The Reason I Stay (8 page)

Holding blondie by the hand, I make my way to the door and to the deserted parking lot. We walk toward Greta and let her work her magic.

The moment I click the unlock button and Greta’s headlights blink, Blondie gasps. I take a peek at her and grin. I’ve never met one girl who could resist Greta’s charm, and this small-town specimen isn’t an exception. Her eyes are wide and glistening, and her smile splits her face in half.

She turns to me with an awed expression. “Is this really yours?”

“It sure is.” I give her a cocky smile, walk to the passenger door, and open it to her.

“And you didn’t steal it. I don’t want to go to jail as an accomplice.”

My head falls back, and I let out a laugh. “No, baby. Greta’s all mine.”

She smiles again, and hurries inside. Before I close the door, I see her wiggling her body on the seat and running her hands on the leather. I close the door and make my way to my side.

“I’ve never sat on anything this soft,” she tells me once I’m sitting on the driver’s seat, and the door is closed.

I turn on the radio and smile at her, my eyes drifting to her mostly bare legs. She gasps when I graze my fingers across her knee and begin a torturous ascent toward the hem of her short skirt.

“Do you want to talk about the leather, or do you want to have some fun?” I ask in a low tone, bringing my eyes to meet hers.

I’m three fingers away from reaching the denim when she mouths the word, “Fun.” In the next second she leans forward, and touches her lips to mine. They feel warm. I run my tongue across her plump bottom lip, tasting her strawberry lipstick. She opens her mouth to me willingly, deepening our kiss.

The kiss is alright. Nothing to knock my socks off, or make me want to place this girl in the
give me your number so we can do this again
category, but it’s kissing, and a much needed distraction. However, its power to take my mind off of The Jukebox lasts only about two minutes, so I relocate my hand under the girl’s shirt and bra.

She doesn’t seem to mind it at all. In fact, the way she arches her back in the direction of my hand and moans against my mouth lets me know she really likes what I’m doing. Five minutes after that, she reaches toward the front of my pants and starts massaging my crotch, which grants me a few more minutes of not thinking about anything except my dick and balls. There are other thoughts, too, like wondering what color her nipples are—maybe light pink, or kind of brownish . . .
ah, fuck, yes, that’s it. Now open the zipper. Open the zipper. Please, open the damn zipper .
. .

Now eager, my hand leaves her tits to trace the line of her thigh. She squirms in the seat as I play with the edges of her panties. My actions seem to put more fuel in her fire, because she stops rubbing me, and eagerly moves her hands to my belt. She unfastens it and gets my pants unzipped in record speed, and before I can even form my next thought, my dick is out of my pants and inside her mouth.

All the tension I’ve been feeling over the last two days starts working its way through my spermatic cord, which is like the preliminary to the best de-stressor in the world. I run my hand through her golden hair. Reaching the tips, I twist them around my hand, and use my grasp to guide her up and down. My head lulls back and my eyes close.

And that’s when it happens.

Lexie’s face appears uninvited in the black space between my eyes and my lids. In a split second, my mind conjures the fantasy that the golden hair wrapped around my hand and the lips clasped around my dick belong to her. That mental image is enough to tip me over the edge. I come, and when I do her name escapes my lips.

The moment I reopen my eyes and see the woman who isn’t Lexie wiping the corners of her mouth, I realize that the events that just transpired are absolute proof that everything Lexie said is true. I’m all about “me, me, me.” After all, receiving sexual favors from a woman while thinking about another, calling the other woman’s name as you climax even though you can’t remember the name of the one actually doing all the work, are near the definition of the word selfish.

She runs her hand over my bicep, but I don’t want this woman touching me. I don’t want her anywhere near me, so I shake her hand off. I don’t need to see the hurt in her face to know that I just reached stratosphere level of ass-holishness. I rub my hands across my face, trying to dissipate some of the frustration I’m feeling, but it doesn’t do shit.

“Wasn’t it good?” she asks.

The question breaks me. Despite her daddy issues and apparent lack of self-respect, there’s no question that she deserves better than me.

I give her the first honest smile of the night and run a hand across her cheek, trying my best to be gentle and less of a douchebag. “It was great. Thank you for that.”

Her smile widens, and that’s a bad sign. I bet she heard me calling Lexie’s name, but even if she doesn’t mind that, I do. I have no idea why, but I do.
Stupid motherfucking shit!

“Listen, baby,” I start in a soothing voice, hoping to lessen the blow of my new surge of bastardness. “I had a lot of fun, but I think we better call it a night. I can drive you home if you don’t have a car here, but I’m just really tired.”

Even in the dim light of the car, I can see her face turning red, and her grin turning into a small, forced smile. “That’s okay, I’ve got a car.” She looks outside the window, takes a deep breath, and then looks back at me. “Well, thank you for the drinks and the company. I had fun.”

I smile at her. “It was my pleasure.”

She giggles and the sound, like her previous smile, is forced. “I was gonna ask if you’d like my number, but I think the answer to that is pretty clear, right?”

