Breathe Me In by Erin McCarthy

beer. “When was the last time you got laid? Be honest.”
    “Two weeks ago.” So what if I sounded a little bit proud of that fact? I was a guy. Sometimes we can’t stop the brag.
    “Whatever,” he scoffed at me.
    “Fuck you.” I threw a balled up cocktail napkin at him, the sound of some boy band blaring all around us in the bar irritating the shit out of me. “Two days in a row actually.” He didn’t need to know the second night has been cut short before I’d actually come.
    “I don’t believe you.”
    “Well, I don’t exactly have any way to prove it.”
    He raised his eyebrows up and down. “You could give me her number and I’ll find out for myself.”
    Fat fucking chance. “And that’s a double fuck you. Absolutely not. She deserves someone better than your douchebag ass.”
    Or did she? I didn’t really know. What I did know was that when I closed my eyes at night it was her face I saw and her expression that waffled between defiant and vulnerable. She fascinated me. The way she had yanked my hair so hard and the way she had bit my lip and come hard, on my finger, on my tongue. I shifted in my chair.
    “I think you like her. So where is she?”
    I waved my hand. “It was just a hook up.”
    “Then why do you look like you could cry?”
    “Fuck you.” Now I pitched an unused straw at him. I was running out of things to throw. “I’m not going to cry.” I wasn’t, but I didn’t feel all that great either. I wanted to talk to Anya or see her. I wasn’t going to lie to myself about that.
    “But the truth is, you want to see her again and she is blowing you off, right?”
    “Why are you being such a dick?” Kurt was starting to annoy me. “I’m not all up in your business.”
    He put his hand up. “Fine, fine, sorry. I’m not trying to piss you off. Just want to make sure you’re getting what you want.”
    That made me snort. “Aren’t you generous?” And no, for the fucking record, I was not getting what I wanted. Because I wanted Anya. Back in my bed and back in my kitchen. I wanted to fuck her and I wanted to finger her and I wanted to go down on her. I wanted to be the man who made her crazy. And I wanted to be the man to protect her. I wanted to take care of her, cook dinner for her. Which was ironic, because I don’t even cook.
    When Kurt went to the bar to order another drink, impatient with the waitress, and probably intending to put himself in the path of the giggling girl gang, I gave into the urge I’d had for two weeks and I texted the number Anya had given me for the phone she’d lost. I thought maybe she’d replaced it by now. I was going to write something innocuous like “Hey, what’s up?” or “How are you?” but then I decided that was too vanilla for a girl like Anya.
    I want to pull your hair again.
    That would get a reaction if she had a new phone, I was sure of it. Good or bad, at least I wouldn’t be waiting indefinitely for a response wondering if she had ever gotten it. I didn’t have to wait long, but the text wasn’t exactly what I was hoping for.
    Who is this?
    Was she for real? How many fucking guys did she have pulling her hair?
    Kane.
    Oh. I thought we were done.
    Involuntarily I sucked in a breath. She sure knew how to make someone feel like nothing. Without any hesitation.
    I wasn’t done, not by a long shot. You owe me an orgasm.
    It wasn’t something I would typically say but I was pissed. She’d been jerking me around since the second I met her.
    So that’s why you’re texting me? Because you didn’t get to pop one off? Go fuck yourself, Dermott. I don’t owe you shit.
    Yep. That was definitely Anya.
    I shoved my phone back in my pocket. It buzzed again, but I ignored it. My jaw was clenched and my blood felt hot, sluicing through my veins. I tossed back the remains of my beer and went to join Kurt at the bar.
    When a blonde smiled at me, I smiled back.
    “Hey,” she said, tucking her hair behind her ear and batting her