Thirty Days: Part Two (A SwipeDate Novella) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Day Eight

  Day Nine

  Day Eleven

  Day Thirteen

  Day Fifteen

  Day Sixteen

  Day Seventeen

  Day Eighteen

  Day Nineteen

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Other Books

  Copyright © 2017 BT URRUELA

  All Rights Reserved

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cover Designer: Pink Ink Designs

  Editor: All About the Edits

  Formatter: Champagne Formats

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Day Eight

  Day Nine

  Day Eleven

  Day Thirteen

  Day Fifteen

  Day Sixteen

  Day Seventeen

  Day Eighteen

  Day Nineteen

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Other Books

  To my incredible readers, you make all this possible. You allow me to live out my dreams through your support of my work. The time you spend with my characters means more to me than anything else in this life. Thank you!

  As my eyes take in Megan snoring lightly beside me, I flip through my mental memory bank for the events from last night. I remember the shots before she texted. I remember the gut-churning shots after. There’s a bucket of meatballs somewhere in there, and a taxi cab makeout session, but anything that happened in this bed is going to be breaking news to me. While I can only assume this is a regular occurrence in some dudes’ lives…not this guy. I’ve never had a random hook-up before. I haven’t even fucked anyone since Joanne, so it’s a little unsettling that my first time since then is one I can’t even remember.

  I creep out of bed, tiptoeing across the hardwood floor toward the bathroom, my eyes locked on Megan’s still body, searching for any sign of movement. Once I’m confident she remains dead asleep, I turn and walk the rest of the way to the bathroom. As I’m a step away, planting my foot just outside the bathroom door frame, I hit that one squeaky spot in a hardwood floor that only makes noise when you really don’t want it to.

  I freeze, turning back slowly, and my heart sinks as I see Megan lift herself up a bit, her eyes slightly cracked and fixed on the headboard. She rolls onto her back, rubbing balled hands into her eyes. I remain locked in my position, feet forward, but my body twisted back in her direction, and my eyes positioned on her as I wait for her to inevitably become aware. She drops her hands to her sides and turns her head slowly, peering at me through the little bit of space between her eyelids.

  “Well, shit,” she says, a rasp to her voice and a slight smile appearing. “You’re alive. I was worried there for a bit.”

  My eyes fall to the floor, my shoulders sagging as I turn my whole body back toward her, shaking my head. “I… I’m…” I clear my throat and shake my head once more. “I’m really sorry, Megan. I’m…I’m fucking embarrassed.”

  “About what?” she questions, sitting up in my bed, pulling the blanket up with her to keep her nude body covered.

  “That’s just it…” My voice trails as I rub a palm in each eye, the headache worsening by the second as the sun gets brighter. “This has never happened to me before. I’ve never…um…I’ve never had a drunken hook-up before.” My eyes are still averted and my hands now fidget at my sides. I stop them when I realize it, though they’re sure to begin again here shortly without my notice.

  She giggles, pulling her hands to her mouth as a look of intrigue passes over her face. “Wait… So, what’s the last thing you do remember?”

  I go to respond, but pause for a moment, my words stuck somewhere in my throat, and a flood of embarrassment washing over me.

  “Making out in the cab,” I respond, followed by a heavy sigh. “And a little more making out downstairs.”

  “So, most of it then?” she asks, resting her arms against her bent knees and the comforter starting to fall. New cleavage catches my attention.

  “Oh yeah. I remember most of the night. It’s just…if I’m being honest, I had a few shots here before I met up with you.”

  She laughs, nodding her head. “Yeah, I figured. Fireball has a distinct smell, you know?”

  I shrug, smiling for the first time this morning. “Yeah, it was a hell of an evening before I met up with you.”

  “You mentioned that.”

  “Yeah so, again, I’m genuinely, ridiculously sorry. This isn’t me. Not one bit,” I mutter, my eyes dropping again.

