One Last Shot (Pub Fiction #3) Page 2

  As the years passed, I was able to maintain the façade I’d put in place. I was always the fun, happy, flirty girl with the ability to take what I wanted from the opposite sex and move on. Like many of my male counterparts, as I got older I was the love ’em-and-leave ’em kind of girl, rivalling the greatest players and manwhores. Don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t a floozy by any means, I was just a free spirit who liked to play the proverbial field. And, for some reason, I was able to stay friends with most of the guys I dated or slept with after we’d parted ways.

  Even today, I still speak to a handful of the men I’d dated over the years. It’s always been a part of my charm, I guess. I mean, I am a pretty kick-ass buddy to have around. I’ve also been known to turn into one hell of a wing-woman when needed, as well. I’m like a chameleon in a relationship—I can be both lover and friend.

  As long as all parties follow my rules, everything in my world is as good as it can get. My number one rule when it comes to relationships with the opposite sex is to never get attached, never develop feelings, and most of all, never let that warm fuzzy glow take over my heart. For me, allowing myself to fall in love with someone would be comparable to a death sentence, a full-blown guarantee to end up with nothing but pain and suffering.

  Never love and never get left behind. This little saying became the mantra I adopted as my heart’s guide after my parents died, which I then set in stone after witnessing the whole Kat and Damon fiasco. I put a lot of stock in this mantra to help me remember what it felt like to lose what you love most.

  Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a complete emotional freak. I just need to protect myself. I love my friends and my adoptive family, but made my rules so I’d never lose my heart in that intimate type of love. The kind of love that people say is found among soulmates and in cheesy love songs, love so strong that when it leaves, it leaves you feeling empty and breathless. That fucked up, all consuming, “I won’t be able to live without you” kind of love. The love that leads to marriage and babies, giving you people who can hurt you and whom you can hurt in return. I never wanted to experience that kind of love. And it worked, too. All through high school until my final year of university, I had managed to stick to my rules, until I met him. He showed me that my heart wasn’t as impenetrable as I had thought.

  We dated and I fell in love.

  I fell in love, and I freaked.

  It’s because of him, now two years later, that this 24-year-old sticks to some new rules like a lifeline—three dates then done.

  Unfortunately, tonight’s date just doesn’t get it.

  Chapter 3

  Claire

  “Come on, Claire baby. Why you gotta be mean? Let Zack have you one more time,” Zack—tonight’s coital transaction—pleads, despite my blatant efforts to usher him the hell out my front door.

  I say “transaction” because Mr. Zack Hastings was not a fuck, not an amusing intercourse, not even an interaction, so much as an unimpressive transaction that I never want to experience again. My poor vagina concurs as memories of the Penis Poke Shuffle (a name I’ve coined for his apparent signature move, the one he attacked us with) begins to play as a nightmare in my mind, the sudden images causing both me and my clitoris to cringe.

  “Oh, Christ, you feel so good.” Poke, poke, jab his stubby little penis went, over and over in some sort of odd asymmetric rhythm, a move which resulted in his nubbin hitting…nothing! No G-spot, no orgasm. Nada, zip, zilch. For me, anyway.

  How can it be a hit-it-and-quit-it, if it can’t hit it?

  Standing in my front hall listening to him plead his case, I can’t help but zone out…

  “Tap, tap, tap…is this on?” I take the microphone as I make my way to centre stage. “Attention men of the world, please listen carefully…size does fucking matter. But so does how you use whatever you’ve got, and, yes—practice really does make perfect. Figure out your shortcomings and make up for them. I mean seriously, master the art of cunnilingus; become such an expert at peach nibbling that we become putty in your hands. And guess what? It won’t matter if the sex is good or not ’cause we’ll be so grateful for your mad oral skills we won’t even notice other areas where you’re lacking. We’ll be too busy in Nirvana to care. And maybe learn how to make us come with some hot tit play—again, the sex won’t necessarily matter. Google how to find that coveted G-spot quickly and efficiently. Strive to be known as ‘G-Spot guy’ versus ‘Stubby Dick Dude’. Whatever you choose, please do something to make up for what you lack. I mean, jeez, we do Kegels and have been practicing our oral skills on bananas since our high school slumber party days. All’s fair in the orgasm war. I mean, it is the point after all.

