13. CHAPTER NINE
On Saturday, I meet Trista for lunch at the local park, far from the office.
She shows up in jeans, a wool blazer—even though it’s seventy degrees, shades, and a hat. I look like the furball a cat threw up wearing joggers, a Grateful Dead T-shirt under a denim jacket with my hair in a messy bun.
My head is still pounding, but I didn’t shower because…
Because I want to keep Eoghan’s scent on me.
Trista and I grab tacos at our favorite food truck at the park’s entrance, plop down on a worn picnic bench, and have at them like we’re junkies.
Wiping hot sauce from her mouth, Trista gives me a noticeable once-over.
“Hangover from alcohol or cock?”
“Both,” I say, sheepishly and show her the condom wrapper Eoghan left behind.
The pearly white square with an iridescent logo shimmers against the sparkling sun above.
“You kept the condom wrapper?” Trista asks and her jaw drops.
Cheeks heating, I say, “It was my first time, I wanted a little souvenir.”
Trista scoffs. “At least he didn’t leave you with a little bun in the oven.” She gets a closer look. “Durex? Impressive for your first cock. Mazel tov! My little girl’s all grown up!”
People stop and stare at us, but I just wave them off like she’s being silly.
“Air, Extra Thin.” Trista studies the condom wrapper. “These are expensive.”
I won’t insult her and ask how she knows that. “His suit wasn’t exactly a knock off.”
“What happened to your face?” She looks at me closer. “Did he bitch-slap you with his cock?”
I press on my cheek, the tender skin waking up. “No. But he held me against a brick wall and my cheek got scratched.”
“He fucked you against a brick wall? Tell me everything!”
“No. Although, I guess getting banged in an alley would have been hot. He took me back to my place, shoved his face between my legs, and then he fucked me.” I leave out throwing up in front of him. “Oh, when he realized it was my first time, he turned feral and licked the blood right out of me.”
Trista coughs into her soda. “Wow, what a savage.”
I smile, sipping my iced tea. “You have no idea.”
“Was he, you know, well-endowed?”
“King-endowed,” I say, exhaling.
“And the actual sex? Bottom, top, from behind, anal?”
I go breathless. “It was just basic, him on top, but he… He was really good. He kissed me and held me. Then…”
The downturn of my emotions hits me as I’ve played this out for the past twelve hours.
“Then he did anal?”
“No, but he did stick his finger in my butt while he was going down on me.” I shudder remembering how it felt.
Trista slaps the table. “That’s what I’m talking about. Oh, God, I had a boyfriend in college who did that to me. He was a total loser, but I swear until I met Carson, he was the best sex I ever had.” She dreamily sighs.
It’s hard to imagine comparing notes about past lovers. The idea of finding a man who gives you the best sex of your life and you don’t end up with that guy sounds soul crushing. And I’m approaching that regretful exit ramp on life’s journey. Only, I don’t know if the sex with Eoghan was the best.
Who am I kidding?
“Any repeat action planned? Did he get your number?” Trista asks.
“No,” I say, keeping the regret from my voice. “I can’t see him again. He’s… I prosecute bad guys and he defends them.” And he’s a bad guy.
I have an attack of the loyalties.
“He got a bit weird when he found out I was a virgin.”
“Did you act clingy?” Trista asks, chewing around a taco.
“No,” I shriek. “I took it for the ‘one and done’ I knew it was.”
“Did you tell him before you did it that you were a virgin?”
“No,” I answer quietly. “I worried he wouldn’t touch me. He kind of freaked out a little. Probably thought I would get clingy. He finished and got out of there.”
I couldn’t face him telling me, this was fun but I’m not looking for anything serious. So, I pretended to pass out.
“He might have felt guilty,” Trista offers. “Might have thought he took advantage of you. Men are very careful these days.”
Something tells me an O’Rourke doesn’t worry about those things.
Drunk or not, I was dying for him.
“Anyway…the important thing is, I’m no longer a virgin.” I wave her off.
“Mmm.” She stops sipping her drink. “Did you set up a profile yet on the dating app I sent you?”
I shake my head. “I’m not sure this is for me.”
“Why not?”
How do I tell her that I don’t want a relationship? I want more of that hot sex I had last night. “For one, I’m busy. I don’t have time for a relationship.”
She arches a brow at me. “That will make you the most popular woman on the app.”
“What if I just want something…physical? I got my feet wet and want more…”
So much more, I feel like a junkie and need another hit. Could Eoghan’s cum have some kind of addictive chemical in it?
“Got your feet wet?” Trista prods me.
“You know what I mean.” I was plenty wet last night. “I waited forever to have sex. Right now, since I’ve breached that hurdle…”
Another look.
“Stop.” I swat her arm. “I want to get it all out of my system.”
“Then say that in your profile. I repeat, your phone will blow up with responses.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Is it safe?”
“Meet them in public places.”
“For sex?”
“This is Vegas.” She glances around. “No one cares.”
My heart jumps into my throat. “I’m a prosecutor. I can’t let anyone know who I am.”
“Yeah, I wouldn’t say that in your profile.” Trista nods heartily. “If you just want sex, you don’t need to state any career ambitions. You’re gorgeous, no one will care.”
I tilt my head. “Will they care if I’m curvy?”
“I doubt it, so long as you’re good in bed.”
This is getting too complicated. A faint sound of an airplane taking off from the airport nearby reminds me, Eoghan is gone.
Eoghan…
He loved my body. Maybe guys these days don’t mind a full bust, a big butt, or a cute pot belly.
He didn’t. And he was stunning with cut muscles and a killer dick. But it’s easier for men to achieve that look. Most women don’t have six-packs.
“Look, you don’t have to figure it all out right now,” Trista says. “Throw the profile up, chat with guys who respond, and then tweak as you go.”
Nodding, I take out my phone and download the City Sinners app.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
Handle. (Do not use your real name)
I glare at Trista. “It wants a handle.”
“Hmm. How about Gemma? You know, for diamond?” She winks.
Snickering, I type it in, because that’s pretty good. “There are six Gemmas.”
She thinks about that. “You’re Gemma7! Hurry up and grab it. Lucky number 7!”
Nodding, I type: Gemma7.
Age: 30
Height: 5’7”
Weight…
I pause…
“Why does it need my weight?” I cringe, thinking of the men who will filter out anyone under one hundred and twenty pounds.”
“Leave it blank.”
“That’s not a red flag? Or catfish territory?”
“You have to post a picture.”
A photo! I dump my head into my hands.
Shaking her head, Trista, says, “Give me that.”
My phone in her hands, she’s typing away and swiping through my camera roll.
“Wait! What photo are you using?”
She grins over the top of my phone. “Trust me, Gemma7.”
I can tweak this later. Or delete it all together…