Page 10 of Love and Other Risky Business

She’s a good woman and lucky for Nic she looked satisfied. She’s not going to run to the tabloids or brag on social media about her night with him, so he won’t be getting any calls from his management whining that his image can’t take another hit while he’s in the middle of this divorce.

It sucks watching him sleep around when I know he’s in love with my sister. Not that he’ll admit it.

That’s a whole mess I don’t know how to fix.

Irritated, I push the yogurt away. I’m grumpy. I hate being grumpy.

I couldn’t sleep last night—my brain wouldn’t shut up and I was a giant ball of pent-up frustration. When jerking off didn’t help, I swam a billion laps in my not-very-large pool. Looked at the photos I’d taken of the evening on my phone—which didn’t help, because there was Mina in that hot as fuck dress, so of course I had to get myself off again. Somewhere around 3 a.m., I had the bright idea to see how many times I could come before sleep took me.

Five times total. My dick hurts despite ample lube use and I’m pretty sure I won’t be rising to any occasion anytime soon, but I did manage to claw out two hours of sleep after that. Didn’t improve my mood.

Going on like I have the last five years isn’t an option anymore. I need to smother Jackie Chan and move on.

I sigh and go back to pushing a couple of raspberries around Nic’s yogurt with my spoon. I don’t want to move on. I want Mina.

“Morning,” Nic mumbles with a yawn as he comes up the stairs. I reach for the Nerf gun—yes, I’ve been waiting for hours to ambush him solely because it will make me feel better—and nail him with no less than ten darts before he disappears back into his lair, a.k.a. my basement, shouting curses at me.

“Thanks for the yogurt,” I call after him.

I get a solid minute to enjoy his yogurt in peace before a Nerf dart pings off my orange juice. Instinct kicks in and I grab my Nerf gun, dive rolling behind the not-great protection of chair legs. Nic’s cautious, though. I have ample time to scramble behind the kitchen island.

Nic takes the high ground, dashing up to the next platform on my open staircase, where he can rain darts into every room on this floor while mostly shielded by the metal railings.

My heart is pounding, but I fire a few off at him, grab the pre-loaded second Nerf gun from the kitchen drawer, and book it outside. Nic doesn’t follow me. At least not yet. Wise, since I’ve had enough time this morning to fill and stash numerous high-powered water guns.

I’m crouched along the side of the house when I hear it. The slide of the glass door, followed by the click of the lock.

Bastard!

He’ll be sitting comfy at the front door, waiting for me to walk in.

Not today, Warwick.

I pull the homemade bungee Nerf gun strap over my head and haul myself up the smooth concrete retaining wall that elevates my privacy hedge. From there, it’s a five-foot jump to the ledge jutting out from the house. It’s tricky. I have to grab on to the smooth-ish surface and if I go too hard, my momentum will carry me too far. But I’ve made this jump hundreds of times. I easily make it.

From here, I have to make my way hand over hand along the ledge to my balcony, where I can pull myself up. I left the door to my room open, so as long as Nic doesn’t look over his shoulder from his position near the front door, he shouldn’t see my legs dangling through the patio door as I hustle along.

If he does, I’ll be in serious danger of a nut shot.

My arms aren’t even burning when I reach the balcony. The smooth glass is useless, but between each pane is a gap I can easily wiggle my fingers through. I climb up and I’m about to swing myself over the balustrade when I see him. Sitting in the lounger on my balcony, a glass of orange juice in his hands.Myorange juice.

“Morning, asshole,” Nic says casually, bringing the glass to his lips as he raises the Nerf gun like some real Godfather shit.

I backflip off the balcony, a smile on my face at the shocked look on Nic’s. My pool’s not deep enough for a headfirst dive so I bring my feet around. I’m not on top of my game this morning. Instead of being tucked into a ball when I hit the water, I belly flop.

It’s like hitting concrete dick first.

I’m screaming internally under the cool water, and when I break the surface, I let it out in a roar.

Nic must have raced through the house. He skids to a stop at the edge of the pool. “Jesus fuck Timbo!”

“I think I broke my dick.” I gasp, swimming a couple of feet to the edge and pulling myself up. Carefully, because if my dick brushes the edge of the pool I’m going to scream. I rubbed myself too raw last night for this.

“You’re lucky you didn’t break your head,” he snaps, arms crossed. The look on his face says he’s two seconds from calling my mom.

“I’ve done that a hundred times.” Sure, my pool is narrow-ish, but it’s right below my balcony. As long as I don’t push out too far, I’ll land in the water. I don’t usually belly flop, but I’m tired and heartbroken.

I get to my feet, plucking my wet undies away. My dick twitches, and not in its death throes.

---