Second Go-Round

Nothing like Saturday mornings, a pot of coffee, and sports radio on TV. While Nick and Nate chatted about the upcoming football season onscreen, I sucked down caffeine, hoping it would infuse my bloodstream with wakefulness so I wouldn’t have to prop my eyelids open with toothpicks to make it through the day.
A guy had kept me up too late but not because of mind-blowing orgasms. Talk about a lousy lay.
I swallowed down more coffee and shook my head, my mind flitting to memories of my dating app dude from the night before. The sexually charged energy over the dinner table. The grinding of his huge hard-on against my ass while we had danced amidst strobe lights and thumping bass. The anticipation heating my blood as I’d dragged him into my house at one in the morning.
We hadn’t made it into the bedroom, ending up going at it right there on my couch because I’d been too damn hungry for cock to even think about christening my new king-sized bed.
Unfortunately, the guy didn’t know how to use the package he’d been blessed with. That and his complete lack of hand and mouth use on my body killed it for me. And not in a good way. He had just stuck his dick in and went to town, getting his own rocks off and leaving me scrambling to keep up. The entire affair had been passionless and forgettable.
Boring with a capital B.
Stifling a yawn, I frowned and shuffled into my living room. I shouldn’t have been surprised by my night’s end. Every man I’d been out with since losing my virginity back in high school had pretty much proven to be the same. Energy, hype, then disappointment because men need a clit road map. I climaxed most of the time, but only because I had to help them get the job done.
You’d have thought I had ripped the guy’s heart out when I showed him the door after finishing—and declining his suggestion of going on a second date.
Broken heart number fifty? Sixty? Whatever the number, he joined all the men I’d left hanging or begging for another chance at rocking my world. The very few who happened to talk me into one more tumble between the sheets ended up as a similar blip on the radar of my past, blocked and ignored.
I’d been called all kinds of nasty names over the years for my playgirl ways, but they weren’t wrong in their conclusions of my being a cold-hearted bitch who just wanted sex. I liked men. I loved to fuck. But my heart wasn’t available, and one-night stands ensured no feels got involved.
Having witnessed my father lose the love of his life and seeing the emotional hardship he endured for all those years since Mom had passed made me wary of commitment. While he claimed it was better to have loved Mom and lost her than to never have known her love, I disagreed. I couldn’t imagine a soulmate being ripped away with such violence. She’d been my mother, and that had been hard enough of a loss to endure.
Countless hours of therapy with and without Dad had taught me how to deal with the sorrow, but it lingered. Always would—same as my nightmares of engulfing flames. Smoke. Screams I’d never actually heard outside my dreams.
But watching Dad break down had been the deciding factor that had shaped my life when it came to relationships. No way in hell would I allow a man to burrow his way into my soul and stake a claim on my heart like my mom had done with my dad then leave me devastated at their loss.
Huffing an exhale over my latest failed attempt at earth-shattering sex, I sprawled on the couch and turned my focus on the TV. Nick informed those listening in that the Patriot’s rookie tight end, Jackson, had messed up his knee at practice the day before. They weren’t sure he’d be on the field the next afternoon to help kick off the season.
Jackson had been a first-round draft pick, and I’d had high hopes since Dad and I would be sitting in the stands as always, getting to watch him rule the field.
“Shit,” I muttered at the same time my cell dinged.
I fished my phone from my robe pocket and flipped it over. Dad knew better than to contact me before nine on a Saturday morning, but this update from our favorite sports radio talk show host would have him chatting up a storm. I swiped my thumb over the screen and sipped.
Dad: Have you seen the news?
I used one hand to reply, Just now. Think he’ll be able to play?
Dad: Huh?
Me: Our rookie with the injury. Aren’t you listening to Nick and Nate?
Dad: Shit. No, I haven’t heard about that. I’m talking about the latest bomb threat.
“Fuck.” I set aside my mug. He wouldn’t be texting me unless a business our family insured was involved.
I quickly texted Dad back that I hadn’t, dropped my cell, and clicked the TV channel over to NECN.
There had been a few bomb threats to some of Boston’s downtown queer-owned businesses in the previous weeks, one of which had led to an explosion. Although no individual—or group—had claimed responsibility for the tragic loss of sixteen lives, I expected it was probably some religious fanatics believing they needed to cleanse the world of so-called sin.
The latest had threatened the Blushing Cherry, one of our long-standing customers at Gemberling Insurance. No evidence of a bomb had been found according to the news anchor and everyone had been evacuated safely, but still. I’d bet the owner lost a shit ton of money that night because of it. I also wondered how many faithful patrons would stay holed up at home in the coming weeks.
“Damnit.” I put my empty mug on the coffee table and texted a mad face back to my dad.
The police needed to catch the bastards robbing Boston’s nightlife businesses and traumatizing their LGBTQ+ owners. While the bomb hadn’t kept me from visiting my favorite dance clubs and bars downtown, the crowds had certainly lessened since the threats had begun earlier in the summer.
My phone rang as images of the BC showed on-screen behind the newswoman, a bar/strip joint I was well acquainted with. While I didn’t get turned on by watching other women rip off their clothes, I loved the sexually charged energy pulsing through the air. All that testosterone building…needing release.
I swiped to answer, setting aside thoughts of the unsatisfying dick the night before. “Hey, Jessie.”
