I step further into the room and shove the chair aside. Items from the fridge and cabinets litter the counter, and some of the floor. Lids have been left off the honey and chocolate sauce. The whipped cream is warm when I wrap my hand around the tube. My cock hardens at the thought of eating any one of these off Beth. I look down at the lucky bastard, tenting my boxers.

“I’m surprised you don’t need a fucking cast.”

A car horn sounds, pulling my attention up.

Beth.

It’s like a minefield getting down the hallway to the front door. I step between pillows, books, my phone, which I palm as I move past it. The door is pulled open just as a cab pulls away from the house.

“Beth!” I yell, stepping off the porch and onto the small pathway. The car continues down the street.

“Fuck!”

My free hand grips my hair, still slick with sweat and the water from the tap. I take a look around to make sure none of my neighbors are out. I’m usually not chasing women out of my house wearing only a pair of boxers. They’re normally getting shoved out the door, and I’m fully clothed.

I head back inside and slam the door. Kicking shit out of the way this time instead of bothering to step over it, I clear a path for the couch and sit down. My shoulders roll forward as I pull up the contact list on my phone. I place it to my ear, while my other hand cradles my head.

“Come on. Pick up.”

Two rings, then the call goes to voicemail. That means she forced it to voicemail. I call again, this time it doesn’t ring at all. Her soft voice hums against my ear, asking me to leave her a message. I drop my head back against the couch.

“Will you call me, please, so we can talk about this? I don’t like that you left here upset.”

I disconnect the call and toss the phone.

Keeping my head back, I let my eyes fall closed as I try and put together more pieces of last night. Nothing new appears, and I try harder, squeezing my eyes so damn tight I swear I strain a muscle in my neck. The same images circle in my head. Nothing past Jim Beam, and Beth sitting and talking next to me at the bar. I can’t hear anything she’s saying to me. I have no idea what we talked about, but in those flashes she’s smiling. Always smiling at me, like I’m giving her something amazing just by listening. My eyes open and I stare up at the ceiling.

This is fucking infuriating.

I’ve had her. My hands know what her body feels like, all that softness underneath my palm.

My mouth has tasted every inch of her skin, that I’m fucking sure of.

My cock has been buried inside a woman bare for the first time in my life, but it’s as if it never happened.

None of it, except for what I was lucid for at the party. I could’ve done shit with Beth I’ve never done before, and I wouldn’t know. I might not ever know it if she refuses to call me back.

I reach for the phone again, but stop myself mid-way.

Shit. I’m losing it. Losing. It.

Maybe not talking to her is a good thing. Maybe not having all of these images in my head of every way I’ve experienced her is a good thing. I’ve already jacked off more in the past week than I have in my entire life. Thinking about Beth’s mouth was already an obsession. Now I have that wicked little hand of hers to throw into the mix. Adding anything else and I might have a serious problem.

Right. ‘Cause right now, what I have already isn’t a serious problem.

Distractions. That’s what I need. Distractions and distance.

I push off the couch and grab my phone before heading for the stairs. The call connects as I’m pulling a pair of jeans out of my dresser.

“Hey, man,” Ben greets me over the sound of a kid crying in the background. It’s too young to be Nolan.

I pinch the phone between my shoulder and ear. “Hey. Is Chase okay?”

“Yeah, he’s just hungry and getting impatient waiting for Mia.” Ben chuckles. “Can’t say I blame him.”

I realize Ben’s just insinuated he also gets impatient waiting for Mia’s tits. Any other day and I might throw that back at him, but I’m too fucked up thinking about my own problems to come back with something clever. I choose to ignore his remark and fasten the button of my jeans.

“Is it a good time to head over and get to work on the deck? I need to stay busy for the rest of my life.”

“Yeah, it’s a good time. I’m off today. I can give you a hand.”

I straighten and take hold of the phone. “All right, cool. I’ll be over in ten.”

Something on the top of my shoulder catches my eye before I disconnect the call. “Hang on.” I reach back to run my fingers over it, and the sticky consistency clings to my skin.

The jar of honey on the counter.

Nice. I’m probably coated it in.

My hands drop to the front of my jeans after securing the phone against my ear again. I lower my zipper. “Give me an hour. I need to take a shower first.”

“YOU WANT A BEER?” BEN asks, setting the nail gun down and walking over to the cooler.

I wipe the sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand. More alcohol? Fuck no. “Nah, I’m good. Do you have any water in there?”

Ben laughs quietly, then tosses me a water. “Pussy. What happened last night?”

Shit.

We’ve gone two hours without a mention of anything personal. Manual labor tends to keep chatter to a minimum, which I was expecting, and grateful for. I was also pleased to find out when I arrived that Mia had taken the boys to the grocery store. There was no way in Hell she wouldn’t ask me about the party. I had no idea if Ben knew about it or not, but I guess married couples talk to each other about shit like that. And now that he’s in need of a fucking beverage, he’s asking me about it.