Page 5 of Until We Meet Again

I'd do prison time for a night with Dean Winchester.

"Okay, I'm ready to hear every last dirty detail." I spin in my seat to face Jen and take the glass of wine she's holding, bringing it to my lips.

"I've been dying to get home all day to talk about this with you." Her big brown eyes glimmer, and an enormous grin lights up her face.

"So, how are you feeling?"

"The same, only hornier." Jen sinks deeper into the couch and gets lost in her own little world, reliving everything that went down last night.

She doesn't hold back, and the details of the night she and Harry spent together are painted vividly through her words—from how he touched her to the things he whispered in her earand the ease with which he made her feel both before and after they slept together.

I probably didn't need to know Harry came on her face, but Jen has no filter.

I feel envy whirling in my stomach. Not because she got cum in her eye, which is admittedly not high on my list of fantasies, but still just above being peed on.

It's because I might've missed out on something amazing with a guy by waiting for a feeling that I may never experience. Because what if that feeling never comes? What if that spark I'm waiting for only exists in books written by women?

"Can I ask you a question?"

My phone vibrates on the coffee table, but I ignore it as I take another sip of wine.

"Sure."

"Are you glad you waited?"

"Yes and no."

"Care to elaborate?"

"I held out for the right reasons. I wanted to be in love, and I wanted it to feel right. And it finally did. But now I've lost out on six months of orgasms." Just as I'm about to reply, my phone buzzes again. "You're popular tonight," she says, playfully raising her eyebrows and pointing toward my glowing phone. "You been making new friends?"

"Something like that." As I tuck my legs underneath me, a smile begins to form on my lips, and I can't stop it.

"It's a guy, right? I can see it all over your face."

"I'll tell you if you promise not to laugh."

"I swear, this is a no-judgment zone." She sets her drink on the table, shifts toward me, and casually crosses her long, slender legs.

"So, I had a message from this guy on that app, and we started talking last night." Her eyes widen like saucers as she waits forme to continue. "He's older, but he's hot. Like, really fucking hot."

I assumed you were a good girl, and then you called me sir. I guess we were both wrong.

I must have read that message a million times. The whole "good girl" concept is something I've only ever encountered in a book, but it hit me in a way I didn't see coming.

"How much older?"

"He's thirty-three."

"Holy shit! He could be your dad if he were a few years older."

Terrible timing to sip my drink, as I almost choke on it, and I swear a little bit flies out of me. "My dad is fifty, so let's never say that again."

"I'm sorry," she says, taking a deep breath to hold back her laughter, "but I need you to show me what he looks like."

I pick up my phone, unlock the screen, and look at the two new messages from him.

Z: Considering you left me on read, I guess I was right, and you really aren't a good girl.

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