Baby for the Brute_A Fake Boyfriend Romance by Penelope Bloom

Author:Penelope Bloom [Bloom, Penelope]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-05-14T16:00:00+00:00

8

Chris

I stir awake with something between a hangover and a feeling like I fell asleep on the wrong end of a gun range. Either way, I feel like shit, but when I blink away the haze of a bad night’s sleep—on the floor of my living room, apparently—I see something that makes me raise an eyebrow.

Psycho Fan is sleeping on my couch. I’m disappointed for a minute when I realize I must’ve gotten drunk and fucked her somehow without remembering, but her hair isn’t messed up and her clothes seem intact. With how long it has been since I’ve had a woman, she wouldn’t have made it through an encounter with me so clean and put together. It’d look like she just walked through hurricane force winds for an hour or two.

I scrape my hand across my chin, cracking my neck and getting to my feet carefully because every movement sends stabbing pains through my head. I put my fingertips to the worst spot and feel a scab on my forehead, nodding to myself as understanding starts to set in. I vaguely remember getting drunk and shooting guns. I must've made enough noise to draw Lindsey up from her cottage. Maybe she hit me in the head with a frying pan to get me to keep it down and then dragged me in here.

I nudge her leg with my toe, watching with more than idle curiosity as she stirs in a way that presses her chest up, giving me a tantalizing view of her small tits. Small, yes, but they have a nice shape to them, like perky little teardrops that I wouldn't mind getting a taste of.

I run a fingertip up her thigh, dragging it until I reach the bottom of her shirt, pulling the fabric up enough to expose part of her stomach. With a shake of my head, I pull my hand away. Maybe I could get her to fuck me. Right now, even. But ever since I came out here, I haven’t been able to see the world the same way. It wasn’t some drastic moment or anything special, just a subtle shift in color, as if that makes any sense.

I decide to let her sleep, throwing on my jacket and heading outside.

The half-mile hike uphill has become familiar to me in the past six months. There’s a switchback I imagined my parents used to follow up the mountain together. Probably on some wholesome morning walk where they’d sip their coffee and talk about whatever normal people talk about. Probably the weather and news, the two things that become more interesting than sex and drugs to a large part of the population once they retire. I almost envy that, now. Maybe people just get sick and fucking tired of being a player in the game by then. It’s easier to take a step back and watch it all from the outside in, climb outside the fishbowl and hang up your suit, trade it in for slippers and a bathrobe so you can watch the world burn from your own lawn chair.

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