Okay. I didn’t expect sullen and surly Faust Darling to be so smooth on the comebacks, but that last name really seems to fit him, the more I get to know him.
But how well do you actually know him, Neve? And why was he okay with his friend’s fingers doing all the work he should have done?I can’t deny it was both of them that got me there; the feel of Faust at my back heightenedeverything.
I roll over on my side and yank my covers over my head. In the cocoon inside my canopy, I send something I’m sure I’ll regret.
So would I.
I bite the inside of my cheek and see he’s typing immediately, but then he stops, and I get antsy.
I close my eyes tight one second, willing sleep to come.
But of course it doesn’t.
Because I’m obsessing over what Faust might say next. Like a fool.
33
I could come get you tonight.
Absolutely not. No.
You have a game tomorrow.
33
And?
No, no,no.
Before I can truly talk myself out of it, he double texts.
33
I want to cook for you again. Let me pick you up after our game tomorrow night and you can stay over. You know… so we can sleep?
If you just want to fuck me, you can say that.
I keep it light, and I mean it, don’t I? I don’t care if he wants me as some kind of dirty little secret. But then again, he’s offering to cook for me after he plays a game, and considering this seems to be his future career, I think that means something, doesn’t it? Although since when did I become the girl who wantsa meal tomean something?In this moment, I disgust myself. I’m supposed to be the hot, single therapist who fixes women’s marriages by telling them to leave their fuck boy husbands and popping them with a Jungian quote to justify it. Not the love sick puppy pining after a fucking hockey player.
33
I will. In person. I’ll take you out tomorrow night. Not to a club. Not to a bar. We’re going for dinner. Brighton is five minutes away.
The team he’s playing. Not that I’ve memorized it.
I don’t reply.
I do better with casual sex. And I can’t remember the last thing I ate. Just thinking about it, my stomach growls.
33
That wasn’t a question.
Fuck me. But instead of being a brat back, I try a different tactic.
You don’t owe me anything. After tonight. You know that, don’t you?
He doesn’t have to be a gentleman. Buy me a meal for letting him get hard behind me. I didn’t get him off, and he didn’t even touch me, really.
