The F#ck It List: The Complete Story (7 page)

"
T
his is a bad idea
, Amanda. It's dangerous." Scott runs a hand through his dark curls and paces the living room of his apartment.

I scoff and shake my head in frustration, glaring at him from my seat on his couch. He has no leg to stand on here, which I’ve already reminded him of a hundred times. At least. "I'll be fine. People hook up with strangers from bars all the time."

He stops in the middle of the floor, and throws his hands up in the air. "Yeah, and they get raped or killed all the time too. And you won't know his name or anything about him, so the cops will have nothing to go on."

I roll my eyes so hard I'm a little surprised they don't roll from my head and plop on his coffee table. "That isn't exactly the norm, Scott. That's the most far-fetched worst case scenario ever. And I have pepper spray."

"You're being stubborn and reckless." His voice is accusing and his eyes are the color of frost.

I expect
my
eyes to shoot fire at his stupid face. "This entire adventure is reckless. But I'm enjoying myself. For once in my life I'm free. I'm not going to give that up."

He resumes his pacing, glaring at the floor like it personally offended him. "I'm not saying you should give it up. Just consider changing this one."

I shake my head. "No. I'm excited about this, it's exhilarating."

"But what if you forget your keys there? What if the condom breaks and you end up needing to contact him?"

Irritation morphs into true anger. "Dude, you are being a jackass. Sure, these things happen, but not as often as the media wants us to believe. I'll feel him out at the bar and if he feels sketchy, I'll postpone or choose someone else. If he's a dick, I'll have no interest. And I won't forget my keys and I'm on the pill."

He turns eyes now pleading on me, stepping over to stand at my side. "Look, at least let me come with you. I won't cramp your style, I'll just be there for backup."

I jump to my feet and whirl on him, hands on my hips. "Scott, come on. You've been super supportive through this whole thing, why are you acting like this?" The fleeting idea of kissing him until he shuts the fuck up flickers through my mind. Maybe we could work out our frustrations with each other on each other. I keep hearing makeup sex is the best kind. And so is angry sex.

I shiver and push the thoughts away. We may be closer now, but we aren't a couple. The lines have already been blurred enough.

He runs his hand through his hair again. "I'm reacting like this because the others on the list don't have to be complete strangers. And people you know, even peripherally, wouldn't chance pulling something like that."

I almost spit my words, furious he's trying to ruin this for me. To scare me. "Sure they would. The majority of rapes happen by someone you know. But I'm planning on giving it up, so it's not like there's a need for that." I blow out a huge sigh. "Look, just because our friendship has been a bit on the sexual side lately doesn't mean you can act like a possessive boyfriend."

His glare freezes me in place and he steps close to me, looming over my much shorter frame. "If I were a possessive boyfriend, I wouldn't be okay sharing you. Especially with some stranger. No one would touch you but me. You wouldn't be fucking anyone but me." His last words are a growl that reaches deep inside me, making my belly clench.

I hate how every time he gets super near me, my body responds so quickly. My nipples pebble and even though I'm furious, my treacherous body doesn't care. I never should have slept with him. No matter how mind-blowing and perfect it had been.

I can't take my eyes off his eyes. They swirl with fury and pain. My chest tightens. I don't want to hurt him. I don't want to worry him. But I want to do this. I'm going to do this. He doesn't get to control me. No one will ever control me like that again.

I clear the cobwebs and shivers from my throat. "I just got out of a shitty fucking relationship where my wants or needs didn't matter. Where my feelings didn't matter. Where he tried to mold me into something I'm not and I let him. For the first time in my life, I'm free. To do crazy things, fun things, and yes, even dangerous things. And you have to let me. Because you are my best friend and I don't want to lose you. But I won't mold myself for you."

He splutters and growls. "I don't expect you to mold yourself into something for me. But I'm also not going to keep my fucking mouth shut when I think you're being a damn idiot. It's one thing to go a little crazy and have a little fun. But this isn't bungee jumping. And I'm worried you're taking this whole thing too seriously. You're willing to do something dangerous just to win a bet against your own damn self. Your life won't be over after graduation. You don't have to settle down and get married and start pushing out brats. You can still have a fun, sexy life. But you sure as hell shouldn't wait till then to use some common fucking sense."

