You have a date with a girl you met at a grocery store. Do you even know where you're taking her?
The answer was no, of course. But he wasn't worried about it. He'd come up with something.
What he worried about was getting through the day and making enough headway that he'd be able to take off early and not feel guilty about it. What he worried about was sitting across from her somewhere... or next to her somewhere... and not being able to concentrate on being with her. He needed this date. He needed to be somewhere other than home or holed up in a windowless studio with five other guys. He needed the company and pleasure and sight and sound of a woman. A beautiful woman.
There was something about her, this Shelby. Something in her smile, her laugh, her sense of humor. When she finally relaxed, he relaxed. He wanted to get to know her.
‘Well,' he thought to himself, ‘let's be honest.' He wanted to fuck her.
Jackson wanted to have hot, steamy sex with this Shelby girl, this hot little thing he met at the grocery store, who seemed to want it too if he read her right. He could use some sex; it had been a while. Six weeks, almost exactly. In fact, the day that Rod called him about taking this job, he'd awakened next to a stranger in Covina.
It had been even longer since he'd had meaningful sex with someone he actually liked and wouldn't mind seeing outside of the bedroom. Or off of the kitchen counter. Or even if she wasn't up against a wall, moaning his name and screaming dirty, nasty things into the air, he'd be okay with it. He had a feeling that this Shelby was going to be one of those women.
But first he wanted to get to know her, to decide if the need to fuck her came from the fact that he was missing Kim like he'd miss an arm or because she was an engaging, beautiful, sexy little thing. He hoped it was the latter.
By the time he finally made it home, bands of sunlight threatened over the horizon and peeked through the blinds in the living room. Jackson pulled the car into the garage and headed straight through the kitchen and up the steps. Yawning, he peeled off his clothes down to plain boxer briefs and scratched his belly as he rolled into the bed.
He pointed a remote at the TV that hung in the corner of the room. It didn't matter what was on–he wasn't watching it anyway. It was noise to drown out the thoughts that kept coming. After a few minutes, he snapped the TV off again and lay staring at the ceiling, watching the fan make endless revolutions. Around and around, it turned, providing a light breeze that cut through early morning mugginess, when the cool of night gave way to the heat of the day.
The fan needed to be dusted.
Finally he gave in, tucking one hand behind his head, the other under the band of his boxers.
He closed his eyes, filling his mind with her face, from the dimple in her cheek to her long, elegant neck, to that dip at the bottom of her throat. His breathing sped up, matching the thump of his heart and the speed of his palm along a rigid length. Pulling and twisting and groaning and breathing deeply, his mind was full with images–the curve of her breasts and the telltale twin signs of arousal poking out of the t-shirt she wore. He pictured her walk, that great ass and the way it moved in those pants she wore yesterday. He heard her voice in his head, loved how it was sort of husky, how it dug right under his skin and danced across his nerve endings...
Uuunnnggghhhh...
His head rocked back in sweet relief as he panted, catching his breath. The fan, coupled with the sheen of sweat over his skin cooled him, though his blood boiled red-hot. His eyelids grew heavy, but his mind was still alive with the thought that he would see her again. Soon.
Shit. It was going to be a long day.
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