Page 169 of Catfish

We both want to fuck.

I think we both want to leave this world we’re currently in. The over-privileged and malicious men and women that we deal with on a daily basis. No matter how we got here, we both need the outlet. The tension between us has been building since she kissed me that day in my office. The moment I knew what she tasted like it’s as though my cock and brain have been battling a civil war on how this is going to play out.

My head doesn’t stand a damn chance.

Not with the way Reagan is moving against me and not with the way she smells like temptation and some floral arrangement infiltrating my senses.

“I think we should get back,” she breathes, halting her movements in the middle of the dance floor.

Turning to face me, she gives herself some space and me some air because I don’t think I’ve taken an inhale in the last two minutes we’ve been out here.

I nod, knowing she's right but not wanting to move. Grabbing her hand, I lead her off the dance floor, through the throng of drunk students, and outside the bar.

At my car, I open the door for her, letting her slip inside, and we start back for the hotel. We go from sexually frustrated to completely silent within minutes on the way back. To the point where I feel like I’m going to explode and word vomit on her to see if she regretted anything.

She shouldn’t be placed so deep in my head. Her acceptance of me doesn’t matter.

It’s just that I still want it anyway.

? Señorita— Shawn Mendes feat Camilla Cabello ?

I don’t regret it.

That’s what I keep telling myself as we drive down the empty streets of Columbus with the radio barely a whisper throughout the car.

Problem is, I can’t get myself to agree or fully let it soak in because Wade looks like he wants to punch out one of the tinted windows in his rented Beamer.

The frown on his face manifests that I took our dance too far. That I let myself go way past our employee-boss relationship and just made things twenty times more awkward for us both.

I don’t care.

Attempted to tell myself that line too. But my arrogant pride exclaims that I don’t. I’m going to live my life to the fullest, I’ve always stated that to myself. That I got a second chance by getting away from Grant’s clutches, made a great business for myself, and my future is looking up for once without anyone else’s help or input.

Let’s just hope he doesn’t fire me or slap a sexual harassment suit on my ass when we get back home.

That’ll be a new one for me.

When we pull into the parking lot of the hotel, the elevator ride is worse than the car ride. The air is thick, the area is small, and I can feel the pressure drilling me into the cheap carpet.

Good job, Rea, you just royally pissed your boss off with probably one of the best opportunities you’ll get.

The ding of the elevator is like the end of a wrestling match, giving me some sort of relief to collect some air and a rest from holding my breath.

I’ll be in my room within minutes and able to focus on a plan of how not to sexually touch or hint to my boss that he needs to lighten up again.

It’s not my job. Why am I even here?

I should've turned that down. I can watch him on TV within the comfort of my own home and not have the urge to knock on the enticing and mysterious Wade Lockwood's door. It doesn't matter that I cracked some of his facade tonight and saw him flirt with not only me but two dim-witted blondes.

It. Doesn’t. Matter.

Each step towards my room—and thank fuck it’s before his—is like a timer. I’m almost there, we can just end this night as an epic fail and go on ignoring everything.

I’m legendary for that. I can ignore the shit out of things. I mean, look what I did with Grant for several years—easy as pie.

Hitting my door, I’m already rummaging for my card key, something I should’ve done prior to now but was too busy into what Wade was doing rather than what I should be doing for myself.

I can feel him standing behind me, towering over my frame, and it's making me fumble with sliding the card at the right speed to get my door to open. Not only do I look like a moron, but I feel like one, too.

---