The Infamous Ellen James (Infamous Series) (9 page)

"Hey, Ellie."

John comes to stand next to me in all his glory. He's still as handsome as ever, and I internally wish he would have a sudden outbreak of teenage acne. John has always been good-looking. And although this sounds extremely vain, his attractiveness was one of the things that caught my eye, what spurred my interest for him. To put it bluntly, John is…
hot
. Dirty blond hair, green eyes, and muscles for days. Yeah, he's a teenage girl's wet dream.

John clears his throat and brings me out of my annoying thoughts regarding his indisputable sexiness. “Ellie?”

"Please don't call me that," I sigh in displeasure as I continue to scroll through the music selections.

"What? Call you Ellie?" he asks with a furrowed brow.

"Yeah. Please don't call me Ellie. I'm not your Ellie anymore." I'm still avoiding his stare. He doesn't deserve my attention. He doesn't deserve anything from me.

"You will always be my Ellie." His voice is soft and warm, and my mind is thinking that he is such a complete shithead for even endeavoring to have a conversation with me.

"John, this needs to stop. You need to move on. It's been over three months and I'm most definitely moving on. I'm living my life and you are no longer a part of that life."

The alcohol is making me brave, and maybe, just maybe, Trent has managed to put a little ray of hope in my life. Right now, I feel like I can just tell John to fuck off. I actually believe every single word that is coming out of my mouth, and it feels
amazing
. This is the best I've felt in a very long time. Someone should bottle up this emotion and put it in a pill, because it could probably solve world peace or at least aid women into having multiple orgasms.

I finish choosing a few songs and start to walk away.

John grabs my elbow. "Elle, wait. Babe, I'm so sorry
.
So fucking sorry. Please talk to me. Let me explain."

Seriously? Will he ever give up?

I quickly pull my arm away from his grasp as I roll my eyes skyward at his lame attempt to talk to me. "Let you explain? Really, John? Please enlighten me with exactly how you are going to explain fucking another woman in our bed? Did you trip and fall over something and your cock just so happened to be hard, she just so happened to be naked on
our bed,
and you just so happened to fall directly into her gaping hole of a vagina? Don't play me for an idiot, because I'm not stupid. That thing between you and Veronica, it was going on for a while before that night. That may have been the first time you actually stuck your dick inside of her, but it wasn't your first encounter. You were emotionally cheating on me with her way before that. I'm just sorry it took me so long to figure it out. I'm sorry I was naïve enough to trust you for as long as I did."

"I have never regretted something so much in my life." His eyes are serious, even sorrowful, as he looks down at me.

I put my hand up to cut him off before I have to hear anymore. "Please, John, I'm begging you to stop this. I'm done.
We're
done. I'm moving on and I suggest you do the same."

"Elle, I'm not going give up on this. I'll show you how sorry I am and prove you can trust me again."

A heavy sigh escapes my lips. "John, I'm only going to say this one more time and then I'm not wasting my breath on another conversation with you. It's over. We. Are. Over." I turn away from the jukebox and brush past John to head back to the bar.

I see Trent and Amy laughing about a story Johnny is busy telling them, and feelings of relief wash over me. I'm relieved that I don't have to hear my idiot ex ramble on about wanting me back and begging for my forgiveness. I'm more than over the entire situation, and that in itself is a miracle, considering the emotional state I was in just three months ago.

Is three months too soon to move on from a relationship? A relationship that was headed for marriage, that had an entire wedding and future planned out to every last detail. I'm not sure what the right answer is, but I think somehow Trent has helped me take the final step towards recovery. I find myself wanting more from him. This entire assortment of emotions he spurs from deep inside of me are overwhelming, and I'm well aware that most people would see them as slightly crazy, but I can't help how I feel. I can't help the fact that I am really into Trent Hamilton. I want to get to know him, and let's be real with ourselves; I most definitely want to get him naked.

Well hello there, vagina! Nice to see know you're still there.

