Sure Thing(9)


by Jana Aston

“By all means, love,” I agree, moving aside and holding a hand up in the direction of the restaurant. “I’ll let you get back to work then. Wouldn’t dream of distracting you from your job,” I add with a wink.

“You already are,” she mumbles as she moves past.

If only she knew exactly how much I want to be her distraction. Every night. All week. Yes, Miss Daisy Hayden, you have no idea how distracted you’re about to be.

CHAPTER NINE

Violet

Well, last night was a clusterfuck. That’s my first thought when I wake up this morning. Cluster. Fuck. My alarm hasn’t even sounded and I’m already awake and thinking about being stuck with my one-night stand for a week. Seven nights and eight days to be specific. Yay me.

How does this happen? I mean really, why does this stuff happen to me? I set out to have a slutty one-nighter and I end up with a guy I’m stuck with for a week. And I’ll probably sleep with him again, so there goes my only one-night stand. Assuming he wants to sleep with me again, but I think he does. He seemed to enjoy himself last night and if I’m being honest, there’s not a whole lot of competition this week. Most of the women on this trip are married or over sixty. Plus he looked amused as hell when he followed me into the hallway last night, during the welcome dinner. Of course he could pick up someone not on this trip in the evenings. Like he picked me up last night. Or did I pick him up? No, all I did was smile at him for three seconds. He sent the drink and joined me, so I guess there’s that. But anyway, I think he’s probably interested in a repeat.

So if I sleep with him again can I still count this? When I’m fifty and having drinks with girlfriends and reminiscing about our misspent youths, would it be cheating to say, ‘Oh, yes, I had a one-night stand once. With a hot British guy. I even gave him a fake name. The entire thing was quite provocative?’

Good Lord, I’m an idiot. Like I’d use the word ‘provocative’ in casual conversation. And I only gave a fake name because I was impersonating my sister and I didn’t want to give him her name, because that would be weird.

Oh, fuck.

Fuckity fuck!

I sit straight up in bed and stare at the blank television across from the bed. I can’t sleep with him again now that he thinks my name is Daisy. I mean, what if he calls me Daisy while we’re having sex? Nope. Just no way.

I think I’m gonna cry. I’m trapped on a week-long tour with Magic Mouth and I can’t even enjoy it. Why does the universe hate me? Why? I flop back onto the bed with a loud and annoyed groan before snatching my cell off the bedside table to check the time. Looks like I might as well get up. My alarm is set for half an hour from now and I’m sure as heck not going to fall back asleep now.

My mind is racing. Racing with terror at faking my way at playing tour guide this week. And racing with memories of what it felt like to sleep with Jennings. I’m turned on just remembering it. The way he felt on top of me, inside of me. The way it felt to be stretched around his cock. His lips—shit, I shiver remembering his lips. And he was good with them. Everywhere. On my neck and trailing down the inside of my arm, the spot behind my ear and above my bellybutton. And lower too. Oh, good Lord, did he know what he was doing.

Well, forget him. The sex probably wouldn’t be as good the second time anyway. It’d probably be average if we did it again, totally average. The first time was probably toe-curling perfection because it was a little forbidden: sex with a hot stranger I was never going to see again. Sex without any of the anxiety about if I was making it good for him or caring if my body made any weird sex noises in the midst of all that thrusting, because holy shit, I was drenched for him. Like embarrassingly wet. Kinda like I am right this moment thinking about it.

It was probably just that hot because it was new dick. Yup, that’s it. That’s the reason: new perfectly-sized dick. Thick enough to feel it and long enough to wince when he slid in all the way in with his pelvis resting on mine. Attached to an impressively nice body with a face that makes me want to drop to my knees and take him in my mouth. And the British accent didn’t suck. Sweet baby Jesus, the accent. I’m screwed.

I kick the covers off and head for the shower with another groan. Looks like a cold shower is in order to head off a long and sexually frustrating day.

