Beta: Frannie
Prereaders: Jill, Pearly, and Ariel
My heart: Full if love for my readers and reviewers.
...Frog ass? Fucking...what?
I'm a man. My ass isn't froggy…
I mean, I'm not busting out of my jeans or anything, but froggy? Nah.
Then again, I'm relying on the musings of someone under the influence.
Before you ask, she's not doing anything illegal. Marijuana is legal in Seattle as long as you don't do it in public. She's in the privacy of her own home, looking all cute with her red, squinty eyes and giggling her ass off with a mouth full of toast. She's fine. Certainly not harming anything.
Besides my resolve.
Her comment about sleeping with a stranger (i.e., me) has me picturing things I certainly have no fucking business picturing in a professional capacity.
My fingers in her long, chestnut waves. Marking all her perfect, snowy skin with my teeth. Finding out what face she makes when I'm driving into her.
It's been too long since I've taken a woman back to my bed. I don't make a habit of it, but every four or five months, the itch needs to be scratched.
Instead, I paint the walls of my shower with my cum when I go home late that night, fighting to keep the image of big, brown eyes and an ass that begs to be gripped out of my head to no avail.
A couple of nights later, when I step out of the shower, I may or may not chance a backward glance in my mirror.
God damnit, it is a little bit froggy...fuck.
No one's ever complained before...maybe because they expect all men to be flat as a damn board.
Jesus. Maybe I should start doing some squats or some shit. Call in the Kardashians and see what they suggest.
Okay...This shit needs to stop. Like, yesterday.
Against my better judgment, I let my hair dry on its own, dressing in a pair of black jeans and a blue plaid shirt that I roll the cuffs of up to my elbows. Right before I head out the door of my stark apartment, barren of any sort of personality, I slip on a pair of black Chucks.
I'm headed to the bar to try and fuck Bella out of my mind, but I gotta admit, my heart isn't fully into this endeavor. I just need to get this girl out of my goddamn head. Things have been spiraling since I was assigned to her, and it needs to fucking stop.
The streets of Seattle are surprisingly quiet, but it is a Sunday night. Not many are out creeping for their next lay when they work the next day. But my feet continue to carry me one foot in front of the other. Mindlessly. Until I've finally made it to my chosen haunt for the night, one I didn't even consciously choose.
When my head looks up to the bright, neon sign, I have to do a double take. As if it'll change where I've landed.
Because surely I didn't subconsciously walk myself to the same bar where the object of my distraction works…
Surely, I'm not going to open that door and be met with whiskey eyes, pouty lips, and chocolate waves.
But of course, I am…
Because fuck my life, that's why.