“Did you see the news?” my good friend and employee asked without a preamble.
A click on the remote muted the TV. “I just turned it on after Dad texted me about it.”
“Isn’t that David’s place?”
A huffed, annoyed exhale caused me to sag back into the couch again, and I retrieved my coffee, thinking about how David and his partner Lawrence had to be feeling that morning. “Yep.”
“Cassie!” Jessie’s muffled holler at her young daughter sounded loud over the line. “I told you not to touch!”
Cassie yelled something unintelligible in the background while Jessie fumbled with her cell, filling my ear with thumps and clatters.
“Sorry,” she said a few seconds later. “Cassie’s new obsession with the Keurig is driving me nuts.”
I eyed the last inch of coffee in my mug and went into the kitchen to pour another. “She’s got good taste.” Meandering around the island, I made for the coffeepot. “How is little Bossy-Boo?”
“Bossy as ever.” Jess huffed. “And haven’t nearly hit the worst years yet. I will either enter a mental hospital or turn into a wino when this kid becomes a teenager.”
A soft chuckle escaped me as I refilled my cup. At least Jessie would have Reid by her side to help her out when the time came. Dad and I had placed bets on their engagement. He’d said by Christmas, but I expected Reid wouldn’t wait that long.
I had introduced the two of them earlier in the spring—or rather, Reid had been an escort at the time, and I’d hired him to show my single mom friend a fun night on the town. I’d gone to school with Reid, and he’d always been a forever kind of guy. He’d fallen hard for Jessie after one date, and it had taken a while, but Jessie finally caved to being his. I expected they would live happily ever after.
I hoped for the best for both of them even though I’d sworn off love, heart eyes, and declarations of futures with white picket fences.
“How was your hookup last night?” Jessie whispered as though attempting to hide her words from Cassie.
“Same old, same old,” I muttered while leaning my hip against the kitchen counter and lifting my mug.
“That bad, huh?”
“Worst lay of my life.” I sipped, sighing inwardly over the black, bitter brew warming my throat. “He had the perfect tool shed and equipment, but that man could make water dry with his lack of knowledge on how to use them.”
“Ugh.”
“Yeah, but it’s probably a good thing he didn’t. You know how much I want to get my heart invested.”
Jessie sighed. I hadn’t told her the full story of how my dad had lost my mom. Discussing that kind of grief hurt too much to relive. “Sounds like you need something to perk you up.”
“If the coffee isn’t doing it, nothing will,” I said, keeping our conversation light.
“Hmm. Actually, I think I have just the thing.”
“Doubt it.” I sipped again, contemplating a low-carb breakfast when all I wanted was bacon and thick slabs of French toast doused in maple syrup. A side of home fries would taste damn good too.
“Reid finally fulfilled his end of the bargain.”
Food ideas flitting to the back of my mind, I perked up all right—wide fucking awake.
I had let Reid bribe me a couple of months earlier into giving him Jessie’s phone number. In exchange, he’d agreed to land me a free night with one of his ex-co-workers from Elite Escorts. Tall, dark, and handsome, pretty boy Jarod. At least, that was what his profile on Elite’s website portrayed him to be.
“Seriously?” I heard myself squeak while telling myself the guy probably just photographed well.
“Yep. There was a last-minute cancellation for tonight, so Reid got your file bumped up in line.”
“Holy shit. Oh, holy fucking shit.” Gone were the thoughts of a lousy lay and the exhaustion tugging on my eyelids. Energy sparkled inside of me, priming me to life in both my mind and core.
Jessie laughed. “I gave Reid your email address for Elite to send over the forms. Personal info, limits…all that good stuff.”
I bit on my thumbnail, eyeing the pile of dishes in the sink.
Limits.
I wouldn’t even know what they were. I had fantasies out the yin-yang but had yet to meet a sampling from the smorgasbord of man-beef who was interested in learning what desires crowded my mind.
Exhibitionism. Rough sex that included just enough pain to arouse. Maybe a little chokehold. Tease the shit out of me, deny me a climax, make me beg for it…but some of the things I fantasized about weren’t exactly hookup safe. They needed to be in a relationship with a man I could trust.
I snorted. “Not happening.”
Or with a hired professional…
I’d never checked out any of the BDSM joints downtown even though I’d heard a rumor there was one owned by a woman named Chantelle that operated as an invite-only club. But I didn’t know anyone in the lifestyle, and I wasn’t sure that was exactly what I had in mind.
Was there such a thing as soft BDSM?
A few minutes later, I hung up the phone and eyed the sink full of dishes. I expected my entire house would be spotless before noon as I tried to make the time pass. The hours would probably stretch on for an eternity while my mind went overboard imagining the night ahead of me.
Elite Escort Jarod.
The memory of his full-length pic on the website flitted through my brain. Luscious-lipped, muscles rippling over his bare chest and down his torso…and I couldn’t forget the bulge in his boxer briefs.
My mouth watered, and I bit back a groan, closing my eyes briefly.
“God, I hope you’re all that and more,” I whispered to the image in my head.
The problem was, if Jarod lived up to my expectations, the available males I tended to land for a night of fun would fall way short of satisfying me rather than just the mediocre I’d been accepting.
Sighing, I pulled on rubber gloves and went to town, ready for the hours to pass as fast as possible.
I had a date with a hunk of burning sex on legs—and I kept my fingers crossed he would deliver.

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