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And the longer she lives under my roof, and the more we get to play this strange little game we’re playing, the more intrigued I am by Sadie’s body. I know it’s wrong, and I have no intention of doing so, but I can’t help but wonder what I would find if I were to peel back every layer of clothes.
Do the freckles on her face spread across her chest?
What do her breasts look like beneath that bra? If I were to cup them in my hand, just how much would they overflow?
How warm is the space between her thighs? And what would it feel like to bury my hand between them?
Suddenly I’m fidgeting in my seat, realizing that I really do need to fucking get laid.
“What about, uh, what’s his name?” I ask with a hint of displeasure in my tone.
“Jax? He hasn’t been in since I told him about the baby.”
“You haven’t spoken at all?” I ask.
“We’ve talked mostly through text or Messenger. And he has offered to pay for everything,” she says as if that makes up for his lack of attention. Or the fact that he’s not been around for anything, not for either of her two doctor appointments like I have. And he likely won’t show up for anything now.
“I feel weird calling him now,” she says, “especially for a hookup. Or even a date. But man, I’d like to…”
I feel my spine straighten and my muscles tense at the idea of him and her together. He doesn’t deserve her. She should know that. Not even for just sex.
“What about you?” she says. “Why don’t you call Miss Hot English Teacher out there and see if she wants to go on a date?”
I don’t glance up at her as I reply, “I don’t date, Miss Green.”
“Then how do you get laid?”
“You are overstepping again,” I grumble.
She rolls her eyes. “Whatever, punish me later. Answer the question. How come you don’t date?”
I let out a sigh. “Because I’m not interested in a relationship, if you must know. I don’t want a girlfriend or a wife or a family. I enjoy my life the way it is. I’m married to my work, and I’m not ashamed of it. As for sex, which, again, is an inappropriate conversation for us to be having, I have sex and plenty of it, thank you. But it’s nothing more than a means to an end. It’s about pleasure and intimacy but requires nothing long term or monogamy of any sort.”
Staring at me perplexed, she lets her mouth fall open. “Oh my god!” she murmurs to herself with wide eyes.
“What?”
“You’re a playboy!”
With a huff, I furrow my brow. “I am not a playboy.”
“Yes, you are!” she replies with a laugh.
“Keep your voice down,” I scold her, but she doesn’t listen.
“That was probably the most eloquent way I’ve ever heard it expressed, but you’re essentially just a manwhore, Dr. Goode.”
“I am not a manwhore,” I reply in an angry whisper. But even I can’t keep the humor from my voice as I say that.
“You little heartbreaker!” she says with a smile. “You just love ‘em and leave ‘em.”
I fight a smile and shake my head. “That’s not what I meant.” But she’s enjoying this far too much. Leaning back in her chair, she smiles at me as if I’ve just let her in on the world’s greatest secret.
“A regular literary lothario,” she says with a grin.
“Knock it off,” I mutter.
“A classical Casanova.”
