Blue Balls Read online

  “Blue balls,” I finish for her.

  “And you gave it to…” Ry trails off expectantly. Like he doesn’t already know the answer. I mean, come on. We’re standing in Sarah’s place.

  “Sarah.” My tone is dull.

  I need a stiff drink. Speaking of stiff, I really need to do something about this…

  Maggie and Ry exchange another one of those looks before dissolving into laughter. Attempting to speak between their schoolgirl giggling, Maggie asks, “You gave the blue balls to her just before we—”

  “Gave you guys blue balls,” Ry assists when she falters, holding her sides. He braces a hand on the kitchen counter separating the living room and kitchen, laughing so hard he’s nearly wheezing.

  Crossing my arms, I stare at the pair. “So glad you’re enjoying our discomfort.”

  And I call these people my friends.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Sarah

  It’s been a few weeks since I’ve seen Jack after our second, uh, “episode,” courtesy of our best friends.

  After that day with the flowers, we’d watched a movie with Maggie and Ry until the three of them had to leave. Jack had early conference calls the following morning, but our kiss goodbye had hinted at the promise of more time spent together.

  Upon returning to Saratoga and accepting the position at the local hospital, I’ve been working like crazy. It’s good money, but it’s exhausting as hell. The other day, I’d sent Jack a text at one in the morning after my shift ended—far later than expected, mind you—to see if he wanted to grab some sushi if he was still awake. I know that he sometimes pulls late hours for his business, which is why I didn’t think anything of it when I’d sent that message.

  Until the following Monday evening, that is, when I stop over at Maggie and Ry’s place to help her decide table assignments. We’re tasked with keeping Ry’s aunt, who tends to get handsy when she drinks, away from some of Ry’s college-aged cousins, and another uncle, who likes to tell offensive jokes, away from Ry’s other super-conservative aunt.

  As soon as I knock on their door, it opens, and I’m faced with the man who’s been on my mind, lips curving into an easy smile.

  “Hey, Jack.” I step inside, and he closes the door behind me. Before I’m able to move farther down the hall, he corners me, backing me against the wall, his head dipping low.

  “Were you sexting me?” His quiet, raspy voice wraps around me, enveloping me in a daze of warmth and instant arousal.

  Until his words sink in.

  “Wait, what?” My head rears back in surprise.

  His lips dust gently over mine. “You texted me one word: sushi.” Another brush of his lips. “At one a.m., Sarah. That’s code, right?”

  “Noooo.” Stunned, I can’t help but stare back at him. “I was asking if you wanted to get sushi at Liquid since they stay open until three a.m. on the weekends.”

  “Riiiiiight.” He drags out the word, tone full of disbelief. His smile is far too wicked and sexy; it makes me want to jump into his lap.

  Or just jump him. Either way sounds great to me.

  His head descends, bringing those perfect lips and piercing blue eyes closer. I feel transfixed, mesmerized by the way he’s watching me right now.

  “The next time you text me at early hours of the morning, it’d better not be about eating”—he pauses, the corners of his mouth tilting up naughtily—“food.” His wicked insinuation hangs between us.

  And that’s it. That’s the moment it happens.

  Boom. Impregnation.

  I swear to you; my ovaries gave an honest to God lurch with the divinity of immaculate impregnation.

  “Want to get together sometime this week?” he whispers against my lips, one hand gently cupping the side of my face, his thumb brushing my cheek.

  Let’s get one thing straight. “Want to get together sometime this week?” from Jack Westbrook is much like the whole snake in the Bible who taunts Eve about the delicious apple. Or the time my so-called best friend in college taunted me about trying the weird smelling brownies at a party. Of course, she proceeded to make fun of me afterward because I decided to channel my inner Jamaican the remainder of the night.

  Ya, mon. Took me forever to live that one down.

  “Maybe,” I whisper back. “As long as there are no more of those…episodes.”

  He chuckles softly, pressing a kiss to my lips. “I’ll do my best.” Another soft kiss. “Plus, I might have a surprise for you.”

