Page 4 of Miss Behaved
Jessica or Jenny pulls the sheet up and sits with her back to the headboard. Her unsure eyes watch my every move as I gather my clothes. She’s pretty, even with smudged makeup and knotted hair. Come to think of it, she looks like a few of my ex-girlfriends. The girl-next-door type hiding an inner vixen.
“When will I see you again?” she asks. The hopefulness in her tone sinks my gut to my feet.
Damn, I really hoped I would get out of here without having to answer that question. That I could at least put it off to a text or a phone call. Eliminate the risk of watching her face fill with disappointment when she realizes I meant what I said, that this was a one-night thing.
We agreed last night: no strings, no expectations. I still don’t know her name, and I’m not confident she knows mine. It’s not that I don’t feel bad or think she might be a great girl. I’m sure Jessica or Jenny or whatever her name is has a lot of amazing things going for her. But I’m not the guy you pick up at a bar and expect for him to stick around after.
The stamp on my forehead is clear walking in.Temporary.I come with an expiration date.
“I’ll be out of town for a while,” I tell her, avoiding an actual answer. Just because she asked the question doesn’t mean she wants to know what I’m really thinking.
She narrows her eyes and frowns.
“Babe,” I say, sitting on the edge of the bed and reaching over for her hand. I do my best to sound sincere and let her down easy. I might not see a future with Jessica/Jenny, but that doesn’t mean I’m a total monster. At least I hope I’m not quite yet. “You’re incredible. I had a great time last night. There’s just a lot of shit going on right now that I’ve got to take care of. So let’s not ruin what we had trying to make this something it can’t be.”
That line usually results in one of two things: a slap across the face or a mutual understanding. I’m thankful when she squeezes my hand and her pout softens into a smile.
“I had a great time too,” she says, her upturned lips suddenly devious.
I figured she did by the amount of screaming, but it’s always good to hear.
“Besides”—she leans forward and rubs the inside of my wrist—“I’ve got a lot going on with my bar exam coming up, so the last thing I need is a distraction.”
That explains all the books. On the table, on the counter, on the shelves. Falling off the bed as I took her against the headboard. Books everywhere. I figured she was a teacher or a librarian. But future lawyer? I’m impressed.
It’s shit like this that makes me think I must be broken. She might have been up for a one-night stand, but she’s not that kind of girl. She’s having her fun while she finishes school, then no doubt settling down in the suburbs with an equally successful partner. White picket fence and two point five kids. She’s the kind of girl you marry, not screw and never call again.
If I were a smart man, I’d get her number. If I were an honest man, I’d take her to dinner. If I were a good man, I’d have left her alone in the first place.
But I’m none of those things.
“Sounds like you’re busy,” I say finally, pushing the brush-off back on her, twisting this around to absolve myself of the guilt that clearly lands in my court.
“Right,” she breathes. Her gaze falls to my hand, her lips pursing. No doubt she’s trying to figure out if she’s the one putting a limit on this or if I am. I try to pull my hand away, but she squeezes tighter. Her darkened stare meets mine.
“But…” She lets go of the sheet, and it rolls off her incredible tits, reminding me why I’d ditched my quiet night at home in the first place. “At least let me give you a proper goodbye.”
The minx crawls toward me on all fours, and when her hand lands on my dick, I know I’m missing this flight, and I couldn’t give a shit about it.
I’m not the smart man nor the honest one. And I’m definitely not the good one. Because this is all bad, bad, bad, in the best possible way.
We go another round, and it’s all right—not quite like last night, when alcohol was fueling us, but fun. It takes the edge off the morning, and by the time she hops in the shower, we have the cordial goodbye I hoped for an hour ago.
Except now I’m officially late. There’s no way I’m making my flight, and if I can’t get on standby for the next one, my agent might finally put me out of my misery.
Throwing on my coat, I head toward the door with a hint of something I can’t put a name to playing at my insides. A familiar feeling sours my gut.
It’s not that I like being the type of guy who’s incapable of attachments. Despite what a few of my ex-girlfriends would say, I do think there is still a heart beating in my chest. But short term is all I offer. I’m not the guy you fall in love with and take home to Mom. I’m not the guy who puts you ahead of his career. And I’m not the guy who’s capable of caring past a certain point.
I considered it once, and look where it got me.
I spot her license on the counter as I head to the door and stop to read it—Jacinda. It’s a pretty name. And it hits me again that I fucked her twice without even knowing it.
Hopefully Jacinda ends up happy. Finds a guy who makes her breakfast, or at least sticks around long enough to take her out for one. A guy who gives her that house outside of the city and a dog in the yard. Supports her career and gives her at least mediocre sex.
The shower turns off, and I leave before she tries to convince me to stay for round three. Or, worse, tries to get me to put a ring on her finger.
Jacinda deserves more than I could ever give her.