  “Well…” Her voice trails, a mischievous little twinkle in her eye. “I was going to mess with you a bit longer, but you’ve got that pitiful look mastered.” She laughs lightly before climbing over the other side of the bed, pulling the comforter with her. She comes back with her jeans and shirt, stray panties still clinging to the jeans, and she drops them to the mattress. “So, we didn’t end up hooking up.”

  Her words linger in the air as she scans my small room, looking anywhere but my face.

  “No?” I finally ask, breaking the silence.

  “No…or not all the way, I guess,” she responds, a new look of embarrassment creeping in her features. “I can’t say we wouldn’t have, though,” she adds. “You weren’t the only one a bit too intoxicated.”

  “Fuck…” My voice trails, my mind flipping through the events of the night again, but coming up with nothing more than what I started with.

  “’Fuck’ what?” she asks, slipping her panties on beneath the comforter, followed by her jeans. It’s when she slides her shirt over her shoulders I realize I’d rather she stays the way she woke up. A stronger man would’ve kept her naked and in bed. A stronger man would’ve had his way with her.

  “I’m just wondering now how much of an ass I made myself look last night.” I take a few steps to my dresser and pull out a pair of basketball shorts, feeling a bit underdressed in my boxer briefs now that she’s fully-clothed and standing from the bed. She grabs up her wild, free-flowing, beautiful hair into both hands, controlling it the best she can in a hair tie.

  “Don’t you worry. It didn’t last long,” she says playfully, patting me on the back, my shorts mid-thigh as she makes her way toward the steps. I pull them on the rest of the way and follow behind her.

  “What?! W—what didn’t last long?” I ask, in a voice much higher-pitched than intended.

  A laugh escapes, and she brings her hands to her mouth to catch it as she reaches the bottom step and turns to me. Dropping her hands, a beautiful smile stretches across her face, and she laughs once more before turning and heading toward the front door. I follow after her and reach her just as she opens the front door, and a flood of sunlight and noise comes rushing in.

  “This is so fucked. You can’t mess with me like this,” I say as she turns to me, her hand on the door handle and the sunlight beaming from behind her, making her look almost angelic… almost. A bit of evil is still showing.

  “You can’t blame me for enjoying this,” she says with a wicked smile.

  “Yes, I can. And I am. Please tell me,” I plead, putting my hands together dramatically. “I’ll think about it all day otherwise.”

  She smiles, turning for a brief moment to the street behind her, before she
turns back to me. “You really like oral, don’t you? Giving it, I mean.”

  I can feel the fire as it incinerates my face. At least, that’s what the embarrassment feels like.

  “Why do you say that?” I ask, a wariness to my words.

  “You were just very adamant about doing it…and very voracious during the, um, process.” She giggles, but my head drops in shame. The heat remains in my face and my heart beats relentlessly in my chest. What the fuck happened?

  “Was it terrible?” I ask, my eyes still not on hers, and I’m met with a quick laugh.

  “No, you were quite good,” she says, bringing my eyes level again. “You just…” Her bottom lip slips between her teeth as she tries to stifle another giggle.

  “What? What?!”

  “Let’s just say you like to eat it almost as much as you like to sleep on it.”

  I stop for a moment, my forehead tightening in confusion as I process what she’s just said. Whether it’s the hangover, or the lack of sleep, I come up short.

  “What do you mean?” I ask, passing her a look of confusion.

  “You passed out in the middle of eating my pussy,” she says in a matter-of-fact tone, followed by the biggest smile I’ve seen all morning. “Maybe next time you’ll finish me off,” she adds, before abruptly closing the door. I remain motionless, my imagination conjuring what the event must have been like as I try and understand what I’ve just heard.

  After a few moments, I shake it off and reach for the door handle. Swinging it open, I make my way out onto the front porch, leaning out to try and see down the street. I spot her red shirt, not too far away. Without another thought, I cup a hand to my mouth and call out, “Will there be a next time?”

