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“You look like you’re a long-term kind of guy with that girl in there.” She tilts her head to the side and gives a villainous grin. “Or is she just another contract?”
I stare at 2017 and don’t blink.
“Holy fucking shit! She is a contract.” She claps her hands with her fingers in steeple pose. “Let me guess. This is a holiday party, and you’re the hired help. Fuck, Wilder, that’s just so fucking sad.”
“What’s sad?”
“You and her. Both of you. You for still finding women to leech off of for months, only to leave them. Her for being so desperate that she’ll sign a contract for a few months of good dick.”
She’s heading toward a tirade, and I really wish someone would come out the back door. Please God, just don’t let it be Savannah. “So, you think my dick game was good?” I ask, desperate to change the subject and get her to calm down. Maybe if I remind her of my dick energy, I’ll get out of this unscathed.
Bad idea.
She steps toward me, and I step back, only to meet the brick wall behind me. I freeze and stare at her like her hands creeping toward my chest are guns. She licks her lips and bats her eyes. “That dick was so good that I still think about it at night when I touch myself. Does she like it?” she asks, nodding back at the bar. “Is she willing to share? We could have some fun tonight,” she coos, dragging her hands down my chest. “I’m not really into girls, but I’d take sloppy second ride on the Wilder express for one night.”
I push her hands down. “She’s not like that. She’s a nice girl.”
“Well, that’s disappointing.” She runs her middle finger down my jaw, and I push her hand away again. “I was hoping she’d be an absolute asshole like you deserve.”
“Why are you so mad at me?”
She laughs again. “How can you ask that? You left me broken-hearted on February fifteenth. I cried for fucking days, dickhead.”
“You signed it. Our arrangement was mutual.”
She bites her cheek and looks me up and down again until her eyes settle on my stubble. “Do you really think we go into this and don’t think we can change you? Every woman wants to tame the bad boy, hoping and praying that we’re the ones he falls in love with. We all want to be the girl that melts your cold, dead heart. That’s what I wanted.” She boops my nose with her index finger. “I wanted to tame you.”
“I can’t be tamed. I’m not a dog to be trained.”
“Little church girl in there not taming you, Wilder? I don’t know. I feel like she could be the one to do it. She’s pretty.”
“I know she’s pretty,” I mumble. I also know she’s smart, kind, and the warmest woman I’ve cuffed with. I just don’t rub that into 2017’s face. I’m in a deserted alley with her and value my dick and balls.
She places her hands on the brick behind me, boxing me in. I can get out of this, but I’d have to push her away. I’m not trying to hurt her, and I’ve never pushed a woman. If she fell and injured herself, I wouldn’t be able to live with it.
“Why is she so fucking special that she gets you?”
“She doesn’t. We have the same deal I had with you.”
She smiles. “She can look forward to heartbreak in a couple of months, huh?” She glances toward the bar door and smiles.
She also must see the fear in my eyes or smell it, like a bee or dog. “Don’t worry, Wilder. She’ll find out what you are soon enough. I wouldn’t dream of breaking up your little cuff gig. In fact, I feel sorry as fuck for her. I won’t hurt another woman like that so close to Christmas.” She gets closer to me, and I recognize her perfume. She still wears the same type. “Consider it a Christmas present from me. Just like I gave you the camping cookstove. Do you remember that?”
I remember one of them gave me a camping cookstove that I still use to boil water for noodles. It was a nice gift, and I waffle my head side to side in recognition that it was a good gift.
Before I can tell her that I still use the stupid camping stove, her lips are on mine. They’re familiar but also foreign, and it takes me a couple of seconds to realize she’s assaulting me in an alley and her tongue is in my mouth.
All I can think about is that 2017 still tastes like vanilla pudding and the terrifying possibility that Savannah will come out to look for me, only to find another woman’s tongue in my mouth. Even worse, what if a coworker comes out? Then, Savannah would be hurt and embarrassed.
Her lips move against mine, and she wraps her arms around my neck, pulling at my hair as I will my body to move. Is this the shit women have to deal with? I’ve heard stories of women freezing when this happens to them, and I suddenly understand.
It takes almost half a minute for my body to react. I push her arms down and turn my head so her tongue meets my beard scruff. It doesn’t stop her, and she licks her way up my jaw until she sucks on my earlobe.
“Stop,” I grunt, nudging her back. She doesn’t fall, but she stares at me like I’ve wounded her all over again. “That’s not what I want.”
She nails me with a glare. “Yeah, we don’t always get what we want, do we? I sure didn’t. I’m sure you’ve cuffed with other women in the past few years. Did they get what they wanted? I mean, what they really wanted?”
“I’m going back in,” I say, heading for the door and silently praying to whatever deity controls the universe that 2017 doesn’t follow me and rat me out to Savannah.
