“God… okay… sorry. I shouldn’t have just blurted that out. I need to go.”
“Raine,” I call her name, but she walks away quickly and doesn’t turn back.
Great, I’ve created another mess. I decide to let her go not wanting to cause any further embarrassment. I look at my watch—an hour to go then straight home for a quick change of clothes and back into town to celebrate my final weeks as a bachelor.
Troy may have told Zoey and Mia it will be a few harmless drinks at some club in LA, but his crude texts and equally shocking pictures warn me that I will be in for a long night.
A night that specifically warrants the ‘Bro Code.’
Chapter Six
Zoey
Drew’s a flat-out jerk.
When he finally agreed to wait until the wedding night, I thought great, he understands where I’m coming from and wants to make the night special. Savor something traditional despite our modern living arrangement.
Wrong.
He wants to be an asshole purposely walking around the apartment in boxers, stripping off with a raging hard-on while combing his damn hair.
And worst of all, he tells me to roll over because he needs his space in bed to jerk off.
But I stick to my guns, struggling to resist the temptation of jumping on top and riding him hard until the sun sets.
I still recall that moment because it was so damn hot.
“Zoey, can you move to your side of the bed? I need to take care of things.”
He’s wearing his glasses, and his hair is a wild mess from the shower. His tone is serious, paired with a piercing stare that leaves me begging the question as to why. I’m heavily distracted by his upper chest, his muscles so perfectly sculpted and toned, bare and exposed for me to see.
“What things?” I move the wedding diary closer to me balancing my laptop on top of the quilt.
“I need to masturbate.”
“Excuse me?” I choke, coughing on cue while trying to compose myself. The tickle in my throat lingers irritating me like crazy.
“I need a release. So, if you don’t mind, please move over so I can get started.”
I have no words, sliding over to my side of the bed as his hands move into the sheets and onto his cock. The screen in front of me is flickering, yet all I see is blank while my mind tries to comprehend the absurdity of this situation.
Just ignore him. He’s doing this on purpose.
But Drew knows me oh so well. Gradually building up his strokes hard and fast, releasing violent moans as his body begins to peak, neck stretched wide exposing his skin—the very spot that drives him crazy when I kiss it.
The ache between my legs resonates, and my tight little boy-shorts become increasingly wet. I can’t cave now, the wedding is only weeks away. We didn’t have sex for four years. What’s a measly four weeks?
It’s twenty-eight days.
Six hundred and seventy-two hours.
Stop it, Zoey! You’re only torturing yourself.
I open an email and try to read the content. I read the first line multiple times and still can’t remember what it says. Something about the flower arrangement and the invoice.
“I’m sorry. Is my moaning distracting you?” Drew stops, his pupils dilate while waiting for a response.
“No, carry on,” I say with a gulp.