  “I hate surprises.”

  He stares at me in disbelief. “You can’t hate surprises.”

  “I hate surprises,” I reaffirm. Then a thought hits me. “Except for”—I lean closer to whisper—“surprise fellatio. That’s one I definitely don’t hate.”

  Jack tosses his head back on a laugh before settling his gaze on me, eyes sparkling with humor. “Consider that noted.”

  “Jack? Is Sarah here?” Maggie calls out.

  “Yes, she’s busy molesting me against your wall,” he calls out, smirking when I swat at him. “I keep telling her I’m not that kind of guy.”

  Shoving against his chest, he relents only after another kiss, whispering, “Until later, Sunshine.”

  Then he walks to the door, laying his hand over the handle. “Bye, Maggie; later, Ry!” With a quick wink at me, he exits the apartment.

  And I’d be lying if I said my lady parts weren’t figuratively trailing quickly after him.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Jack

  It’s eleven thirty on a Thursday night, and I’m still at work. My eyes are bleary from drawing up plans for one of my newest clients. Pushing back from my desk, I release a tired sigh and scrub a hand over my face. With a glance around my office, I determine I’ve logged more than enough hours for today.

  My grumbling stomach reminds me I’ve been so focused that I worked through dinner and haven’t had more than a granola bar. I can’t keep up with Sarah’s schedule at the hospital. She’s been so busy, and I went out of town to meet with some clients, so we haven’t seen each other in a few weeks. I figure it can’t hurt to send a quick text and see if she feels like grabbing something to eat if she’s pulling a late shift.

  Me: Sushi?

  Sarah: Ha-ha. Very funny.

  My lips curve upward at her response. She clearly thinks I’m messing with her, referencing her text which had the same one word question to me a few weeks ago.

  Me: Is that a yes or a no?

  Sarah: Depends. Are you talking about food or…?

  Me: Depends. Which one are you down for? Sushi? Or “code sushi”?

  Sarah: Imagining you, me, and “code sushi” made my panties grow damp.

  Hell. Now I’m shifting in my desk chair to ease the start of a hard-on at the thought of going down on her.

  Sarah: My stomach just voted. Loudly. And she overrules.

  Me: Want to meet up at Liquid in about twenty minutes?

  My phone lights up with an incoming call from her. Swiping my thumb across the bottom, I answer. “Hey, Sunshine.”

  “Hey, Jack.” God, her voice is…everything. Silky smooth, it wraps around me.

  Tonight, however, she sounds bone-deep tired. “Rough shift at work?”

  Sarah heaves out a long breath. “It’s a full moon and that always brings out the crazies.” There’s a pause. “Anyway, I’m going to shower and change clothes but…”

  “But?” I prompt.

  “Well.” She sighs. “I really don’t feel like putting on a face full of makeup and doing my hair so late. If you’re cool with me looking like a scrub with damp hair and little makeup, then I’ll definitely meet you.”

  “Sunshine, you’re beautiful regardless. Bring yourself down whenever you’re ready. I’ll be waiting.”

  “See you soon.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Sarah

  After a cheap, five-dollar cab ride over to Liquid—I’m far too exhausted to drive and don’t want to walk
it alone this late at night—I enter the dimly lit sushi restaurant. Spotting the back of Jack’s dark head above the high-backed chair he’s sitting in, I rush over and place my hands over his eyes.

  “Hey, handsome. Guess who’s wearing sexy lace pantieeeees?” I draw out the last word mischievously.

  “Well, I sure as hell hope it’s you and not him, Sunshine.” This remark comes from a voice behind me. Jack’s voice.

  I repeat. That sounded from behind me.

  Jerking my hands away from the man’s eyes—the man who is decidedly not Jack—I find him turning to me with an avid interest in his gaze.

  “I’d definitely be interested in hearing more about those panties.” The man grins at me with what have to be the most stereotypical nicotine-yellowed teeth.

  “Mmm, yeah.” I back away slowly. “Sorry. I thought you were someone else.”

