Page 51 of Unbossly Manners

It was clear his body hadn’t responded to me. Despite our making out, he’d been soft under his pants.

“No, it’s…” He looked at his empty drink, furious. “I’m… er, drunk,” he finished, lamely.

I sucked down the rest of my drink, hiding the wobble of my chin. Every bad experience I’d ever had with men hit me like a fret train. I scooted from the booth, making an excuse that I needed the bathroom. In the stall, I fumbled with the lock, but it wouldn’t latch. I kicked the door, and screamed, sucking down breath after breath, willing myself not to cry.

Chip said I was awful at blow jobs and Derrick couldn’t get hard feeling me up. Derrick only drank one gimlet and he appeared sober when I met him for the date. There was no way he was drunk.

My heart beat fast, but my breathing had calmed. I rested my forehead against the stall door, but I couldn’t stay in here all night. I’d already been a jerk running and hiding in the bathroom.

Fuck.

Derrick must be humiliated. For whatever reason, his body hadn’t responded, and when I’d realized it I’d shut down and left him there. I was a total and complete asshole.

I wiped mascara from under my eyes and walked back to the table. Derrick was staring into his empty glass, his shoulders slumped.

“I’m so sorry,” I said as soon as I sat next to him. “That was a shitty thing for me to do. To run away like that.”

He huffed out a sardonic laugh.

“It’s fine.” He put cash on the table. “Let me take you home.”

We walked out into the hot night, the air moist and heavy. His shoulders were hunched, embarrassed. It was strange seeing this strong, confident man kicking himself.

“Derrick, look at me.”

He did, his night-dark eyes hooded.

“On a scale of tripping down stairs in front of people to shitting your pants, I’ve been on the shitting your pants end of embarrassment many times. What happened in there was barely above tripping. So please, forget about it. I like you. I want to see you again.”

His demeanor lightened and he leveled his eyes to mine.

“Thanks for that, Peyton,” he said. “Next time I’ll take you out for a proper dinner.”

“I don’t care what we do. I’d just like to see you again.”

He cupped my cheek and kissed me gently on the lips. He asked to walk me home but I told him I’d be fine. When he was out of sight, I hailed a cab uptown.

I needed to salve my wounds and I knew exactly the person to do it.

twenty

On a purely physical level, Derrick was hotter than Jackson. He was built like a Greek God, his face was chiseled, and every part of his body looked like it was sculpted from stone. His dark hair was a thick mane, and he embodied tall, dark, and handsome.

But when Jackson opened the door to his apartment, a warmth filled my belly like sipping coffee in front of a crackling fireplace, safe and secure. Derrick could physically protect me but at that moment I realized what I valued more was someone who would protect my emotional currency.

Jackson’s chestnut brown hair was disheveled like he’d been lying in bed. He had a five o’clock shadow, and his clothes were wrinkled. His body was lean, the muscles firm, but they weren’t carved into his body like Derrick.

Suddenly, Jackson was the most gorgeous thing I’d ever seen.

His light eyes watched me, inquisitive.

My emotions were fragile after the date, and I craved the sureness that Jackson had given me the last time we were together. I couldn’t let one bad moment strip away everything I’d gained the other night.

“Are you okay? Your text was vague.”

I sat on his leather sofa, and took the bottled water he offered.

“This is bad for the environment.” I spun the plastic top off and gulped.

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