Page 183 of Right Man, Right Time
She picks up her phone as well and offers me the same angle. Her bare pussy comes into view right before her hand slides over it, and her finger glides over her slit. “Silas, I wish this was your tongue.”
“Me too, baby,” I say as a light sheen of sweat breaks out over my skin.
“What else happens? Did you fuck me on the counter?”
Knock. Knock.
I glance over toward the entryway of my door.
Fuck, is that housekeeping? I put up the do not disturb. They should leave me alone.
“Silas.”
“Huh? Oh sorry, what did you say?” I ask.
Knock. Knock.
“Dude, open up,” Posey says.
“Is someone knocking on your door?” Ollie asks.
“Yeah,” I grumble as I flip the camera around. “I think it’s—”
The door beeps to unlock, and it opens. Posey, Pacey, and Holmes come charging in. I have about two seconds to cover myself up before they see me.
“What the actual fuck,” I yell as I turn the screen of my phone face down so they can’t see Ollie. This is why I shouldn’t give a spare key to the guys. I thought it was a good idea, given I tend to sleep through an alarm occasionally, but this is not cool.
“We need to talk . . .” Posey’s voice dies down as he takes in the scene in front of him. “Uh . . . were you . . .”
I pick up the phone, and luckily, Ollie is covered and waiting for me. “I’ll call you back, babe.”
“Okay,” she says right before I hang up.
“What the hell is going on?” I ask. As my three friends all exchange glances. “What?” I shout.
“Was that Ollie?” Pacey asks.
“Yes,” I say, annoyed. “And you’re fucking interrupting.”
“Sorry, but . . . you need to read this,” Posey says as he walks up to me and hands me his phone.
Completely confused, I look down at the screen and read the headline of an article.
“Even Hockey Players Can’t Have it All.”
Byline: Ollie Owens.
I glance up at them. “Is this Ollie’s article?” They nod. “Well, Jesus, why are you barging in here? I’ve read it already.”
“Have you?” Pacey asks.
“Yes,” I say. “Before she turned it in.”
Posey looks almost gray as he says, “So you were cool with her talking about . . . about what happened with Sarah?”
“Wait, what?” I ask as my heart stills in my chest, all air escaping from my lungs.
“It’s, uh . . . it’s in there,” Holmes says as he pushes his hand through his hair in distress. “How she cheated on you.”
