Are you going to give me what I want, JD?
My dick stirs to life again and I groan, slipping my hand beneath the sheets as Fantasy Carter makes another appearance.
I’m getting the feeling this is going to be a long night. And that The Dry Spell Diaries might be over soon.
My editor will kill me, but at least there’s a chance I’ll die happy.
Chapter Six
Writer’s block. The struggle is real and it sucks hairy balls.
I came downstairs to write after hours of tossing and turning. Correction. Hours of dirty, twisted jerkoff sessions followed by more sexually arousing angst about a certain bearded drill instructor. Same as the night before.
At the rate I’m going I’ll be heading to the ER after all, only it won’t be for my fading bruises. “Mr. Green? Can you tell us how you sprained your wrist?”
Wouldn’t that be a fun story to share with my readers? Nope. Never gonna happen. Sex will not send me to the ER.
Last night I’d run away from my intense physical attraction to Carter, and my body has been making me suffer for it ever since. Either that or my host is slipping Viagra into every meal. I haven’t had this many erections in…I can’t remember, but I think never wouldn’t be a huge exaggeration. Not even back when I first discovered the wonderful world of the hard-on.
Finding out your penis has superpowers you can’t entirely control is an awesome, scary and exciting time in every boy’s life. And, at least in my case, I spent an abnormal amount of time studying those powers. Finding the right incentive to draw them out of hiding. Trying to master them whenever I had a minute without one of my brothers around.
What I’m saying is I should have gone blind. So that myth is busted.
I’d successfully managed to avoid talking to Carter about our kitchen run-in, or much of anything else, for the entire day. He didn’t bring it up either. I keep telling myself I’m grateful. And I am. Really.
Instead, he ordered me to relax and recover while he cooked, worked out for a few hours in the gym upstairs and then took some calls in his office. Not that I was keeping tabs on him or anything.
If I was, I’d know he’d passed on checking out the new security measures at the bar in order to keep an eye on me—I heard part of that phone call with Tanaka—but I didn’t bring it up.
I just wanted to stay in my avoidance bubble, with my perfect host who was a perfect gentleman where everything was perfect.
Denial is a seductive bastard.
I don’t think Carter wants to stay in the bubble. Despite his silence, I could sense him watching me throughout the day as well. Wondering. Waiting.
For my part, I did my best to distract myself. I talked to the locksmith and my landlord. I tried to get information from Fiona about her study date with Wyatt and Thor. She didn’t go into details, but she didn’t sound happy either, which was unfortunate. Not a carrot in sight there. So after that gossip well ran dry, I decided to check in again with my editor.
Toni had finally called him.
“All I know is that she’s using her sick leave, JD. And that she’ll call back as soon as she can.”
“She didn’t quit?” That didn’t make any sense. Eddie the Asshole would have made her quit, wouldn’t he? He inferred as much, and he was willing to beat the shit out of me and toss my place for interfering with their relationship. Why would he let her work around me now?
“No. And she said she doesn’t deserve any favors, but she still needed me not to fire her until we talked again.” Lawrence sighed. “I told her I couldn’t make that promise. Not after what the police said. What her boyfriend did to you. Are you sure you’re all right? All you have to do is say the word, JD, I—”
“Wait. That’s the only word I’m saying. Wait until we know all the facts.” It was an automatic response, but it still felt like the right one.
The facts seem pretty apparent on the surface. She set me up on that date. She disappeared after it happened. She even apologized for it via text.
But she didn’t quit her job. The clothes she’d picked out for herself had been missing from her closet. She’d called Lawrence and told him she’d talk to him soon.
And I was a fool still hoping to prove my trust wasn’t misplaced.
I don’t want to think about any of it anymore. It’s too late now to make more phone calls or seek out a noisy distraction. Too late to let myself go round in circles about Toni or Carter, so instead I’m gorging myself on ice cream floats and working on my diary.