Page 30 of The Last Good Man

I want to prove myself and the man outside that he is not my boss. He won’t change my plans for the evening.

The nerve he has.

I see now how this could become a problem.

Right now, he’s messing with Thomas.

But then there will be another date or something else for me to do. A flicker of worry zips through me, but I refuse to think about him any longer.

Thomas turns into a horny dude struggling to drag me across the finish line while we haven’t even gotten started.

He pushes the waistband of his boxers past his erection that swiftly bounces up, yet sadly, he gets unlucky with my bra clasp.

More beads of sweat form on his brow while I freeze, not knowing what to do.

Help him with my bra? Rub his shaft?

My center is nowhere close to welcoming him inside me.

What about kissing? We haven’t even kissed.

And all that happens while people still clamor outside.

I don’t get to touch him when he jumps out of bed, palming his bulge and reaching for his phone.

He paces to the window and peers outside from behind the curtain.

The chaos moves away just as the 911 dispatcher answers Thomas’ call.

“What’s your emergency?”

“Never mind,” he says and hangs up on the man.

“They’ll know where you’ve called from.”

“I hope so,” he says, the street turning quiet again. “There are always cops around the corner. I’m sure I’m not the only one bothered by this insane noise,” he says, his brow furrowed. “What is wrong with these people?” he mutters, sliding his phone onto the nightstand. “It’s late,” he huffs, suppressing a bad word at the last moment.

I feel like cursing too.

I also feel like this is a sign.

And I’m not talking about the man going crazy outside. Maybe his therapy sessions are not going deep enough to fix his head.

I’m thinking about myself trying to do something that clearly goes against my fate.

Things meant to happen are easy as every flicker of energy in the universe conspires to help them come to life.

Look at the devil with green eyes creating havoc outside. He has no problem screwing with our evening and our lives while we struggle a lot.

But enough about him.

Even without him, Thomas and I are not meant to be.

We’ll probably see each other again, and perhaps we’ll have sex in the end, but he’ll benefit more from it than I ever will.

And frankly, as much as I’d love to have sex, I dread the morning after or the hour after.

The moment I have to go home, empty inside.

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