Hotline Fling

32: I'll Make This Quick

Juneau's POV

"Tell him, Juneau," I whispered to Jason and Celia's mirror. "He'll understand."

Their bathroom also put mine to shame. My toilet faced the sink, both touching the child-sized tub. I stood enveloped in luxury. Confined in a white marble room, including the ceiling, I braced my palms around the sink.

My appearance remained as put together as when I left my apartment. Not a wrinkle was present anywhere on my new dress, but I smoothed the pads of my fingers over the crimson-red fabric. The V-neck was chastity height compared to the swells of breasts bouncing here tonight, and the loose skirt hung two inches above my knees. My straightened brown hair still hung down from its high ponytail, although now a few short, loose strands framed my forehead.

The only noticeable difference was the enraged look burning in my eyes.

For the past ninety-seven minutes, I met more people than I remembered, heard many life stories, and traded more experiences about cats than even I was comfortable with. My solace within one-on-one talks, even with Adam or Celia, was short-lived. From the moment I walked into this apartment, now was my first moment of privacy.

I should've brought Gus as my plus-one. He would've given me solitude and breathing space, both luxuries I wasn't afforded with Kevin glued to me. I nearly swallowed my tongue when he introduced himself as my boyfriend. That conversation never happened, and I couldn't have felt differently about that idea if asked.

Some part of him physically leeched onto me, whether his hand on my lower back or arm, his arm across my shoulders, or fingers threaded between mine. He acted sweet and doting, refilled my soda, plated our food, laid on the charms and jokes, playing the perfect boyfriend. Guilt twisted a knife in my heart. I wanted to like him, but the vibe was so creepy.

Like a backseat observer of my own life, I watched most of our exchanges, desperately wanting that spark, that something, between us. Since there wasn't, standing next to him and smiling a happy face was an insult to the actual relationships here.

Coffee shower straight down my P-coat entrance and staining my bra aside, if I hadn't run into Damian, I would've never assumed such a kismet connection existed. My mind sought mental respite, reverting to Damian again and again.

Despite how his warm, hazelnut eyes widened, I couldn't stop staring into them. My entire body warmed from the contact of his hand on my back, even through my thick wool winter coat, and the scent of coffee and his earthy cologne wrapped around me. Under my one hand gripping his arm, his muscles bulged and tensed in a way that pounded my heart in an unbridled rhythm, setting my blood aflame and turning my veins into tributaries of wildfire. Face-to-face, the air around us thickened and sizzled more frenetically than the sidewalk energy in Times Square. He stirred so many desires in me, from personal connections to wildly inappropriate ones, and I wanted nothing more than to disentangle and explore every one of them.

Finally, I placed a face to Damian, Sergeant Hotpants, and fuck, what a handsome face he had. I bumped my hip against the counter. Now I had his face but with that body and dick? I was done for.

I closed my eyes under the lull of heavy lids. Warmth flowed through me, concentrating within the apex of my thighs. Damian was not only real but in such proximity. With the phone's veil of secrecy torn away, what I felt from such a short exchange verified I couldn't string Kevin along any further. My cheeks blushing pink and tiny stars sparkling in my eyes were enough encouragement. I needed to leave Celia and Jason's party and tell Kevin the truth. A soft knock rapped on the door.

"Juneau?" Kevin's voice muffled from the other side.

"Be right out," I called with a sigh. "I'm... washing up."