I sit back down at the bar and listen to Johnny tell his latest bar story of a guy's jealous girlfriend lighting his truck on fire in the parking lot. I can definitely relate to this story and the fact that crazy bitches need to light shit on fire. I was more than ready to set John's cheating pecker ablaze when I caught him mid-thrust in another woman's cock pocket. I may be partially evil, but the satisfaction I would have received to witness John's dick and balls going up in flames would have been like five Christmases, twelve birthdays, and ten Fourth of Julys all rolled up into one delightful holiday.

The more John pisses me off, the harder it is for me to even remember the good times we shared. After his lame attempt to pour his heart out by the fucking jukebox, my brain only seems to be able to remember the bad times, the really shitty times, and the times that make me wonder how I ever accepted his proposal of marriage. Maybe his dick's need to fuck whores with sloppy juice-boxes actually saved me from making the biggest mistake of my life. I should probably write his dick a letter and thank him for saving me from a life of misery and regret.

It's a shame Hallmark doesn't have cards for occasions like these.

What would you say to a penis?

Do penises even like thank-you cards?

These are the kind of thoughts that run through my mind. I start thinking about what I would actually write if I wrote a penis a letter…

Dear John's Dick,

You, my horny friend, have saved my ass from a terrible life with your dickbrain owner.

I only feel gratitude towards you and your ability to find every whorish snatch in a one-hundred-mile radius. You and my vagina had some great times. Lucky for me, your

average-sized length and slightly-too-small girth were able to bring me to climax…on occasion. I enjoyed your enthusiasm, especially for my tits and my mouth's ability to make you blow your load. In an odd way, you will always be remembered as the penis who saved my life.

Thanks for the subpar thrusting!

Ellen

Someone clearing their throat causes me to glance up from my daydream about sending John's penis a thank-you card. Amy and Trent are both looking at me with curious yet amused expressions. I look down and realize that I wasn't just day dreaming. I have written the entire letter on a paper napkin.

I just wrote a fucking thank-you note to my ex's penis on a bar napkin.

A small laugh escapes me as I attempt to nervously crumple up the napkin before either of them sees it. Amy is like a god damn cat hopped on speed-laced kitty litter and quickly manages to get the pseudo penis letter out of my grasp. She begins to read the napkin and I can see her eyes getting more excited with each word. By the end of the note, Amy practically falls off of her barstool in hysterics. Her laugh is so contagious that I just start giggling right along with her. Both of us are leaning on the bar, tears streaming down our cheeks as we gasp for air. Trent is looking at us like we are complete lunatics, but I can see a little spark in his eye. That little spark tells me more about him than he will ever know. He looks genuinely happy seeing Amy and me laugh, and I feel my vagina warm up to him a little more.

Yes, my vagina is obviously a sucker for guys who are sexy and hot and well, sexy. I just might be crushing hard on Trent Hamilton. And no, it's not the alcohol or my vagina talking this time.

"So do I get in on this little inside joke?" Trent flashes an adorable grin.

"I'm not sure if you want in on this. It has something to do with my ex-fiancé." I'm sure my facial expression shows my discomfort with the idea of telling him about my past relationship with John.

"You mean your ex-fiancé John Ryan?"

"Shut the fuck up! How do you know about Dr. McDouche-A-Lot?" Amy has generously given John this nickname, which is really kind of perfect.

"Dr. McDouche-A-Lot? Holy shit, that's hilarious!" Trent's husky laugh echoes throughout the bar.

Sheesh, that husky voice makes my nipples harden instantly; it's like his voice has a direct line to my tits, making them act like little puppies begging for his attention. And now it's safe to say that I'm more than just a little buzzed. Whenever I find myself comparing my tits to puppies, I think we can all say the alcohol is copiously coursing through my bloodstream.

I decide that now is as good a time as ever to let Trent know about my past with John. I give him the short and sweet version of the story, skipping over the horrible details of witnessing John with his pants around his ankles, sliding his dick in and out of coworker's meat curtains. Trent just listens and takes it all in, not judging or scrutinizing my past. He only shows understanding towards my shitty relationship and how terrible the past three months have been. I find myself opening up and explain my motivation for writing that ridiculous thank-you note. In my mind, John and I are most definitely in the past. I know we shared happy times together, but as I look back and ponder on our relationship, albeit drunkenly, I realize things weren't exactly fairytale perfect.