  Am I right? Yeah, I fucking am.

  Claire Knox out.”

  Zack’s voice still nattering on bursts through my thoughts as the sound of my imaginary microphone drops from my hand and hits the stage floor with a thud.

  He moves closer to me and rubs my nipple, licking his lips as if he thinks this is the art of seduction at its best.

  “I can’t, Zack. It’s late and I’ve got an early day tomorrow.” I shove his hand off my boob, stepping around him, hoping my shift in position will force him closer to the door.

  “Come on, Claire, you know you really want me to stay. No need to play hard to get, doll. I’m all in.”

  Whoa? Did we just reach DEFCON 1? Did this dude forget the rules?

  “I’m not nearly done with you,” he smiles, and the dimples I once found sexy are full on, but unlike before, they do nothing. “We could go again and again all night. God, your pussy felt so good around my cock.” He grabs his dick with his free hand and I swear my vagina goes on lockdown at his offer. I can hear the gates clanging shut and the whoop whoop of the alarm.

  “Sorry, Zack. We had our fun, but it’s time for you to go. Besides, I was clear with my intentions from the start and you told me you were looking for the same thing. No take backs, mister.” I tap his chest semi-playfully.

  “Yeah, but that was before. Now that I’ve tasted you, I want more of—”

  I raise my hand to stop him from going on and embarrassing himself. “Listen. I have rules, and reasons for them. I know what I want and it’s not this.” I gesture between us. “Again, we had fun, but it’s over. I’m sorry if I wasn’t clear enough about what this was. I’m not looking for more.”

  “Come on, baby doll, you know I gave you a good ride, ate that pussy like I owned it. More would be so good between us.” He gyrates while holding his junk, and I have to stifle a laugh. This dude is unreal. It’d been months since I had sex, and I chose him?

  My brain is shouting at me to get rid of this guy before he scars us for life. He needs to go ASAP, so we can watch some really hot porn before bed to erase any memory of him, replacing it with one of happier times: just me, my clitoris, my porn hub and my trusty purple LELO.

  Unfortunately, Zack Hastings is the worst sex I’ve ever had, and the sad part? He doesn’t seem to get it. This man is gonna make me be mean if he doesn’t get to steppin’.

  “Come on, you know it was the best ride you’ve had.”

  I bite my tongue. Hard.

  I stand face-to-face with him trying to figure out what to say.

  What I really want to say is this: “Zack, your skills in bed are comparable to painting your living room—all kinds of fun and exciting choosing the colour and shade and buying the paint, but then you get home and start, and you realize not only is it a shit ton of work, but it’s a bit of a mess and fucking boring, too. Waiting for you to get either of us off was like watching mother-fucking paint dry. Boring! Your dick only speaks missionary, and it’s so tiny I swear my vagina rejoiced and shouted out in prayer when the stubby fucker finally came. Lastly, don’t even get me started on your attempts at dominance; I mean who the hell are you to tell me when to rub my clit? I mean, if you wanna play with her, by all means, please do. But, fucker, it’s my clit, and me and her, we go way back so I know when my gi
rl needs my attention. Now leave before I scar your manhood for life.” I want nothing more to snap my fingers in his face and shout “Booyah!”

  But I don’t.

  Instead I take a deep breath, swallow a laugh, and take the high road.

  “Again, Zack, as nice as that all sounds, I can’t. We’ve hit our three-date threshold. It’s late and I’m done. Thank you again for a nice night.” I hand him his baseball hat and keys from the small wooden table, hoping this will finally be goodbye.

  “I remember,” he scowls, but still tries to pull me closer. “Sorry for being relentless, I thought…I was hoping, maybe, I was different. I felt we connec—”

  Just then my cell phone blares and it’s the one ring tone that always seems to sound at the perfect time.

  “Oh, shit, but I need to grab this. It’s my sister,” I say reaching for the phone as Kat’s Wonder Woman ringtone bleats again.

  I slide my finger to the left, answering the call.