  “I can be whoever—”

  “No.” I hold up a hand, interrupting his nonsense. “You actually can’t. Trust me.” Forcing an overly bright smile, I wish him a good night before spinning around. Jack’s watching me, looking mighty entertained by my little mistaken identity episode.

  “Ready to eat?” I ask nonchalantly, as though I’m not secretly wishing the floor would open and swallow me this instant.

  His grin widens. “Definitely.” With a hand at the small of my back, he leads me to the correct booth. “Then you can tell me more about these panties of yours, you little dirty talker, you.”

  “Ha-ha.” I roll my eyes. “A true gentleman wouldn’t draw more attention to a lady’s embarrassing moment.”

  We take our seats on opposite sides of the booth, and Jack’s lip quirks upward, his eyes gleaming with humor. “Ah, but it was a classic moment, Sunshine.” He tips his head to the side. “Reminds me of one of those chocolates you like with the messages.

  “Embrace the shenanigans.”

  * * *

  Jack stares at me, features contorted in disgust and shock. “She had a bottle stuck where?”

  I’ve been regaling him with some crazy hospital stories and patients I’ve had to put under so the doctors could undo their often awkward and disturbing mishaps.

  After I finish chewing, I answer, leaning across the table of our booth, and lower my voice. “In her ass. And”—I gesture with my chopsticks—“she claimed she was gardening, kneeled down to pick up weeds, and didn’t see the bottle. Then whoops!” I break off with a laugh. “The bottle made its way where it shouldn’t have.”

  Jack shakes his head slowly. “That doesn’t even seem plausible.”

  I raise a shoulder in a half shrug. “Trust me; they don’t care if it’s plausible or not. They simply refuse to give the honest story. Happens all the time.”

  “It seriously happens that often?”

  “Oh, yes.” I release a sigh. “There was a guy who came in with his penis stuck inside a shampoo bottle.”

  Jack’s hand stills, chopsticks halting in midair with a piece of sushi squeezed between. “Inside?”

  “Yes. The part where the top screws on. Inside that hole.”

  He frowns. “But that’s really small—”

  “Exactly.” I finish my last piece of sushi before continuing. “It’s a really small space. And somehow he fit inside.” I take a sip of my water. “Awkward for the guy because everyone had to witness it and,” I emphasize while I raise my eyebrows meaningfully, “that meant his stuff was small enough to fit inside it.”

  “How did you…?” Jack trails off in question.

  “Well, it turns out that part of the plastic bottle is so hard and difficult to cut. We couldn’t manage to do anything with him being a nervous wreck and squirming, so we sedated him and carefully cut it off him.”

  He shakes his head in disbelief. “Wow. I really can’t wrap my mind around that.”

  With a laugh, I lean back in my seat. “The things that come through the doors of that hospital…” I chuckle.

  Taking in the sight of the man sitting across from me in the booth, I allow my eyes to drift over him appreciatively. He’s wearing a dark gray button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up and cuffed just below his elbows.

  In a suit, Jack’s hot as hell. Out of a suit jacket, though, with those shirt sleeves rolled up for my viewing pleasure, I have a front row seat to forearm porn. Because, let me tell you, those veins and corded muscles are magnificent.

  “Pulling a late night, too?” I nod toward him.

  With a weary sigh, he runs a hand down his face. “I’ve been approached by some new companies.” His lips twist. “It’s great—don’t get me wrong—but I feel like I’m fast approaching the point when I’ll have to turn away potential clients.” His blue eyes are tired, lacking the light and luster I’m used to seeing.

  “Hey.” I reach across the table to cover his hand with mine. “It’s not the end of the world if you have to turn some people away. You’re only one man. Don’t spread yourself too thin.”

  Jack nods, and we fall silent for a moment before I notice his eyes drifting over me. He turns his hand over and links our fingers together.

  “You look great.”

  Let’s get something straight here. I’m clad in jeans and a sweater, light makeup, and hair now air dried from my earlier shower. I do not look great.

  Passable for a female? Sure. Great? Not a chance.

