Page 52 of Dare to be Different

I find out when I pull open the front door and see a woman I—well, we—used to hook up with. Unease is my first reaction. Because this is Zahn giving me the green light to hook up without him, and while I knew that’d be the case, I’m not prepared for how it’s making my stomach twist up.

Again with the goddamn codependency. Ridiculous.

“Hey!” I hug her, smiling into her purple dyed hair. “Long time no see.”

“Zahn said you might be lonely.” She bats a set of painted lashes at me, and for some reason, that looks weird, too. Am I really just so familiar with Zahn’s naturally dark, makeup-free lashes that these ones look off to me?

My god. Her lashes are epic, so yeah. Appreciate them, Remy.

After sharing my pizza and deciding not to let this weirdness inside me win, I take Zahn up on his offer and get with the girl. There’s a moment of hesitation there for a bit when she asks me if I have a condom. I debate lying just to get out of it, but what the fuck reason do I have?

I’m hard. She’s eager. She’s beautiful. We know what this night is about. So, why the hell am I being weird about it just because Zahn’s not here? He even invited her to my damn house to appease my ‘awkwardness at other people’s houses’ thing. What a sexy sweetheart.

I’m doing this.

Which is why I find myself standing behind her in my bathroom, my condom-covered cock pounding in and out of her. But my asshole of a phone is sitting on the vanity, and my eyes are watching it instead of her, glancing at the damn thing like it’s going to save me from something I’ve never needed saving from before. He’s not going to text me. He’s stuck in a lodge, waiting for a shipment so he can come home to me.

To me?

That kiss really fucked me up this morning.

My lips are tingling from the memory of it, and my mind is spinning at the meaning of it, and my whole pathetic body is going through motions it wants to be doing but doesn’t know how to perform without that prick here. Like… what the fuck?

And now I’m being the worst kind of dick because, even though we’re using each other for mutually agreed upon sexual gratification, she’s not getting the best of me because my mind is in airfields and gutters and basements, thinking about tattoos and dicks instead of pussy and tits.

She moans, so I must have done something right. The sound is sexy enough to jar me back into my body. My fingers dig into her hips and my thrusts pick up depth and speed, drawing another one of those moans out of her.

“Ah, Remy,” she moans.

But that one fucks me up. Because Zahn did that. He moaned my name, and now it sounds different, too different, coming out in a sultry feminine whisper. I used to love that sound. I do love that sound!

I’m fucking a woman while thinking about literally anything else. Comparing her to a man who is supposed to only be my best friend. Guilt is a bitch, and while the sex is consensual, my complete ignorance of her presence isn’t, and I can’t stop feeling like the biggest douche about it.

“Wait.” I hold her hips steady. “I can’t. I can’t do this.” Never, in all my adult or teen life, have I said that. I pull out, already scorching with embarrassment and shame. “I’m so sorry.”

“What’s wrong?” she asks, turning to face me. “Is it me?”

This. This is exactly why I can’t use her like this. I can’t crush someone else’s confidence just because I’m all fucked up in my head.

“No,” I promise her. I peel off the condom and hand her a towel to cover herself up. When she does, eyes refusing to meet mine, I palm both of her cheeks and swipe my thumbs under her eyes to clean up the stray makeup. “I promise you, it’s not you. My head is a mess. That’s all. I feel guilty because I’m all fucked up.” I give her an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry.”

“What happened?” she asks, sitting on the vanity and not at all pissed at me like I thought she’d be. A little butthurt, but that’s to be expected. I just ruined her night.

“Someone is in my head,” I admit.

“Like the catching feelings kind of someone?” she asks, shyly smiling.

“I don’t know yet.”

“We can talk about it if you want.” She shrugs as I hand her panties to her.

“You’re amazing for even offering, but I think I need to sort it out in my head before I even attempt to talk about it.” I smile at her.

I walk her out, feeling shitty, but I think I made the right choice. I pack her up with two slices of pizza and a road beer and stand in the doorway until she pulls out of my driveway.

Time to wallow.

Because maybe I’m a bit confused about my own intentions. Did I mean it last night when I told Zahn—during the chase for orgasm—that I wanted to suck him off again?

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