Page 34 of Two of a Kind
She scrambled up off the couch and picked up the receiver. “Dax?”
“Kayla, where are you, babe?”
“I’m at home. I’m sorry, Dax, I should have called. I’m not feeling well.”
“You’re sick?”
“Not really, just a stressful day and a killer headache.”
In the background, she could hear country music blaring from the jukebox, the muted din of conversations, and theclinkof bottles. Normally, she equated those sounds with a good time, but not tonight.
The thought of hanging out, engaging in the obligatory pre-hookup conversation, and pretending to give a shit was not appealing. Surprisingly enough, neither was the guarantee of sex.
Dax was always good for at least one decent orgasm, even if she did have to do most of the work herself.
“A headache, huh? I can come over to your place. I have just the thing.”
Kayla closed her eyes and shook her head for several seconds before realizing Dax couldn’t see her. “Not tonight, Dax, okay?”
“You sure? I used to date this chick who was all into Tantric sex. She said it was great for relieving stress and shit.”
“I’m sure. I’m just going to veg tonight.”
“All right. Hey, I got kinda worked up for tonight, you know what I’m saying? Do you mind if I ...?” Dax let the question hang, but she knew what he was asking.
“Sure, Dax. Knock yourself out.”
“Thanks, Kayla. We’ll catch up next time, yeah?”
“Yeah, sure.”
Kayla hung up and sighed. What the hell was she doing? Giving up a night of grunting, sweaty sex with one of the best built guys in town?
Yeah, she was, she thought, slumping into the couch. Because that was exactly what the night would entail—grunting, sweaty sex. No finesse. No worthwhile foreplay. No teasing give-and-take. Dax might have an incredible body she liked to occasionally climb like a monkey and some impressive equipment, but that was all he had. His skills were rudimentary at best, and more often than not, it was up to her to chase down her O. That no longer seemed enough.
Because Dax was not Spencer Dumas.
Kayla grabbed a throw pillow and screamed into it. She had to snap out of this. Spencer Dumas didnothave a magical unicorn dick. What had happened at Sate was a one-time thing. He was never going to call, never going to show up on her doorstep. He didn’t even know her name. And he wasengaged, for fuck’s sake.
The doorbell rang, interrupting the stern lecture she was giving herself.
“What the hell?” she moaned. Couldn’t everyone just leave her alone to wallow in her own self-pity for a while?
The doorbell rang again. She ignored it.
Then the banging started.
Now beyond cranky, Kayla got up and stomped over to the door with the giant spoon in her hand, dripping with melted ice cream. Whoever was on the other side was going to get a verbal reaming and an oversized utensil shoved up their ass.
She flung open the door and promptly forgot all that.
Because Spencer Dumas was on her doorstep.
