Page 84 of Imperfect Player
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
The attendant delivers the food to my room on a rolling cart. Burger. Fries. Booze.
I tip him heavily, asking him to keep the bottle of Jack just between us.
“Sure, man, whatever you say,” he says, taking the two-hundred dollars I offer him.
After taking a sip, I sigh. I wait for the pain to subside. The thoughts too.
I don’t touch the burger or the fries. I don’t give a damn about the Dr. Pepper sitting next to them.
There are only two things in the world that I need. Whiskey and . . . Everly.
Feeling much better than I did thirty minutes ago, I grab my cell.
My last text earned me a winking emoji. Nothing more.
Let’s see what she has to say about this, I think to myself as my fingers work feverishly on the keyboard of my phone.
Me: That picture was sexy as hell.
Everly: Glad you like it.
Me: Like it?
I close my eyes allowing the visual of her in the photo she sent to take over my imagination as my hand wraps around my cock.
The longer I look, the harder I stroke.
Me: I fucking love it.
Everly: Awe. What are you up to?
Me: Honestly?
Everly: Preferably, yes.
Me: Jerking off.
Everly: OH. MY. GOD.
Me: You’re not here and you sent me this picture. What’s a guy to do?
Everly: Lie to me. Text me when you’re done.
Me: Or.
Everly: Or what?
Me: You could… help.
Everly: Help? How?
Me: Send me another pic? Talk dirty to me? I’m not picky.
No, not picky at all. Just horny. For her. And she isn’t’ here.
