Because I didn’t mislead women. I didn’t lie to them to get them into bed or afterward. I was straight with her, just like I was with every woman I’d ever been involved with, howevercasually.
You and me, darlin’, we’re not goin’ down thatroad.
I’d meant it when I saidit.
At least, I sure fucking thought Idid.
But the truth was I wasn’t done with her. I knew that about two seconds after she walked out of that lodge, and in the days and weeks and months that followed, when I couldn’t stop thinking abouther.
Wondering abouther.
I wanted to fuck her again.Obviously.
I’d always wanted to fuckher.
But I was not sure where this road went, and that made me incredibly fucking uncomfortable. With her, I’d never beensure.
And I wasn’t sure I liked that feeling. Atall.
Fact was, Ihadalways dated women who made me feelpowerful.
And never had a woman brought me to my fucking knees the way shedid.
* * *
Iwasnineteen when I mether.
In myapartment.
I’d just walked in the door, and the Doors were playing over Brody’s stereo. “Love Her Madly.” She was lying sprawled on my bed in the living room, her legs tossed up against the wall, her too-small plaid skirt up around her hips, and I could pretty much see her pussy, covered only by a thin strip of baby-blue lacepanties.
Wasn’t exactly an unusual scenario to walk into in this apartment, which I shared with Jesse, Brody andZane.
She was looking at a copy of Zane’sPenthouse, so I couldn’t see herface.
“Wrong bed, darlin’,” I toldher.
It was a one-bedroom apartment and I shared the living room with Zane, mainly because I was the only one who could handle sleeping a few feet from Zane. Though I didn’t love it when his sexual conquests spilled over onto myfuton.
Which they did,regularly.
She lowered the magazine. Pretty. Little upturned nose, black hair in two long pig tails and a thick fringe of bangs over jade-green eyes with too much black eyeliner. And she was sucking on alollipop.
“Who are you?” she said, looking me over, slowly, from head-to-toe and right back up again. She made absolutely no move to adjust her skirt or cover her barely-lace-coveredpussy.
“Jude!” Jessa came out of the bathroom, surprising me. She was all bedazzled in a sparkly pink tank top and jeans—both way too tight. The girl had a generous rack since she was about twelve, and Jesse would’ve flipped if he saw her in that shirt. “Hi!” She gave me a hug and I hugged herback.
“Hey, bratface,” I greeted her. “Where’s yourbrother?”
“Don’t know. We’re going shopping.” She motioned for the other girl to get the hell up, at which point it dawned on me that the chick spread out on my bed was not some random piece one of the guys had dragged home, but a friend of Jessa’s—Jesse’s fifteen-year-oldsister.
A high schoolgirl?
I watched the girl ditch thePenthouseand get up, smoothing her pig tails, her black-rimmed eyes on me the entire time, even as I noted the definite smell of booze Jessa had tried to hide with perfume and mouthwash. Was no secret to me that Jessa often swung by her brother’s apartment when he wasn’t home because four men shared it and there was always booze to befound.
“Shopping,” I said as I watched them pull on their shoes. “At eight o’clock on aWednesday?”
“The mall’s open for another hour,” Jessa said, grabbing her friend by the elbow and yanking her past me, out thedoor.
