We both needed a reality check. “I don’t care where you go, babe, but you can’t stay here.”
Her mouth dropped open in shock as hurt flooded her dark eyes.
Did she expect us to cuddle? Not going to happen. I needed her out of my bed, so I could finish off the bottle of Jack sitting on top of my mini-fridge and pray it was enough to knock me out. Pray it would keep away the nightmares of Genie’s exploding AAV. Why the hell could I remember every detail of the instantaneous explosion while the face I’d borderline worshiped for years was nothing but a blur? What was wrong with me?
Everything. As evidenced by the naked stranger in my bed.
“But… I sucked your dick. In front of everyone.”
Rolling out of bed to dispose of the condom, I nodded. “Sure did.” What did she want from me? A fucking trophy? She wasn’t even that great. Did she think I’d let her stay here? That she could fill the hole inside me? Without my memories, that hole was all I had left of Genie and no random cut slut was going to touch it.
I collected her clothes from the floor and tossed them to her. “You knew what this was before you came up here.” I wasn’t going to lead her on, and I didn’t want to hurt her, but she wasn’t moving and I needed her gone. Steeling myself against her pained expression, I said, “By the way, your oral skills need some work. Kim’s much better. Maybe you should ask her for a lesson? Or check in with the guys downstairs, I’m sure they’d be willing to give you some practice.”
Her nostrils flared, and she made a strangled noise, a cross between a growl and a sob. Her face turned red and blotchy and her eyes hardened. Good. Anger would take her out of here and make sure she never came back. Anger would save her from me.
She shook out her blouse and tugged it on while scooting out of the bed. “You really are an asshole, you know that?”
“I told you I was.”
“Well, forgive me for thinking you could at least be a decent human being.” She shoved her legs into her pants, hopping as she tugged them up.
What did she think the word ‘asshole’ meant? Pretty sure it wasn’t synonymous with ‘decent human being.’ I shrugged.
“You’re not that great either, you know?” she snapped. “I didn’t even come. And your dick’s not nearly as big as they say it is. You’re never getting into this pussy again.”
She stood there for a moment, glaring daggers at me. I don’t know what she was waiting for. Did she expect me to call her out on her lies? Or to apologize? Or to beg her to climb back into my bed? How big of an asshole did I have to be to make her leave?
“Noted,” I replied.
Her face only darkened. “Fuck you, Eagle!” She grabbed her shoes and stormed out of my room, slamming the door behind her.
Relieved she was finally gone, I marched straight for the fifth of whiskey sitting on top of the mini fridge and headed for my bed. Since I could no longer fuck to remember, I planned to drink to forget.
Naomi
IWATCHED FROM the front porch of my cute little one-bedroom rental house as a candy apple red Acura pulled into the driveway and idled. The driver’s side window slid down to reveal a dark-skinned, dark-haired beauty, her flawless makeup drawing attention to high cheekbones, almond-shaped eyes, and lush red lips. Lush red lips that were currently drawn tight in her signature I’m-going-to-rip-you-a-new-asshole scowl.
Resisting the urge to creep back into my house and hide from that mean mug, I flashed my best friend a weak smile. “Hey, Monie Love.”
I’d met Monica Johnson on the first day of boot camp when she’d told me we were going to be besties because strong, beautiful, intelligent women needed to stick together. I’d always been a little insecure—especially around women—and she was bold and assertive, skating the line between cocky and confident like an Olympic champion, making me instantly jealous of her skill. Hoping she’d rub off on me, I let her draw me into her hemisphere.
We shared a dorm, had a common dream of piloting aircraft, and we both worked our asses off like we had something to prove. She’d been my study partner throughout flight school, and I’d given her the nickname Monie Love after a nineties rapper, due to an especially drunken celebratory karaoke night after we’d both passed our exams. She was loyal, funny, brilliant, driven, and she didn’t take shit off anyone. Especially not me.
I loved that about her.
But, she could also be a little intimidating.
“Don’t you, ‘hey, Monie Love’ me. You already know I’m pissed. Get your ass in this car, girl, we’re about to have a come-to-Jesus meeting.”
Dammit. I hated her come-to-Jesus meetings. They usually involved me seeing the error of my ways and apologizing for my infractions. I had a sneaking suspicion about the subject matter she wanted to discuss, and it wasn’t a conversation I wanted to have. I sucked in a deep breath and slid into the passenger’s seat, settling my backpack on my lap as I braced for the onslaught I knew was coming.
“That’s the extent of your luggage?” she asked, eyeing my bag.
We were both taking a long weekend, but she probably had multiple suitcases stuffed into her trunk, one for makeup and hair products alone. I, on the other hand, was strictly a carry-on girl. If I couldn’t fit it in my carry-on, I probably didn’t need it. Especially considering I still kept a room full of clothes and personal items at the headquarters of my dad’s motorcycle club. “I don’t need much,” I replied.
She harrumphed. “Correction, you can’t carry much. Probably due to all that other baggage you’re lugging around all the time.”
I didn’t want to ask, but knew she wouldn’t stop until she got it off her chest. “What baggage?”
