Page 57 of The Brickwall and the Bombshell

“Do you have a dress for the charity event?” I ask, trying to think of something non-sexual to discuss while I will away my hard cock.

She shakes her head in a non-committal way. “I have a couple of options I can grab from my apartment, but I’m planning on going with Sophie tomorrow after work to shop for something new.”

The image of Greer trying on dresses does nothing for my cock, but I do enjoy picturing her in silky fabric and nothing underneath. “I’d love to see you in something green.”

“Is that a request?” she asks, her voice husky with insinuation.

“If I’m allowed to make a request, then yes,” I graze the shell of her ear with my nose. “I think green would look gorgeous on you.”

Greer hums and it fuels my building inferno.

“Tell me about your last relationship,” I mutter, my lips grazing her ear.

I can’t guarantee that talking about Greer with another man will deflate my cock, but it will definitely distract me from the feel of her soft skin against my hardness.

“Not much to tell,” Greer says, relaxing against me and running her hands through the warm water. “His name is Miles Christiansen and he’s a doctor. He’s from Birmingham, but also has a practice in New Orleans, and he has a house out of town near Lake Pontchartrain. I met him at a convention I was doing a piece on and thought he was such a catch. On paper, he checked all the boxes, but once we started having sex, a switch flipped. Everything became about him and he only used me for booty calls.” She barks out a harsh laugh, shaking her head. “It took me a while to kick him to the curb, but I eventually told him to fuck off and blocked his number.”

I love that she’s a take-no-bullshit kind of person, but I hate that someone would even consider taking advantage of her.

“What a fucking dipshit.”

She laughs and it sounds more like herself—confident and sassy. “Sophie and I have a long list of names for him and that’s definitely on there somewhere, along with Douchnozzle, Narcissistic Asshole, Arrogant Bastard, and my personal favorite, Cockwaffle.”

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I chuckle. “Remind me to never cross you and Sophie.”

“We’re a force to be reckoned with, that’s for sure.”

“I’m glad you have her.”

Sighing, she snuggles against my chest. “I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

We both go quiet again, the only sound is an occasional drip from the faucet and Greer’s hand skimming the water. It’s soothing and almost has me lulled into a semi-sedated state when she asks, “I know you’ve said you only have one-night stands, but has there ever been anyone you’ve considered a girlfriend?”

My memories go back to college, and the naïve kid I was back then. “There was once,” I admit. “A long time ago.”

“What happened?” she asks.

“We started dating my senior year of college and she moved with me to my first minor league assignment, but that’s a crazy life and you don’t know from month-to-month, or even week-to-week, where you’ll be. I was trying to make the bigs and had a pretty singular focus. Looking back, it was just as much my fault as it was hers.”

Greer hums. “She couldn’t stand sharing you with your passion.”

It’s not a question, but a statement. And it’s true.

“I could’ve been more attentive, but I was young and ambitious and hungry.”

I was so fucking hungry—for success, recognition, making a name for myself. All I could think about was never going back to where I came from and providing for, not only myself, but my mom. I made her a promise that I would take care of her and I couldn’t go back on my word.

I could never become my dad.

Not only was he an alcoholic, but he was also an abusive asshole who never kept his word. Always promising to be better, but never following through.

If nothing else, I was going to have some fucking follow-through.

“I think it’s admirable,” Greer says solemnly. “Anyone that can come from nothing and make something of themselves deserves all the respect. It’s one thing to be like me, and have all the opportunities given to you. People expect me to succeed. I’m a Bradley-Hawthorne. I come from two very affluent families. But I think people who are raised with less have less expected of them. So, when I see someone like you, I’m inspired to be better.”

Well, fuck.

My throat tightens and I have to blink a few times to keep the moisture in my eyes at bay.

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