Big Girls Do It on Top

Big Girls Do It On Top (#4) - Erotic Romance

© 2012 Jasinda Wilder

ORLY Press www.orlypress.com

This story you're ogling on your hot little digital device is 14,400 words, or 58 book pages long.

WARNING: This story contains super-hot sex, M/F. For adults, 18+ only.

BIG GIRLS DO IT ON TOP

I'm not the crying type. I've been through too much in my life to go bawling every time something shitty happens. I cried when my dad died a few years ago, and I cried when my dog died when I was thirteen. Not much else in between, mainly because everything else in my life just kept coming, one thing after another, and if I started crying, I'd never have stopped.

I sobbed all the way from New York to Detroit. I did it quietly, face to the window. My seat mate, an older woman with salt and pepper hair and a ridiculously adorable button nose, asked me what was wrong, but I just shrugged and kept my face to the window, watching the clouds pass by. She sighed and muttered something rude, then went back to her issue of
People.

I wasn't sure exactly what I was going to do in Detroit. I knew I had to face Jeff, but I couldn't bear the thought of doing so right away. I knew I'd hurt him badly. I knew he'd be pissed when I finally got the balls to talk to him. Knowing Jeff, he wouldn't have a lot to say, but his thick, tense silence would speak volumes.

When my plane landed, I had no one to pick me up. My mom lived in Flint, and we didn't get along. Jeff was part of my problems. The only choice left was Jamie. She showed up an hour and a half after I landed. I spent most of that time in a little bar, nursing a margarita and attempting to get a hold of my crazed emotions.

A part of me wanted to fly straight back to New York and punch Chase in the face. Another part wanted to give him a chance to explain. The third part of me wanted to run to Jeff and beg him to take me back. The fourth and, at that moment, the strongest part wanted to just forget both of them and bury my head in the sand.

Being pulled in four different directions emotionally is confusing and exhausting.

Jamie is really my only friend aside from Jeff. We've been roommates for nearly three years now, through two moves, several tragedies between the two of us, and innumerable break-ups, mostly on her end. She's a serial dater. She's the girl who has a new boyfriend every few weeks or months, but nothing is ever serious and she rarely ever gets truly emotional about breaking up with them. They're just hook-ups for her. I've never understood how she can go from guy to guy and not get attached. She claims they're fun for a while, but then she gets bored.

I'm not that type. I get attached. My thing with Chase should've been just a fling: fun for a while, then over. I shouldn't have been devastated when I found him in the alley with those girls. But I was. I felt betrayed and confused. And now, with a couple thousand miles between us, I realized I'd been stupid to think it ever could have been anything for Chase but what it was: a fun distraction. He talked a good game, made it seem like he realy cared, like it meant something to him.

He was a rock star, and I was his flavor of the week.

I'd turned my phone on to cal Jamie, after having turned it off in the airport so I wouldn't hear Chase's deluge of texts and calls trying to explain away his bullshit.

I scrolled through the missed call log: he'd called me eighteen times and left ten voicemails. I dialed my voicemail and started hitting the "seven" button: delete, delete, delete. I couldn't help hearing snatches of the messages:

"Anna, I know what you think you saw, but please, give me a chance to explain. It wasn't—"

Delete.

"Goddammit, Anna. You have to listen. Please answer the phone—"

Delete.

"Seriously, Anna. It's not what you thought. I swear—"

Delete.

"Anna, for fuck's sake—"

Delete.

"Anna, this is the last message I'll leave. You're not answering, and your phone's going straight to voicemail, so I'm guessing you're not even listening to these. You're making a mistake. This is all a misunderstanding. I didn't do anything with those girls. They threw themselves at me. I would never...I care about you...I lo—"

Delete.

Oh, yeah. He went there.

I was shaking with rage, standing at the curb waiting for Jamie's battered blue Buick LeSabre. He wanted me to believe it was all them?

Horseshit. I wanted to throw the phone across the road and watch it smash, but I didn't, because I couldn't afford a new one. I deleted his twenty-three texts unread.

I had one message that I hadn't read yet. I'd seen the unread mail icon but ignored it while I was in New York. It wasn't a text; it was an email.

From Jeff.

Anna:

I don't blame you for going to New York. Seriously. I get it. I'm not saying I like it, or that I'm not hurt, but I get it. Just be smart, okay? Don't let
yourself get hurt. I don't know this Chase fella, and I'm not going to butt into your business, when you clearly don't want me in it. Just be careful. I
don't know what I'm trying to say.

Here's my point. I'm your friend, aside from anything else. If things don't work out for you, or if they do, I'll still be your friend. I can't guarantee
anything else, but at the very least, I'll be your friend. And your business partner.

I guess that's all.

Jeff

It was dated the day I left for New York. It made my eyes burn. I'd gotten my crying jag under control, but reading Jeff's email made tears prick my red and burning eyes all over again.

