Page 79 of Miss Behaved
Zac slides his hands around the curves of her hips and leans in for a totally-not-appropriate kiss.
“Call me when you’re done.” Zac plants another quick kiss on the tip of Kennedy’s nose before leaving.
I miss Carson. He’d no doubt push me up against the table and bite my neck in front of my friends. And I wouldn’t even care, because all I want every moment of every day is to feel him. Have his teeth sink into my skin, have his hands on my waist. Touching, tasting, licking.
That man is a lollipop I want my mouth on every minute of the day.
Not that I deserve it after how I left things between us.
Carson hasn’t texted since his accidental pocket dial, and with each passing minute I feel more like a dummy for not giving him a chance. Long distance might have sounded like a bad idea when we were in Arizona, but lying alone in my bed every night makes my heart ache from missing him. And I don’t know how to make it stop.
“Someone get me one of those, stat,” Kennedy says, pointing at Luce’s drink. “What is that even?”
“Orgasm in a glass.” Luce grins, her hazel eyes full of mischief. “Aka a huckleberry martini.”
A waitress drops by the table, and Kennedy orders one.
“So, Lucey, they let you out of your tower?” Kennedy says, turning back to us.
“That they did. We closed the case; another win.” She ticks her finger like a tally in the air. “Now onto the next one. And it’s a doozy. Not only was the husband fucking the nanny, but they just added a paternity suit against him—from his assistant.”
“Sounds like a scumbag,” I say.
“Well, that scumbag is my client.” Luce shrugs. “And loaded, so I’m not complaining. Break some hearts and line my pockets.”
I lift my glass at her. “Someday you’re going to meet a man who makes you question every cynical thing you’ve ever said.”
“Doubtful.” She smiles. “I’m not built like you ladies. You have fun putting people together, and I’ll stick to tearing them apart.” A wicked grin fills her face. “Besides, you don’t need to worry about me. I’m never lonely.” She flips over her napkin, and there’s a name and number scrawled across it.
“When did you get that?” Kennedy asks.
Luce’s eyes flick to the bartender, who is clearly checking her out. She smiles and takes a sip.
“Meh, he’s all right.” She smiles.
Luce’s job leaves her jaded, and I feel bad for her. She’s beautiful, brilliant, and underneath her tough-as-nails demeanor she actually has a really big heart. Not that she’ll ever let a man close enough to uncover it.
Kennedy’s drink arrives, and she claps her hands. There’s a perfect sliver of lime on the rim of the purple concoction. We all cheers and then take a drink.
I peek at my phone for the hundredth time today. The hopeful moment before the screen lights up quickly fades when I see once again there’s no call or text from Carson. But I can’t help it. Every fifteen minutes, my hand goes into autopilot and pushes that little button that reminds me he’s already moving on.
There’s no way a guy like him wallows, or stays single for more than five minutes. Me, on the other hand? Truly pathetic. I scour his social media for any activity, disappointed that he’s fallen completely off the grid. No photos, comments, anything since well before our trip. Not that it stopped me from scrolling, looking, obsessing over his stupidly beautiful face, remembering what it felt like to have those eyes hovering over me in bed.
“Waiting for a call?” Kennedy says with a grin, looking down at the phone in my hand as she flips her long brown ponytail over her shoulder.
“No—yes—I don’t know.” I sigh, stuffing my phone back into my purse.
This obsession needs to stop. If it’s not bad enough that he’s on my mind all day, I’ve now started dreaming about him. Dirty, filthy dreams that make me ache for the real thing. And then there’s my writing—or lack thereof. If I had a muse, the traitorous skank stayed in Arizona, because I haven’t put more than five words to the page in the few days I’ve been back.
“You did it, didn’t you?” Luce asks, and Kennedy smiles knowingly.
“Did what?”
“Him.” She shoots me a wink. “Tall, blonde, bedroom eyes, and a body that could probably shake a few orgasms loose.”
Not that I needed that clarification.
“Maybe,” I say, blood pumping just at the thought of him. “We were stuck together for a whole week, and things got a little—intense.”