  Flashing him a dubious look, I raise one eyebrow. “Don’t lie. I look like crap.”

  Jack gives our joined hands a little tug before raising them to his lips. Holding my gaze, he presses a soft kiss to my hand. “I never lie, Sunshine.”

  His nickname for me, when he utters it in that husky, intimate way, just does something. Besides dampen my panties, of course. This is what happens when one is a horndog of epic proportions.

  Okay, so that’s not the only thing that happens. I feel my stomach give a little, teeny tiny flip, which is…nice, I guess. But I don’t do the emotions that go along with stomach flips. Stomach flips mean feelings, and feelings like that lead to relationships. And that is not my territory.

  Ick. Simply thinking of the dreaded “R” word makes me feel like I’m one Adele song away from overeating myself to death on Dunkin’ Donuts. Which means it’s time to change the subject.

  “So about my panties,” I begin, giving him a saucy wink.

  He grins at me. “Do tell.”

  “Well, I know it’s tough to tell beneath this elegant exterior”—I wave a hand, in a sarcastic gesture, toward my attire—“but I pulled out all the stops with my undergarments in hopes…” I trail off, grinning.

  “Why, Sunshine”—his smile widens—“are you hoping to get lucky tonight?”

  I let out a long, breathy sigh. “Yep.”

  Jack throws his head back on a laugh before pulling out his wallet. “Then let’s head home.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Jack

  Kissing Sarah is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before. Not only does she taste decadent, often with the faint flavor of those chocolates she always carries around, but there’s something else. When our lips meet, something uniquely intoxicating sets her apart from anyone else I’ve ever kissed.

  I love that she allows me to see her with slightly damp hair and minimal makeup; I feel like maybe she’s letting me in, letting me slip past those carefully guarded walls of hers.

  It’s no secret Sarah doesn’t exactly do relationships, and I’m guessing much of the reason has stemmed from her job and simultaneously tackling school and her certification. But now, I can’t help but wonder if maybe she’s ready to take the plunge and possibly embark on something new.

  With me.

  Breaking our kiss, I trail my lips along the graceful column of her neck, and I note with pride that her chest is heaving ever so slightly. We seem to have a trend of barely getting inside the door before attacking each other.

  “What is it about you,” she murmurs softly, “that makes me want to be at your beck and call?
I mean, not serving you bacon, eggs, and pancakes—”

  She breaks off with a sharp intake of breath when I abruptly slide her sweater up to tug the cup of her lacy blue bra down, baring a rosy nipple. Latching my lips around it, I suckle her puckered flesh. “But,” she manages to continue breathlessly, “to serve you sexually.”

  Chuckling softly, I murmur against her skin. “Sounds good to me.”

  Her palms press against me, giving me pause. Light blue eyes meet mine. “Bedroom, Westbrook.”

  Taking my hand in hers, she leads me down the hallway to her small bedroom, the nearby streetlights casting a soft glow upon the room through the small slats of the blinds.

  Once we’re inside the room, she makes quick work of the buttons on my shirt, and I shed it, letting it fall to the floor. I tug her sweater off, dropping it to join my shirt. Sarah backs away to remove her jeans while I rid myself of my socks and suit pants, leaving me in my black boxer briefs and her clad in only her bra and panties.

  And she wasn’t kidding when she talked about her panties earlier. They’re lacy and a vivid shade of blue, matching her bra. She’s a sight wet dreams are made of; on par with the scene in the old eighties movie, Weird Science, where the two computer nerds create their dream woman.

  Fucking gorgeous.

  My fingers slip beneath the lace at her hips, tugging the fabric down her legs before she kicks them off. Rising, I reach around to unfasten the clasp of her bra at her back. When she shrugs out of it, my hands immediately cup her breasts, skimming the pads of my thumbs over her nipples. My mouth takes hers again, swallowing her tiny moan. I continue to toy with one hardened tip while my other hand slips down her body in a caress until I reach the apex of her thighs.

  Sarah automatically widens her stance for me, and I slide a finger inside her, finding her wet and ready for me.