John and I had our issues, and I think deep down I figured getting married would help us work through those. Obviously, that was an extremely warped way of thinking. A completely terrible idea of a solution to a problem that may or may not have been resolved had John not cheated on me. I'll never know if John and I could have lasted in the end, but I have a deep, sinking feeling in my gut that's telling me that I was saved from making a huge mistake.

I get the balls to let Trent read the penis thank-you note and it's quite obvious he only finds it entertaining. As Trent continues to shake his head and laugh at my absurdness, Amy gives me a look that says, "Don't let this one go."

I think she might be right.
Trent Hamilton seems like a keeper.

"Another shot, ladies?" Trent grins at us and slides two shot glasses of tequila our way.

"Hell yes!" Amy and I both yell out simultaneously.

"If we're doing tequila, we have do it right!" I whoop towards them. Trent looks at me questioningly and Amy just smiles big.

"Uh oh, Trent. You're in trouble, because my college Elle is back." Amy chuckles to herself and then downs her tequila shot, finishing it off with a lime wedge.

"All right, Dr. Hamilton. You're going take this shot with me,
Elle style
." I attempt to give him a seductive smile, but I'm sure the alcohol is making me look like an idiot.

Oh well. He seems to be enjoying my little display of confidence. I shake the salt on my hand, place the shot glass on the bar, and put the lime in my mouth. Trent's eyes go wide for a second before he eventually gives me a wicked smirk. He is not so secretly digging this setup. I lift my hand to Trent's mouth, and without breaking eye contact, he slowly licks the salt off. The feel of his tongue on my skin makes me imagine all types of very dirty and extremely pleasurable scenarios, all of which end with my legs in the air and Trent giving my vagina some delicious face time.

Trent downs the shot in one fluid motion while keeping our eyes locked. He leans in and softly presses his lips against mine to retrieve the lime that's securely held between my teeth. I swear he keeps his lips pressed to mine for a good thirty seconds before pulling away with a grin that shows off his pearly whites and prized lime wedge. I look over to see Amy fanning herself with her hand.

"If you guys get your fuck on tonight, can I at least watch?"

"Amy! Filter please!" I swear she is going to be the death of me. Lucky for me, Trent seems to find her ability to never hold anything back delightful.

I'm watching Trent as he engages Amy in conversation about a specific patient he had to perform surgery on the other day. Jet-black hair and piercing blue eyes, two-day-old scruff that only he could make look good. God, this man is devastatingly sexy. He is so ruggedly handsome and he exudes so much testosterone that I feel like my panties are going to fall right off. My snatch is now in serious lust with him and my brain is definitely in full agreement. Normally I would be extremely overwhelmed by my feelings for him…

How can I want someone that I just met a few days ago so badly?

And why is he so good-looking?

If I could order the perfect man, Trent Hamilton would be that man. Women write books about guys like Trent Hamilton. I masturbate on a daily basis to fantasies with guys like Trent Hamilton. And now, since I actually know a real-life version of this dream man, I will be masturbating with him in my mind from now on. Every time I rub one out, I'm dedicating that orgasm to Trent motherfucking Hamilton.

Hell, I think I'll just name my vibrator Trent Hamilton.

At this point in the game, I'd settle for a session of hardcore dry humping with him. Just thinking about the way he kissed me in that supply room is making my muff clench. Every time I look at him, I seem to get this feeling of déjà vu. I can't ignore the feeling that I know him from somewhere else besides Regency…

Have I met him before?

"Have you figured it out yet?" Wow. Just hearing his voice is making my little juice-box drip. Deep, masculine, and slightly husky, it's like the god damn trifecta of sexy male hotness. Trent pulls me out of my fantasy, and I notice that he's intently watching me pull the label off of my beer bottle, a weird habit that surfaces whenever I'm deep in thought.
I'm obviously a very deep thinker.
Naming my vibrator after a hot surgeon I just met a few days ago is a testament to that.