Page 48 of Tripped Up

Pressing a soft kiss to the tip of her clit, I slide down the bed and draw the blankets around her body. Her legs spread akimbo while she drapes her arm over her eyes.

Tucking her in, I press a kiss to her forehead.

“What’re you doing?” She almost sounds petulant, her words slurred.

“Putting you to bed.”

Her lashes flutter as she blinks slowly. “But—you didn’t come.”

“This wasn’t about me.” And I’m about ten seconds away from coming in my pants. I have to pick and choose my battles.

Elsy frowns. “Wyatt…”

I shake my head. “Have a good sleep, Els. I’m leaving tomorrow night for a long road trip. Can I see you when I come back?”

“You’re seeing me right now.”

“And I want to see you again. When I get back.”

“Okay.” She yawns, her eyes heavy. “Have a good trip.”

Ducking down, I kiss her forehead again.

seventeen

Elsy

Here’s the thing: when the guy you hate gives you a screaming orgasm and then tucks you into bed, things get confusing. When he has a week-long road trip and you can’t talk it out, it gets worse.

I am entirely capable of picking up the phone and texting him. I can totally do it.

I’m just… not sure what to say.

Hey, thanks for fingering me until I nearly cried? Sorry I didn’t return the favor?

He didn’t want me to get him off. Am I that hideous that he can’t stand the thought of me touching him?

No. Wyatt said over and over again how sexy he finds me. It blows my mind. I’m still trying to figure out what game he’s playing. There has to be an end goal, and it’s definitely not getting me into bed because he likes me. It’s never that easy. In all those cheesy ’90s rom-coms, there’s always a bet for the guy to seduce the ugly duckling. But he’s not seducing me. At least, I don’t think he is.

With a groan, I rub my forehead. This is making my head hurt. The last thing I need is to fixate on this—again.

A horn honks behind me, and I startle, beeping mine, too. I wave apologetically to the car in front of me and try to focus.

The airport arrivals area is a chaotic zoo, as it usually is. Cars are weaving in and out of the lanes, trying to pick up their passengers and leave. That’s what I want, too.

At long last, I spot Bex. Getting out of the car, I rush toward her, grabbing her into a hug. I’ve missed my best friend.

“Girl, you look so good,” she gushes. “You’re, like, glowing.”

“New moisturizer,” I dismiss, even though all of my skincare products are exactly the same. “How was your flight?”

She groans, tossing her bag into the trunk and then climbing into the car.

“That bad?”

“Worse.”

She had a work conference in Houston this week. While she was in my neck of the woods, she hopped over to Austin for the weekend. We have thirty-six hours of fun girl time before we go back to real life.