Page 28 of Hiding from Hope

“Who was that?” He nods in the direction Jessie left.

“My, my, Lane, are you jealous?” I tease and bite my lip as I curl the back of his hair with my fingers. He laughs gently and uses his hands to grab a fistful of my ass.

“Not at all, sweetheart. But I think he was.”

“Oh, no.” I laugh at his insane assumption. “He is my friend’s older brother. We’re just friends,” I explain.

“Mmhmm. I’m sure he only sees you as a friend,” he says, that sexy smile still in place, his hands still searching.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, he looked at me like he was ready to clock me. He looked at you like you were dinner.” He hums the words in my ear, not even dirty talk and it has me shivering. Probably because I’m picturing Jessie, and me, and—

“And how about you?” because I desperately need to not picture Jessie right now.

“What about me?”

“What do you think about me?” I trail a finger across his jawline and let my eyes wander his pristine face.

“Mmmm, I think you’d be perfect for dessert.” He says it into my lips before he steals them in another kiss. A car pulls up behind me and I pull out of his embrace, walking backward to the car.

“Let’s find out, shall we?”

“Oh, sweetheart, you’re speaking my language.” He follows me into the Uber, and we make it safely to his house.

And I do everything I possibly can to not think about Jessie.

Casey

I am unbothered.

I breathe through my morning meditation and repeat the words, trying desperately to unclench my jaw as I say them out loud.

I, amunbothered.

Breathing again and repeating, trying to relax my muscles and my jaw.

“Iamunbothered.”

“It sounds like you might be bothered.”

My eyes snap open as Rosie’s voice pulls me from my relaxa— Oh, who am I kidding? I couldn’t mellow out even if I had weed gummies.

I am very bothered.

I grunt and stand up from my position on the floor of the lounge room and make my way into the kitchen. It’s 5:30am on Monday, so of course, Rosie and I are awake, and Addison is sleeping like the dead.

“I thought you got laid this weekend?” Rosie asks as she watches me stomp my way into the kitchen.

“I did.” Except it was horribly anti-climactic… or, at least, for me. The guy gave major BDE and yet… under performed. Way too much, ‘Is this okay?’ and, ‘Can I touch you here?’ Like, c’mon, man. I love consent as much as the next person but… for the love of God… TAKE CONTROL! Rip my clothes off, throw me on the bed, and tell me how you like it. Is it too much to ask for? Has the world gone insane? Am I being irrational?

“Okay, this is SUPER fun. I have never seen you like this. Can I have all the gooey details?”

“He crossed the finish line, and it was not a relay race. Instead, it was a one-man fucking marathon, and I was left at the water station,” I grunt out and Rosie audibly chokes on her cereal as she tries to get her laugh out. Grabbing my bend and flex yoga mug, I pour my second cup of coffee for the day and give Rosie a deadpan look.

“So many metaphors. Swearing from Casey Baker? My goodness, he did a number on you.”

“Want another? His name was Lane… should have been Lame.” That gets me a full-on cackle from Rosie, and I can’t help myself. I join in.

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