Glancing around the room, I decide to take advantage of my roomie being out, along with most everyone else, and tiptoe to the door to shut and lock it. The only dreams I’ll be enjoying tonight will be of the dirty variety. Might as well put my vibrator to good use. Besides, it’s not as if Jude will ever know. Minutes later, when I come with visions of him sweaty and spent, his body heavy above mine, I’m not sure that’s exactly true. The next time I look him in the eye, I won’t be able to stop wondering if real Jude fucks anywhere close to imaginary Jude. That’s a very dangerous thought.
14
Jude
I’m bored. I’m horny. And since it’s Saturday and I’m caught up on client work, I have nothing to distract myself. I surfed this morning. I even longboarded to and from lunch. Still, I’m restless with pent-up sexual energy. One can only jerk off so many times before chafing is involved.
I know because I’ve put that theory to the test. A strong libido is something to be proud of for a man of any age. Not that I am worried. I’ve never had a problem getting it up. But the number of times I’ve gotten hard this past week would put my teenage self to shame. And that’s all thanks to one woman.
Rachel. I can’t get her out of my head. I haven’t slept with the woman, yet the very idea has me rock hard and stroking myself as if the world is ending and I’ll never get to use my dick again.
Fuck me. I’m pathetic. Lusting after a woman who only agrees to spend time with me in exchange for free transportation. Hell, she’s even begrudging about that. She doesn’t want to sleep with me. She doesn’t even want to see me.
I’ve only known her a matter of days but she isn’t the kind of woman you fuck once. She isn’t in it for money. She doesn’t use people for connections. She’s the kind of woman you cherish, thank your lucky stars she ever gave you a shot, and put a ring on as soon as possible so every other fucker knows to keep his hands off.
But that’s crazy talk. We hardly know each other. She could be a wolf in sheep’s clothing. She hasn’t shown any interest, and I’m not the forever kind of man. Yet the thought of her with anyone else sends me into an unexplainable fit of alpha male rage.
How pathetic can a grown man be? I need to do something. Or rather, I need to do someone. Since work isn’t an option at the moment I scroll through my contact list, checking my digital black book for a potential good time.
Jessica. Nope. Too chatty.
Vanessa. No. I think she got married.
Jenese. Promising. I tap on her number and wait.
“Look at that! He is alive.” Her melodic laughter skirts through the line. “How the hell are you, Jude?”
“Better now that I’m talking to you.”
“Always the charmer. What do I owe the pleasure of this phone call?”
I’m bored and my dick is aching for some real pussy. That’s the heart of the matter, but I’m not such a ruthless asshole to say it. “I was hoping for the pleasure of your company. What do you have going tonight?”
“My friends and I are hitting up a few clubs. But I wouldn’t turn down a little man candy. Join us?”
“Only if I get to take you home afterward.”
“Oh, honey, I’m counting on it. We’ll swing by and get you about ten?”
“I’ll be ready.” But when I end the call I find that my dick has gone flaccid at the prospect. “Fucker,” I mutter under my breath. Of course the first time all day I’m not rocking a semi, and it comes with the promise of getting laid.
Because my dick doesn’t want Jenese. He wants Rachel. Join the club.
Doesn’t matter, because Rachel doesn’t want me or my dick. No matter. I’m sure by tonight we’ll both have moved on. At the very least I’ll find a shiny new distraction. A willing partner to extinguish some of this sexual frustration. Though I’m probably fooling myself. I doubt I’ll be able to get Rachel out of my mind at all this weekend.
15
Rachel
“Rae Rae, honey. I need more drama. Andrea isn’t glowing. I need her to glow.”
I pinch my lips together lest I snap at this idiot photographer and turn today into a complete waste. When I took this job—a favor to my roommate since I earn more booking private makeup clients and working half the hours—I knew I’d be working with a newer artist. I didn’t do my usual check—a phone conversation to see how we’d gel. Newsflash, we don’t. This kid is barely legal and a total diva. We’re set up under a pop-up tent in a parking lot with one tiny generator. No fan. No food. I’m hungry and hot, and not in a good way. My patience for his non-directive demands is melting away with my foundation.
Glow? He wants her to glow? “I can retouch her bronzer. Darken her blush?”
He pinches his lips together and lets out a long hiss. It’s the sound he makes when he doesn’t agree.
“What would you like?”
“Rae Rae, honey. I just need you to feel me.” He sighs again. “Get in this scene with us. She’s high fashion. She’s stepped off a fucking runway, ya know?”
God, I’d love to throw a dish of glitter on his stupid face. If he calls me Rae Rae once more, I might.
He throws up his hands and spins away. “This isn’t working. I need a break. Everyone take thirty.” With more flair than a strutting peacock he stomps out of the tent, a half dozen of his minions racing after.
Andrea glares and makes her way to my side while a
