I only want you, Sexy Papa Bear.
I only want you, too, Rolando.
Which is why I shove him off me with enough playfulness to hopefully be believable. He lands a little roughly, mostly on his hands and knees. I go for a smile, but his mouth flattens to a tremulous line before he’s able to school it into a fake grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
It shouldn’t surprise me that Roly can’t fake his smile, and I reach for him, my fingers grazing the curve of his ass as he climbs off the bed. He avoids my eyes as he puts on his clothes, toes into his shoes, and walks out of my bedroom. I jog over to the window and open the blinds a little, letting out a pained breath as he hugs himself and walks slowly to his car.
I think I fucked up.
I yank on my jeans, not bothering with the underwear, barely zipping them up, and jog barefoot to the front door. The door glances my still-bruised toe as it swings open, and I fully deserve that shot of pain.
Roly’s already locked inside his car, in his own world. His shoulders slump and he leans forward, resting his head on the steering wheel. He wipes at his eyes before catching a glimpse of me at the door. I step over the threshold and raise my hand as if to wave to him, or maybe call him back… but he shakes his head, turning his body away from me.
I hesitate, then lower my hand and step back into the house, closing the door. On tiptoes I peer through the half-moon of glass near the top of the door, waiting. After a few moments, he shakes himself off—a move that looks far too practiced—then dashes away more tears and drives off.
He hadn’t deserved getting bounced out of bed before our cum had cooled, and now there’s an uncomfortable tightness in my chest that feels like longing with a chaser of guilt. I try breathing through the pain, but it only intensifies.
I shouldn’t have let this happen.
I should’ve gone after him.
I should’ve held him, and never let him go.
And that’s the one that gets to me. When I think about drawing him to me, holding on to him, inhaling the sleepy-sexy warmth of him, knowing that I’m just a temporary fix… I can’t imagine anything more dangerous than that.
* * *
Roly
I wipe my eyes and drive the short distance back to my house, mortified that Heath had seen me cry.
This is why we have rules, asshole.
As soon as I open the door, Audrey is there to greet me. I look around, and there isn’t a speck of fluff, a pool of pee, or a pile of poop anywhere.
“Good job, baby girl.”
I let her out and make a vodka tonic that is pretty much just straight vodka in a cut-crystal tumbler because if I’m going to be morose, I’m going to be classy about it. By the time I let her back in, it’s halfway gone and I’m teary-eyed again. I mean, he practically shoved me away, like he couldn’t stand any part of me touching any part of him for a second longer.
Not gonna lie. Thathurt.
I pick up my baby girl and pop her on my shoulder, and she nuzzles her tiny, furry face into mine.
“Oh, sweet Audrey. Your daddy really fucked up tonight,” I say, downing the rest of the glass. The ice hadn’t even had a chance to melt, so I pour another one.
I have rules, dammit.
Rules that allow for maximum fun and minimal complications. Rules that I set aside because I couldn’t stand the fact that Heath didn’t like me.
I berate myself because I know more than anyone that the rules aren’t just to prevent someoneelsecatching feelings. The truly dangerous thing ismecatching feelings, because a feeling is a shiv, honed to sharp point, able to pry into the hermetically sealed lid that keeps all of my shit in. If I allow one of these pointed feelings to pry up a corner, it’s anyone’s guess what might come flying out.
Maybe, if I’m lucky, it’s just the ache I feel when I think about my mom and dad’s storybook relationship.
Or the fact that having a person to come home to, to hold, to make happy… sounds like a heaven I don’t deserve.
But if I’m really unlucky, if it really just isn’t my day, then it’s the desire hidden so carefully under layers of bullshit and personality that I can barely think it, let alone speak it. The one that includes first days of school and proud graduation moments and walks down the aisle.
That one sits like an unexploded bomb in my chest.
