Sex Snob Read Online Free
Author: Elizabeth Hayley
another CrossFit member broke me from my trance. Pulling away from Shane abruptly, I side-stepped him and started for the exit. Who does he think he is?
“Hey, wait, Amanda,” he uttered softly.
I stopped and took a deep breath before turning around and looking at him with the largest amount of hate in my eyes that I could muster.
“Uh,” he ran a hand through his short, rumpled hair. He was clearly uncomfortable and I momentarily wondered why, before I reminded myself that I didn’t give a shit. I looked at him expectantly. “Uh, nice job today,” he finished.
I scoffed. “Thanks,” I said sardonically as I whipped around and stormed out of the building.
***
I felt the tension radiating throughout my entire body. And anger. There was definitely anger. Though that anger was mostly directed at myself. Why did I let myself become so affected by Shane’s comment? “Stupid,” I growled through gritted teeth, smacking my palm on my steering wheel.
Because I had reacted like such a baby, he had taken pity on me and given me that lame compliment and placating touch. I blew out a long breath. Though I had to admit Shane’s hands didn’t exactly feel unwelcome, this was not the kind of shit I needed in my head right now. But I know what I do need. I quickly changed lanes and hung a sharp left. I needed Kyle.
***
I pulled into the driveway of Kyle’s condo. His car wasn’t there; he must have still been at work. I glanced at the clock on my dashboard: 7:15. “Overachiever,” I mumbled as I grabbed my workout bag and headed for the front door.
I sifted through the keys on my key ring, quickly selecting the right one. It was easy to pick out Kyle’s. When he had it made for me, he chose a key that had a picture of a giant cat on it. He handed it to me, and I looked at him, confused. I hated cats. So, he offered an explanation that was truly heartwarming, “If you keep fucking around, you’re going to end up like one of those people on Hoarders who has fifty cats roaming around your house and shitting everywhere.” Such a sweetheart.
I had met Kyle about three years ago at a local bar. I was immediately drawn to him. His hazel eyes were known to change colors in different lighting. That night they were deep brown with twinkling specks of bright green. And I could feel them latch onto me from across the bar. In return, my own eyes studied him from head to toe. His tall frame easily towered over me, and with his dark hair clipped neatly on the sides and gelled up slightly longer on the top, he reminded me of Superman. I had to talk to him.
We struck up a conversation and, after asking what he did for a living to ensure that he met Rule Number 2: only date men who are as financially successful as I am, we headed back to his place. God, he is a great lay. We tried dating for a while, but we weren’t compatible as a couple. We’re both too . . . wild. But the sex was too good to walk away from, so we stayed friends and continue to have sex as long as neither of us is in a serious relationship.
I walked into Kyle’s foyer, dropped my keys on a table by the door and started down the hall toward the kitchen. Despite the fact that I had been here probably over a hundred times, I was always surprised by the place. Kyle put no effort into his house at all. The walls were all white, his kitchen still had the original linoleum it was built with twenty-five years ago, and his cabinets were worn. He’s a lawyer for chrissakes. Can’t he do better than this? I know I make over $80,000 and live in a two-bedroom apartment with a roommate, so I have no room to judge, but I like the company and at least my apartment has some decorative flair. Plus, ever since Lily got back from Europe after her horrible guy problems last spring, we’ve been closer than ever.
I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and headed upstairs to take a shower. I picked up my phone on the way and shot a text to
“Hey, wait, Amanda,” he uttered softly.
I stopped and took a deep breath before turning around and looking at him with the largest amount of hate in my eyes that I could muster.
“Uh,” he ran a hand through his short, rumpled hair. He was clearly uncomfortable and I momentarily wondered why, before I reminded myself that I didn’t give a shit. I looked at him expectantly. “Uh, nice job today,” he finished.
I scoffed. “Thanks,” I said sardonically as I whipped around and stormed out of the building.
***
I felt the tension radiating throughout my entire body. And anger. There was definitely anger. Though that anger was mostly directed at myself. Why did I let myself become so affected by Shane’s comment? “Stupid,” I growled through gritted teeth, smacking my palm on my steering wheel.
Because I had reacted like such a baby, he had taken pity on me and given me that lame compliment and placating touch. I blew out a long breath. Though I had to admit Shane’s hands didn’t exactly feel unwelcome, this was not the kind of shit I needed in my head right now. But I know what I do need. I quickly changed lanes and hung a sharp left. I needed Kyle.
***
I pulled into the driveway of Kyle’s condo. His car wasn’t there; he must have still been at work. I glanced at the clock on my dashboard: 7:15. “Overachiever,” I mumbled as I grabbed my workout bag and headed for the front door.
I sifted through the keys on my key ring, quickly selecting the right one. It was easy to pick out Kyle’s. When he had it made for me, he chose a key that had a picture of a giant cat on it. He handed it to me, and I looked at him, confused. I hated cats. So, he offered an explanation that was truly heartwarming, “If you keep fucking around, you’re going to end up like one of those people on Hoarders who has fifty cats roaming around your house and shitting everywhere.” Such a sweetheart.
I had met Kyle about three years ago at a local bar. I was immediately drawn to him. His hazel eyes were known to change colors in different lighting. That night they were deep brown with twinkling specks of bright green. And I could feel them latch onto me from across the bar. In return, my own eyes studied him from head to toe. His tall frame easily towered over me, and with his dark hair clipped neatly on the sides and gelled up slightly longer on the top, he reminded me of Superman. I had to talk to him.
We struck up a conversation and, after asking what he did for a living to ensure that he met Rule Number 2: only date men who are as financially successful as I am, we headed back to his place. God, he is a great lay. We tried dating for a while, but we weren’t compatible as a couple. We’re both too . . . wild. But the sex was too good to walk away from, so we stayed friends and continue to have sex as long as neither of us is in a serious relationship.
I walked into Kyle’s foyer, dropped my keys on a table by the door and started down the hall toward the kitchen. Despite the fact that I had been here probably over a hundred times, I was always surprised by the place. Kyle put no effort into his house at all. The walls were all white, his kitchen still had the original linoleum it was built with twenty-five years ago, and his cabinets were worn. He’s a lawyer for chrissakes. Can’t he do better than this? I know I make over $80,000 and live in a two-bedroom apartment with a roommate, so I have no room to judge, but I like the company and at least my apartment has some decorative flair. Plus, ever since Lily got back from Europe after her horrible guy problems last spring, we’ve been closer than ever.
I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and headed upstairs to take a shower. I picked up my phone on the way and shot a text to
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