Me.
There’s no reason I should be surprised. I bolt at the first sign of anything stronger than one night. I guess my hormones finally got that memo.
I lean back into the seat and stare out the window. Yes, it’s for the best that my vagina forgot to clench and get all excited when he walked into the restaurant. After all, he was late. Who’s late to a date? That’s my job.
I’m totally trying to justify this bullshit turn of events.
I throw a couple of bills into the driver’s lap and get out of the car to his call of, “Thanks, darlin’!” I let myself into my apartment block and press the elevator button repeatedly. Stupid thing is so slow.
“Now, if you’re home, I know that date was bullshit, darling.”
I turn at the sound of the disappointed voice and grin at Sean. “You have no idea. It’s like having sex and getting no orgasm at the end of it.”
“On the contrary, I think that’s exactly what happened.”
“What? No. I didn’t have sex with him.” I step into the elevator after him.
“Well, there’s a first time for everything.” He examines his reflection in the mirrored walls. I smack his arm.
I smack his arm. “Are you calling me a slut?”
“Never.” He flashes a smile at me. “What happened?”
I sigh as the doors open. “Jackson wasn’t all that after all. He was late, he tried to order for me, and the pre-cab kiss was all…lackluster. It was like having my first kiss all over again.”
Sean smacks his lips together. “I think your problem is Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome.”
A low flutter erupts in my lower stomach at the mention of Mr. TDH. And don’t forget the Oh So British. I clap my hand over my tummy to stop that stupid feeling.
“Yes. He’s my problem. The guy whose name I don’t know but f**ked anyway. I forgot the part where he’s consuming my every thought.”
Sean shrugs and opens his apartment door. “Wine?”
Well, I’m not turning down that offer after Disaster Date #768. Sometimes, living opposite a g*y guy with a wine collection bigger than my shoe collection is really good for the soul. Not so good for the liver, admittedly, but good for the soul.
I close his door behind me and kick off my shoes, dumping my purse unceremoniously on the floor next to the nude heels. Sean’s sofa creaks as I fall back into the plush leather and swing my legs up.
He shoots me a dirty look and hands me a glass of wine. I take it with an eye roll.
“So tell me again why Mr. Dreamboat is so bad.”
I stare at my g*y neighbor with all the disbelief I can muster. “Seriously? You didn’t get the whole disaster-date vibe from the turning-up-late-and-ordering-my-food thing?”
“Oh, shit. And the kiss was before you got in the cab?”
“Yep. All that pent-up sexual attraction is gone. It was the equivalent of kissing your aunt on the old excitement scale.”
“Ouch. What a douchenugget.” Sean takes a long drink of his wine. “I say Mr. TDH ruined you.”
I snort and the wine in my mouth makes a very undignified journey up my nose. Oh, shit. That burns. Fuck, it burns. I pinch my nose and shake my head.
Ruined. By sex. How hilarious.
“That’s adorable. Really. It’s not like he stole my orgasm.”
“Have you had an orgasm since him?”
“Uh, no.” I won’t tell him it’s not for lack of trying. Next time, the bullet can stay in the drawer and I’ll pull out Jack Rabbit. Sometimes, you just need the double whammy, right?
This time, Sean snorts. “You tell yourself that, honey. Maybe, if you see him again, he’ll give it back if you ask nicely.”
“I won’t see him again. You know how that shit works. One time. No more.” I wave my now-empty glass before he can speak again. “Jackson was different. I was only ever planning on seeing him in a professional capacity after I f**ked his balls right off his body.”
“You’re a delight, Liv.” Sean explodes in laughter. “Truly. Oh my goodness. Okay. So Mr. TDH is also the Orgasm Catcher”—we both giggle—“and you have no intention of asking for it back.”
Because asking for that back would require actually knowing his name. Something I don’t know. And I’m fairly certain that stealing an orgasm is impossible. Illegal at the very least.
I roll my eyes again and grab the wine bottle from the fridge. “My orgasm is not lost or stolen. It’s just… particular. Some women can’t even orgasm at all, so it’s not shocking that mine should be so selective.”
“Selective. That’s what you’re calling it?”
“It’s reasonable.”
“Why don’t you think of him while you, you know? Do whatever it is you women do to orgasm by yourselves.”
My lips curve to one side. Oh, bless his heart. “No. I won’t think of him while I… Yes. That. If I do that, it could get dangerous. I might need to know who he is, and that would not end well.”
“You kicked Ross to the curb pretty good,” Sean replies after a moment of contemplation.
“That’s because Ross was sleeping with his coworker. Besides, I never really got it with Ross. He was good in the sack, but that’s about it.”
“I think you were a guy in a previous life. A straight one.”
“That’s exactly what Dayton says.” I grin. “Enough about me and my selective g-spot. What’s new in your life?”
And we talk for the next three hours, refilling our glasses until we both fall backward in a fit of giggles and pass out where we’re lying.
“Crap,” I mutter, reaching for my shrilly ringing cell. “Hello?” I groan into the receiver without looking at the caller ID.
“Liv.” My agent’s voice filters down the speaker. “I have some bad news.”
I sit upright in bed and smack my hand over my eyes at the sudden thump there. “Oh no.”
“Your shoot has—”
“Oh. God. Have they canceled it?”
“No, hon. Calm down. They’ve just rescheduled it for four this afternoon and at 961 Grenetia Garden.”
“I have no idea where that is.”
“I emailed you directions. You’ll need to leave in around forty-five minutes to get there on time.”
I quickly look at the screen of my cell. Fuck. “Okay. Cool. I’m ready to go.”