Page 15 of Unbreakable
Switching her cigarette to her left hand, she straightened and met my hand in a very business-like handshake. “Jeanine.”
“I love the way you sing, Jeanine.”
“Thank you very much, Dylan. I like the way you talk.”
I saton a stool at the balcony over the bar. All the other chairs were flipped on top of the tables, something I’d been helping with. Was it my job to help Jeanine close the bar? No. But I wanted to spend time with her, and that was an easy enough method. After teasing me about wanting to steal her cash tips, she dismissed me to flip the chairs upstairs.
“I’ll close up, Jorge,” she called out to her coworker before she appeared at the top of the steps. She turned to me with a smirk, slowly strutting my way. “Thanks for helping out, Dylan.”
“It’s no problem. Wanna go for an after-hours drink somewhere?” I offered.
She stepped between my legs, putting her hands on top of my thighs. Her face drew closer to mine. “Is that really what you want?” she hummed.
I swallowed hard, clamping my jaw. “No.”
“Didn’t think so,” she said, and I could read the subtext. Her hands clasped around my neck and our lips connected. My hands reunited with the divots of her waist that tempted me since I laid eyes on her. She tasted like the Fireball shot she’d tossed back with the bartender at the end of their shift. I pulled her closer, and she tried to straddle me. The stool was sturdy but not sturdy enough for two people, wobbling as we toppled into the brick wall behind me. I caught her under the thighs just as the stool slid out from under us, her moans deepening as I held her up.
I leaned against the wall behind me and she locked her legs around me, grinding away. She extended a hand beside my head, using the wall for leverage.
“Fuck, Jeanine,” I whispered against her lips.
“Yes, let’s do that,” she laughed, a low, throaty sound. “Back to your place?”
SEVEN
JEANINE
THEN
I wokeup in a very nice yet sparsely furnished apartment. My head rested on a decently hairy chest, but not just hairy. There was some serious lean muscle under there.
I looked up past his gold chain to his stubbled chin, putting the groggy pieces together. I didn’t drink much, but I felt tired like I had. I sucked in my stomach and I was sore like I’d just done a hundred sit-ups. Speaking of abs, an extremely carved set of abs disappeared under the sheets, which were tented by his erection.
Homecoming king.
Shit, what was his real name? A memory of that chain swinging in my face, his lips hanging beside my ear.
“You like that, Jeanine?”
I did a quick kegel to assess the state of my pelvic floor, noting the beard burn between my thighs.
Dylan.
That’s right. Dylan’s face was lodged between my thighs for a good twenty minutes, not stopping until I came twice. The man was a machine.
And he seemed like a genuinely sweet guy. He played along with my dramatic performance like a champ. He held me so tenderly, and he had such a raw vulnerability in his eyes when I was singing to him. The song is meant to be somewhat funny—it was over the top on purpose and it was just karaoke, after all. But I think he both got the joke and took me seriously at the same time, which wasn’t something I was used to. After all, being a dancer/actor/singer by day and a server by night was so much of a cliché in Los Angeles that I was basically a caricature.
But Dylan took me seriously.
So when he popped outside to bring back my hair clip and was willing to gag on a cigarette just to talk to me, the cynical part of me softened.
I sat up on my elbow, noting a sports bag that I recognized. My brother and his best friend Andy had played hockey for a while. Once I could drive, it was sometimes my responsibility to shuttle their stinky asses to practice. Ugh, I was in a hockey player’s house.
Then I caught the logo stitched on the bag.L.A. Princes.
Holy shit, I fucked an NHLer. Not just fucked: I sat on his face, gobbled his dick, and judging by the ache in my low back took it pretty hard in doggy. I rolled off my side and onto my back, away from this hockey boy who railed me in every position imaginable. Tiny fingerprint bruises dotted my boobs, looking like when a kid draws a sun with rays poking out. In this case, my nipples were the sun.
I reached for my phone on the nightstand, which was plugged in. Nice work, busy-fucking-Jeanine. But in addition to my iPhone plug, there were two other types of plugs available.
