Bigger (The Nicky Beets series) (17 page)

The bathroom was filthy. I stood on the sticky linoleum for a moment,
squinting into the mirror. I didn’t feel like me, so I had to get a better look
to make sure I still
was
me.

There I stood, cold and naked, holding my arms across my breasts, my skin
rubbed red in various spots from Junior’s goatee. My mascara had melted into
the lines under my eyes and my hair was the very definition of bed-head –
scrunched up messily and sexily. Junior had this way of kissing where he
slipped his hand up my neck and into my hair, grabbing a handful forcefully, so
that it almost hurt. My head would be forced back, like a picture of Scarlett
O’Hara in Rhett Butler’s arms, and he’d kiss me slowly, sucking my lower lip
and working his way down my neck, nibbling. Squinting closer, I could see a
couple of reddened areas that were almost certainly small hickeys.

I took a deep breath. The beginning of a hangover was making its presence
known. I looked into my own eyes in the mirror, wondering at myself, at the
kind of person who jumps into bed with a strange man a few short weeks after
her boyfriend leaves her. I must be desperate.

I looked away and made my way carefully through piles of discarded
clothing and body hair toward the toilet. The lid was all the way up, of
course, and the toilet revealed itself to be as disgusting as I’d feared. I
grabbed a piece of tissue and gingerly lowered the seat, hastily swiping at the
area my lily white butt would be touching shortly. There was a stack of
pornographic magazines on the back of the toilet, well-used by the looks of
them. And then, of course, there was a bottle of lube on the sink counter that
I’d previously overlooked. I wondered momentarily if this was normal –
grown men who lived alone, collecting porno magazines in their bathrooms and
apparently pleasuring themselves to the images. I decided it probably was, and
busily set about emptying my very full bladder. My body was sore, especially my
private parts, which had been engaged in a zesty and lengthy bout of
fornication with Junior and his private part. He was very well endowed –
more so than any of the handful of other men I’d slept with – and he used
his body skillfully in the bedroom. I peed and gently dabbed at my bruised
nether regions with toilet paper.

As there was no hand soap and all of the towels in the bathroom looked as
though they should be confiscated and tested for disease, I simply flicked off
the light and walked quietly back toward Junior’s bedroom, trying not to
imagine when the last time was that Junior had washed his sheets or vacuumed
the floor.

He was asleep and didn’t wake as I quietly slipped between the covers and
laid my head on a pillow, falling asleep immediately.

It seemed just minutes later when I was awaked by the sound of a ringing
telephone, a noise that reached straight into my brain and sliced at it with
razor blades. I opened my eyes slowly, looking straight up at the ceiling and
remembering with humor how Laurie and I used to joke about “ceiling fright” in
our single days. Ceiling fright is when you wake up in a strange bed, under a
strange ceiling, and become frightened about what (or whom) you may have done
the evening prior.

Junior’s cell phone rang loudly and irritatingly again and again on his
nightstand. I turned my head painfully toward him and observed with relief that
he was still a fine specimen of a man, even without tequila pickling my brain.

“Hey,” I croaked.

He didn’t budge. I grabbed his phone off the nightstand and thrust it
toward him.

“Your phone’s ringing,” I said, loudly this time, wincing with the
effort.

Junior awakened suddenly, opening his eyes, the whites of them as
sparklingly clear as they’d been the night before. I was sure mine were
bloodshot and I probably looked like a hot mess. He smiled sexily at me and
took the phone from my hand, pressing a button to answer.

“Hey,” he answered, leaning back into his pillow and running a hand
through his impossibly beautiful hair.

I heard a muffled female voice speak as I hurriedly wet my fingers with
spit and tried to rub the remainder of my mascara off my face and make sure I
didn’t have any unattractive eye boogers.

“Yep. Yep. Ok. Yep. See you in fifteen,” he said, clicking the “end call”
button.

He looked back at me and I raised an eyebrow questioningly.

“Forgot I have a walk-through this morning,” he said.

I groaned. “What time is it?”

He checked his phone. “Eight-forty-five.”

Too early for me to be awake, considering this hangover. I laid my head
back down carefully.