Every bit of the stupid lust haze leaves in a rush, anger a strong force pushing it out. "Would you be this upset if there was no list and I just decided I was going to go out to a bar and have a little fun? With no real plan, but open to going home with someone? Just because this scenario is a bit premeditated doesn't make it that much different. You have to back off a little and trust me. I'm not your girlfriend. I'm your friend. And I'm going to do this no matter what. If this is all too much for you, I can leave you out of the rest of it. I won't tell you anything else about the list so it won't stress you out. I get that you're worried and I love you for it. But you have to back. Off."

His rage melts into helpless frustration. "Fine. But at least we need someone or something to turn in to the cops. Please, let me come and at least get a photo of the guy. That way we have something for worst case scenario. Look at it this way. With the knowledge I have your back, you can relax and enjoy yourself. You won't have to worry about anything but having a good time. Mark another item from your precious list." He takes another step, taking one of my hands off my hips and holding it in both of his. "Please, Amanda."

I groan and pinch the bridge of my nose. He isn't going to stop until I give in. "Fine. But only for a photo. Nothing else."

"Fine."

"Fine," I snap.

I rip my hand from his, grabbing my purse and sweater. "I've got to go. I'll see you later."

I don't give him the chance to say anything before I slam out of his apartment. I shouldn't let him rattle me like that? It's MY fucking fuckit list, not his. It's like he heard nothing I was saying, nothing I meant got through to him. He was too worked up with worry and fear. He's always been my protector, and usually, I am grateful for it, but he went too far today. Maybe I really should consider doing the rest of the list without him. As close as we are, it's a little weird that I've shared so much with him.

With our night of sex and our little side bet, things are getting strained. And I especially don't like the continued fantasies he keeps inserting into my own. I mean, it isn’t the fantasies that bother me—those are hot. It’s that he seems to think his should take precedent over mine. No, I need more experiences to drown out our night together, so we can get back to normal.

I force my angry stride to slow along the sidewalk. There's no reason to get so worked up just because he's pissed at me and I'm pissed at him. We've been pissed at each other and had arguments and fights for a hundred reasons over the years. I'm freaking out over nothing. This will blow over just like all the others.

That's part of the whole life-long friends gig, right?

Right?

I
walk
into the bar and after my eyes adjust to the dim lighting, it only takes a quick sweep of the room to decide who my Stranger is going to be.

He's sitting at the bar with a neat brown drink. Maybe bourbon? Scotch? His hair and eyes are the exact color of his drink and heartbreak is written all over his face and slumped shoulders. Even from a distance, it's perfectly clear he's here to drink away his sorrows.

It certainly doesn’t hurt that he’s also gorgeous.

Obviously, he could use company and someone to take his mind off his troubles for the night. I finish looking around the bar until I find Scott. He's in the booth by the door, watching me with dark, shadowed eyes. It's going to be weird doing this with him watching the whole time. I try to get a read on his expression, but the bar is too dim. He's here, but that doesn't mean he isn't still pissed. I'm not sure if I'm still pissed or not either. I refuse to let him or his attitude ruin my fun.

I smooth down my tight black dress, and take a deep breath. I've thought through the plan. It's good. Scott will get his picture on the off chance he's a serial killer. But based on his deep sadness, the only thing I have to fear is if he'll be interested.

I slide onto the stool next to him, making sure my bare thigh "accidentally" glides against him. My dress hikes up showcasing my long legs.

The bartender comes over and smiles at me, dimples appearing on his cheeks. "What can I get for you, doll?" He's cute, but I'm looking for something a little different tonight.

"One of those looks good." I nod to the stranger's drink, but make sure I don't actually look at him. In fact, I pointedly ignore him.

The bartender nods and pours me a glass.

"Thanks."

I continue pretending the stranger doesn't exist until he clinks his glass against mine. "Same, huh?"

Then, and only then, do I turn to him. "Let's play a game. Let's be liars." I raise a brow in challenge.

He grins, and I see a glimpse of how he must have been happy once. "Game on."

"You go first." I look down at his hand cupping his drink. He has long, strong fingers. Fingers that I imagine dipping inside me, caressing me.

"All right. What's your name?" He adjusts his position on the stool, pressing his leg closer against mine. I can feel the steel muscles hidden by his pants. The fabric is scratchy and rough against my skin.

I shiver and search my brain for a fake name. "I'm Katie. You?" I could drown in his bourbon eyes.

He smiles knowingly, his sadness starting to fall away. "I'm Isaac. What do you do for a living?"

Leaning over to give him a nice view of my breasts, I choose the last thing I would ever want to be. "I'm a librarian." That would be my nightmare job.

He doesn't move his gaze from my cleavage as he says, "I'm an artist."

