Beautiful Disaster (Page 92)

"Do you really wanna know?"

He nods, appropriately wary.

"If you know what’s up, sure."

"Of course I know what’s up with her." I don’t even try to hide the scorn in my voice at the implication that I have no idea why my girlfriend is acting weird. Then again I’m not about to tell him just for the sake of gloating, not to make it easier for him to deal with her, but out of a certain amount of vindictive glee. If my revelation today with Rose has been right, I have every reason to rub his face in the fallout of the shit he has caused – and has probably not even realized exists.

Rolling my empty bottle between my palms, I stare at the green glass for a moment before I catch his gaze, steeling myself against trudging into a topic I haven’t expected to be discussing with him ever.

"Remember your little prep talk that you gave her the week after our colossal f**k-up?" I can be fair, he’s not the only one to blame for it all.

Jazz nods, and I have to hold back a chuckle at the way he’s suddenly all tensed up himself. "Obviously I don’t know what exactly you told her because she doesn’t like talking about it, but I know you were mostly trying to make her see that I’m a despicable ass**le because of the things I’ve done; the things I like to do. I think the reason why she pretty much shrugged it off back then was because she knew you were just spewing bullshit, and it wasn’t like any of that really concerned her. But guess how remembering all that makes her feel now, half a year later when a pair of plush covered handcuffs makes her laugh rather than blush."

At first it’s genuine confusion on his face, but then the meaning of my words sinks in.

"She can’t really think that I meant her with all that? Bella knows me better than that!"

"Does she?"

"Of course she does!" he huffs, but I can see from his frown that he’s starting to doubt his own words. There’s a lot I could add – but I keep my tongue and instead get up to flag down the bartender. Armed with two fresh bottles of beer and a couple of darts I stop next to Jazz, then nod towards the darts board.

"Wanna play?"

He’s downright grateful that I don’t pick up the previous topic again. It’s been a while since I’ve played but at least neither of us is too drunk yet to miss the board, although we’re not shy to insult each other.

"So what else besides you quitting your job did I miss?" I finally steer the conversation to something else than my inability to hit the same fields consistently.

"Well, not much," he grunts, then squints at his own less than stellar result on the score board. "Much work, not much time for anything else with Alice flitting across the globe with her fashion shows. Guess the most noteworthy was that I met Jack Sullivan from college. Remember the guy who nearly blew up the dorm with his makeshift moonshine distillery?"

"A great moment for us all, and definitely unforgettable," I muse, lost in the memory for a moment.

"You at least didn’t get busted for smoking pot! I still can’t believe they just let you walk away like that when you’d so obviously had more than just a contact high!"

"Yeah, that was pretty funny. I think I laughed my ass off for hours."

Jazz scowls at my grin for a moment, then cracks up himself.

"It was! Ah, good times."

We finish the next round in amicable silence, then get another round of beers.

"Anything new on your side, except for you calling off the wedding?"

I shrug.

"Not really. And I can’t say I resent my life being kinda boring."

"No one ever really does," he grunts, then throws a couple more darts that barely hit the board. "I’ve really missed this, you know? Us just hanging out, getting a couple of beers, stuff like that."

"Me too," I admit, a little surprised just how much that’s the truth. Jazz seems to have expected a different answer, or at least a scathing remark from me, but when neither comes he relaxes visibly as he empties his bottle.

"How about we switch to something stronger?"

"Tequila?"

"Always."

We abandon the dart board for the bar, and a few shots later the somewhat stop and go of our conversation soon runs into a continuous if not quite coherent string of anecdotes and wise-cracks. By the time we finally go home we’re both no longer steady on our feet, and Bella greets us with a frown and a laugh.

"Drunk and sweaty, do you even need to ask why I didn’t drop in when I got your text?"

I find her snide remark as funny as it gets, which makes it obvious just how drunk I really am, but don’t protest when she herds me off into the bathroom upstairs after wishing Jazz a good night. I’m not surprised but still grumpy that she doesn’t respond favorably to my less than subtle attempt to seduce her, but like before I accept that she doesn’t want to have sex –

for now.

The next morning going to work is helll- the combination of sexual frustration, a light hangover and some residual soreness in my muscles makes me less than happy to leave the bed, and the following killer shifts at the hospital don’t help to improve my mood. The only thing that keeps me going is the promise that between the day before Thanksgiving until Black Friday afternoon I’m going to be off rotation so that I can at least see my family again. And maybe guilt-trip Bella into a booty call or two if we haven’t gotten rid of Jasper until then.

The few days until then all blur together, and when I finally make it home for my fifty hours of freedom it’s already late afternoon. Neither Bella nor Jazz are in so I go straight to bed, and it feels like only seconds later when the loud bang of the door downstairs falling into the lock startles me awake again. I’m about to roll over and pretend I’m not awake when I hear someone running up the stairs. A moment later the door bursts open and Bella comes charging in, grumbling under her breath. She sees me blink at her groggily, and the next thing I know she’s on me, her lips pressed hard enough against mine to bruise.

My mind hasn’t caught up yet when she’s already done yanking off my t-shirt somehow, then her hands are inside my boxer briefs, and what minimal thought capacity I’ve had flees when her hot, wet mouth slides down on my cock. I moan as my eyes close again on their own account, convinced that this must be a dream my frustrated mind has come up with out of sheer frustration.

Then her mouth is gone, leaving me grumpy for a moment as that just underscores my dream theory, but when I open my eyes again Bella is still there, only now busy literally tearing her clothes off. I’m still amazed how fast she can get out of her jeans when she’s crawling upwards and over me, the heat of her body enticingly close. A critical look down and she wraps her hand around my cock, stroking me fast and determined while her eyes are fixed on mine. I can’t read the look on her face, partly because all the remaining blood in my head is rushing south very fast, and I abandon the seemingly inconsequential attempt when she lets go of my dick with a grunted, "Should be sufficient."

My hands find her hips just as she leans towards me, her mouth hungry against mine. She doesn’t protest when I pull her close, in fact she rolls her hips against mine so that my now hard c**k slides along her pu**y lips. But then she stops, one hand pressed against my chest as she props herself up there, her eyes again intent on my face.

"No games. No begging, teasing, whatever, I just need you, and I need you now, I can’t -"

A small voice in the back of my head tells me to let her go on but my mind isn’t the part of me that’s in control now, and instead of heeding that advice I pull her head down to devour her mouth, then flip us over so that I’m crouching over her. She lets out a throaty chuckle when I grip her hips to hold her down for a moment, then thrust into her, relishing how her body yields to mine.