Junior slid toward me and wrapped an arm around my midsection, smiling
mischievously. He kissed me, even slipping his tongue in my mouth –
something I normally forbid, considering my deathly fear of morning breath.

“How about a quick one?” he asked, sliding his hand between my legs,
where I still throbbed from overuse. “I’ve gotta split in about ten minutes …”

He rubbed his erection against my thigh enticingly, and I jumped, more
than a little afraid to let him batter my sensitive skin again.

“Um, I’m actually a little … raw,” I said.

“Ah!” he said knowingly. I probably wasn’t the first woman he’d hobbled.
“It’s just as well. I’ve gotta run.”

“All right,” I said, reaching down to the floor to grab whatever clothing
I could find so Junior wouldn’t see me in the harsh light of day. “Can you
drive me to my car?”

“Yeah, sure,” he answered. He’d already thrown the covers off his side of
the bed and strode confidently toward his closet. His entire body was tan and
his muscles rippled under his skin. He grabbed a shirt and slacks from the
closet and began to dress. I hurriedly slipped my underwear on while still
under the covers and then hopped out of the bed, holding one arm over my
breasts while using my other hand to slip on my jeans. He watched me with
amusement but didn’t say anything. I turned my back to him and quickly slipped
into my bra and shirt.

After a quick trip to the bathroom, where I confirmed that I looked as
bad as I suspected, we hopped back into Junior’s Jeep and headed back toward
the bar, where my car was parked.

“So …” I began. “Do you want my number?”

“Yeah,” he said. I wasn’t sure he sounded convincing. “Tell it to me and
I’ll remember it.”

I looked at him skeptically. That sounded like a line a guy who wanted to
be able to use the excuse “I forgot your number” would say.

“Are you sure? I could just write it down.”

“Nah, I have a memory like a trap,” he said. “What is it?”

I felt like an idiot, but I told him the number, which he repeated back
to me a couple times as we pulled up to my car.

His Jeep stopped and I hesitated, unsure what to do. How does one
properly bid adieu to a one-night-stand? Junior solved the problem for me and
leaned over, pecking me on the lips. “See you later!” he said.

“Bye,” I answered, opening the door and hopping out into the impossibly
bright sunshine. I slammed the door shut and he took off, not waiting to make
sure I had my keys or that my car would start and I’d get home safely.

It was just as well, I figured. Why should he pretend to care when he and
I both knew he didn’t? No one asks to be
told
a phone number – that was the stupidest thing I’d heard in months. I
rolled my eyes and climbed into my car, starting the engine. Best to put Junior
out of my mind. I drove home, showered, and climbed into bed, where I stayed
until late in the afternoon.

Around three o’clock, the shadows were long and golden in my bedroom, and
I awoke with a gnawing hunger. I stumbled woozily to the kitchen and fried up
several pieces of bacon, then scrambled a couple of eggs in the bacon grease.
Bacon was technically carb-free, I’d reasoned with myself recently while
standing in front of a tempting case of it in the grocery store. I shoved the
hot, salty food in my mouth, groaning happily from the pleasure of sating my
insane hunger.

Finishing my meal as I sat on the couch, I set my plate down on the
coffee table and leaned back into the cushions, ready to ruminate on the
goings-on of the previous twenty-four hours. I’d gone out with Laurie for
drinks. Her excessively hot acquaintance suddenly showed up at the bar. Laurie
let me leave with him and go back to his apartment, alone (I shook my head in
disappointment at this part). And then Junior fucked my brains out and disposed
of me quickly. I shivered a little in pleasure – even though my lady
parts were still raw and aching – and from the audacity of it.

My purse sat on the cushion next to me, where I’d flung it as I stumbled
in the house that morning. I pulled out my cell phone and dialed Laurie’s
number.

“Hey!” she answered on the first ring.

“Um, hey yourself,” I said. “You’re lucky I’m not calling you from the
police station. Or the grave.”

“Whaaaaat?” she asked, incredulous. “What’s wrong?”

“You broke the code,” I said. “You let me leave with a strange man.”

Laurie sighed. “No, I didn’t. I let you leave with someone I knew, who I
was, like, eighty-five percent sure was not a rapist or a murderer.”

I laughed. “Good grief. All right, well, for the record, please do not
let me do that again.”

