It was a bright, sunny day, one of those days when you feel like singing all day long, laughing like a fool ...
“Ugh, no, it’s horrible.” Charlotte deleted the words for the third time, and, leaning back against her chair, sighed, rubbing her temples. It was way harder than she’d thought.
Closing her laptop, Charlotte stood, thinking maybe a nice cup of tea might help. She placed the kettle on the burner, and stared ahead. She had two weeks to hand in the first chapter, but nothing came out, she’d racked her brains, tried reading other books of the same genre, she’d tried even Wattpad ... but nothing. She was at a dead end. All because of that foolish idea of joining a romance contest. What the heck did she know about romance?
Right. The bet. Jamie had taunted her, claiming she wasn’t able to write anything that didn’t involve a vicious murder, Charlotte had felt wounded in her pride, so, out of instinct, she’d claimed she could easily write the most passionate romance novel he’d ever read in his life ... how she regretted that now!
Sighing, she took the kettle off the burner, and grabbed a cup, in which she poured the tea. Within four weeks she’d written and rewritten the first chapter twelve times already. Everything seemed stupid and cliché. She could already picture Jamie’s cocky grin when she would announce him she retired from the contest. That alone would be unbearable, but there was also the bet ...
“Ugh, no, there’s no way I’ll ever do that”, she told herself sipping her tea. She could endure anything, but not such a public humiliation. It would remain carved in her mind for eternity. No, she couldn’t let that happen. She ought to fight back, do her best, as always.
As if on cue, Bluebell, her white cat, meowed, purring between her legs. Charlotte turned to him, and cracked a small smile. “I can make it, right? Just how hard can it be to write a sappy love story?”
“You like it?” He asked frantically as he writhed above her, thrusting like a crazy drill that had lost direction.
Charlotte gave him her fakest smile, resorting to her best acting talents. “Oh! Yeah, just like that, baby!” How long had it been already? Did he have the slightest clue as to what was he doing?
As he dug faster, gripping the pillow behind her tighter, in order to ignore the disgust she felt as his sweat covered her skin, and to convince him he ought to speed up, Charlotte moaned louder, and when he claimed he was close, she pretended: “Oh, yeah, baby, me too!” Faking orgasms had become such a routine, she didn’t even need to plan it anymore. What the heck was it with these guys? Or was it her? She never seemed able to find someone that would bang her just right.
Charlotte noticed he was over only when he sat up, a satisfied grin on his face. When she realized where his eyes were looking, she followed them, and noticed, much to her dismay, that Mr. Quickie had ejaculated right on her stomach. Ugh, how she hated that. It was not sexy when it’s a hot guy to be doing that, less than less it was sexy when it was a sleezeball that couldn’t even make her orgasm, Charlotte cursed mentally. But at least there was no risk.
Needing a purifying shower, Charlotte stood, covering herself with the sheets, and claimed: “Um, thanks for the fun, Barry, but I gotta leave in an hour, so ...”
He frowned, offended. “It’s Perry.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes. As if that made any difference. “Yeah, sorry. You know the route, right?”
He looked incredulous. “But I thought we had something ...” He complained.
She would have snorted so loud that she’d have deafened him, but ... she resorted to smiling lightly while lying shamelessly: “I’m so sorry. I’ll call you tomorrow, alright?” Only if she suddenly lost her mind.
Perry grinned, nodding eagerly. He seemed even too happy for a guy that had just been served her standard line for hook-ups. Well, at least one of them was satisfied, she thought. “I’ll leave you my number then.”
“Of course.” Charlotte smiled politely, trying to resist to the urge of being simply a bitch and throwing him out without further ado. God, that was the last time she hooked up with a random stranger. Or at least she should quit taking home the first sleezeball she found every time she was too horny to make do with her hands.
Ah, if only Cayden deigned of one look ... Charlotte bit her lips, finding herself horny all over again as she thought of her favorite bartender. Gosh, he could slide in and out of her bed any time he wanted, she wouldn’t mind. He would surely be better than Barry-ugh, right, Perry.
“So here’s my number.” Perry grinned from ear to ear, nearing her to hand her the piece of paper.
“Thanks.” She said flatly, stretching her hand to take it. Much to her dismay, Perry thought it was wise to trick her into a kiss. Even sloppier than his foreplay, Charlotte thought. Gosh, was she drunk when she picked him up?
Finally, the guy pulled back. Charlotte tried not to look too disgusted when he caressed her cheek before saying goodbye. When he finally left, she sighed loudly, crumpling the piece of paper and throwing it into the trashcan beside her desk.
She sighed, heading to the bathroom, even more sexually frustrated than before. Maybe it was time to listen to Jamie’s advice and find herself a fuck buddy. It would be more satisfying than attempting her luck with sleezeball after sleezeball. Or maybe she could finally woman up and ask Cayden out. That way Jamie’s bet would be pointless, and she’d kill two birds with one stone. If only she could muster the courage ...