Ninety minutes later I’m downstairs in the hotel restaurant. The trip includes breakfast each morning at whichever hotel we’re at that day, so I see most of the group wandering in or out and enjoying the buffet set out by the hotel. I nab a banana and a cup of coffee then sit at an empty table with today’s agenda. I just have to get everyone onto the bus, count them twice to make sure I’m not missing anyone and then recite some tidbits Daisy jotted down for me about Washington while we make the drive into the city. Once we get downtown we meet up with the local specialist who will take us on a walking tour around the National Mall. All I have to do is trail behind the group and then when that’s over I give them a couple of hours to explore on their own and a location for everyone to meet back up. Easy enough.

The chair across from me slides out and I glance up to find George taking a seat. Shit, why did I sit at a table alone? I managed to avoid him all day yesterday but my time just ran out. He’s here, and I’m cornered, so to speak.

“Daisy,” he says with a seductive grin. “I thought I’d see you last night.” He raises an eyebrow in question and I have to admit he’s very attractive. He’s Daisy’s type for sure—dark hair, blue eyes and a big ego. And then I remember he thinks I’m Daisy and that he gave me his room number yesterday. I kinda forgot about that when my one-night stand problem smacked me in the face.

“Um, George,” I start but he slides his hand over mine on the table and catches me off guard. I move my eyes from his to our hands and back again when a throat clears to my right and I snatch my hand back as I glance over.

It’s Jennings.

Of course it’s Jennings.

He’s in jeans and a polo shirt and manages to look like he stepped out of a Brooks Brothers ad, or whatever the British equivalent is.

I flush just looking at him, but I’m not sure he’s similarly affected. If I had to guess I’d say he was annoyed, not aroused.

“Good morning, Miss Hayden.” He nods in my direction before turning his attention to George. “George.” He nods to George, his tone dismissive. After a long pause where Jennings makes no move to leave, George glances between us, then announces he’s going to prep the bus and takes off.

Well, that’s one awkward exchange with George avoided.

Cue awkward exchange with Jennings instead.

“Where’s your grandmother?” I ask as Jennings takes the seat George just vacated and hope in vain that he isn’t interested in reminding me about his amazing sex skills. I suppose that’s an overly specific worry and probably not likely in the midst of a free breakfast buffet, but yeah, that’s exactly where my mind goes.

“Are you involved with the driver?” He ignores my question and asks his own, his eyes narrowed on mine, his jaw tight. Annoyance confirmed.

“What? No!” I scoff, then bite my lip. Well, I’m not, but Daisy is. Or she was. Shit, this is sort of complicated. “Not really, no.”

“Not really?” He raises a brow and leans closer to me over the table. “You’re not certain?”

“I mean, no?” I respond and I know it comes out more like a question than an answer. “I’m not,” I add, pointing to myself with my hand with a little shake of my head. But then I scrunch my nose a little and look away, which probably makes me seem guilty, as if I am involved with George.

“I don’t share,” he states when I meet his eyes again.

He says it in that posh British accent. ‘I don’t share.’ And yeah, I’m thinking about him naked all over again and my breath catches in my throat because who says, ‘I don’t share?’ He might as well have growled, ‘Mine,’ and to be honest I never thought I’d experience a man pulling such an alpha stunt in my lifetime.

It doesn’t suck.

I grin.

He scowls.

I laugh.

He doesn’t.

“I’m waiting, Miss Hayden,” he states and I swear his jaw ticks. I’ve never known a man who could actually do that before either. It also doesn’t suck. I don’t want to goad him but the jaw ticking thing is quite enjoyable and I wouldn’t mind seeing it again.

“You’re upset at the idea that I could be involved with George?” I question unnecessarily and try not to grin again, his mood not indicating he’s interested in joking. “No, I personally am not involved with George. Does that make you happy?”

“It does, Daisy.” He nods and the lines around his eyes relax as he sits back a bit in his chair.

Daisy. Ugh. Hearing Daisy’s name coming from his perfect lips feels like being offered a glass of cold tap water after shoveling a foot of snow off the sidewalk when you were hoping for a mug of hot chocolate with some marshmallows floating on top. Time to rip the Band-Aid off.