Wish Come True (The Blogger Diaries Trilogy Book 3) (13 page)

“If I take you back to my house to watch a movie, it’s going to end up like every other time we tried back in the day. I’ll end up pulling the ‘just the tip’ trick, and then after you’ve had about five orgasms and gain your composure, I’ll get blamed for making you miss the movie.” He smirks.

“But it is your fault I miss the movie. If you would keep those talented idle hands of yours to yourself, we wouldn’t have to play it twice in order to watch it once!” I scoff. When he looks over at me, I grin, letting him know I never minded one bit when showtime went from meaning when the film would begin, to when a whole different kind of action started. “Okay, probably bad timing for that, being in the middle of the afternoon and all. Sooo… how about we go see one, like at a theater?”

“And what happened last time we tried to see a movie in a theater, babe?” He chuckles.

I narrow my eyes, boring a hole into the side of his handsome face. “I ended up missing that one too, because we made out like teenagers in the back row the whole movie.”

“So the lesson of the story is…?” he prompts.

“It’s pointless for us to try to watch movies together?” I fill in.

“Ding-ding-ding! So, what else do you want to do?”

“Ugh! Well, I guess let’s just stick to your original plan and go eat, and then go play pool super early. It’s going to be weird getting there at like six. Are they even open then?” I question.

“Babe. Calm. Just relax. You don’t have to plan everything out. Let’s just have a good time and see where the night leads us,” he drawls deeply, reaching over to rest his hand in the crook of my folded leg.

I sit back in my seat and let out a huff of air. I hate it when people tell me that. I don’t have it in me not to try to schedule everything. I might be able to control not voicing it, but my brain doesn’t know how to just ‘go with the flow’. In my head, if there are things I definitely want to do, if I don’t set up allotted times to do them, then I could miss getting them done. Like on vacation, I like to have an itinerary. If we’re at the beach, but this place is only open for certain hours, I’m going to be pissed if I miss getting to go there, just because I was being forced to relax and not plan things out. But for Jason, I will let him take the lead. It doesn’t sound like we’re doing anything that needs to be put on a tight schedule, and I’m baby free for the rest of the day, so I decide to do my best and relax.
 

We pull into Chili’s right across the highway from Legend’s Billiards in Webster about half an hour later, and after a few drinks, some salsa and tortilla chips, and a bacon cheeseburger later, we head to our favorite pool hall.
 

It’s still light outside, so it’s very strange when Jason opens the big wooden door and we walk in, seeing it looks exactly the same inside as it does late at night. A couple things have changed, but not much. There is a new arcade game when you first walk in, and to the right, they’ve added a new big-screen TV. Looking at the tables, I have a flashback of Jason and me sitting at one, talking about his doctor appointment he’d had that day, long before we had taken our friendship to the next level. The PA had hit on him, asking him for his number. I played it cool, asking if he thought she was cute and if he had given it to her. I sniff out a silent laugh remembering his answer. “Nah, too skinny. You know me. I like my girls thick.”

The fucker.

I didn’t have a clue. He had me going for so long, believing I never stood a chance, that he’d never find me attractive, because I’d never be the body type he was attracted to. Until he finally confessed it was all bullshit, lies he fed me so he wouldn’t steal me from his best friend. And little did he know at the time that he had stolen my attention the moment I met him.
 

Jason laces his fingers through mine, pulling me back to the present and toward the bar. “What do you want, baby?”

“I think I’ll stick to what I was having at Chili’s, if they can make it,” I reply in front of the bartender.

“What were you drinking over there? I can pretty much duplicate anything if you know what was in it,” the bartender offers.

“I was having the Tropical—”
 

“Tropical Sunrise? On it. It’s my girlfriend’s favorite, so I had to figure it out for her,” he says, already three ingredients into making my drink before he finished his sentence. A few seconds later, he shakes it up and pours it into a large glass, topping it off with a straw and a slice of orange. “Try that. See what you think.”

I take a sip and moan, “Nailed it,” nodding and taking another swig.
 

The bartender smiles and slaps the top of the counter in triumph. “What about you, Jason. Same as always?”

“Yup, I’ll take my Seven, please, and a rack of balls,” he responds, and with his drink in one hand and the tray of colorful pool balls in the other, we make our way to the left side of the bar, sitting everything next to a pool table I’ve never played on before. We always used to play on the right side of the bar for some reason.
 

“God, I haven’t played in forever,” I confess, chalking up the end of the cue Jason hands me.

“Yeah, me neither,” Jason says dryly.

“
Psh
! I know your games, you hustler. Plus, the bartender knows you by name.” If I have any chance of winning, I’m going to have to break out my old tricks of distraction; otherwise, there’s no way he’ll miss a shot unless he does it on purpose, which he knows makes me crazy.
 

I swish my ass as I round the pool table, and when I turn to face him, propping my hip next to one of the corner pockets, it’s my turn to smirk when his eyes lift from my tight destructed blue jeans to my face, heat sizzling in their chocolaty depths.
 

Momma’s still got it.
 

He keeps his stare locked with mine as he bends forward and lines up his cue, landing the shot blindly, never once glancing away from me. I bite my lip, remembering the times he used the Drive-and-Stare on me. Dear Lord, he’s sexy as fuck. And right when I put a score mark under my name in this silent little game we’re playing, Jason one-ups me yet again.
 

“Oh, yeah, you’re so rusty. Maybe you should take a couple practice shots,” I snark, rolling my eyes and trying to look cooler than I feel, because on the inside, I feel my temperature rising to a level I can’t ignore.

With my back to him as I take a sip of my drink at the small bistro table against the wall while he takes his next shot, I reach down into my pretty pink bra and lift my boobs up inside the cups, making cleavage, showing off the little bit larger-than-normal tatas I’ve had since breastfeeding. They’re not nearly as big as they were when I was pregnant, but they’re a full cup larger than what I had before that though, so I plan to use them to my advantage while I still have them.

