Want It Bad Read Online Free PDF Page A

pussy. Use it. If you don’t oil the gates every so often, they might rust shut forever.”
    Janet was crazy, of course. But for the rest of the day, Carla daydreamed about how that scene might actually play out. She could imagine Jake, standing in his doorway, with that smirk on his face and his blue eyes twinkling, slowly opening the button fly of his jeans…
    Not only did it prevent Carla from getting any work done, but by the time she punched out for the day she was uncomfortably aroused.
    • • •
    When she got back to her home in Windermere, Carla was surprised to see that her mailbox had been repaired. The new post hole probably took some serious effort to dig, and she regretted not seeing Jake do the manual labor. Maybe he’d gotten so sweaty he had to take his shirt off. Maybe it was such a chore that he was heaving and grunting the whole time, jaw clenched and muscles straining.
    And maybe Janet was right and Carla really was a slut.
    She threw the beer in the refrigerator, and checked the time. Six-fifteen.
    Now what was she going to wear for her date?
    Scratch that. It wasn’t a date. She was inviting a neighbor over for a beer, because he changed her tire. Jake couldn’t be interested in her in that way. And she couldn’t be interested in him. What would her co-workers think? Dating an unsuccessful actor, more than ten years her junior? She could imagine the water cooler conversation, centered around words like
cougar
and
cradle robber
.
    This wasn’t a date. It was a drink.
    So what did a woman wear for drinks with her neighbor?
    Carla decided to stay with what she wore to work, a black pantsuit with a dark blue silk blouse. That way it wouldn’t look like she’d changed on his account.
    She checked the time again. Six-twenty.
    An hour and forty minutes to kill. Call Mom? Catch up on
Grey’s Anatomy
? Read a few chapters of the new Ann Voss Peterson thriller?
    Carla thought of her mailbox. How sweet it was that Jake had fixed it.
    Then she thought about the hundred dollars she owed him, from their bet.
    She certainly wasn’t going to follow Janet’s double-or-nothing suggestion. But it wouldn’t hurt to pop over to his house, pay him what she owed him, and thank him for the mailbox. Maybe she could even bring a few beers along with her.
    Was that being too forward?
    No. They were neighbors. This wasn’t a date. The time didn’t matter. And there was nothing improper about being neighborly.
    She selected two beers from the six pack—a 3 Floyds IPA and a Founders Stout—and walked over to Jake’s.
    Since Gloria Hotchland had moved to the drier weather of Phoenix, her home had been regularly cared for. Landscapers tended to the lawn and shrubs. Realtors made sure the windows were washed. But it still looked vacant. Empty homes were like dead people; the shell was there, but the soul was gone.
    Now, however, there was ample evidence of life inside the Hotchland house. A car—a new model Cadillac—was parked in the driveway. Several lights were on. And the sounds of a horror movie penetrated the front door; a woman, screaming for her life over the beat of synthesizer music.
    Carla raised her hand to ring the doorbell and paused.
    That was no horror movie. The woman wasn’t screaming in terror.
    She was screaming in ecstasy.
    Is Jake watching a porno?
    Or…
    Is he with a woman?
    Carla was 99% sure it was pornography, because in real life women didn’t make sounds like that. She backed away from the door. No one liked to be disturbed having one-on-one time with themselves. Smiling, Carla took a step off the porch and was ready to walk back home, her mind filling with images of Jake, naked, his erect cock in his hand, madly pulling on it and—
    “Oh, Jake!”
    Carla paused, mid-stride.
    Had someone in the house just cried out Jake’s name?
    Could it be possible that this wasn’t an adult film? That Jake was actually causing a woman to make sounds like that?
    Like in the cartoons, Carla could