Page 7 of Average Joe

I silently cursed the gin sloshing through my veins, my stomach roiling.

Warm lips grazed my shoulder.

Visions of empty bottles, broken tables, and acres upon acres of bare, colorful skin flashed behind my lids.

I squeezed my legs together, the memories of all we’d accomplished over the past drunken hours causing heat to swell between my thighs. Damn, I was tender. Damn, the man was well endowed. Damn, I was in trouble.

Mourning sex was incredible. Waking the following morning, however, sucked hairy balls.

Not only did I suffer an inconvenient hangover, but I carried an unbearable burden of guilt for desecrating Alice’s home. I would never be able to look at a La-Z-Boy recliner without blushing.

His kisses wandered lower, as did his fingers, meandering over every erotic point of contact on my body.

I refrained from arching into his ministrations, stifled my moans, and remained still when all I wanted to do was press closer, feel anything other than abandoned by those I loved, and connect with someone, anyone, even a total stranger.

A criminal.

Oh no. No, no, no.

No more bad boys.

What had I been thinking? Had the past thirty years taught me nothing? A few drinks, a hot body, and I’d broken my vow, repeating the cycle that had brought me battered heart after battered heart.

A string of profanities left my lips. I kicked free of the bedding and shrugged free of his hold.

Joe grabbed for me, but I rolled away. I misjudged the size of the bed, and off the edge I fell, hitting the floor with a yelp as pain shot up my spine.

“Ow,” I cried, scrambling to my feet, rubbing my backside.

“Jesus, woman, you okay?”

God. His voice was like a well-aged Barolo: rich, robust, and firm, making my mouth water. I surveyed my surroundings and groaned. Heaven help me, we’d fallen asleep in Alice’s guest bedroom, on a twin-sized bed, no less.

Time to make my escape.

“I’m fine. I, um…” I searched his room for my clothes, then remembered we’d disrobed downstairs, in the kitchen of all places. “I need to get ready for work.” I snagged a pillow off the bed to cover myself.

“Little late for modesty, don’t ya think?” Joe huffed. In one smooth motion, he threw off the blankets and, oh, sweet hell, the way his skin stretched over all those bumps and ridges… A girl could go blind if she stared too long.

He hit me with a panty-melting grin. “I’ll make you breakfast.”

“No!” I shouted, tossing the pillow his way and heading for the door. “For the love of God, go back to sleep.” I jogged down the stairs, holding my breasts steady.

“Marley? Marley!” Joe’s footsteps sounded above me, then a drawer opened and closed.

I shrugged my dress over my head, snatched my bra, panties, and shoes off the floor, then made a mad dash for the door.

A loud whistle stopped me with one foot over the threshold, two heartbeats from escape.

“What the fuck?” Joe wore nothing but a pair of boxers and stood clutching the banister and scratching the stubble on his jaw.

“I don’t have time for breakfast,” I threw over my shoulder. “Late for work,” I lied, then slammed the door behind me.

Sure, my swift exit was a shitty move, considering the events of the past twenty-four hours. We’d buried Alice, his aunt and my dearest friend. We’d mourned together, soothed each other. Nobody deserved the brush-off I’d just given Joe, but my organs were still bloody and bruised from the last man who’d stormed out my door. I’d sworn off men like Joe. Men like… like every other man in my life.

No good. Low-life. Self-serving.

Criminals.

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