A Bit of Nothing
Romance Story

A Bit of Nothing

by Poapoachuu 17 min read 3.4 (1,500 views)
seduction romance interracial erotic psychological nurse hot genz
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A/N:

As of posting, the story is like a sand running towards writer's block. I hope I could write it until the end, since I have other drafts that involves more Bridgerton stories rather than a contemporary type whose protagonist's mind makes me go insane myself. Deliberately infuriating too. However, my wry humor makes me enjoy writing about it.

Content Warning:

Themes explored in certain section are the disturbing aspects of parental abuse. It may not be okay for everyone.

Anyhow, here's the continuation:

***

Chapter 2

I have a problem. A very recent realization, actually. See, my brain finally processed that this random Midwest town is definitely not Brooklyn, New York. Which means, I suddenly understood, I can't just hail a cab.

A cab. Right. Who would've thought I couldn't just stick my hand out and get a ride? On top of that, I don't know how to drive, so the car sitting in our garage is completely useless to me.

When did I have this epiphany, you ask? The second I stepped outside our yard.

Why the hell didn't I ever bother learning to drive? How dumb can I be?

Mamita!

Fuck it. All this effort for my outfit, wasted. Come on, I wore a sequined two-piece: a glittering sleeveless top that exposes my tits like a fine hoe, and a skirt with a slit so high it offered a generous peek of thigh. My masterpiece, down the drain!

I grabbed my phone, resorting to the only solution I knew. It rang twice before someone picked up.

"Hello?" a voice answered.

"Mike, are you already at Mamita's? Where are you?" This needs no soft launch, what it should be is a rapid berating.

"Uh, no," he replied, unsure what to say. "At 7-eleven?"

I put my phone against my ear in place. "The hell you doin' there?"

"Finding some root beer?"

"Huh? Can't Ricky bring some good punch that you're buying yourself?" I retorted. Weren't there more important things than arguing with this off-duty nurse/forest ranger/lifeguard/Boy Scout?

Oh, right. Off-duty. My brow relaxed slightly at that thought.

Right...

Don't argue, Katarina! Time to shine. Time to lure him in. Mentally, I started scheming.

I cleared my throat with a little cough. "So," my tone brightened considerably, "are you already far from, you know, back home?"

"Hmm..." he mumbled, and I could hear wrappers crumpling on the other end.

"Michael Sanditon! Are you eating? How rude!" I called him out.

"Why'd you call?" The asshole dodged the question.

"Answer my question first."

"Katarina, how would I know--"

"Your GPS, sir!" My patience was wearing thin. "Use your GPS! Or Maps! Or do you want me to hack your IP address and track you myself?"

Oh, I totally could, if you didn't know. It would be my pleasure.

"Easy, woman," he finally relented.

I crossed my arms and started tapping my foot as his end went silent. A minute later, his voice returned, "It says it's a twenty-minute ride."

"Actually, Mike..." I trailed off, "About that offer from earlier? I was hoping... can I take you up on it?"

"Why?" was his flat reply.

"Uh, you know..."

"Katarina, don't tell me you don't have a ride."

"Oh, it's not that we don't have a car," I insisted, hugging myself tightly and starting to pace the lawn. "It's just... I can't use it."

"Why?" he repeated.

For the love of God! Why can't you just agree?!

I clenched my teeth before finally spitting it out. "I don't know how to drive."

Silence. Then, after a few seconds, the asshole tried--and failed--to stifle a very audible chuckle. I could hear it.

"No way... shit," he laughed. "It's not that far from town. Oh, Kat--"

I didn't bother listening to the rest. I hung up on him. Fuck, now I had to wipe off all this dramatic evening makeup. It wasn't just about seducing Mike. Damn him! I was supposed to crash in Ann Arbor with my college friends after Mamita's party. They were meeting me at Mamita's, and then we were going to go pull some guys and get laid.

I'm not joking about my hoe phase.

Groaning, I went back inside. Pissed off, I kicked off my pumps, threw them onto the sofa, and flopped down, sulking. When I got tired of being petulant, I decided to take off my makeup.

I had just swiped some remover and micellar water across my face when two loud honks jolted me, making me stagger. "Son of a bitch!"

