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How sad was that statement about her sex life? That Blake had rocked her world harder with a dildo and a dry hump than the men she’d gone all the way with.
She closed her eyes, warding off unwanted thoughts and feelings.
So what if Blake was great in the bedroom? She needed more than that.
She and Doug were compatible, like-minded, and they had a good time. Or a good enough time. It wasn’t like it was a lot of over-the-top laughter and fun, like she shared with Blake, but their dates had been pleasant.
She mentally added pleasant to her list of shitty descriptors.
By the time she and Doug had left the movie theater tonight, Erika had made up her mind to invite him in.
However, when he parked the car by the curb outside her building, her words evaporated. Doug gave her a long, slow kiss, and as always, Erika’s thoughts wandered back to Blake. To the passion, the hunger, the sheer need behind his kisses.
Doug kissed her like he was trying to win points by impressing her with his technique, all suave finesse and a gentleness that almost put her to sleep.
Blake kissed her like she fucking mattered, like she was the air, the water, the food he needed to survive, and without her lips, he’d die.
By the time their kiss ended, she’d changed her mind about sleeping with Doug—he’d given her too much time to think during the boring buss—and she had repeated the same words she’d used at the end of every single one of their dates. She’d thanked him for a lovely evening, then lied about having an early morning.
At the beginning, Doug had taken her dismissals with good grace, but that polish had become a little more tarnished every time she’d sent him away with nothing more than a few kisses. She hadn’t even let him get to second base and cop a feel.
Tonight, he hadn’t smiled and said good night. He’d scowled, point-blank asking her if the two of them were “ever going to fuck.”
His words had pissed her off. When she told him she wasn’t going to be pressured into something she wasn’t ready for, he’d called her a prude and told her to get out of his car, skidding his tires in his haste to get away from her.
She tried to convince herself she’d made a lucky break, that Doug obviously wasn’t the man she’d thought he was, but her guilty conscience kept rearing its head, suggesting that, number one, she hadn’t really given Doug a fair shot, and number two, she probably shouldn’t have kept going on dates with him if she wasn’t truly interested.
The thing was, she thought she should be interested because of all those stupid “we’re well-suited” reasons that had seemed so fucking important at the beginning. Now, she was starting to wonder if she’d been using Doug as a buffer, as a way to keep Blake at arm’s length.
Because she was in serious danger of giving in to her best friend’s desire to take her to bed, even though she knew doing so would be the biggest mistake of her life.
Blake didn’t do commitment, didn’t do girlfriends, didn’t want marriage for at least twenty more years. She didn’t even know if he wanted kids. Worse than that, he lived across the hall.
She knew exactly how the whole thing would play out. She’d succumb to his charms, they’d have amazing sex for one, two, maybe even a few nights. And then, when he was done, Mr. Casual would expect things to return to normal, which meant, she’d be forced to pretend he hadn’t broken her heart while watching puck bunny after puck bunny leave his apartment every morning.
Erika would probably try to maintain the friendship—for Corky’s sake—but in the end, she’d lose the battle, they’d have some huge blowout fight, and eventually the strain would get so bad that she’d have to move out of the apartment she loved.
And even knowing all of that wasn’t helping her resist him. Because his kisses, his charming smiles, and his wicked, teasing touches, combined with the way he genuinely cared about her, was all too much.
Her emotional breakdown was interrupted when a flash of lightning split the sky, followed by a huge crack of thunder.
“Shit!” Erika jumped, raising her hands to cover her ears at the same time, Corky jolted.
Erika heard a snap and felt the leash go slack—then Corky sprinted across the grassy park area behind their building.
The grassy, unfenced area.
“Corky!” she screamed, taking off after the dog as the skies opened, a heavy downpour soaking her to the skin in less than a minute.
Another flash of lightning struck, and she stumbled when a loud rumble of thunder boomed overhead. Her heart was racing, more from fear than exertion, and she panicked when Corky disappeared through a small grove of trees. Her apartment complex maintained the commons for residents, and while there had been some talk of adding a fenced-off dog park area, that hadn’t happened yet.
“Corky,” she yelled again, tears mixing with the rain streaming down her cheeks. She couldn’t see the dog at all anymore, the night and the heavy rain limiting her view.
“Please,” she cried. “Oh God, please, Corky. Come back!” True terror took hold when another loud roar of thunder cut through the night, and Corky was nowhere in sight.
She continued running, yelling the dog’s name, but every time another flash of lightning struck or thunder boomed, her fear continued to grow until it was nearly paralyzing.
A sob fell from her throat, opening the floodgates as she raced around, desperately searching for Corky.
