Patchwhore by Kim Jones

Author:Kim Jones [Jones, Kim]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2016-10-08T21:00:00+00:00

“You smell really, really good.”

I look down at Lefty and give him a tentative smile. “Thanks?”

“I mean, really good.”

I hate Emily. I hate myself for listening to her. Lefty is a toucher. And he’s taking advantage of all the bared places on my body. His feet might be big, but his fingers are tiny. And sticky. And I wish I had my mom clothes on.

Burying his face between my breasts again, he inhales. I put my hand on top of his head and push him away. “How about we sit down, hmm?”

I thought it would help. It didn’t. Now my chair is impossibly close to his. His arm is around my waist. And he keeps trying to tickle me with his tiny hands. I’ve tried to laugh it off. But if he continues, I’m going to have to hurt his feelings.

Good news? Jud is affected. It helps that Clarissa isn’t here tonight, but I don’t care why. Instead of hateful looks, he’s giving me lustful ones. He’s remembering the last time I wore this top. When he tried to unhook it and couldn’t, so I wore it during sex. Probably the best three minutes of his life. Unfortunately for me, it wasn’t nearly as rewarding as the three minutes with Cook last week.

Speaking of Cook, he’s here. Making me regret even considering having sex with him. This is all his fault. I’d be wearing a sensible, K-Mart shopping mom outfit if it weren’t for him and his magic stick. So while he’s getting his ten chuckles over my predicament, I’m imagining all the ways I could castrate him.

“I’m going to get a drink,” I mumble, pulling out of Lefty’s embrace. He starts to follow but I stop him by putting my finger in his forehead and pushing him back in his seat. When he finally arches his neck high enough to meet my eyes, I smile sweetly at him. “I got this, sweetie.”

“Okay … sweetie.” He winks. I struggle with the urge to put my heel through his throat.

I don’t even care that the only open spot at the bar is the space between Cook and Ronnie. I throw myself between them and immediately start shaking my head at Kat. “I can’t do this,” I say, grabbing Ronnie’s drink and downing the rest of it. It’s so strong and burns so bad, I make a pirate sound through my teeth—prompting Kat, Ronnie and Cook to laugh.

“Shut up and give me one of whatever that was but make it a double. Triple.”

“Come on, Carmen,” Kat says, between her fits of laughter. “Lefty’s a good guy. He’s just a little strange.”

“A little strange?” I scoff. “He asked if he could put his finger in my belly button.” Another round of laughter. Another stolen drink. To hell with them all. “There’s something really wrong with these guys. I’ve yet to find one that’s even half-ass tolerable. Bologna … spit bottles … big feet, tiny fingers and a tickle fetish? Come on! They’re supposed to be bikers.

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