West swiped his thumb over his pre-cum and used it to lubricate himself as he went even faster. His forehead dropped to mine. We were closer than ever before, and now my hand bumped into his penis every time I rubbed myself.

“Coming.” His lips moved over mine. The pleasure taking ahold of my body made me delirious. I shook all over.

“Me too.”

I watched as hot spurts of white cum shot from his penis, just when every muscle in my body tightened. We came together, but kept on rubbing, tugging, and moaning.

A full minute after, we still had our foreheads pressed together. Our lips on one another. Our arms hung on the floor like they’d fallen from our bodies. We grinned into each other’s mouths. Everything around us was sticky and damp and smelled of sex.

“That was …” I drew in a breath. “So far away from hygienic. Way worse than you working shirtless. If health and safety dropped by, they’d kick our asses.”

He toppled backwards, laughing his butt off.

“If Mrs. Contreras was here, she’d hang us in town square,” he agreed.

“We don’t have a town square,” I pointed out.

“She’d have made one.” He leaned back toward me. “Whatever, I had a good run.”

“Short one.”

“Not too short for me.” His eyes glittered.

I slid my gaze down, reached for his half-mast shaft, and swiped a finger over the crown. He shuddered and hissed at my touch. I stuck out my tongue, touched my cum-filled finger to it, giving it a thorough lick.

“Hmm.” I closed my eyes, covering my whole finger with my mouth.

He groaned, yanking me into his embrace. We hugged, my head tucked under his chin. He drew circles over my back with the tips of his fingers.

I had no idea what we were at this moment, but it was definitely more than friends. There was intimacy there, no matter how much he tried to deny it. But pushing him to do something he clearly wasn’t interested in wasn’t fair for him or me.

“Promise me you won’t regret this tomorrow morning,” he whispered.

I closed my eyes, feeling a fat, warm tear sliding out of my right eye.

“No promises.”

West

Stubborn rays of sun poured from the cracks of the food truck’s window, making my eyelids sting. I shielded my face from the sun and rolled over on the floor. When I didn’t bump into a small body, I opened my eyes.

No Texas.

I sat up straight. The Clorox scent around me told me everything I needed to know—Grace had wiped last night out of the trailer and scrubbed it clean while I was passed out. Question was—did she wipe it from her memory, too?

I couldn’t blame her if she had. I basically gave her my old no-strings-attached shtick. By scrolling all the way down my bullshit verbal contract and signing on the small print, she’d agreed to never ask for anything other than a dirty fuck. The tragic part was, I hadn’t even had the balls to fuck her. Even though, in all probability, I could have.

But I knew screwing her was going to mess with my resolve to leave her alone.

And I really, really needed to leave her alone.

My fascination with this chick had gone too far, and it was time to back away. Unless, of course, she’d agreed to do this casually, then fuck my logic and fuck my promises to myself. I was going to have her any way I could.

I got up from the floor, looking around me. The scent of steaming brewed coffee and freshly baked croissants filled my nostrils. I spotted them immediately on the counter, right next to a note.

I grabbed the note first—already a bad sign. Ninety-nine percent of men would reach for the food first.

I had to go take care of Grams (it’s the weekend and Marla is off).

Take care of yourself. I turned your phone alarm to half an hour before Karlie and Victor start their shift.

—Texas

I grinned to myself like an idiot. I had no indication that I looked like an idiot, but I sure felt like one.

Stuffing her note into my back pocket, I dug into the pastry and coffee on my way out of the trailer. I was glad I didn’t have a shift today. All I wanted was to take a shower, catch up on more sleep, and maybe hit Tex up later today, see if she wanted to hang out. I spent way too much money when we hung out, on stupid shit like designer ball caps and Frito pies, but it was always worth it. It recharged me. Made Fridays a little more bearable. Or should I say—a little less hellish.

Which reminded me—I needed to send a text message to everyone who worked at the Plaza, warning them Grace Shaw was banned for life from our fine institute. One less problem to worry about.

I whistled on my way to the Ducati and spent the ride home replaying the moment she licked my cum from her finger until my mental tape was stuck. My dick stirred against the hard leather seat, which was unfortunate and un-fucking-comfortable, but unthinking about it was a waste of a fucking good memory.

I was pretty sure even if I died at the ripe age of a hundred, reaping many memories along the way, this would still be the moment to flash before my eyes before I finally kicked the bucket.

I parked in front of the rundown house East and I had rented, taking off my helmet and striding toward the front porch. I stopped as soon as I saw her.

What the hell was she doing here?

My blood simmered in my veins, threatening to melt my whole damn body into a puddle of anger. My molars were a nanosecond from turning into dust, and I could feel my jaw squaring. I put an apple candy between my teeth, not bothering to take my sunglasses off. “Caroline.”

Normally, I’d call her Mother, but I was too pissed for that. She looked a mess. Her mom-jeans and outdated yellow blouse were wrinkled. Her hair was completely gray now, and she wasn’t even that old.

I walked past her. She darted up from the front stair of my porch, following me like a puppy. I hated myself for treating her this way. But I also hated her for putting me in this position.

“What brings you here?” I jingled the key in the keyhole, my back to her.

“You haven’t answered any of my calls recently.”

I could see her wringing her fingers in my periphery, looking down, like a punished kid. My mother was the world’s greatest hugger. Even more than Texas, who I noticed was into hugging her friend Karlie, and her grandmother, and hell-knows-who. Finding the strength not to hug her own son after five years must’ve killed her.

“Finally, your father told me I should get on a flight and check that you are okay. Your wellbeing is more important than money, obviously.”

“I’m okay. You can go now.” I pushed the door open with my shoulder. It creaked in protest. I walked in. She followed me hesitantly, knowing I wasn’t above kicking her out. She didn’t have a suitcase. Good. At least she wasn’t planning on staying long.

She looked around the room. There really wasn’t much to see. It was a two-bedroom house, small and in desperate need of fixing. The living room consisted of a couch and a TV. The kitchen had a retro orange table with four plastic chairs. The gray-yellow wallpaper was peeling, torn at the edges. That was what you got for getting the cheapest place available in Sheridan. And that poor bastard East went along with me. He couldn’t see me doing this to myself without sticking by my side.

Speaking of …