I don’t want to ask Jude. I don’t want to be that needy woman reliant on a favor from a man to get to work. I don’t have to call him. He’d never know.
But I promised.
Ugh. Why did I do that? I’ll be riddled with my own guilt if I don’t ask him for a ride. Whatever. It’ll be a day or two at most. “Suck it up, buttercup,” I grumble to myself and pull up his contact on my phone. I decide to send a text rather than call.
Me: Looks like I’ll need that ride after all.
Jude: So what you’re saying is I’m right?
Me: Never mind.
Jude: Don’t be a poor loser. Besides, I take it this is good news?
Me: Yeah, I’ll be on set at Americana Studios. They want me there Monday morning.
Jude: That’s fantastic! Congrats.
My stomach flutters with excitement. I don’t know why his validation matters, but it does. Another smile blooms on my lips.
Me: Thank you.
Jude: What time should I pick you up?
Me: You really don’t have to do this. I’m only reaching out because I promised.
Jude: What time, sweetheart?
Does he really have to use pet names? And why do I like it so much? Ugh. He probably uses them with all women. I’ve known men like him. Privileged. Beautiful. Wealthy. A player in a well-made suit. Jude is the kind of man to make a woman feel special even when she’s just another one of many. Not like it matters, because I don’t have feelings for the man.
Liar.
Ugh. Not going there. So he rocks a suit like he’s born to wear them. That, and his smile gives me butterflies. Doesn’t matter. I didn’t come to Los Angeles for a man. He’s offering me a ride out of the goodness of his heart, and I’d be a fool to pass up the offer.
Me: Can you get here by 6:30? I need to be on set by 8.
Jude: It’d be my pleasure. Sweet dreams, beautiful.
I can almost hear him say the words in his deep timbre. Maybe his voice is scratchy with sleep. Where is he this moment? Home in his bed? Out of his suit and wearing nothing but boxers? Or maybe nothing at all.Fuck me.My eyes squeeze shut, but the image is still there. Is his chest clean-shaven or smattered with hair? Is he a grunter or dirty talker? My face flushes as my body tingles with the thrum of desire.
Glancing around the room, I decide to take advantage of my roomie being out, along with most everyone else, and tiptoe to the door to shut and lock it. The only dreams I’ll be enjoying tonight will be of the dirty variety. Might as well put my vibrator to good use. Besides, it’s not as if Jude will ever know. Minutes later, when I come with visions of him sweaty and spent, his body heavy above mine, I’m not sure that’s exactly true. The next time I look him in the eye, I won’t be able to stop wondering if real Jude fucks anywhere close to imaginary Jude. That’s a very dangerous thought.
14
Jude
I’m bored. I’m horny. And since it’s Saturday and I’m caught up on client work, I have nothing to distract myself. I surfed this morning. I even longboarded to and from lunch. Still, I’m restless with pent-up sexual energy. One can only jerk off so many times before chafing is involved.
I know because I’ve put that theory to the test. A strong libido is something to be proud of for a man of any age. Not that I am worried. I’ve never had a problem getting it up. But the number of times I’ve gotten hard this past week would put my teenage self to shame. And that’s all thanks to one woman.
Rachel.I can’t get her out of my head. I haven’t slept with the woman, yet the very idea has me rock hard and stroking myself as if the world is ending and I’ll never get to use my dick again.
Fuck me. I’m pathetic. Lusting after a woman who only agrees to spend time with me in exchange for free transportation. Hell, she’s even begrudging about that. She doesn’t want to sleep with me. She doesn’t even want to see me.
I’ve only known her a matter of days but she isn’t the kind of woman you fuck once. She isn’t in it for money. She doesn’t use people for connections. She’s the kind of woman you cherish, thank your lucky stars she ever gave you a shot, and put a ring on as soon as possible so every other fucker knows to keep his hands off.
But that’s crazy talk. We hardly know each other. She could be a wolf in sheep’s clothing. She hasn’t shown any interest, and I’m not the forever kind of man. Yet the thought of her with anyone else sends me into an unexplainable fit of alpha male rage.
How pathetic can a grown man be? I need to do something. Or rather, I need to dosomeone. Since work isn’t an option at the moment I scroll through my contact list, checking my digital black book for a potential good time.