  “Hey, sis…Oh, no! What? Okay, just hang on…okay…yep…yep…Oh, honey, no…” I say into the phone, knowing she’ll play along. “Okay, give me one minute,” I finally say, covering the phone before looking to Zack.

  “Sorry, boy crisis. I really need to go so I can talk to my sister. Thanks again for tonight.” I step onto the porch to actually hold the door open for him, a move I think I should have tried twenty minutes ago.

  “Right, er, well, okay. I guess I’ll go then.”

  Ding, ding, ding, we have a winner!

  He puts his Leafs cap on before stepping onto the porch. “Thanks again, doll. Call me if you change your mind.”

  Not happening. “Yeah, okay. If I ever decide to abandon all my beliefs about the dating world and love, I will. You got it.” Not.

  With that comment, he shakes his head and kisses my cheek before walking out the door.

  “Doll.”

  Shudder.

  Chapter 4

  Claire

  Locking up behind Zack, I sag against the door in relief that he’s finally gone.

  “Kitty Kat! Have I ever told you how much I love your impeccable timing?”

  “Glad to help as always. Tell me all about it.”

  “Okay, first things first though. Before you drill me about my sexcapades and the lack of love in my life, answer me this—why the fuck do guys call us ‘dolls’? Whoever told them we like that term is a complete fucktwad and needs a hard smack.”

  Kat laughs. “First of all, I do not drill, I dissect. I listen, guide, and then advise. But hold that argument because I have to hear about this ‘doll’ business.”

  “You done, Giggles, or you need more time?” I sigh.

  “M’kay, I’m ready for this logic. Hit me. What’s wrong with being called ‘doll’, oh, Queen of the Know?”

  “God, Kat, so much. I don’t know where to start with this lesson, grasshopper.” I reach for my wine glass as I pass through the kitchen, and take a much-needed sip. “Think about it. First of all, we’re not made of plastic, nor are we pint-sized, and I don’t know about you, but I most certainly do not need to be taken care of like a doll by any man.”

  “True,” she agrees, before continuing. “Some men seem to actually enjoy the pleasure certain dolls provide, well, for like a whole ten seconds anyway. There are men out there who are completely fascinated with the almost life-like anatomy dolls can offer the pervy masses. Then I bet in true man-like fashion they toss them aside once they have had their fill—so honestly I can see the usage of ‘doll’ when talking to a woman.” She takes a pause from being sarcastic and waits for my reaction.

  “Huh. I mean, wow.” I hesitate mulling over her words, “I kind of get the parallel when you put it that way, especially if you’re talking blow-up dolls. I get that we let them play with us from time to time. But still that’s pretty much the only thing women have in common with dolls. I mean, we’re living, breathing people, with thoughts and feelings, I ain’t no plastic fantastic, I am the real deal complete with fun bags and a dick garage. So do not call me ‘doll’.” Kat just laughs. Turning back, I grab the wine bottle, thinking that I’ll need another glass or two after tonight’s series of unfortunate events.

  “Oh, Jesus, Claire Bear. Shall I assume tonight’s date called you ‘doll’? You seem pretty hung up on this.”

  “Yes, he did,” I pout, taking another sip.

  “The horror! And you let him escape with his balls intact?”

  “Yeah, I did. He has the world’s stubbiest dick. He needed to keep his balls to make up for that, so I let it slide. But I swear, if I ever hear ‘Oh, come for me, doll! Touch your clit, doll!’ again, I’m taking the dick and the balls.”

  “I guess it’s safe to assume that another one bites the dust then, eh? No more dates for this guy?”

  “Right. No more. He’s lucky I didn’t kick him out the instant he dropped trou.” I cringe at the memory of his less-than-stellar offerings. “I just don’t get how he could look like an Adonis and be a nub dick and the worst ever fuck of my life.”

  “Wait a minute. I need you to stop and listen. I have to defend the stubby here for a second,” Kat interjects. “You absolutely need to realize that not all guys with Mini Coopers don’t know how to use them. Trust me, Damon was on the smaller side, but he definitely knew how to drive it. Jesus, the last thing we need is for you to be holding inspections from now on, adding another stupid hang up for you to use against mankind. I don’t suppose that would go over too well in the bedroom with most dudes all ready for action and you pulling out your magnifying glass. Needing to inspect it before you permit it, hit it and quit it.” She pauses and I swear I hear her smile on the other end of the phone.

