Here we go. “Mona—”
“Do you believe in mermaids, Holly? Because if you do, we really have a much bigger problem to discuss.”
“No, I don’t, smartass. And I’m not exactly thinking about fairy tales. Is it really that bad to hold out hope that I’ll find a guy who sweeps me off my feet? A man I can reform because hewants me badly enough to change his fuck-boy ways? And who doesn’t want a bad boy who’s only good for them? It’s not really that outrageous.”
This triggers the typical Mona rant about how I have no business being in the business of changing people, and I tune her out as I walk up the three flights of stairs to the apartment. My roommate—sorry, my brother’s roommate—left before me for a date of his own.
“Oh, yes, Decker, right there! Don’t… don’t stooooop!” a woman screams from behind his closed door.
“What the fuck was that?” Mona’s voice cuts into my thoughts as I imagine what Decker Thomas is doing in his room. “Are you watching porn? Are you really that horny?”
Closing my eyes, I clench my thighs together. There was hope—a small one, but one nonetheless—that I might be the one crying out in pleasure if one of my dates had gone well. But I’m clearly not the one getting laid tonight.
“Nope, Decker beat me home,” I say and head to my room.
The headboard bangs against the wall with a rhythm that almost makes me moan in pure jealousy. It’s gotten so bad that I’ve had to roll up the poster my brother had of Wade Boggs after it fell on me during a particularly aggressive sex session on Decker’s side of the wall. Yet another reminder that I’m not getting laid, and I’m living in my brother’s room.
“Decker, yes!!!”
And the way his date praises him as she comes again only makes me hate her. I don’t even know what she looks like, but I hate her.
“That sexy roommate of yours gets more ass than a porta potty at the county fair,” Mona says, giggling. “You should really take your turn. It’s been too damn long since you got any. Besides, it could be counted as research. Is he really as good as he sounds?I mean, he fits into the fuck-boy category you were just talking about.”
“I have no doubt he’s as good as he sounds. Look, I gotta go. This could go on for a while, and I want to put on my headphones to drown it out since I’m obviously not getting pounded tonight.”
“See you at work.”
I hang up and reach for my headphones but stop midair as another cry of pure bliss cuts through the air. Why does he seem to always find the screamers?
It doesn’t help I’ve had a crush on Decker since I met him when I was twelve. He was sixteen, and I swore he was the hottest guy I’d ever met. Not that I’ll admit this to anyone, but I still feel that way.
If I thought he was good looking back then, I had no idea what I was in for when he grew up. Because he isgorgeousnow.
Big muscles covered in tattoos, black hair that hangs just a bit too long, and bright green eyes. He has just the right amount of stubble on his chiseled jaw that I imagine would tickle—but he doesn’t look grungy or homeless.
There’s no modesty when it comes to Decker. I have to remind myself not to pant when he walks out of the bathroom wearing only a towel. To not say out loud that I hope the washing machine breaks so I can do laundry on his abs. Damn, he’s hot.
Stripping out of my dress—which I should have known was too sexy for a man named Bill—I pull on an oversized shirt and slip into my bed. Decker’s still at it with his lady, who’s had at least three orgasms since I’ve been home, and I can’t take it.
“At least they can’t hear me,” I mumble as I reach into the bedside drawer and find my vibrator. The only action I’ve seen in months. Too many months. I’m in one hell of a dry spell, that’s for sure.
I close my eyes and imagine it’s me crying out as Decker takes me on his bed. The headboard banging against the wall brings me into the scene, and I visualize his hands on me. What they would feel like tugging on my sensitive nipples.
From what I hear most nights, Decker knows what to do with all parts of his body, and I’d give just about anything to experience it firsthand.
I place the vibrator between my legs, ready and in the scene, and I turn it on.
Nothing.
I push the button again.
Nothing.
Damn it. The batteries must be dead. That’s just my luck, but I have no one to blame but myself. I haven’t done the logical thing and buy a toy that recharges with a cord, and I’m not sure I can risk seeing the woman getting the sex I crave by going to get fresh batteries from the hall closet.
Groaning, I consider using my fingers, but it just isn’t the same. Instead, I grab my headphones, put them on, and scroll on my phone before turning in for the evening.
At least Decker’s considerate enough to end his dates before midnight. I don’t know if I could handle it if I was kept awake into the early hours by his conquests.
