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.

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