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|Without Me(Men of Inked #7) by Chelle Bliss|
“I gotta go,” I said as I rolled off the bed, barely landing on my feet.
“Why are you in such a hurry? It’s early,” she said in a sleepy voice as she rubbed her eyes.
“I have a business meeting,” I lied as I plucked my pants off the floor next to the bed and slid them on. “Thanks for last night, Candy. It was great.”
“That’s all I get. No kiss goodbye? When can I see you again, Anthony?” She stretched out, giving me a full view of her pussy.
I turned, trying to avoid seeing her body. Last night, I’d seen it all. Hell, I’d touched and tasted it too.
The one thing I’d wanted out of last night was to forget Max. My plan hadn’t worked. She’d found her way into my dreams, haunting me after I’d fucked Candy.
“I’m late,” I said as I grabbed my shirt.
“I want to see you again,” she begged.
“I’ll call you. Don’t call me,” I replied as I walked out the door.
“You’re a fucker, Anthony!” she yelled before something hit the wall with a loud clatter and shattered upon impact.
What the fuck ever. We all had our roles, and she knew what hers was. For a moment, guilt crept in. I knew what it felt like to want more and be denied now.
I showered, brushed my teeth, and collapsed in bed thirty minutes after leaving Candy’s place. I tried to rid my system of any memory of her. It was only eight in the morning, not a time of day I normally found myself awake.
I hadn’t checked my phone in hours. All I’d cared about was getting home and washing up. As I lay in bed, staring at my ceiling, I wondered if Malia had read my message. I wanted to know. Then again, if she hadn’t, I’d make myself crazy.
Temptation got the better of me and I checked my messages. To my total shock, there was a reply from her. My heart started to pound in my chest as excitement coursed through my system. I couldn’t see but a few words of her response.
My finger hovered over the message and I froze. If she had told me to fuck off, I’d be livid. Even if she didn’t want to tell me about Max, I wouldn’t give up. I sucked in air, holding it in my lungs as I pressed the screen and opened her response.
Malia: Hey handsome. We didn’t go out last weekend. Max didn’t feel like it and we didn’t push her.
She had replied an hour ago. If I hadn’t spent the night drowning my sorrows in a pussy I didn’t want, I would’ve seen it sooner.
I wasted no time in replying.
Me: Is she sick?
There was something about her message that didn’t feel right. Before I closed the app, the message changed to read and she started to reply.
I sighed, feeling relieved. Maybe things were looking up.
Malia: No. She just wasn’t in the mood.
I stared at the screen and wondered if I’d had anything to do with how she’d felt. Could she feel like I did even though she had thrown me out of her house?
A moment of joy surged through me. It probably wasn’t the right emotion to feel, but thinking of her in as much misery as I felt brought me a bit of relief.
Me: So I was wondering…
I didn’t finish the message, but I hit send anyway. I felt like a stalker and wondered how Malia would respond.
Malia: She’s talked about you
I blinked a couple of times, staring at the screen. A rush of adrenaline coursed through my veins. She had talked about me. I knew that women talked, but I hadn’t thought Max was the type to share the details of what happened.
But maybe the things she’d said weren’t good. I closed my eyes and sucked in a breath. I had to ask. I needed to know more.
Me: And? Good or bad?
I waited and waited as she typed. I expected a super-long message with the amount of time that passed before I received the response. Instead, she sent this:
It doesn’t take that long to type five letters. I knew she’d had something else to say and changed her mind. I’d done it myself a time or two, and the fucking Messenger app gave the illusion of typing even when someone was erasing shit.
Me: Did she tell you what happened?
While I waited for her response, I climbed out of bed and began to pace. The stress of not knowing what had been said was making me restless and a bit edgy.
I ran my hand through my hair, yanking on the ends. Candy hadn’t rid me of the angst I felt over the entire Max situation. I didn’t know what bothered me more: the way she had thrown me out like trash or that I cared how she had gotten rid of me and wanted more.
When I read the message, I looked up at the ceiling and cursed. The woman was being cagey with her answers. Maybe she was chatting with Max at the same time and telling her that my dumb ass had contacted her.
I couldn’t take it anymore. The suspense and not knowing would kill me.
Me: Malia, I like Max. I like her a lot. I want to see her again, but I don’t have any way to contact her. Please, please, please tell me she wants to see me again.
The message showed that she’d seen it, but she didn’t respond immediately. My nerves were unraveling as I waited. After a few minutes with no response, I needed a drink. I headed to the kitchen and grabbed the tequila and a glass before I started to really beg.
As I climbed the steps, my phone beeped. Although patience was never something I’d been able to deal with, I waited until I sat down on the bed to open her message.
Malia: Sorry, I was in the shower.
I wanted to scream at her response. Curse her out for making me wait and not telling me that she would be missing in action for a short time. I seriously started to panic. Shit like that wasn’t cool.