Page 4 of The Boyfriend Effect (Frisky Business 1)
She nods.
I tell her about how Samantha pushed me from her bed, then banished me from her apartment when I was only in my boxers. I tell her about the neighbors who watched from their windows. The kids in their pajamas pointing and laughing.
But if I was expecting any sympathy from Maren, that’s the last thing I get.
She chuckles into her fist, her eyes dancing on mine. “I swear, Hayes, you have the worst luck with women I’ve ever seen.”
You can say that again. “Believe me, I know.”
She shakes her head. “One of these days, I’m going to take you under my wing and teach you how to be a proper boyfriend.”
A deep laugh falls from my lips. “Any place, anytime. But first, why don’t you tell me why you’re skipping work today and lying to your brother?”
Her gaze drops to the floor. “I had a little accident.”
My heart thuds once. “A car accident?”
Still avoiding my eyes, she shakes her head. “A waxing accident.”
Narrowing my eyes, I say, “A what now?”
She lets out a nervous laugh, and her pretty cheeks blush again. She touches one with her hand. “I wanted to save some money. So instead of going to the waxing salon like I usually do for my bikini wax . . . I bought one of those at-home kits. But I think the wax was too hot.”
Fuck. Me. If I thought my morning started out rough, it’s nothing compared to the agony of having to sit here and face this gorgeous girl telling me she burned her pussy with hot wax.
“Shit. Are you okay?” I ask, barely managing to get the words out.
She chews on her lush lower lip. “I’ll be fine. I’m just a little sore. And don’t you dare breathe a word of this to my brother.”
I hold up both hands. “Believe me, I don’t go around talking about your vagina with your brother, and I have no plans on starting anytime soon.”
This gets a grin out of Maren. “It’s mortifying enough that you know.”
I nod in agreement. Because now I’m picturing Maren’s smooth, bare pussy, and definitely feeling a little homicidal over the idea that she did this for some undeserving guy.
“You don’t have to be embarrassed around me,” I say, opening up my arms to her. “Come here.”
Maren moves nearer on the couch, sighing as she leans in close enough to rest her head on my chest. My heart thumps out an uneven rhythm as her scent—vanilla and fragrant shampoo—surrounds me.
Her trust in me is like a silent punishment, something I have to endure, because being near Maren isn’t easy for me. A thousand pornographic thoughts I won’t let myself entertain come at me from every angle. Shutting them down is like a full-time job, one I’m very good at.
When I release Maren from the hug, she sits up, and I raise one eyebrow.
“Want me to take a look?” I ask, mostly kidding.
“Are you insane?” She gapes at me. “No!”
I shrug. “Trust me, this isn’t easy for me either. I just . . . what if you have third-degree burns or something. You might need medical treatment.”
Her gaze darts away from mine again. “It’s not that bad. Just a little pink. And tender.”
I lick my lips. Hearing Maren use words like pink and tender to describe her pussy is actual torture.
Want me to kiss it and make it better?
I clench my jaw and fight for control. Years of pent-up sexual frustration churn in my gut.
“You want to talk about your latest breakup?” she asks, probably desperate to change the subject, and I know I am. “About . . . Samantha?” Maren says the name like a question, like she isn’t sure of herself.
I sigh and lean back on her couch. “Not really. What’s the point?”
She shakes her head and lets out a small sigh. “You go through women faster than I go through underwear.”
I lick my lips. “Well, not anymore I don’t. I’m done.”
She gives me a dubious look, like she can’t quite believe the words coming out of my mouth. To my group of friends, I have a reputation as a Casanova. Not a player, exactly, more of a serial monogamist, bouncing from one girl to the next. But that needs to change.
“I need a break. No more relationships. No more women.”
As I say the words, I know they’re true. I do need a break from women. If I can’t focus on a relationship, I shouldn’t be dating anyone. It’s as simple as that.
Maren’s posture straightens as though I have her full attention. “For how long?”
“As long as it takes.”2* * *MARENI’ve never felt about Hayes Ellison the way I should have. Maybe it’s because I’ve had a front-row seat to his revolving bedroom door.
That’s not to say he’s a manwhore, more like a serial monogamist, constantly dating someone new. Hayes is a romantic at heart, falling hard and fast, but most of his relationships seem to fizzle out after just a couple of weeks.