After all the shit he put me through, now he decides to come back? Argh!

Well, I didn't waste any time, just in case he changed his mind again--like I do. Who knew if he was just messing with my bitchiness?

Grabbing my pumps, purse, and makeup kit, I rushed out the door, making sure everything was locked up tight for Dad.

When I appeared barefoot in the front yard, his car door was open. He gave a low whistle, checking me out head to toe. "You're looking fine."

Finally drained of any desire to please him, I raised the hand holding my pumps and flipped him the bird, my face deadpan with annoyance, staring straight into his eyes.

"Thanks for the ride, Mike," I spat out his name.

"Hold up." Mike slowly raised both hands in confusion. "I offered, you declined. You called me, I answered. You took back your refusal and demanded I come back and get you because you can't drive, and now you're pissed?"

"It's called being a bitch," I bit back, hopping into the passenger seat and slamming the door shut.

"Be gentle with my baby, woman," he protested.

I whipped my fucking bare face toward him. "Do you see what I already removed? This was supposed to be a gorgeous, painted face, Michael. Now, don't talk to me," I replied, turning my attention back to my makeup kit, pulling out my mirror and foundation.

He started the engine, and we drove off. During the minutes of silence that followed, I managed to reapply my eyeshadow and fake lashes.

"Didn't your father work as a taxi driver?" he blurted out.

"Can't let it go, huh? Well, to satisfy your curiosity, I didn't bother learning 'cause I thought I'd live in New York forever. Meaning I figured I'd never need practical life skills."

"Really?" he shot back.

"City hustle? Got that. Country life skills? Nah."

I turned to face him. "How are my eyebrows? Are they even?" I added, tilting my head for a better look.

He slowed down and leaned over to take a look, then turned his attention back to the road. "No idea."

Thanks, Sherlock.

"Useless boyfriends," I muttered.

Mike's expression tightened. "Excuse me?"

Didn't care.

"If I had a French or Italian boyfriend, he'd be my free stylist."

Mike accelerated slightly, gripping the steering wheel. "Okay, where did that come from? And what about boyfriends? Kat, are you interested?" He smirked.

"Those European boyfriends are so stylish, so handy, they'd know my makeup palette by heart. Speaking of which," my voice feigned surprise, "how come I don't even know if you're single or not? Are you?"

"Yep."

And with that information, I remembered I hadn't really checked out off-duty Mike's outfit. So I did. And immediately dismissed it. He hadn't even bothered. A shirt and jeans, that's it. Given his looks, he could pull it off. But effort-wise? Lazy as fuck.

"You look fine. Lazy, though," I dismissed him.

"Is this you hitting on me right now? Or..." He trailed off, tongue rolling in his cheek. "Are you saying something nice to me for once? Hey, I'm not lazy. Just count the hours I'm spending doing you this favor."

"I meant your outfit, okay? How could I hit on you? You know what, I'm thinking you're off-limits. Sorry, boy, I'll place my hopes elsewhere," I declared.

"Huh?"

"None of your business," I snapped.

He didn't respond. After I put my makeup away, we fell silent for the rest of the ride. We finally arrived at Mamita's. When I saw Ricky's wife, I rushed over and gushed about the food. She told me she brought her signature marinated chicken, and my mouth instantly watered.

"How about your cherry pies, Mrs. Edwards?" I prodded.

"Oh," she waved her hand dismissively. "Those are for Rosana's white neighbors."

Now that I thought about it, I didn't bring anything. Was I really just here to freeload?

The answer was yes.

Yes, I was.

Plan: eat and run, skip the dishes, then leave to be a hoe and find someone to bang at a club.

Of course. I'm thick-skinned like that.

Shit. Why didn't I bring anything?

Just as this crisis dawned on me, the great Michael Sanditon appeared, carrying four six-packs of beer, two slung over each shoulder. Besides flexing his ripped bod, he actually brought something.

But from 7-Eleven?! And fucking beer for a kid's party?! What was he, some middle-aged uncle?

Boo. Loser.

I pointed him out as I asked Mrs. Edwards, "How old do you think that guy is right there? The one carrying four packs of beer into a kid's party?"