  “Pssht, like I’d let them get all the way to the bedroom before the inspection. I’ll have a new ‘drop your pants’ policy at the front door. A kind of inspection station on my front porch,” I tease.

  “Claire!” she shrieks, and I laugh, too.

  “Okay, okay, I won’t hold Zack against all the stubbies of the world. But don’t expect me to be excited if I encounter one again in the foreseeable future. I’m pretty sure I’m scarred for life after that shit.”

  “You’ll be fine. I promise. Like I said, Damon was pretty crafty, considering. It was most impressive actually, one time he did this mov—”

  “Stop. I get it. I don’t need a visual thank you,” I interrupt.

  “All right, I’m over it. Who was this one, anyway?” she enquires. “Do I know him?”

  “Yes, this was Zack. You know, the mechanic who fixed my car last month? We’ve gone out a few times, tonight was our thir—”

  She cuts me off as I put the bottle down. “And let me guess, it was the third date so it was the ‘mate date’, and now you’re done with him?”

  “Yes, it’s over, as per the rules. I don’t think I could date him regardless. The whole ‘doll’ and lack-of-cock thing were enough to end it on their own,” I say, plopping down on the couch. My cat, Felix, jumps up on my lap.

  “So what’s up anyway? How are you?” I ask Kat, rubbing Felix’s ears.

  “Not much. I was calling to ask about packing and if you needed me to get anything before you came, but now I’m too busy thinking about all those poor unsuspecting men of yours. They have no idea about your twisted ‘three-dates-and-a-mate’ limit.”

  “Hey, that’s not fair,” I chide, a bit defensively. “I don’t always mate with each one. You make it sound like it’s a given. I’m not a complete hooch, you know. The mate part is more of a maybe. It goes like this: three-dates-and-maybe-a-mate. I’m actually quite selective,” I tell her. “Zack just happened to be someone I thought I wanted to do the horizontal mambo with. It’s been a few months since I’ve had actual sex,” I harrumph. “What a total letdown, and such a waste. And him with those big sexy arms and six pack, too. He seemed like an excellent prospect.”

  “Of course, Claire. Sorry, I wasn’t trying to imply you were fucking them all. I just don�
��t like you dating all these guys, and I don’t like them all knowing where you live. I don’t really think it’s healthy for you, or them.”

  She pauses, and I take the opportunity to justify my actions.

  “Well, it’s all I’m looking for. I’m happy. Besides you don’t need to worry, I tell them before we even start how it’s gonna be. I’m completely honest about not wanting a relationship. And trust me, most of them appreciate it and are in the same boat. I can’t help it if the odd one comes around thinking that he’ll be the one that’ll be the exception to my rules. Worse than some fucking chicks…” I laugh.

  There’s only ever been one exception to the rules.

  “Jesus, you’re brutal sometimes, Claire Bear.”

  “Nope. Just honest.”

  “Whatever.”

  “What do you mean ‘whatever’?” I ask, getting annoyed.

  “Don’t give me that bullshit. I know you, Claire. I know you think this is the life you want. But it’s crap, and the sooner you admit it the quicker you can move on to where we both know you belong. You’re twenty-four, not fourteen,” Kat huffs, and I admit I’m a bit taken aback by her comments, and the tone she’s using.

  “This has nothing to do with him, Kat, I hope you know. Don’t even try to go there with me.”

  I’m a liar and she knows it. It always has something to do with him.

  Matt Bishop.

  The one for whom all my rules fell to shit in my final year at Brock University. The same man I secretly want today—two years later—just as much as I wanted him back then. The one I won’t admit to wanting out loud.

  Matt Bishop has remained a thorn in my side, the starring role in all of my dreams, and a source of pain in my heart from the day he marched his sexy-as-fuck self up to me and uttered a stupidly amazing pick up line. He’d tricked me with his good looks, wittiness, the promise of no strings, and all kinds of sexy fun. Damn him.