Page 16 of The Worst Guy Ever

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I’m fuming. At myself, mostly, because I don’t do this shit. I never show my hand or let him into my head. I bet helovesknowing I’m thinking about him. His ego would float him into space if he knew just how often he’s on my mind. How I imagine him naked, how I have pictured us alone together in that stupid fucking cabin that he probably made up. Honestly, who has sex in a cabin? It’s like something we read at book club.

Doesn’t stop me imagining it, though. Me and him, alone in the woods together. Me and him in a hot tub. Me and him on his desk chair. I imagine he turns up at my house, which is not my actual house but a fancy penthouse apartment where he finds me in a tight black dress and killer heels. He storms in and tells me I can win the bet, but he’s the true winner because the real prize is me. He throws me a briefcase full of £100 notes and tells me there’s one for every second he’s about to spend making me scream his name.

I’m unhinged.

This is what this stupid, arrogant bastard has done to me. After a week concocting fantasies of him pulling me apart, I’m aching to be touched. I need someone to get me out of this funk and out of my head.

I pull up one of my dating apps and match with a guy a few towns over purely because his name is Rob and make it clear that I’m looking for a fun night. He replies straight away, so I shower quickly, pull my hair into a messy bun, then slip into a short green dress and wedge heels. I learned long ago that it’s best to wear as little as possible. Makes it easier to find my clothes on someone else’s floor as soon as it’s time to leave.

“I’m going out, don’t wait up,” I call out to Megan, grabbing a G&T in a can from the fridge, and my leather jacket from the hook by the door. She must have whiplash from the shit she’s getting from me tonight, but I’ll make it up to her with bacon rolls tomorrow.

By the time I get there, it’s nearly 10:30pm. The bar is crowded, but I find him hovering by a table in the back. Over two drinks, I nod and laugh, not caring that he only talks about himself. I just want to get out of here, and I try to push down the sick thrill that I’ll get to moanhisname tonight. This Rob’s got a decent body, and a nice face, but by the time I’m in his bed, I realise he’s lacking the skill, enthusiasm, and cocky attitude I’m after.

He’s notRobRob. My Rob.

I fake my way through it in time to catch the last train home, unsatisfied and more than a little depressed about the whole thing. I hate that I’m thinking about him so much. That his stupid texts are getting under my skin. I wonder what he’s doing now. He’s probably got some twenty-two year old riding him like a bull. Lucky bitch.

I want to text him, flirt and argue with him a bit. Really, I want to see if he’s still up, and if he fancies a visitor, but I don’t dare ask. The state I’m in right now, I’d be losing our stupid bet in five minutes flat.

I tiptoe through the flat so I don’t wake Megan. As I get undressed, I catch my reflection in the full-length mirror on the back of my door, and it occurs to me that I didn’t even take my dress off tonight. My favourite mint-green bra, the one that makes my tits look fantastic, was entirely wasted on a guy who didn’t know any better than to skip straight to the below the belt stuff. I feel irrationally annoyed, pissed off that nobody has seen how good I look. I want people to see me, to want me.

No, not people.

Him.

I hate that he’s made me want him, hate that I’ve spent the whole night obsessing over him, and still can’t get him out of my head.

Standing in front of my mirror, I take a photo and hit send.

Chapter 5

Rob

Ireachformyphone with one eye half open and pull up the message Hattie sent me just before two in the morning. I’m wide awake in an instant, cursing past Rob who slept through perhaps the most important text I’ve ever received.

There on my phone is a photo of Hattie standing in front of the mirror in her bra, tits pushed out, hard, dark nipples visible through the thin fabric.

And in between them sits her raised middle finger. Her full face isn’t in shot, but I can see that she’s grinning, biting her tongue between her teeth.The little shit.I need her, all of her, and I need it now.

Me:Fuck you look good. Come over and show me for real.

She’s probably still asleep. I lie there, picturing her walking into my room and crawling up the covers to straddle me. My fantasy has barely begun when my phone pings in my hand.

Hottie:Sorry that was for someone else

Fury bolts through me, and I sit upright, tossing a pillow to the floor. That had better be bullshit. I don’t spare a second to think about why her sleeping with someone else doesn’t bother me as much as the thought of there being some other fucker who gets to be on the receiving end of her flirt fighting.

If she wants to antagonise me, well, two can play that game. I’m rock hard, obviously. There’s not a man on the planet who wouldn’t get stiff at the sight of her in her underwear. Maybe they wouldn’t all be fans of her attitude, but it definitely does something to me. It’s been a few weeks since I got laid now, and I need to get this pent up energy out.

Last night was a work event, and I knew that a photo of me in a suit would get Hattie riled up, but I learned long ago not to get involved with colleagues. I was a good boy. Two drinks and in bed by 11pm. If I’d have known she was still up and looking that hot, I’d have rung her up and made her get on a video call with me.

I push my covers back and shove my boxers down my thighs. Angling my phone, I take a photo, making sure she’ll get a good look at my abs, too.

Me:I want you so much my dick hurts

Hottie:I’m thrilled to know you’re in pain

Hottie:And let the record note that I did not consent to dick pics