Page 5 of Trip

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Trip

Noises plagued his sleep, threatening him with sobriety. Sitting upright, he reached for the bottle, only to be disappointed. Damn it.

Trip only had a few more hours before that JJ asswipe arrived, and he’d have to cut back on drinking. Fuck. He caught a whiff of himself. He’d showered last night. He was still semi-wearing the towel, but he reeked.

He’d grab another shower, then maybe bolt before the guy or his sister arrived. He could tell her club business and she wouldn’t question it. Meri was good about that. She never gave him hell about the club. The towel lost the battle with gravity when he stood. Reaching for it reminded him of why he couldn’t ride off into the snow. His shoulder was on fire.

Striding down the hall and lazily stroking his morning wood with his good hand, Trip noticed the padlock on the master bedroom. That seemed strange, but whatever. Maybe his sister didn’t trust this JJ character that much. Good, that’ll make my job easier.

Thoughts of sisters and strange men fled as he stepped into the room. The scent of citrus and vetiver assaulted him. Funny, he only knew the word because he’d ordered custom-blended perfume for her a lifetime ago. Trip’d thought it was so romantic at the time. Now he could barely smell a lemon without popping wood.

He’d failed to notice the scent last night, but it caused his hand to speed up on his aching cock. A groan cut through the air as he brought up a mental image of Jess as she lay on the back seat of his car, her stomach covered in his cum.

“Fuck.” He ground out the word, cupping the tip of his dick. The last thing he wanted was to have to explain cum on the throw rug to Meri.

An instantly recognizable gasp sliced through his post-spank-session high. Please let it be my imagination. Please, please, please. If there is a fucking deity in the world, please.

Trip turned and realized cum on the rug wasn’t the last thing he wanted. Nope, the truly last thing he wanted was to be standing there with his hand full of jizz, looking at the woman who’d shattered his very soul.

Especially while she was wearing some studded leather getup and looking curvier than ever. His cock took notice and grew in his sticky hand. “Fuck.” Recovery time be damned.

Trip cursed and headed to the bathroom to wash his hands, at least. Why the fuck was she here and dressed like that, no less.

With his bag in the bedroom, Trip looked around and spotted his discarded jeans from yesterday. He pulled those on, not bothering to button them or buckle the belt. He damn near ripped the door off the hinges. When it bounced off the wall, Jessika flinched. He moaned in pain. His choppy movements jostled his out-of-whack shoulder.

She was standing right where he’d left her and looking so tempting. That shit pissed him off even more.

“What the fuck are you doing here? And why are you dressed like that?”

“I-I…” Her voice, just as dick hardening as he remembered, trailed off as she stared at him the way she used to.

“Goddamn you. Why? Why are you here? Why did you… Fuck this shit. I’m out. You can deal with JJ and my sister.” Trip practically sprinted to his bag and hefted it over his good shoulder. He wasn’t sure how he would manage, but he had to. He couldn’t stay around Jessika. If he did, he’d put everything behind them and fuck her six ways to Sunday.

No, she wouldn’t destroy him, cheat on him, and then just continue on with life like the one they’d planned together meant nothing. Trip would lose a part of himself if he allowed that again. In the living room, he searched frantically for his boots. He could ride shirtless in a snowstorm but not barefoot.

He spotted them by the door. As he was shoving his feet into the black faux leather, the bag slipped. Reaching for it with the other arm was a mistake. “Ahhh.” Hot pain sliced through his shoulder and the bag fell unhindered to the floor.

Trip couldn’t even pick the damn thing up. The pain was blinding. Not to mention he might still be a touch drunk.

“You’re hurt.” Her soothing voice, laced with concern, washed over him, pebbling his skin. The more she was… just her and he was just the old Cris in his reactions, the angrier he got.

“No shit, Sherlock. What was your first clue?” He spun around to face her. Damn it, she was still wearing leather and looking edible. “Was it the lame arm just dangling there or my cries of agony? Oh wait, those you can ignore, must’ve been the limp arm. You always did like things hard, isn’t that right?”

Trip cringed at his own words. He was lashing out and saying things he couldn’t take back. It was one thing to speak that way when they were young and dumb. But they were adults now. Adults who should’ve gotten over that first love and heartbreak. The more he lashed out, the more power she’d have over him. The more she’d realize he still suffered from her betrayal.

“Jess—”

She silenced him with a hand in the air and a stern look. One he used to erase from her face most pleasurably.

She snatched up his abandoned towel from earlier and hid her body from him. Shame coursed through his bloodstream for making her feel like hiding. He wanted, no, needed distance between them, but he shouldn’t create it at her expense.

“I never knew you to be purposely cruel. Even…” She stopped and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, there was still pain, but it was tempered with something he couldn’t identify. “Even when you were mad or hurt, you were never mean. It’s safe to say we’ve both changed over the years. Not exactly for the better, it seems. Either way, we love Meri. Even though I don’t owe you a damn thing, I owe her everything.”

“That’s an understatement, considering you slept with her boyfriend while she was pregnant with his kids.”

Tears sprung to her beautiful brown eyes, and she looked away. Trip just couldn’t stop twisting the damn knife. He wanted to, he really did, but he just didn’t know how.

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