There’s no air in the car. Actually, I don’t think there’s enough air in the entire planet to fill my lungs. How is it possible that a waitress and a bar slut could both make me eat shit and feel like it in the span of one night? I have no idea what bizarre world this is, but I want out.

I know she wants me to say that she’s wrong, that I’m just tired and I do, in fact, want her number. However, about thirty seconds ago, I decided to try and stop being a douchebag. For good. Living like one is fun when you’re not aware of your condition. Once you are . . . not so much. I decide to do the right thing, which in this case means going back to being an ass.

I take a deep breath and say, “I’m sorry, but yeah. We both know I’m not going to call you.” Her expression hardens, but her eyes reveal another emotion: hurt. And I hate every second of it. So I add, “Even though you’re great. It’s not you . . .” I never get to finish that, because she flips me off, opens the door, steps out and slams it shut.

My eyes follow her as she walks to an old, beat up Honda. She kicks the wheels, turns towards Greta, flips me off again and gets inside the car. The sound of her screeching tires as she drives away echoes in my mind until I can no longer see the taillights of her car.

Lexie’s voice returns to my head, filling my mind with those infernal words. I try to shut her up at all costs, but the more I try, the louder she gets. To make matters worse, the radio guy announces a song called “I See You” by a dude named Luke Bryan. As soon as it starts playing, I realize that it’s the perfect recap of my night. Therefore, I hate it. Angry at the radio—again—and at myself—again—and at Lexie—again—I punch the steering wheel, and turn stereo off. “Get out of my head!”

For some reason—probably whiskey related—
she
finally shuts up, leaving me alone inside my brain for the first time tonight. The leather feels cool against the back of my head as I relax into it on a deep breath. I close my eyes.

There’s a moment of darkness and silence, and then snow is blasting against the windshield. My vision goes in and out of focus as I resist the force pulling my eyelids shut.

“How was it?” The question is nuzzled against my neck.

After so many years of friendship, Lea is more than used to my brutal honesty, so I don’t even think before replying. “As good as a hand job can be, but I know you can do better.”

Her face leaves my neck as she sits straighter in her seat. I steal a peek at her beautiful face, and can’t help but to laugh at the silly blue party hat that is sitting askew on top of her ginger hair. She looks ridiculous and delicious all at once.

She crosses her arms in front of her vast cleavage. “Of course I can do better, Matty. I’ve been doing your brains out for the past five years. The question is: Do I want to keep doing it?”

I laugh, and take a sip of the flask between our seats. Without taking my eyes from the white, empty road, I push the button on her seatbelt, releasing her from it. My fingers trace a path from her waist to her tits to her neck until they reach her full lips. I push the tip of my thumb inside her mouth. “You know you do, baby. It’s my birthday, and you’re in love with me.”

Teeth bite the pad of my thumb, and laughter follows. “You’re such a smug bastard.” Despite her words, she wets her lips and bends her body toward my crotch. I laugh and smack her ass, because I know she likes it.

I keep driving, she keeps blowing me, and I’m in heaven. She swirls her tongue and runs her teeth from base to tip, and my eyes close for a couple of seconds. When I open them again and look down at my lap, the hair scattered across my legs isn’t red, it’s golden. Lexie.

The moment bright headlights shine on my face I jolt awake.

I bring both hands to my cheeks and rub it hard, trying to erase that dream and Lexie from my mind, but it’s hopeless. No matter where I go and what I do, I know I’ll never be able to run from either.

With a frustrated groan, I turn on the car. Once I reach the entrance to the interstate, with one lane leading back to Jolene and another leading away from it, I consider leaving all of my stuff at the inn and just getting back on road to anyplace else. More than anything, I want to be done with that hell of a town, and the woman who is driving me crazy. I want to be done with all of it.

I almost do it, but then I remember Kodee. I think about how disappointed she may get if I don’t show up at the beach tomorrow. I think about how selfish that would be of me to just blow off a seven year old who doesn’t have her own house to sleep in every night, and I can’t do it.

“J
ust for the record . . . I hate you,” Tanie grumps, fixing her oversized sunglasses on her face. “You can’t get me into a drinking binge and then drag me to the beach, and out in this God awful sun at this unholy hour. That’s considered torture, Lexington.”

“It’s one thirty in the afternoon, Tanie,” I reply between snickers. “Plus, I didn’t drag you, your sister did.”

She grunts. “Yes, that little roar. Hate her guts, too.”

The strange way in which my best friend Tanie speaks never fails to make me laugh. She would have the dirtiest mouth of anyone I’ve ever met if she didn’t find cursing extremely un-lady-like, and thus, replace curse words with similar sounding ones.

“So, a week and you’re back here?” I ask her once I stop laughing.

Her previous annoyed frown disappears from her freckled face, giving room for a ginormous smile that makes the heart shape of her face even more prominent. “Yep, one week and I’ll be a graduate. I’ll also be unemployed, but that’s a minor detail.”

I shake my head. “C’mon Tan, you know for a fact that you’ll have a job. Your dad is the principal, and Mrs. Walters is just waiting for you to graduate so she can finally retire after two hundred and fifty years of teaching English to snotty kids.” We both snicker at my mean—yet mostly accurate—comment.