  She turns back, her beautiful mane of hair swinging with her head and she nods, an exaggerated, obvious ‘yes’ nod before she turns back around and continues down the sidewalk.

  “Bobby, I am in way over my head, man,” I mutter, sipping my coffee at the diner counter, watching the busy flow of foot traffic on Seventh Avenue. Bobby just laughs, forking eggs into his mouth. “I’m not even kidding,” I add, the heavy weight of the challenge sitting square on my shoulders, my mind torn.

  “Well, I would imagine you aren’t after your frantic phone call and brunch demands.” He laughs, wrapping some egg into his folded toast and taking a bite.

  “I passed out face-first in her pussy, dude,” I blurt, louder than intended, and I look around to make sure no one overheard as Bobby bursts out in laughter, nearly choking on his food.

  He coughs, balling his hand and blocking his mouth with it. When he composes himself, he looks at me, a shit-eating grin on his face, his head shaking from side to side. “First time back in the saddle, Gav. Shit happens.”

  “I really hate you right now,” I say dryly, before finishing off my fried eggs, over medium, and pushing the plate away from me. “Laugh it right on up,” I add, dabbing at my mouth with my napkin.

  “Hey, you called me to talk. With a story like that…you had to imagine I’d get a good laugh out of it. I mean, dude, that shit is funny as all fuck. If it happened to me, I’d be completely okay with you getting some enjoyment out of it.”

  I point my finger at him, my eyelids squinted. “You know, karma is a real bitch, Bobby boy. I wouldn’t be surprised if you find yourself passed out in your lady’s snatch one day soon.”

  He chuckles, shrugging and taking a big gulp of his coffee. “If that happens, I’ll give you the first crack at it. You can laugh your tiny little ass off.”

  “Oh, I will. Don’t you worry.”

  “So, beyond passing out in her muff, you said she wanted to see you again. You obviously didn’t fuck it up too bad.”

  “Yeah, but she wasn’t the one I was supposed to like,” I respond, my mind shifting to Sami. All morning, my thoughts have been torn between the two.

  “What do you mean?” Bobby asks, arching his brow.

  “It’s just, fuck, I don’t even know. I know I’ve got this stupid challenge to do, and digging any of these women would probably not be in my best interest, but I’m genuinely into both these girls.”

  “And the problem is?”

  “The problem is, Megan’s all kinds of wrong for me. If I’m going to allow myself to get closer to someone, I’d rather it not be a bad girl.”

  “Are you shitting me?” Bobby asks, a judgmental wrinkle in his brow. “A bad girl is exactly what you need right now, my friend.”

  “You know, Joanne was the bad girl type.”

  “No, no she was not, Gavin. She was just a bitch.”

  “Hey,” I say, angrily, though I’m not even sure why I’m offended. She really was a bitch.

  “Tell me I’m wrong. It sounds like this Megan girl isn’t bad. She’s adventurous…she’s fun. I wouldn’t label Joanne either one of those things.”

  “She had her moments,” I mutter, my gaze shifting back out to the street through the large glass window, my thoughts running absolutely rampant.

  “And how few and far between were they in that last year? She wanted a puppet, Gavin, and you know it.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Gavin…” His voice trails until I glance back over at him. His eyes are big, as if to insinuate his next words. “You know I’m right.”

  “Okay, okay…regardless, I get those same vibes with this girl. Those ‘this shit is probably gonna hurt in the end’ type vibes.”

  “That’s you letting past experiences dictate the present,” Bobby says matter-of-factly, as he raises his mug to the passing waiter for a refill. After the waiter obliges, filling mine as well, I wait for Bobby’s attention. He finally looks over while emptying four packets of Splenda into his mug. “What?” he asks, most likely reading the annoyance in my expression.

  “What’s with all this self-help bullshit lately?”

  He shrugs, clinking a spoon around in his mug with a look of content. “I’ve been reading a lot of that stuff lately. It’s really helped me to reprioritize and learn a lot about myself. Introspection or whatever. I have a few books, actually, that I think you should give a go.”