"Who? That fine young man?" Her eyes scanned towards him. "Oh! Mr. Sanditon? He's young, actually. Twenty-five, but he's been working around here since he was sixteen," she told me, putting a hand over her mouth conspiratorially.

"He acts like a forty-year-old beer-bellied uncle," was my attempt to undermine him.

Mrs. Edwards, however, just laughed. "Now, don't go bashing that fine man. If I were you, I'd grab that ass while it's still available and nobody's claimed it."

My face registered disbelief. It was one thing for me to sexualize Mike occasionally, but hearing it from someone else? Mike? Blegh.

However...

I ended up checking out his ass anyway. When he turned, his straight-cut jeans didn't reveal much. Damn. I just estimated his ass was probably rock-firm, 'cause he goes to the gym.

But I didn't give up. When another moment presented itself, I got my chance. Then I slowly turned back to Mrs. Edwards. "A firm ass, I must say, Mrs. Edwards. You'd need a good grip for that one," I told her.

She laughed, and I joined in. Oh, Mike, the subject of female fantasies. Tsk, tsk. Whatever. 'Cause I was about to get laid.

Mamita suddenly appeared, and I rushed to greet her with a hug.

"Mami! I didn't bring anything. Lo siento," I apologized for being such a scavenger.

But Mamita just tutted, saying she knew I just came to eat (true enough), before scolding me for being late. I told her I'd waited for Mi-ka-el to give me a ride. Surprised, she looked around and spotted the ripped, uncle-behaving lifeguard--her kids' lifeguard--now over by the grill, drinking beer with the other men, including Ricky.

"Ay, hermana, you're looking fire for a kid's party. I should get you a coat. Are those your hoo-has on display?" She gasped.

She was referring to my exposed tits. Front and side cleavage, clear view. Mamita first made the sign of the cross before rushing off and throwing a jacket over my shoulders.

"Is it meant to catch Mike's eye?" she followed up.

I wish it did, but he hadn't responded to my advances, which is why I was giving up on him for other hot men. I didn't want him anymore. I didn't say that to Mamita, though.

"I'm going clubbing, Mami. 'Girls Just Wanna Have Fun,' like the song on Daddy's vinyl says," I told her instead.

"That's Cyndi Lauper for you," Mrs. Edwards chimed in.

"Exactly," I winked at her, wrapping myself in Mamita's jacket. "Fun times, Mrs. Edwards. I'm meeting my friends."

"Where?"

"Ann Arbor. Just catching up, sipping some piña coladas." I gestured an okay sign with my hand. "Unwinding."

Mamita, however, wagged a finger at me. "If I were your mother, I would tell you to come back home exactly at midnight. But since you're here, I won't allow you to escape until the kids hit the piñatas," she declared, shaking her head disapprovingly at the lifestyle of young people today.

"Americans," she used to sigh.

Mrs. Edwards would then give an exaggerated look of offense. "Excuse me, señora?"

"They let their kids roam practically naked all night. Running around and partying in clubs," Mamita would then add.

Mrs. Edwards then understood. "Now, back in my day, clubs were where you danced a lot. I don't know about the way they dress these days, I agree with you, Rosana."

"It's that generation, ma'am. Trying to attract a mate," I added helpfully. "Then copulating in the club bathrooms."

Their generational sensibilities were clearly offended.

"Eww," they reacted in unison.

I remembered something. My own interests. "Speaking of couples and copulation... the uncle right there," I pointed directly at Mike, "has he had girlfriends? Like, were they all blonde and tanned?"

"As far as we know, Mike doesn't talk much. But he hangs out with women from time to time," Mrs. Edwards said.

"I last saw him with a woman who looked kind of like a blonde Sofia Vergara," Mamita offered.

"Oh..." I wondered. "Supermodels."

"My daughter told me he was with someone who looked like Elle Fanning playing Disney Princess Aurora," Mrs. Edwards countered.

Now, that was confusing. One claimed Colombian bombshell, the other a Disney Princess. But he had dated. Hmm. If I pried further, maybe I could ask him what they all looked like.

And start imitating them?

Shit. How mental. That asshole didn't deserve my effort anyway. So, moving forward with the relief that I wasn't obsessing over a married man--since all signs pointed to him being single--he still pissed me off.

