Still, I feel awful for invading his privacy since he’s not one of the cheating assholes I usually go after, looking for dirt or skeletons in their closets to give their wives a sense of revenge.
So, when Nash comes in from his meeting, I’m uncharacteristically at a loss for words.
“Hey,” I say in greeting from my seat on his sofa.
“Hey,” he replies, not meeting my eyes before he heads around the bar counter to grab a beer from the fridge. It’s the first one I’ve seen him drink in several days.
“Your meeting go okay?”
“Yep.” His curt answer makes me think he doesn’t want to talk about it. He doesn’t come over to the living room either; just leans his back against the counter and drinks from his bottle, staring at the floor.
There’s an awkward tension in the air that isn’t usually there. I blame it on my shame for spying on him.
When minutes pass and neither of us speak, I jump to my feet, unable to take another second of the uncomfortable atmosphere. “I think I’ll head out early!”
“Yeah?” Nash asks, sounding a little curious about my sudden departure.
“Yeah. Tomorrow I have to get up and go shopping, however long it takes to find a dress for the wedding and rehearsal next week. A few cute outfits would probably be good too.” Great, now I’m rambling about women’s clothes, the topic most men hate.
“Your cousin’s wedding, right?”
“Ah, yeah,” I say, shocked he remembered that from my mom’s call the other night. I thought he was too drunk.
“It’s a dick move by your ex, marrying someone you’re related to.”
My lips part on a gasp of surprise at his comment since I know I’ve never mentioned Barry to him. “How did you…”
“Malcolm told me.”
“Oh, right.”
“Sorry,” Nash says.
“No, it’s fine. I am so much better off without him!” I say. Isn’t that what all dumped women are supposed to claim? “But I can’t show up to their wedding looking stupid; hence, the shopping trip tomorrow until I find the perfect dress. Or dresses.”
“Yeah,” he agrees.
“I asked Jetta to come along to help me out, but she has school all week and I’m running out of time.” I don’t know why I’m standing here, boring Nash with this conversation. I just can’t seem to get my feet to leave or my mouth to shut up as I try to avoid looking in the direction of his room where I tampered with his laptop. He left me here alone, trusted me not to screw around with his stuff, and I did it anyway.
“Jetta’s in beauty school now, right?” he asks.
“Yep.”
“I guess I could go with you,” Nash offers out of the blue.
“You want to go shopping with me?” I say in disbelief.
“Sure. Why not? I could use a few new shirts. That’s what friends are for, right? Making sure you don’t buy shit that makes you look stupid.”
“Yes, right,” I agree, although I’m not sure I like his emphasis on us being ‘friends.’ But of course that’s all we’ll ever be. I’m an idiot to think I ever had even the slightest chance with Nash. Dorks date other dorks, not hot, outlaw bikers who could moonlight as models.
“Just let me know when you want to leave,” Nash says.
“How about after breakfast?”
“Sounds good.”
“Okay,” I reply, finally able to get my feet to carry me to the door. “So, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“See ya,” he says as I slip out and jog down the stairs to get back to my apartment.
As soon as I have a chance, I’ll delete the software from his laptop, because it feels so wrong and makes me even more nervous around Nash.
That doesn’t mean a couple of hours later that I don’t take a peek when I get an alert on my phone that he’s online.
Taking a seat on the sofa with my laptop, I hold my breath as I watch the search engine come up and the words being typed into the bar in shock.
Porn. He’s searching for porn!
There weren’t any naughty links in his browser history, so why now?
Just a few minutes later, I’m unfortunately watching the same video as Nash, but I can’t seem to look away. There’s a pretty brunette in a tight, red dress sitting in front of the camera with nothing on below the waist softly speaking in a foreign language. She hikes up the hem to reveal a better look at her bare flesh. Spreading her legs wide, she then proceeds to pump her fingers inside, grinding on them a few times before rubbing them and her juices over her clit. She keeps that up until she’s moaning and trembling when she gets herself off.
I’ve watched my fair share of porn, but I never watched a woman do that before. It was hot, especially knowing Nash was also watching her. Was he taking himself in his hand at the same time?
Probably so. Isn’t that the point of why guys watch porn?
God, I bet he looks insanely hot jerking off.
And while I know I could easily access the camera on his laptop to find out exactly what he’s doing when he replays the video from the very beginning, I don’t. That’s just too invasive. More so than what I’ve already done to invade his privacy.
But you can bet your ass that before I fall asleep in bed later that night, I copy the porn woman’s actions, thinking of Nash sitting on his sofa, fucking his own hand.
Chapter Twelve
Nash
* * *
The porn was nothing more than a temporary fix last night.
As soon as I laid down to go to sleep and closed my eyes, it was Lucy I saw. She wasn’t even naked; it was just her pretty, triangular face with her big glasses, smiling at me, happy like earlier when I asked her to stay.
That was all it took to get me hard again. No tits. No jiggling ass. No fingers in her pussy. Just. Her. Face.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
And like some pathetic asshole, I volunteered to go shopping with Lucy today, something no normal man would ever agree to do without the promise of a million blowjobs afterward. Still, I offered because I could tell Lucy was sad that Jetta couldn’t go with her and she doesn’t have any other friends in town except for apparently Malcolm, who I know without a doubt would never have agreed to a shopping trip.
If he ever found out I had been on one, he would laugh his ass off and then tell me to just cut my balls off and hand them over to her.
I was just trying to be a decent friend, that’s all. It’s the least I could do since Lucy has been cooking me two meals a day and cleaning my apartment. Also, she’s been keeping me company, which is even better than the other two things.
How bad could shopping with Lucy really be anyway? She will pick a few dresses off a rack, try them on, and buy the one she likes the best while I sit in a chair and play on my phone occasionally giving my male opinion, right? Easy.
Nope. It’s not that easy.
Lucy and I walk every inch of three stores, looking at every dress on all the racks before she finally picks a few to try on. I didn’t pay much attention to the items she took into the dressing room, but when she walks out in the first dress – a bright red one – I instantly think of the woman in the porno last night.