“Sure, I’ll take care of it. But I can't stay to visit. I have work at noon.” It’s a partial truth and a hell of a lot easier than the alternative where I simply tell her I don'twantto stay long. One of these days, I swear I’ll draw the line and push her to do more for herself. She doesn’t really care what Ihaveto do, let alone what Iwant, or don'twant to do. I have to work, but not until late afternoon.
“Whatever you say Arabella. I know you have better things to do than hang out with your dear old mother. I wish I didn’t have to rely on you so much, but you’re such a help to me. I couldn’t get through any of this without your help.” Classic Christine guilt trip. It’s subtle, but it’s there. I could say something and hope she listens, but she's not capable of listening and I'm not all that capable of speaking up.
“I’ll see you in the morning, Mom. Love you, goodnight.” I quickly end the call and plop onto my pillow as a couple rogue tears fall down my cheek. An hour later, sleep finally takes me.
11
Arabella
Another week of non-stop work, errands and taking care of mom goes by. It's finally Saturday night and I sigh a breath of relief that I've managed to get through it all. After our failed date, Brad continued to text, asking for a redo so I reluctantly decided to give him another shot, seeing as our date was ruined by Ryker’s alpha bullshit.
He should be here any minute. He wanted to bring dinner, but I eventually twisted his arm into going out, because staying in is a little too close for comfort for me. Guys start hanging out in your home and they start thinking they own you and can do whatever they want. Hopefully, he’s not expecting an outfit similar to last weekend, because it’s nowhere near what I would normally wear. I feel much more comfortable when the fabric isn’t digging into every curve and crevice. This time, I chose my favorite pair of skinny jeans and a loose off the shoulder sweater - tank top combo. The added comfort I feel only helps boost my confidence. A fluttering sensation skips through my belly, because I need to get laid–like yesterday. We don’t know eachother all that well, so his texts have been respectful and sweet. I wonder if things would be different if he knew I’m a sure thing. At this point, he would have to royally fuck up for me to say no.
I’m frustratingly desperate after attempting multiple times, unsuccessfully, to get myself off this last week and I can’t figure out what’s wrong with me. My fingers never get the job done on their own, but my plug-inmassagerhas never let me down.
Until recently.
But that may actually be my fault.
I tried not to think about him. I really did. But every time I closed my eyes, I kept seeing those ocean blues of his and imagining him bossing me around until I came. I put a stop to that shit real quick and ended up having an entire conversation with my vagina.
No, bitch. You will not think of that sexy ass man right now. Ryker Hart is off limits.
I did it wrong and that bitch went on strike.
It’s annoying and I’m pretty sure I broke my poor vibrator when I tossed him across the room last night. Have you ever been so close to what feels like the best orgasm of your life, and you can’t cross the finish line? I hope you never have to experience that cruel torture. Now, I’m a keyed-up mess and will literally hop on the next cock I see if I don’t come very soon.
A loud knock at the door pulls me from my frustrated thoughts, causing me to jump and I double check the peephole to see Brad’s face. “Hey. Come in. I just need to put my shoes on and we can go.”
Brad tried to convince me to stay in with him, with ploys to watch a movie andcuddle. I’m all for cuddle fucking, but as I said before, I never do it in my own apartment, so I obviously declined. Cuddling inevitably leads to feelings and I don’t do those. I require a hotel room, because I’m classy like that.
It takes too long to get to the restaurant, and my gut twists at the uncomfortable silence that has taken hold between us. Small talk is hard for me, because I don’t really want to get to know him. Dinner is just my way of ensuring he’s not a total sociopath before I get into bed with him. My thoughts linger on the hope that he’s not a dud, like the last one.
When we pull up to the new Italian restaurant across town, a smile forms because I’ve been wanting to try this place for a while and never had a reason. Points scored for Brad. The car comes to a halt and he cheerfully hops out, practically skipping over to open my door. How chivalrous. Ease up buddy, you’ll get your dessert, but not until you eat your dinner.
“Thanks,” I smile lightly at him. He’s taller than me, but that’s not hard to do when you’re five foot three. He has a slightly stocky frame and I can’t help but wonder what his body would feel like pressing down on mine.Patience, slut.I internally chastise myself.
“Pleasure is all mine.” I bet it is.
Once we’re inside, we’re directed to our table in the far back of the dining room. It’s secluded. Romantic, and I blow out a slow breath. I’m going to need to sneak in some convo aboutnot wanting anything seriousandnot looking for commitment, just in case this goes the wrong way. Clingy men are a major turn off.Please let me be wrong. Please don’t be clingy.
“Can I get you both something to drink?” the waiter asks.
“We’ll both have a glass of red,” Brad answers for both of us and I groan internally at his blatant disregard for my preference.Do I love red wine? No. Will I drink it? Absolutely. But he sure as fuck just lost that good boy point he earned by bringing me here.
“I… don’t love red wine.”
He shoots a quicktskin my direction, like my opinion doesn’t matter. “Red pairs better with Italian food. You’ll see.” I open my mouth to tellhimwhathe’sabout to seebut think better of it. Now is not the time. Instead, I inhale a slow, measured breath and toss my arms across my chest before I say something I’ll regret.
“How did you like Gravity?” he questions.
Where’s that wine?I think back to the time I spent inside the Gravity, biting my lip as I recall the feral look on Ryker’s face as he pulled me into that booth and practically forced water down my throat. “It was fine,” I lie. “I can’t believe how many people I walked past that were either half naked or all the way naked. It’s pretty cool how comfortable everyone seemed, literally putting everything out there for anyone to see.”
He regards me for a brief moment and I’m unsure if he’s waiting for me to say more. As he finally starts to speak, our wine arrives.Thank god.Brad lifts his glass, tipping it in my direction, “Cheers.”
For wine, I’ll admit it’s not that bad.
We order our food and the conversation flows fairly well as I attempt to not send the wrong signals. “This is fun,” I admit. “Thank you.”
