“Why wouldn’t it be?”
The worried look on Sarah’s face is undeniable. “What if he’s like…a stripper? I mean, why else would he move to Vegas for his career?” She throws up air quotes around the last word.
“He’s not a stripper,” I say assuredly.
The doubt creeps in the moment the words escape me. God, what if he is a stripper? It would make a lot of sense. His job is in “fitness”. He’s super muscular—I bet he could slather his body in oil, roll those hips on a stage somewhere in the middle of Sin City and women would throw their money and their bodies at him, no questions asked.
Maybe that’s why he’s so vague about what he does for a living. Yes! Because he’s a stripper. Maybe he got into the Magic Mike Revue! Or whatever they call it.
The more I think about it, the more I can see him giving me serious Channing Tatum vibes. And that is not a bad thing, trust me.
“What if he’s part of the Vegas mob?” Kelsey asks, her gaze shooting from me to Sarah, her expression deadly serious. “Those guys are scary.”
“Do they actually exist? I’ve seen the mob mentioned in a few movies but…” I let my voice drift because come on. The mob?
“He’s pretty secretive. He didn’t tell you much about himself,” Kelsey points out. “And that worries me.”
“You shouldn’t meet him,” Sarah chimes in, concern filling her dark eyes. “Or if you do, you should take a couple of us with you.”
“Right, bring my friends on a date? I don’t think so,” I tell them, just before all of us break into laughter.
Though, really, I’m not feeling very humorous at the moment.
Their advice sticks with me as I drive home. I suppose they’re right. Maybe I shouldn’t meet Mitch. What if he is a psycho killer? Though I doubt that’s the case. He’s nice. He makes me smile. Just thinking about him right now is making me smile.
I force my lips into a straight line, trying to be serious. I need to know his last name. I need to know what he does for a living. I need to know all the facts before I just…meet him.
Determination filling me, I press my foot against the gas pedal, the car lurching forward as I go a few miles over the speed limit. I’m anxious to get home, get myself looking extra on fire and then I’m FaceTiming Mitch later tonight. And I plan on getting all the answers I need out of him.
Whether he likes it or not.
Eight
Mitch
I got the text from Eleanor around six.
Want to FaceTime tonight?
I leave her hanging for about an hour, only because I’m trying my damnedest to get my shit packed for the big move. I don’t really own a lot of stuff, so I figured I could do it myself instead of hiring someone to pack it up for me. I thought it would be easy.
Big mistake. It’s been a huge pain in my ass.
The moving company is coming tomorrow and once everything’s packed up and ready to go, I’m turning in my apartment keys before I head for Vegas in my SUV. It’s over an eight-hour drive, it’s going to be a long, miserable day, and I’m staying at a hotel the first night versus my new apartment, only so I’ll have a bed to collapse in when I get there.
But come Wednesday, I’ll be picking up the keys to my new place. The moving truck is scheduled to arrive at my new place nine a.m. They’ll unload all the boxes and furniture, and then it’ll be done. I’ll just need to unpack.
Yet again.
By Friday night, I should be meeting Eleanor.
Frowning, I realize I forgot all about Eleanor. I need to text her back.
Sorry, I’ve been packing all day. Yeah, I’d like to FaceTime. Let me take a shower first.
She responds within minutes. Text me when you’re ready!
Smiling, I plug my phone into my charger and head for the bathroom. I like that Eleanor is always cheerful. She doesn’t ask a lot of annoying questions, and I appreciate that. Sometimes I feel bad that I’m keeping certain parts of my life a secret, but I don’t want to admit to her that I’m a pro football player. Not yet. I know once I tell her, she’ll immediately Google me and find out my net worth.
Or worse, she’ll see photos of me with my hands all over some sexy woman’s body. Because I know those photos are out there, of me and my friends at a club with women hanging all over us. All over me. I did that shit in college too. At one point, when I was young and stupid, that was the image I was going for. Party boy, drunk ass, man whore. Those descriptors were the sum of my personality.
Hell, right up to about six months ago, I was still working that image like nobody’s business.
But not anymore. Nope. I’m trying out this one-woman man thing, and so far, I’m digging it.
I take a shower and consider jerking off before our call. That tends to ease the tension that always seems to consume me when I chat with Eleanor. This not having sex for an extended period of time thing is tough. I feel like every little thing she does sets me off and gets me hard. Her laughter gives me a boner, for Christ’s sake. I can’t imagine what it’ll be like when we actually meet in person.
I’ll probably spontaneously combust.
The hot water feels good on my aching muscles and I pour extra body wash into the palm of my hand before I wrap my fingers around the base of my hard dick. Closing my eyes, I envision Eleanor. Her sweet face. Sunny blonde hair. Curvy body. I try to imagine her naked. I’ve never really caught sight of her full length, so I’m not sure how tall she is, or how great—or not great—her ass might be, but I have a feeling she’s perfectly proportioned.
Meaning with her more than ample chest, I’m pretty confident she must have a luscious ass too.
Pressing my forehead against the slick tile, I start to stroke. I think of her plump lips and her even plumper tits, and a groan escapes me. My imagination runs wild. Dim lighting. Rumpled white sheets. Eleanor’s naked body stretched across the bed, her blue eyes sparkling as she smiles up at me. I settle in above her, my cock in front of her mouth, and she parts those glossy lips willingly, a sexy moan escaping her when I nudge just the head in. That mouth clamps down around my dick, milking me in this slow, rhythmic suction, her lids lifting, her eyes sparkling as she releases my cock, her tongue sneaking out for a lick and holy shit—
I’m coming, a guttural groan escaping me as I squeeze my fingers tight around the base of my shaft, milking all the come out. My knees are weak and I brace my hand against the shower wall, blinking my eyes open as the warm water rains down upon my head, blurring my vision.
Damn. That was fuckin’ good. I start to laugh as I rinse off my body.
If it’s that spectacular in my imagination, wait until we actually get together.
“Hi!” Eleanor’s cheerful voice blasts out as she bounces around, her phone falling to the side from wherever she’s got it propped up, giving me a prime view of her ample chest. “Oh no! Hold on.” She reaches for it, and now the phone is on the floor and I wait impatiently for her to set it against whatever she uses when we have these conversations.
“Having problems?” I’m teasing her, and I hope she can tell.