Page 35 of The Little Black Book

Bitch, Please

Zoey

I’ve been thinking about Sam since I woke up this morning. At work, I fumbled and dropped two cups of coffee, and I gave customers the wrong pastries more times than I can count. I ended up leaving an hour early, telling Zeke I didn’t feel well, and now I’m lying in my bed, staring at the ceiling and thinking of…

Sam.

“Fuck,” I mutter, rolling over to lay on my side and stare at a blank wall.

We were having a good time––the wayfriendsdo––until he accidentally brushed his hand against my boob while going for the popcorn. The act itself was really no big deal. Accidents happen, and it should’ve been no different than if Ava or Sophie touched my boob.

But my reaction was no fucking accident. My nipple hardened instantly, and a shock of electricity zipped straight to my core, making it clench with need. My heart pounded against my ribs, and it took everything I had inside me to keep my breathing light and even.

That simple touch that meant absolutely nothing had me aching for more. I wanted to pull his hand back to my breast before shoving it down between my legs. And that thought led to others, like what it would feel like to have his mouth there, his tongue lashing against my clit as his fingers pumped inside me.

The whole thing is so fucked up, but I can’t seem to make the imaginings stop.

Why am I suddenly so attracted to a man that I’ve only ever seen as a friend? A man who only sees me that way?

I know it’s a fool’s errand, dreaming of a reality where he and I are a couple. If Sam were attracted to me that way, he surely would have asked me out, rather than asking me to be his wing-woman, right?

Besides, I wasn’t lying when I told him it has been months since I’ve been touched. I’m obviously in need of a hot, dirty night of sex, and my brain is focusing on Sam because we’ve been spending so much time together.

That’s all it is.

And the sooner I get him hooked up with someone else, the sooner I can focus on my own needs and find someone for myself. With that in mind, I roll over and grab my phone from the night stand. Pulling up Sam’s number, I shoot him a quick text.

Me:Have you set up another date, yet?

His response is almost immediate.

Sam:I’ve been chatting with a woman who works as a cocktail waitress at the casino. We had drinks one night a few weeks ago, and she seems interested in hanging out with me again. Are you free Wednesday night? We work the same shift and discussed having a drink after.

Me:Wednesday works for me. What time and where?

Sam:Ten p.m. at the round bar on the second floor of The Black Hart.

Me:Sounds good. I’ll be there.

Sam:Hey, are you okay?

Me:Of course. Why do you ask?

Sam:I don’t know. You just seem…off.

Me:I’m good. Just a little tired.

Sam:Okay, well, get some rest.

Me:I will. Talk to you later.

Sam:Bye. *smiley face emoji*

I dig my fingertips into my forehead and groan. I don’t know how much longer I can do this. Despite my earlier surety that finding Sam a girlfriend would extinguish the desire building inside me, I can’t deny the idea of watching him on yet another date is making me feel physically ill. But I promised him I would help him find love, so I must continue the course.

I sit up and take a deep breath. Just because I’m helping Sam doesn’t mean I can’t help myself, too. Pulling up my group chat with Sophie and Ava, I type out a message, gnawing my lower lip as my thumb hovers over the send icon. Taking a deep breath, I tap it with a little more force than necessary.

Me:Hey, Soph. You still want to introduce me to that whale with the chin dimple?

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