Page 67 of Unwrapped

“Fall, baby. It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

And I do. But this time my heart trips and I keep moving. Leaving it vulnerable and hoping by his feet. When it’s over. He finds another throw blanket and pulls it over us. Laying his head across my naked breasts, he pressed an ear to my pounding heartbeat. When I can move, my fingers lazily move through the back of his thick hair. “Who knew we’d be doing this? I really despised you on sight.”

“I hated you more.”

“Why?”

“You reminded me of my ex. She was…a lot of work.”

Jealousy wakes up and instantly is on alert. “How recent an ex?”

“Ten days or so?”

“What?!” I try to sit but his thick forearm holds me down.

“It was over for months before that. I just didn’t care enough to say it.”

“You just strung her along? You are a jerk.”

“It’s not like I ever loved her. And I hadn’t touched her in weeks. She just didn’t drive me crazy the way you do.”

“I’m so flattered.”

“You should be.”

Rolling my eyes, I roll to my side. Face to face…I trace a finger over his cheek, through the beard he’s been growing since I first saw him almost a week ago.

“Have you ever been in love?”

“No. You?”

“I’ve tried. Several times. But I always choose the wrong men.” We lay in silence for a bit before I raise my eyes to his. “Where do you live?”

“Chicago.”

I wince. That’s far from California. But I can’t think like that. Neither of us promised anything beyond tomorrow.

“How does a schoolteacher afford the new Luis Vuitton luggage?”

Sighing, my hands still. “My mother left me a hefty inheritance.”

His eyebrows raise.

“But don’t let that fool you. I was often forgotten. Neglected in the sense she just didn’t care. She had more important things to do like chase fame. My mother…she was Lexi Whitmore.”

“No shit? I think Rog had her posters up all over the old clubhouse.”

I cringe. “Great. I use her maiden name. It was too much being her daughter sometimes. I used to get teased…asked if I gave head as good as she did when I was in high school. My mother slept with a lot of producers. I went to school with their sons.”

“So, do you?” He teases, rolls to his side, supporting his head by his elbow.

“Shut up.”

“I’m hard as fuck for you. Have been for days.”

“And here I thought we were sharing childhood traumas.”

“We were. But that’s the past. The present is much more promising.” He takes unzips his fly, taking himself out. A pearly white drop glistens on his thick tip.

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