Page 17 of Use Me
“Go check out the TV in the break room, and if you come back and tell me you don’t want to hit that, then I’ll drop it.”
I didn’t need to go to the break room. I knew I wanted to get with Ashtyn. I was still thinking about her soft lips and how I wanted to feel them on more than just my lips. “Nah, man. I just need to find someone else to warm my bed. Tomorrow night. Judy’s.” I motioned between him and me. “We’re gonna get laid.”
Since my breakup with Bridgette, I’d turned my condo back into a bachelor pad. There were no more flowers or fringy shit in sight in my entire place, and I bought new sheets, new pillows and a new comforter for my bed. I didn’t buy a new mattress. Instead, I vacuumed the shit out of it and hoped that worked. I also had my TV only on ESPN because if I had to see one more yelling match between middle-aged women who were supposed to be rich and classy, I’d lose my ever-loving mind.
As I got ready to head out with the guys, a memory of mine and Bridgette’s one year anniversary entered my mind.
“Damn,” I whistled. “Baby, that dress. God, that dress.”
“You like?” Bridgette twirled around, and my eyes instantly went to her ass that was covered by a short—very short—red dress.
“Yeah, I do, but so will all the other guys in this town.” I couldn’t move as I continued to stare. I knew what she looked like naked, but this dress was something else. It hugged every curve of her body.
“I don’t care. I’m with you, and this is our one year anniversary. I wanted to look nice.”
“I’m not sure I can make it through dinner. Let’s just stay in and order pizza.”
“You promised me a special dinner.”
I’d made reservations at the Signature Room on the ninety-fifth floor of the John Hancock Building. I’d seen pictures of the view from way up there, and I thought it would be perfect. Plus, I could actually afford it now.
She bent to do something. I wasn’t sure what because the moment she did, her skirt exposed her bare pussy. “I think I love you.” I said the words before they registered in my head.
“You love me?”
Did I? I loved seeing her in that dress. I would also love seeing her out of that dress. And I fucking loved pussy, and I had just caught a glimpse of Bridgette’s. But since my mouth had a mind of its own, I went with it.
“Yeah. I love you,” I lied.
“I love you too,” Bridgette squealed.
That night had cost me a pretty penny. I should have known that Bridgette was a gold digger. She’d ordered the lobster and multiple cocktails. When we got back to my place that night, she was too tired to celebrate our anniversary, and therefore, she passed out while I jerked off in the shower.
I chased the memory away with thoughts of Ashtyn. I could still feel her lips on mine. I could remember the way the wine tasted on her tongue, and how she had parted her mouth to let me deepen the kiss despite how our evening went earlier. If I was being honest with myself, I’d been thinking about that kiss for the last week. I wanted more, but again, the ball was in her court. Women needed time and all that shit.
My phone buzzed with a text from Kenny:
I’m here. Let’s go.
I grabbed my keys instead of texting him back, and left to meet him downstairs so we could walk across the street to the bar.
Judy’s was your typical bar where people loved to unwind on a Friday or Saturday night. It had a rustic sports bar feel to it, but they only served alcohol. You couldn’t get food, but you could catch any sports game playing because they had TVs hung throughout that made sure to have something on it. The games were muted while music played, but I didn’t need to hear other broadcasters telling me what I already knew from watching.
The weather was starting to get colder at night, but I didn’t want to carry a jacket while I let loose, and I wanted to let loose. Working long hours was starting to get to me. Journalism wasn’t what it was cracked up to be, but when you had to live and breathe your profession, it became a part of you. I still needed at least one night a week to let off some steam.
“Hey,” I greeted Kenny as I came out of the double doors of my building. He was dressed similarly to me in jeans and a button-down shirt.
“It’s about time. I’m freezing my balls off.”
I laughed. “You could have waited inside the doors, jackass.”
“Whatever. Clark and Jett are meeting us there.”
We started walking, and I glanced up at Ashtyn’s building wondering what floor she was on and if she was home. God, this woman had me all twisted up inside. I definitely needed to get laid tonight.
Whenever I went out drinking with the guys, Kenny parked his car in my guest parking spot because it was easier than finding a place on the street. Plus, nine out of ten times he’d crash on my couch or, if he was going to get laid, he’d go to her place. Clark and Jett lived in the same part of town and usually took an Uber together. Jett was my co-anchor, and Kenny and Clark were our news writers who made sure the stats were correct before Jett and I told all of Chicago. It was cool having friends you worked with. I didn’t have to field questions the entire night about the Blackhawks because they already knew what was up. We could just hang and have a nice night of getting drunk.
We made it the few blocks to Judy’s and then bee-lined it straight for the bar where Jett and Clark were waiting for us. Jett was built like a hockey player because he used to be one. He was one hell of a fighter. He’d go round and round with them, and most of the time helmets would fly off, and his finger-length black hair would flop around. But it was the determination in his blue eyes that most men feared when going toe to toe with him. He’d had plenty of concussions over the years, but the one he got in his last game was enough to give him post-concussion syndrome. He never returned to the ice as a pro.