My mouth falls open a bit, forgetting for a moment that we're lying. He's good at this game. Almost too good.

He leans close. "You might want to close that gorgeous mouth of yours so I'm not tempted to put something in it."

I muffle a groan at his words, looking up at him through my lashes. I shoot a glance down at his lap and see the evidence of the effect this is having on him. It makes me feel better at the state of my drenched thong.

I wonder what he really does for a living. He has on a pair of nice black slacks and a deep plum button-up shirt. He has just a hint of facial hair and bourbon-colored hair clipped neat and short. With his soulful eyes, I could see him being an artist, but since we're lying, obviously it's something else. I chose librarian because it's the farthest thing from what I'd choose to do. Maybe he's a banker or accountant. Or something completely surprising like a forest ranger?

Forest rangers are hot.

We continue to banter, all lies. It's weird getting to "know" a person who's made up, but fun too because I get to be someone new as well. I like being a librarian named Katie. Our little "accidental" touches growl bolder and I grow hornier with each moment, with each sip, with each graze of skin. I've never done this type of foreplay before. I'm surprised at how much I enjoy it. I'm surprised at how wet and squirmy it makes me. I hope I'm not leaving a wet mark on the stool, evidence of my desire.

Once the ice breaks from the usual questions, we move deeper. "What's the best trip you've ever been on?" I ask.

He drains his drink before answering, gesturing at the bartender for a refill for both of us. "Prague. I got to explore the city and paint all day for a week. It was lovely." There's a sad, wistful note in his voice.

Maybe there was a little truth in his answer. It would be the best trip he can imagine, perhaps. Or maybe it somehow reminds him of whoever broke his heart. Maybe they planned to make that trip together. I can totally understand the loss you feel when your plans for the future fall into shards around you. Adam had left me with that confusion and frustration and sadness.

This gorgeous man just needs the same thing I've found. A little bit of fun with no strings. Rebound sex is way better than a doomed rebound relationship.

He shakes it off and smiles. "What would you want to do if you had the day off tomorrow?" He runs a finger over the back of my hand. All the tiny hairs stand to attention in response.

Probably watch Netflix in my pajamas, but that's not sexy or cool. Or like tonight, I'd be checking off the next item on my fuckit list. Some new sexual adventure. "I'd drive into the mountains and go hiking, watch the sunrise from the top of a mountain. You?"

He licks a stray drop of bourbon from his lips and I unconsciously lean towards him, wanting just a taste. His lips curl into a smirk. "Careful, gorgeous. If you get closer, I won't be able to stop with just a taste of you."

I blink and catch my bottom lip with my teeth. He groans softly and curses under his breath. "Right. Where were we? Ah yes. If I had the day off tomorrow, I would want to spend the day licking and nibbling every centimeter of your body."

It takes everything within me not to drag him from the bar and fuck him in the alley outside. My voice is hoarse as I ask, "What's your favorite place in the world?"

I half expect him to answer his favorite place is between a woman's legs or something, but he cuts me a break. "Lake Michigan." He's barely able to hide his smile and I'm barely able to hide my laughter. He didn't even try with that one.

I decide to give him a little taste of his own medicine. "My favorite place in the world is on my knees with a big cock in my mouth." Not quite the truth, but closer to it than I should have allowed. I actually prefer to be on my hands and knees with a cock in my pussy. But only by a little. And I'm pretty sure his day off answer wasn't exactly a lie either.

He leans in to whisper in my ear. "I'm tempted to take you to your favorite place right here, right now." His breath tickles and warms my neck, I slide my eyes closed and attempt to calm myself.

The thought doesn't scare me, instead it thrills me. Imagining everyone looking on while I sucked his dick. Imagining Scott looking on. I remember how hot it had been jerking him off in the crowded restaurant where we could get caught at any time.

"Before we both explode, let's get back on track. Who was your favorite schoolteacher or college professor?"

I almost choke on my drink, my face goes up in flames. "Um. Mrs. Marsh. She was my second grade teacher, and she was the one who inspired my love of books." Mrs. Marsh was actually real. But she hadn't been my teacher, she'd been Scott's. And he'd despised her. I squirm as I imagine telling the stranger about my real favorite professor. The one who spanked and fucked me over his desk. One who I still thought about visiting again.

After a couple hours and a bunch of what turned out to be Kentucky Bourbon and even more innuendos that grew hotter each time, I put my hand high on his leg. His muscles flex beneath my hand. "Truth. The only one I'll give you. I'd like to go back to your place."