“Why?” she asked, concerned. “Did something happen?”

“No, all that happened is that I had a one-night stand with some hot guy
who’s never going to call me again and I feel a little cheap and dirty now.”

“Oh please,” Laurie answered. “It was high time this happened. You had to
get it out of your system, and now you have. How was it, by the way?”

I hesitated a moment. How to put this?

“Well, he’s amazing in bed,” I admitted. “I mean, it was … spectacular.
And I guess I felt sexy at the time, but now I just feel kind of gross.”

Laurie sighed again. “I heard he was pretty good in the sack. I guess I
hoped it would help you move on, after everything with Chuck.”

“Wait, what do you mean you heard he’s pretty good in the sack?” I asked.

“Well, just from what Melinda said,” she explained, referring to Junior’s
ex. “And I guess she knew at least a couple other chicks he diddled. He’s been
around the block a few times, is what I’m saying, so he’s had a lot of
practice. At least he’s good in bed.”

“Good God,” I was shaking my head in horror. “He’s a male whore. Well, in
any case, I’m fairly certain I’ve seen the last of him. How was
your
evening?”

Laurie hesitated. “It was good…”

“And??” I pushed. “Did anything happen between you and Rob?”

“Yeah…”

“Like?”

“Like I totally jumped his bones, and it was pretty much the best sex
I’ve had in years,” she finally confessed. “Not that I was having much sex as
of late. Frank and I hadn’t done it in about six months.”

“Youch,” I responded.

“Yeah,” she said. “It was one of many problems.”

We chatted a bit more and Laurie revealed that she actually kind of liked
Rob, who was more skilled in the nude than she would have expected. She was
disinclined to feel any guilt about it, as apparently Frank had moved in with a
woman Laurie had never heard of or met. This did, however, confirm her
suspicion that he’d probably been cheating on her for some time. I imagined
Frank probably knew who he was messing with, but in case he didn’t he’d be
well-advised to brace himself for quite the court battle. I’d be surprised if
he got even partial custody of Sage and wouldn’t be terribly shocked if Laurie
somehow managed to get his ass deported back to the UK.

Monday arrived. I spent a moment inspecting my neck in the mirror and
dabbed concealer on a love bite that had yet to fade. I wrapped a scarf around
my neck for good measure and headed to the office, my head in a fog.

The sequence of events that had led up to this point for me seemed
unclear. How had I, almost three months prior, been relatively fat and happy,
with a devoted boyfriend, and now I was alone and having one-night-stands with
good-looking strangers? Well, one stranger, anyway. My mission to lose weight
was supposed to solve a number of problems for me, and so far it seemed the
only problem that had been solved was the one involving me trying to fit into
my pants. Other than that, my love life was in a shambles and I still worked at
a job I had no passion for.

Deep in thought, I stood in the first floor lobby of my office building,
waiting for an elevator, my brow furrowed.
 
A pair of doors slid open and I walked onto the elevator,
followed by a man in a dark gray suit.

“What floor?” the man asked. I looked up to see it was Carl –
handsome, sometimes drunk, forgetful Carl who could never remember who I was. I
didn’t bother smiling.

“Thirtieth.”

“Oh!” Carl answered. “Heading up to Karnes?”

I tightened my mouth into a half-smile. “Yep.”

“I’m a new junior associate, Carl Pelter, pleased to meet you,” Carl
said, extending his hand toward me.

He had to be fucking kidding me. I didn’t react but narrowed my eyes to
examine this stupid, stupid man. He seemed to genuinely not recall ever having
seen my face.

“Nicole Beets,” I answered, leaving my hands folded across my chest.
“We’ve met. Multiple times, actually.”

Carl froze, a micro-expression of panic flitting across his face. He
cocked his head.

“Have we?” he asked. “I’m sorry … I can’t believe I’d forget meeting
someone as beautiful as yourself.”

Now he was just fucking with me.
 

“Very funny,” I answered.

Carl had put on one of his cheese-tastic smiles that probably made lots
of girls’ hearts beat faster. “I’m not trying to be funny.”

I glared at him.

“I’m an idiot. Let me make it up to you. Have lunch with me today,” he
said.