  “You know I hate that shit.”

  “But why do you hate that shit?”

  “Because it’s just that… Shit. Who’s to say whatever asshat you’re reading really ever had to persevere through anything? Why is it they have the answer and others don’t? It’s crap.”

  “It’s not, Gavin. You actually just proved my point.”

  “How?”

  “People like Tony Robbins, Dave Ramsey…they know this shit because they’ve spent a lifetime researching it. Analyzing themselves, their past mistakes and burdens, their future goals. It’s what they do. You wanna get your taxes done, you go to a CPA. You wanna learn about the meaning of life, you turn to the motherfuckers who’ve spent their lives discovering it.”

  “Bro, I’ll read whatever the hell you want me to if you stop talking like you’re on a goddamn infomercial.”

  “I really hate your pessimism sometimes.”

  “I really hate your optimism all the time,” I jest, a smile stretching across my face before sipping my piping hot coffee.

  “I swear it’s why we’re best friends. Without me, you’d literally atrophy in your own bed, watching sitcoms and ordering through Uber eats.”

  “Now, that doesn’t sound half bad,” I mutter and he shoots me a glare.

  “See, I actually believe you when you say that.”

  “And yet, you still can’t leave me to it?”

  “No, because I know that’s not truly how you want to be. I see the life in your eyes sometimes. Not as often as I used to, but from time to time. When you’ve just gotten back from seeing your grandma or out at trivia with the boys. You just get in your own way sometimes.”

  “Boy,” I say, rolling my eyes, “you and my psychiatrist seriously need to link up. I think you’d really hit it off.”

  “How goes that, by the way? Still feel like pulling tee
th?”

  “It’s not so bad.” I pause for a brief moment, a slight smile taking over my face as I’m overcome with just how much Dr. Thresher has really done for me. “She’s honestly helped a lot.”

  “That’s good, man. Javon told me how great she was and that he had recommended her to you. You know…” His voice trails, bringing my eyes back on him. “He told me about his own experience the same time he finally broke down and told me about yours.”

  “Really? He’s so open about it. I thought you already knew.”

  “No, never. Maybe that’s how he is with you, but we’ve never really gotten to that level. And he’s so fucking confident and shit, you know? It’s not something I ever would’ve expected.”

  “You’re telling me. When he first told me, I had him repeat it a few times to make sure I was hearing him right.”

  “Isn’t it crazy to see him now, though? As confident and self-aware as he is. Knowing where he came from.”

  “Yeah,” I mutter, my focus back on the street as I drink my coffee, my mind in a state of self-reflection.

  “You aren’t doing too bad, my friend,” he says, clasping the nape of my neck lightly with his big hand.

  “I’m not doing too great, either.”

  “Could be worse, no?” he asks, removing his hand from my neck and grabbing his mug, downing the last of his coffee. He riffles a couple twenties from his pocket and stows it in the server’s book.

  “Could be better,” I mutter, half-kidding, a smirk on my face.

  “Fucking doom and gloom over here,” he grunts, standing from his stool and pushing it under the counter, the legs screeching across the tile floor. “You could win the lottery, experience an everlasting, continuous orgasm, marry Mila Kunis, and you’d still find a reason to bitch,” he continues as I stand to join him.

  “Well, is she using her teeth? Because that could be a problem,” I jest, following Bobby through the crowded diner toward the front door. “And how much am I winning? You know they tax the shit out of that, right?” Not giving Bobby a chance to retort, and ignoring his eyeroll as he holds the door open for me, I continue, “And I imagine a continuous orgasm might take away from the excitement of it all. I kind of like that uncertainty, you know? Will she go down on me? Will she use her teeth to grate my dick like cheese? Will she ask me to nut in her mouth when I come? That’s kind of what the orgasm is all about. It’s unpredictability.”