Stupid Jeff. He should be pissed off. He should be too angry to want to see me ever again. He had to know why I went to New York, what I was doing with Chase. He'd admitted in his roundabout Jeff sort of way to being hurt; for him to admit that in writing meant he was very deeply wounded.

But he was stil wil ing to be my friend and business partner? How the hell was that possible? If he'd done that to me, I'd never have spoken to him again. He was a better person than I, apparently.

The racketing roar of a car without a muffler disrupted my thoughts. Jamie's LeSabre pulled up next to me. The trunk popped, and Jamie hopped out. She was a few inches shorter than me, making her not quite five-seven, and she was built a bit more wil owy and svelte than me, which always made me jealous. She wore most of her weight in her hips and breasts, which were more than ample. She often talked, only halfway joking, about getting a breast reduction, if only to save her some back pain. She was a natural redhead, pure Irish orange-copper locks fal ing past her shoulders in absurdly perfect waves, and pale cornflower-blue eyes, freckles, the whole nine yards.

When I said she was willowy and svelte, that was relatively speaking. She's stil what most people would cal "plus-size." Which is why she's my best friend. We understand each other. We tel each other, when life hands us pain due to the fact that we're not diet-obsessed stick figures, that God just gave us an extra portion of awesomeness. And then we watch
Breakfast at Tiffany's
and share a pint of Ben and Jerry's, washed down with a bottle of wine.

In this moment, with Chase in New York and Jeff shoved aside until I had the courage to face him, Jamie was the only person I could stomach.

She was my only real family, and the one person who'd understand what I needed in that moment: cupcakes and alcohol.

She had a six-pack of Tim Horton's muffins (three left) and a grande skinny mocha waiting for me. Yeah, she's that kind of friend.

"I honestly didn't expect you to come back," Jamie said as I slid into the passenger seat.

The engine roared, and I held onto my mocha with one hand and the oh-shit bar with the other. Jamie is an...exuberant driver.

"I'm not sure I did, either," I answered, unwrapping the low-fat blueberry muffin.

"So what the hell happened?"

I ate the muffin and thought about how much to tell Jamie.

"Everything happened," I answered, after a few bites. "He took me backstage for a couple shows, which was awesome. We hung out a lot, which was also awesome. And then I caught him with some groupies in an alley. Which was not awesome."

Jamie frowned at my Spark's Notes version of events. "Come on, Anna. Spill. Don't be selfish with the gossip."

I rol ed my eyes. "It's not gossip, Jay. It's my life. And it hurt."

Jamie backhanded my shoulder. "I know. We can get to the hurt later. For now, tell me the good stuff. Is he good in bed?"

I realized I hadn't really talked to Jamie about Chase at all since I'd met him.

"He's...god, where do I start?" I closed my eyes and grabbed the oh-shit bar as Jamie merged onto the freeway. When we were cruising at a relatively tame eighty-five, I started talking again. "Chase is a rock star in every sense of the word. Nothing I've ever done, with anyone, can even remotely compare to Chase in bed."

"Is he big?"

I choked on my muffin. "I didn't exactly measure, Jay, but yes, he is. And that's all I'll say. A girl's gotta have some secrets."

"Not from your best friend, you don't. But seriously, if he's that good, why come home?"

"I told you, I found him porking some chicks in an alley."

Jamie frowned. "Are you sure? If he's as hot as you claim, which I wouldn't know because you wouldn't introduce me, then girls would be throwing themselves at him, right? So maybe it wasn't how it looked. Did you give him a chance to explain?"

I ignored the niggling worm of doubt in my gut. "I didn't need to. I know what I saw."

Jamie looked at me, and it wasn't a look I liked. "So you just left? You just got on a plane and left, without listening to anything he had to say?

Nothing?"

"Whose side are you on?" I suddenly wasn't interested in the other two muffins.

"I'm on yours, which is why I'm pissed off. You should have at least given him a chance." She narrowed her eyes at me, as if coming to a realization. "You ran because you like him. Right? It wasn't just the girls. That was an excuse. You have
feelings
for him."

"Feelings" was a swear word in Jamie's dictionary. Feelings led to pain, which she'd had enough of in her life. Just like me.

"I flew to New York on a whim to see him, Jamie. Yes, I have feelings for him."

Jamie gave me an exasperated look. "No, dumbass. You
like
him, like him. Meaning, you're worried you're falling in love with him, so you bolted."

The guardrail out my window was suddenly interesting. "No. That's not it."

Jamie shrieked, "It is! You love him. But you're chicken."

I rounded on her, pissed off now. "And you wouldn't be? If you found yourself falling in love with a guy way out of your league, you'd be shitting yourself, too, and you know it."

"True. But I'd be honest about it."

"And I'm not?"

Jamie didn't answer right away, tongue poking out the side of her mouth as she focused on weaving around a train of slow-going semis. When I could breathe again, and she had decelerated down to ninety, she gave me a serious look.

"No, you're not. You ran without telling him what you were feeling. Let's just say, just for argument's sake, that you're wrong about what you saw.