I turn back around to face him, arching my back and not making eye contact with him as I pull my long dark hair high up into a ponytail, feeling the heat of his stare the whole time, and then a volcano blast of sexual tension as I tug my V-neck heather-grey T-shirt back into place. I toy with my necklace as an excuse to look down and make sure the tops of my girls are in plain sight, smiling to myself when I see they are in perfect position.
 

You’re going down, Robichaux.

Just then, he tries a bank shot that narrowly misses going into a side pocket, and the cue ball rolls until it stops right in front of Jason.
 

Perfect
, I think smugly, and I stroll over to him, my stick in hand, slide between the pool table and his front, and bend over, using my ass to back him up so I can line up my shot. I feel his hand come up to squeeze my left hip and hear him groan, making the little devil on my shoulder smile with glee, but then he moves away, going over to take a sip of his mixed drink. I sink one of my solids, but miss the next shot. I’ve always sucked at side pockets.

I walk over to where Jason still stands by the table holding our drinks, and that’s when I notice the pack of cigarettes in his hand. Groaning, I sink down into one of the chairs. I saw this standup show once, where comedian Rob White talks about drinking and smoking. He made the perfect analogy. He said it was just like pooping and peeing. You can pee without pooping, but you can’t poop without peeing. Just like you can smoke without drinking, but you can’t drink without smoking. Vulgar, but oh so very true.
 

With the tequila running through my veins at the moment, his cigarettes are looking mighty nice. I haven’t had one since I found out I was pregnant with Josalyn, but as he lifts one to his sexy lips and lights it, blowing out a stream of smoke toward the ceiling, I have absolutely no willpower to fight the urge. I reach out and steal the cigarette from between his fingers, placing it to my lips. Dear God, it’s exquisite.
 

Hello, old friend. How I’ve missed you.

“Sorry, babe. I tried. But the drinkin’ we’re doing… I can’t
not
smoke,” he tells me regretfully.
 

“It’s no big deal. I have friends who only smoke when they drink. I’m gonna have to scrub every inch of myself before I hold Josalyn, but I’m sure I’m going to need a shower after tonight anyways,” I allude, lifting a brow in his direction.

“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?” he coaxes, lighting himself another cigarette since I’m not giving him this one back.

“Because I plan on getting very dirty with you,” I breathe, and I manage to hold a straight face for a full ten seconds before I burst out laughing. “Oh, my God. That was so fucking corny. I should be ashamed of myself. I need another drink.” I swallow the last of my fruity drink, making a loud sucking sound when my straw hits nothing but ice and air. He chuckles and lifts my glass out of my hand, leaving me long enough to return with it freshly filled.
 

“You always were my favorite,” I say, taking a swig of the yummy concoction. I hollow out my cheeks, shaking my head and squeezing my eyes shut tight. “Hoo-ahhh… that’s much stronger when it doesn’t have melted ice diluting it. That, and this is the most I’ve had to drink in almost eighteen months. Looks like my little one will be getting a bottle in the middle of the night.”

“Yeah, that’s going to be your last one for a while. It’s barely dark outside, and we still have a whole night of fun to get through,” he tells me, and I squint one eye as I look up at him, take a dramatic pull off my cigarette, and blow it up in his direction.
 

“It’s your turn, sugar tits,” I chide, and he laughs and bends down, mumbling against my lips, “Hey, that’s my line,” before going to make his shot.

The next couple of hours continue this way, only he refills my cup with ice water instead of alcohol. He’s actually impressed with the amount of water I take down, considering before I got pregnant I drank water only if I was about to die of thirst. I couldn’t stand that crap. We flirt openly the whole time, which is a new experience in itself, since we used to hide our affection for each other when we’d go out. And by the time he pays for our pool time and our tab, I’m ready to molest him in his car.
 

I lunge across his center console, locking my thin arms around his neck and forcing him back against the headrest as my lips seal themselves to his. I ungracefully manage to get my right knee on the other side of his hips and pull my left leg over to squeeze between his and the belt buckle. It’s a tight fit, but as he reaches down beside his door and pushes the button to make his seat lie back, the steering wheel removes itself from my back and I’m able to get comfortable.
 

His hands grip my hips and then slide up underneath the hem of my shirt, coming to rest on the sensitive skin of my sides. The heat radiating from his palms both soothes and entices me, causing me to grind against him. I can’t even remember the last time I was this turned on.
 

His lips feel perfect beneath mine, and his hands begin to stroke up and down my spine, causing goose bumps to spread across my flesh. The seam of my jeans rubs against my already soaked underwear, rubbing that perfect spot, and I have the fleeting thought that I’m going to leave a wet spot on the front of his pants and make him look like he peed himself, causing me to sit up on my knees and let out a sound between a gasp and a laugh.
 

“What’s wrong?” Jason rumbles, pulling the tie from around my ponytail, threading his fingers up the back of my hair, and trying to pull me back down to kiss him, but my legs are pretty strong and I lock them in place.

“I… uh, where are we going after this?” I prompt.

“You’re on top of me in my car, dry humping me until my eyes are rolling back in my head, and all of a sudden you want to know where we’re going next?”

“See, um… that’s the thing. It’s not… uh. It’s not technically
dry
humping.” I lean down and, embarrassed, whisper in his ear, like someone outside the car might hear me, “I’m like… really, really wet, like soaking through my clothes.” I feel my face heat. “I don’t want to make you look like you pissed yourself.” I cover my mouth with my hand, so mortified, but still finding the situation hilarious. Thank God for the alcohol in my system or I might not ever be able to look him in the eye again.