I’m so excited. I can’t wait for pictures. He’s going to be the cutest baby ever.” Taking her phone out of her apron, she swipes a few times, then holds it up for me to see a picture of a white onesie that says “best gift ever” in red and green. “I’m taking this to the hospital as soon as he’s born.”
A Christmas baby. Well, almost. Christmas is in three days. It got me out of going anywhere for the holiday, so I’m thankful for that.
“Did you get the baby a present?” she asks me, smiling brightly. I don’t know why she’s so eager for me to have a baby. It doesn’t have a damn thing to do with her. Barely has anything to do with me. I know she and Laurel are friends, but Virginia has never struck me as baby crazy.
Smiling faintly, I remark, “I gave him life. Does that count?”
Cocking an unimpressed eyebrow, she shakes her head. “No, that doesn’t count.”
“I don’t know what newborns like. They like boobs and sleeping.”
“So you have something in common already,” she quips. “You need to get him something to take to the hospital. A soft blanket, a special toy—something.”