Page 57 of Meet Hate Love
I dug my heel into the mattress to push myself up, but I must have underestimated how much that orgasm had loosened my muscles because my foot slipped right off the edge of the bed at the same time that he sat back on his heels and went for his belt buckle.
I watched in horror as my foot connected with his face, knocking him flat on his ass. He clasped a hand to his nose.
“Oh, shit.” I scrambled off the bed. “I’m sorry.”
He pulled his hand away, staring at his blood-covered palm. “I’m starting to believe in your curse.”
* * *
Needless to say,after the busted-nose incident, I did not ride his cock like the Lone Ranger. I did, however, get ice to help with the swelling and grabbed some toilet tissue for him to shove up his nostrils. Then, out of guilt, I let him lay on the bed with me and watched a French version ofThe Simpsonsuntil he dozed off.
Okay, so we were in bed together, the bed I’d had the most incredible orgasm of my life on. No big deal. No big deal at all.
We were adults. Adults could do things like that and then be perfectly normal around each other.
The foreign-sounding wail of an ambulance echoed up from the streets below, reminding me we weren’t in New York. And what in the hell was going to happen when we were back?
Fidgeting with my hands, I stared at the ceiling. I’d crossed the line with Vance, but surely the fact that we were on a different continent gave me some loophole? Kind of like the whole “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas” thing… Amanda reiterating that the company frowned on interoffice relationships played on a loop in my head. Dear Lord. This little tryst had to stay in Paris because Wanderlust had basically just paid me to come all over Vance’s pretty, smirk-riddled face. That had to be a fireable offense.
“You’re screwed, Blake,” I whispered into the dark. Screwed because I felt comfortable around him, and he made me laugh, and honestly, I was struggling to fathom things going back to being strictly professional hate between us. Great, I was evidently batshit crazy like Choke Me Barbie. And he hadn’t even choked me. Yet.
Yet…
I was pretty sure I’d wake up in the morning and choke his dick down like it was a tasty, crème-filled beignet. How could I possibly sit in the office and eat a banana at the conference table around him after that? More importantly, how in the world was I supposed to stop myself from wanting to date him?
Date him?Datehim?
Forty-eight hours, one orgasm, a handful of questions, and I’d gone off the deep end. This was supposed to be myEat, Pray, Lovemoment where I found myself, not where I buried myself deeper into a pile of corn-riddled shit. Because that was exactly what it would turn out to be. A dinosaur-sized poo patty that I could bury myself in.
With my luck, he’d end up coming to a family dinner and falling in love with Grace or maybe even my mother. Hell, based on how much I enjoyed his company, why stop with my mother? He could very well fall in love with Nana. But what I was more afraid of was, what ifIfell in love with him?
Just then, Vance rolled over, threw his arm over my stomach, and proceeded to dry hump my leg—in his sleep—I took a breath.
Don’t make it weird, Blake. Just don’t make it weird…
ChapterSeventeen
VANCE
In order to keep things from being weird, I booked a different hotel.
Morning sunlight spilled across the foot of the bed as I stared at the text message. The text message she’d sent at three in the morning that absolutely made shit weird. Why on God’s half-green Earth would I have expected anything less from Blake Brentley?
I’d given her what appeared to have been a mind-blowing orgasm—I had the scratches and bruisesandblood-crusted nose as verification—and then she’d packed her disastrous suitcase, snuck out, and booked another hotel in the middle of the night?
You realize this makes it extra weird, you weirdo?
You realize it’s not nice to call people names?
Just like it’s not nice to bail on a guy who ate your pussy like it was beef lo mein.
The little dots letting me know she was typing danced across the screen, then stopped for a few seconds before starting again.
First of all, cunnilingus is not an appropriate discussion via text. Secondly, nothing about beef lo mein is sexy.
And before you say it, yes, I realize we have to be at the airport in three hours to catch the flight to Rome.
I had a message halfway typed out, telling her not to be late, when she texted again.
