Free The Trouble With Before by Portia Moore Page B

dissolves and is replaced by an angry sneer as if he’s offended by what I just said to his wife. “Hey! You don’t talk to her like that. At least she didn’t ditch her seven-year-old daughter on someone’s doorstep.” He chuckles and slams the window shut.
    I feel as if a knife has gone through me, and as if on cue, thunder cracks the air.

    I’VE REALLY GOT to stop thinking with the wrong head. If I was thinking with the right one, I wouldn’t be in this mess. When I got back from California, I should have taken my ass home. I shouldn’t have gone to Chicago, I definitely shouldn’t have gone to talk to Hillary, and when she opened the door wearing a pink thong and a thin pink cami that made her tits sit up, I should have run the other way. But that would be the reasoning of a man who thinks with his brain and not his dick, and Hillary has a way of speaking the language my dick understands.
    I wish I could say I went over there just to hash things out with her. I mean, I did miss her; Hillary isn’t the type of girl that’s easy to forget. She’s a complete enigma. When you look at her, she’s the type of beautiful that could easily be on the cover of one of those girly magazines. She looks like the definition of the girl next door, but it’s as if she does everything in her power to make sure that she’s not. She wears color contacts over the most beautiful blue eyes I’ve ever seen. She paints her hair with all different colors, has tattoos all over her body, and to be honest, she dresses like a stripper.
    Just looking at her, you’d never guess that she graduated at the top of her class, that her parents were ultraconservative—her dad’s a preacher and her mom’s a homemaker—and that before she left them, she’d never been allowed to see an R-rated movie. Now she could be the star of X-rated porn. She was the first girl since Jamie Hunting, who gave me my first blow job when I was fifteen, who could blow my mind with the tricks she knew how to do with her tongue.
    “So are you excited that I’m here?” she asks, her naked body displayed at its best angle beside mine. She holds the heel of her ankle and stretches her leg so that her knee is almost near her ear.
    How the hell am I supposed to say no when she’s doing stuff like that? That’s how she ended up in my room at my house when I went to see her to end things. I grab her waist and pull her on top of my lap. “So fucking happy.”
    She beams before bringing her mouth to my ear and biting its lobe. “Didn’t you miss this?” Her hands stretch down my stomach, and I nod enthusiastically. “Tell me how much you want it,” she whispers in my ear. She’s being a tease as she strokes my dick.
    “So bad.” I catch her lips and flip her over so I’m on top of her.
    The doorbell rings.
    “Who the fuck is that?” I growl as Hillary wraps her legs tightly around my waist.
    She looks up at me with a mischievous look. “I think you should go and see. No sense in being rushing. It’s not like you ignored my calls for a week straight when you could have been swimming in this.” She brings my hand between her thighs to show off how wet she is. She’s wearing a smile that only an angel should have, but her tone is laced in venom.
    I let out a deep sigh and realize that her coming here doesn’t mean that she’s not mad at me anymore. She’s just gifting me sex; she’s here to punish me, and after the sex is over, I’m in for a lot of yelling and nagging. As sexy as she is, my dick, which was hard as brick, deflates. I climb off her and slide on my jeans.
    “I wonder if your visitor is the reason you’ve been ignoring my calls?” Hillary says sarcastically, grabbing a T-shirt from my drawer.
    I shake my head and let out an exasperated sigh at how bad this night is about to go.
    “I’ll get it!” She bounces past me and through my bedroom door.
    I quickly pull on my T-shirt. I’m sure in Hillary’s mind, the reason I ignored