Chapter 10 - Chase Me, Cowboy

I dream about her. I haven’t dreamed in years.

There’s something about her being just one state over that bothers me worse than ever before. After I return to Maine, I spend the next few days working through my to-do list. I go for a run along the cliffs to break up every three hours of work. I write all the things I have to do on Post-its at the end of every day and stick them on the mirror in the studio. Then I take them all down and rearrange them and put them back up. I circle the piano a few times, but don’t sit down. When things get really bad, I go into town and walk around the grocery store like an animal with Zoochosis.

For the first time, I use the kitchen. I burn eggs, drop a glass dish, and break a mug.

By bedtime on the third day, I’m losing my mind. My room is a big, empty space with a bed made up in cold, dark sheets. The entire house was put together by a designer from Spain, who, at my request, made a bachelor pad, albeit a classy one. I never anticipated settling down. This is the kind of place people go when they want to be alone. My bedroom is where I bring home women for one night and one night only.

I haven’t slept with anyone since Serena.

The bathroom is the same, dark and sexy and sleek. I’m sweaty from a run, so I turn on the water in the huge glass shower that takes up a fourth of the room. It was made for fucking, but I’ve never fucked anything but my hand in there. At least, so far.

I strip and get in.

My dick is rock hard: it has been on and off for three days. Maybe it’s being alone. Or all the thinking about having Serena underneath me in her bed in Wyoming. Or the fact she’s only one state away.

One.

Fucking.

State.

I could call her and see if she’ll come over. I could lean against the wall and twirl the phone cord and ask if she’ll climb through the window and show up at my place. Bonus points if nobody sees her. We can get up early enough that nobody notices her going home.

Jesus.

That image makes me smile. I crack my neck and take my dick in my hand. That night, she wrapped her fingers around it. She smiled, biting her lip as she went down. I pulled her hair back and saw God when her soft lips wrapped around the head.

She made a noise, a little mmm. I’ve been thinking about that since then.

I wonder if she’ll just shoot me. That would be easier than trying to figure out why I’m fucked up from a one-night stand. Well, a one-week stand.

I think about her hand around my dick that morning in the shower. How she spat on it and started jerking me off. That was hookup number three in the shower, when we didn’t actually fuck because she gave me the best head of my life. We ran out of time before I could ask for her to let me return the favor.

My hand moves faster.

She was on her knees in front of me. Big eyes, full mouth parting as she leaned in and pushed the head of my cock past her lips. Then, she did this thing. Her tongue swirled in a slow circle, and her lashes fluttered, eyes rolling. Like I was the best thing she’d ever tasted.

Heat travels down my spine. Pleasure builds in my groin.

She kept eye contact as she wrapped her hand around me and—

Oh fuck, I’m done. I come hard, hand planted on the wall. Ropes of cum hit the dark marble walls and slide down, washing into the drain.

That could have been inside her pussy.

My brain clears very slowly. I don’t think I’ll rise out of this fog until I have one more chance with her. In fact, maybe I should call her.

Right now. Just do it.

My heart picks up even faster. I turn off the shower, towel dry quickly, and go to where my phone is charging. She gave me her number, but I’ve never used it. My tongue is bone dry. I swallow and clear my throat, so I don’t choke. It takes me two tries to bring up her contact and hit the message button.

What do I say?

I shouldn’t do this.

Stomach sinking, I drop the phone on the bedside table and go back to the bathroom. In the mirror is my stupid face. Out of nowhere, I’m really fucking mad at myself. Why am I like this? Why does everyone get their time on stage, but I’m always standing just out of sight, tucked in the dark curtains? I know why, and it has everything to do with me and nobody else.

I go back to the phone and send a text: One more time?

My temples start sweating. I take a beat and stare at the message, wondering if she has her read receipts on. Then, I drop the phone and go get dressed. It’s done. I sent it, and there’s nothing I can do now.

It buzzes.

Panicked, I do a loop around the room before picking it up. Goddamn it, it’s a promotional text. I swipe it away, and my phone buzzes again.

My heart stops.

It’s her.

Who is this? she shoots back.

Oh, right. I never texted her, so she doesn’t have my number. I take a breath and steady everything and text her back: Jamie.

She has her receipts on, and she sees it right away. Three bubbles appear and roll. They disappear. They roll again.

Where are you? she asks.

Maine, at my house, I text back.

The bubbles roll again. Fuck off, Jamie.

Is there a hint of playfulness in that? Or is she actually upset? A hint of my old blasé attitude comes back.

I’d rather fuck you. Just give me one more time.

She reads it, but she takes five damn minutes to respond.

I’m with my mom, but she’s on a work trip for two days with my stepdad, she says.

She’s still typing. I wait, heart in my throat.

Fly me out. One night.

For a moment, I can’t type. Does she actually mean that? I wasn’t expecting her to say yes, at least not without a fight. When I finally gather my thoughts, I text my PA and ask her to book a flight as soon as possible, along with Serena’s information. I might have gotten that out of Sabrina months ago, in the vain hope someday I would be able to book a flight and see Serena.

Done. I’m in Maine at my house, so it’s a short flight.

There’s a long wait until her next text.

Good boy.

I smile, then put the phone down and go into the bathroom. There’s a big, stupid smile on my face, and I can’t wipe it off. There’s also a visible erection beneath the towel around my waist. I lean over and turn the shower on. It takes me a full ten minutes of standing under the water, staring at the wall, for it to sink in what I just did.