Page 7 of Use Me
I should do all three.
Before I could do anything—like stop watching—Bridgette screamed. A scream I knew so well. A scream that meant she’d come. The guy thrust some more and then grunted his release.
I started to clap. “And Female Performer of the Year goes to … Bridgette Walters.”
She turned around, scrambling off the rod that was lodged inside her, bringing the sheet up to cover herself. Covering a body that I’d seen naked every day for the past two years. “Rhys,” she gasped. “You’re home early.”
Yes, I was home early. The game I was covering was canceled due to the ice not being suitable for playing conditions. It was a rare situation. We didn’t have all the details, but it had to do with a concert that was held the night before. In my time, I’d only heard of it happening once, and that was a pre-season game in Arizona. After my crew and I went live and told the public that the game would be rescheduled between the Chicago Blackhawks and San Jose Sharks, I went home.
I chuckled and looked over at the dude as he covered his junk withmypillow. “Should I nominate you for Male Performer of the Year?”
“What are you talking about?” Bridgette asked.
“I mean I’ve never seen live porn before,” I chuckled and waved my index finger between the two of them, “but that performance was pretty good. I’m sure you two could win something at the porn awards in Vegas.”
“Porn awards?” she snorted.
“I should go,” the dude said.
“Nah, man. Stay. Eat my food. Use my shower. Hell, you want to take some of my money ‘cause you’ve already taken my girlfriend inmybed?” I was bitter. Maybe I wasn’t fully amused at the situation.
He stared at me, not responding. Did that mean he knew Bridgette had a boyfriend? Did he know this was my condo? Ah, who the fuck cared? She wasn’t my girlfriend any longer.
I turned to leave but then turned back around to say my final goodbye to Bridgette. “Get your shit and get the fuck out. If you’re here when I get back, I’m calling the cops.”
I grabbed my keys from the dining room table where I’d thrown them just moments ago. I’d been a sports anchor and reporter for a local network for eight years. My job was to cover the Blackhawks, and I loved it. Sports were my life growing up, and since I didn’t get a chance to play in the National Hockey League because I was never drafted, I decided I wanted to talk sports for a living. I obtained my journalism degree and made it my passion, mylife. My job was to do pre and postgame shows as well as intermission coverage. It was early in the season, and while I typically wouldn’t be home until the wee hours of the morning, tonight I decided to take my work home and study the stats. However, that wasn’t what I’d checked off on my to-do list.
Find out my girlfriend is a cheating whore– Check.
Realize my mother was right when she told me I needed to keep an extra set of sheets in the hall closet– Check, though I didn’t think she’d meant for this specific reason.
Decide to drink my dinner tonight– Double check.
I walked out of my condo, choosing to forget about work and whores, and walked a few blocks in the rain until I came upon a bar I frequented a few times a week. Bridgette would usually come with me, and we’d party with each of our friends, dance a little by our table if the mood felt right, and drink beers until closing, but tonight would be different.
Tonight I needed more than beer.
I walked into the dry bar, my body instantly warming, and walked straight to the wood bar top. It was slightly early for a Saturday night, so I was able to get a seat at the bar. A seat I wasn’t going to leave until last call.
The bartender caught my eye and walked over to me. “Your usual?”
I smiled. “Not tonight, Tommy. Tonight I need something strong. Let me get a seven and seven on the rocks.”
Tommy nodded slightly then turned to make my drink as I got my phone out of my pocket and started to delete all the pictures of Bridgette and me.Fuck that bitch.After deleting a few, the bartender slid my drink in front of me and I handed him my credit card. “Keep it open.”
He bobbed his head again and then left to help other customers. I returned to my phone deleting picture after picture between sips of my whiskey drink. Then out of nowhere, a hand grasped my arm, startling me.
“This is my boyfriend, sorry.”
I looked up from the hand touching me, and into the green eyes of a woman I recognized: Ashtyn Valor from one of Chicago’s nightly news stations. You couldn’t live in Chicago and have a dick and not know who Ashtyn Valor was. I was certain people watched her nightly news broadcast just to see her in her tight dresses. She was gorgeous. And she was touching me.
Did she say I was her boyfriend?
Her smoky green eyes widened, begging me to play along. “Yeah,” I agreed as I stood and draped my arm over her slender shoulder.
The mystery man blinked and stared at my arm for a few moments and then back to Ashtyn. “You’re dating Rhys Cole?” He asked the question as though he couldn’t believe that two news people would be dating. “Really?”
Ashtyn looked up at me and smiled. “Really.”
