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And maybe I should be embarrassed about that.
Or maybe it’s time to finally admit the truth to her—the one that I’ve finally come to terms with.
I want Jolene Bailey.
Any way I can get her.
CHAPTER 12: JOLENE
Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.
Was he touching himself in there?
Did he just jerk off and say my name when he was coming?
I swear I heard him yell my name, and I thought maybe he needed a towel or something.
Instead I saw him with his dick in his hand and I could’ve sworn I saw semen on his fist.
Maybe it was soap bubbles.
It had to be soap bubbles.
It was definitely soap bubbles.
Right?
He was just washing himself…while calling out my name.
And those abs? What the hell were those?
Ridiculous.
They’re carved out of fucking marble and I’m over here with child-bearing hips rather than the narrow ones he drove against back when we were both virgins.
We’ve both changed.
He got hotter.
I got softer.
But the truth remains…we still can’t be together, no matter how much we both want it.
Even if he’s in the shower touching himself while thinking about me.
Even if the thought of that sends an aching pulse squarely between my thighs.
He finishes his shower, and even though I took one last night, I’ve already decided I’ll take another one—mostly because I need a cold one at this point.
I’m not dumb enough to touch myself and call out his name, though. Not when we’re sharing a hotel room.
He doesn’t make eye contact when he exits the bathroom.
He is, however, wearing just a towel wrapped around that narrow waist, and once the image is implanted in my mind, I know it’ll never leave. I still don’t allow myself more than a glance.
“Are you done in there so I can shower?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he grunts.
