Page 110 of Waiting Game

“That’s it. Stick with your own kind,” I grouse at his butt-star. “I’m only the one who feeds you.”

When I stare at my reflection, I tug on my jeans then decide that they’re not informal enough and strip out of them. Snagging a mini skirt from the closet, I tug that one on, then I wonder if I should go for short shorts.

I might have had an orgasm this morning thanks toKor, but the wolf dildo has prepared me for Cole’s dick and I wouldn’t say no to some of that action.

Honestly, I’ve not had the time or desire to hook up with a guy this summer, but after I heard that Cupid was recuperating better than the vet expected, Cole’s Coke-can cock (all the fabulous Cs) is the only thing I can think about.

Was it as thick as I remembered?

Did I make up how good it felt to be so stuffed full of him?

Did the piercing hit where no man has gone asunder?

I’m not against learning the answer to those questions in the near future. A reprieve from the stress of my life would go down better than an ice cream float.

And if a little part of me feels bad aboutKor, I shrug it off. We’re not dating. He pays to watch me masturbate. Nothing more, nothing less.

Brave words for someone who still feels guilty…

I stare at the mini skirt, and drag on some Converse sneakers to see if that makes it low-key. Then, I grimace. It looks as if I’m trying too hard by dressing down. Ugh.

A glance at the clock tells me I have five minutes to make a decision, so like a crazy person, I strip and pull out a flirty little mini-dress that floats around my upper thighs.

It’s lacy, boho-chic, and borderline transparent so he could get an eyeful if the light hits right.

The second it settles on me, I know it’s the correct choice. I slide into some low-heeled suede booties, which add to my hippie vibe, and after another quick look in the mirror, I smile at myself, happy with my appearance because it’ll tease him.

He totally deserves to be teased.

I drag a scarf from the closet too—a moss-green one—and then I snag my purse and sling that over my shoulder.

When I spy that I have less than two minutes until I need to be downstairs, I race into the kitchen and hurl cat treats into the middle of the living room to keep the pussy patrol away from the door.

“Mommy’s outta here,” I yell to no one before racing off.

Of course, Cubert decides to be a douche because he tries to head for the hall, but I snag him, dump him on a cat tower, and make for the front door in record time.

When I slam it closed, I hear a peeved hiss and a meow and know that he tried to beat me again—he likes to go to the stairs that lead to the roof.

“Little shit.”

Still, I smile to myself.

After almost losing Cupid yesterday, even Cubert and Curtis’ most annoying traits are sweet.

A snazzy town car is waiting outside my building when I make it downstairs. Immediately, I feel underdressed until the back door pops open and Cole climbs out.

Dressed in lurid green cowboy boots, he’s paired them with black jeans and a rather snazzy black and silver shirt.

It’s like Freddie Mercury decided to become a cowboy and it’s oddly hot.

In greeting, I shoot him a shy smile.

Cole’s not shy though.

He strides over to me, cups my chin, and presses a kiss to my lips.

I’m so startled that I let him do it, then I remember that the fucker ghosted me all summer so I whack him with my purse.

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