10. THE ONE WITH THE GRAY SWEATPANTS
CHAPTER TEN
THE ONE WITH THE GRAY SWEATPANTS
Comment: Girl, are you and @WestParkerComedy together?!
Comment reply: Y’all didn’t have to doxx Hex like this tho…
Comment reply: No one can say she’s ugly under the mask now cuz DAMN HEX
Water. I need water.
I peel one eye open and it takes me a moment to register why it’s so bright in my bedroom. My other eye pops open, and I push up to my elbows.
My sheets aren’t white. My bedroom isn’t this bright. And whose hand is on my—Oh, my god.
Last night comes rushing back when my eyes land on the most glorious back I’ve ever seen in my life.
Who knew a back could look that good? Who knew a man could look that good?
“Fuck,” I whisper.
West’s face is buried in a pile of pillows, the bed sheets barely covering what is also the best ass I’ve ever seen. On a man.
I have no idea what time it is or when I passed out. All I remember is feeling sated and sleepy after adding two more orgasms to my record.
Six. Six fucking orgasms!
I go over the list of drinks I had last night, realizing how low the number is. If I’m being honest, the last shot I took last night had done nothing but enhance West’s touch.
Holy fucking shit. This twenty-five-year-old just raised the bar so goddamn high I’ll be searching my entire life for someone who can give me that many orgasms in one night.
I’ll be old and single like Hilda before that happens.
I slowly climb off the bed, careful not to shake the mattress. I need to get out of here before he wakes up. I cannot have a morning-after moment with this man.
My purse is in the same spot I deposited it last night. I tiptoe over still completely naked, rummaging through to find my phone. It’s at 2%. No chance it’ll survive long enough to request a ride. I toss it back into my bag and glance down at myself.
Even with ink covering most of my skin, I can see the scattered bruises starting to appear between my tattoos. Something tells me there might be a few on my neck too.
I shudder at the memory of his strong grip on my hips as he fucked me from behind. No, bad Jo.
It was a one-night stand, that’s all… but I don’t know how unlucky I must be to experience the best sex I’ve ever had and know it’s never going to happen again.
I take a deep breath and go through a list of all the reasons it’s a terrible idea to wake West up for round two while searching for water.
He’s almost seven years younger than me!
He’s a stand-up comedian who sexualizes women for ticket sales!
He’s a fuckboy who sleeps with women like this all the time! This might not even have been his first lay in the last twenty-four hours.
My underwear and bra are next to each other at the end of the bed. I dress in those first, discovering my fishnets are a goner—ripped at the crotch and down the legs. I locate my socks, while daydreaming of a shower… but then remember how fucking thirsty I am.
I glance over at West sound asleep, his back rising and falling with slow inhales. A glass sits on his nightstand with enough water to hold me over until I can finish getting dressed and get the fuck out of here.
I slink to his side of the bed and pause when he mumbles, pulling a pillow over his head. My breathing stops until he stills, returning to a peaceful sleep.
I quietly snatch the glass and don’t wait, bringing the rim to my lips and taking one quick gulp.
The second the liquid passes my lips, I regret not giving it a sniff test.
Because that’s not water. It’s tequila.
I can’t stop what happens next no matter how hard I try. The same tequila I drank last night with no issues comes spraying out of my mouth… and all over West’s back.
I’m not lucky enough that he would be a really, really, really, hard sleeper, because he shoots up like someone spit water across his back.
Or tequila…
I have to swallow hard enough to force the little bit left in my mouth down, the sound of my gulp audible in the quiet room.
“Why the fuck do you have tequila in a water glass?” I groan.
I wasn’t even that drunk last night but drinking in your thirties isn’t the same anymore. A hangover is still a hangover no matter if you have two or ten drinks.
West’s hair is mused from last night, and he’s squinting against the bright morning light coming through the curtains that never got closed…
“Because you said you wanted a shot after orgasm three.” He says the words with a grogginess only sleep can give.
“I did no—yes I did.” I nod, the memory returning a few seconds behind my mouth. I asked him for it and then never took it.
He rubs his eyes with his palms, yawning. “Need me to jog any other memories?”
I put the cup down, only now realizing it’s in my hand still. “No, no. I remember. I just forgot for a second.” What with my post-six-orgasms brain and all!
“Sorry.” I bite my lip and suppress a laugh. “I was trying not to wake you.”
“You were just going to leave without saying goodbye?” He gives me a look that says, Joey, how could you? The puppy dog eyes aren’t needed, but West uses them anyway.
I shake my head, sounding sincere. “Of course n—” But the lie catches in my throat and my shoulders slouch in defeat—no sense in lying to him now. “I was going to leave without saying bye.”
I stand up straight and watch his eyes scan over my exposed skin. I see that same look of hunger he wore last night.
So, it wasn’t a figment of my imagination… Great!
“West, last night was a lot of fun.” Understatement of the century. “But I gotta go. I have—”
“Big girl stuff to do? I get it.” He stretches his arms over his head, biceps flexing… veins bulging. His smile is dangerous, sliding slowly across his lips. “I mean, if you want I’m happy to give you a parting gift.” He’s staring between my legs.
“Do you not understand the concept of a one-night stand?” I ask, brows meeting in the middle.
He puffs a laugh through his nose. “Oh, no. I’m fully aware of how they work. It’s just that I usually don’t let them stay the night. It’s a cab at 5:00 a.m. for most.”
And to think, I was starting to believe I might have been wrong about him…
I exhale a quick, disappointed breath and start the search for my shirt. “Got it.”
West shuffles off the bed. “I didn’t say I was proud of it. I don’t need anyone getting too close, thinking they can stick around. So, I make myself very clear before anything happens what my expectations are.”
I’m nervous West might still be naked when I look up from the floor, but thankfully, he threw on a pair of… gray sweatpants.
Oh, he’s good. That’s the female equivalent to a nice pushup bra or the perfect pair of leggings.
“Well, Hotshot. Let me make it exuberantly clear.” I finally spot my black T-shirt in the corner.
“Wait, no, hold o—” West starts, but I cut him off.
“I’m not interested in sticking around. In fact, I’m so ready to leave.” I snatch my purse from the table and slip into my Docs, shoving the laces inside.
“Joey baby, I—”
“Stop calling me that!” Because it makes my insides tingle—I don’t say the last part out loud, of course.
“Damn, not a morning person… It's okay. I can work with that.” He leans against the wall near me. “What I meant was,” he waits until I stand up and face him. “I didn’t rush you out because I wanted to see you again.”
I can usually get a good read on people, and there’s nothing on West’s face or in his casual stance that screams liar.
Sighing, I take a step forward, resting my hand on his forearm.
His skin is warm, and I’m fighting with what my body wants and what my brain is telling me to do instead.
“Good luck on the rest of your tour. Thank you for last night. I had a really great time.” I drop my hand and walk past him, realizing I’m still in my underwear.
I hold my bag between my legs, slipping into my T-shirt quickly. When I get to the door, I look over my shoulder and find West staring. For the first time since meeting him, I bring up my online identity by name. “Hex is a secret. I’d like to keep her that way.”
The door closes behind me, and I don’t look back, not even when I hear West’s groan from down the hall.