This sexual frustration I had for him was so intense I needed a release somewhere else. My plan proceeded. After cheering the kids on during their piñata victory, and finally deciding to stay and wash some dishes (motivated by a sudden, self-imposed sense of duty), my friends came to pick me up.

We were about to go wild.

We found our usual club, but when we saw it was filled with freshmen, we left. We were looking for worn-out senior guys, not the fresh-out-of-high-school varsity types.

After grinding my tits and ass against every hard chest and bulging dick during every slutty dance, as luck would have it, I met a French international student doing his Master's. Hurrah!

I saw him across the room, drinking and leaning against a wall. He was sort of lost in the crowd of more vibrant party-goers, but then I noticed the elegant Tag Heuer watch encircling his wrist, and I gravitated towards him.

What can I say? The man was urbane. I couldn't help it.

"Are you lost, baby boy?" I shouted over the loud beat as I got closer.

"Please... Not the Polish romanticizing a post-World War II chaos. I've seen better sex," he shouted back.

I laughed and leaned closer to his ear. Damn, his cologne was a wafting musk, though tinged with the scent of Henny. "What? You take European Studies? Why Michigan?" I spoke loudly.

He leaned into my ear too. "Non! I'm European. Français!" he shouted as the music ramped up again. "Exchange student 'ere for a year," he told me.

"How do you say it? I heard you call someone bébé?" I asked. Alright. Let's get laid, bitches.

"Only for those who call me baby boy," he tossed back, slowly turning to face me with a lifted smirk. Amused, he leaned in once more. "Then I'll call you mon bébé," he murmured.

Forget Michael Sanditon. There are billions of men in the world. Plenty of options for my body count. And this man right here, with an accent that was sexy as fuck, could probably make my panties wet with just a whisper.

"Let's chat. Wanna take this outside?" I asked, tilting my head toward the exit.

He lowered his head to look down at me before nodding and gulping the last of his drink. I watched it go down his throat, his Adam's apple bobbing. Soon, we were outside, and I didn't waste any time.

"Katarina," I started, offering my hand.

"Frederic," said this fine man, shaking it briefly.

"I like to ask things directly," I said, not even trying to hide that I wanted to be fucking him immediately. "But give me some credit, they say the French are romantic. Are you a romantic, Frederic?"

He smiled, the corner of his lips curling sexily. Wee! I'm so lucky.

I wanted to seduce him.

So I tilted my head sideways, mimicking that side-eye Hollywood bombshell look. "Do romantics start with a fancy dinner or maybe just a diner? We could get some fries?" I cooed. Or he could eat me, I laughed mentally.

"Bébé," he started. Oh shit, I liked where this was going. "I don't know. You tell me. W'ere's a good place to eat 'ere in Ann Arbor?"

My eyebrows rose. "Ah..." was my little opener. "I know a place: right here," I murmured, gesturing up and down my own body. I wasn't about to waste time getting laid, duh. "Or," I added, giving a sly smile and turning fully to face him, "we could lick some good Ann Arbor ice cream," I suggested, the double meaning clear.

Frederic grinned, clearly amused. "Licking some ice cream sounds delicious," he tested the words. "What flavor?"

"Something sweet," I played along. We had already walked onto a quieter street where the clatter of plates could be heard from a nearby restaurant. "And moist," I told him, my smile growing wider.

In the end, I led Frederic to an ice cream parlor that served Blue Moon flavor. Being his very willing tour guide involved heavy flirting, which quickly escalated until we ended up making out in a secluded park.

I could taste Hennessy and Blue Moon on his mouth. Damn, he was a good kisser. His hands didn't waste time copping a feel of my breasts, which had nothing underneath my top. He gave them a soft squeeze, and I almost moaned. Driven by pure libido, I swung my hips over to sit on his lap as we continued making out.

Frederic groaned, reclining his head against the bench for a moment, closing his eyes and gulping. He adjusted himself on the bench. I could feel the hard pressure of his bulge against me, and the horny bitch inside me took over. I rolled my hips against him.

I gave him a dry hump as we kissed, and it built up until he started planting wet, open-mouthed kisses on the side of my throat. He tried to pull off the jacket Mamita made me wear, but remembering my goal, I paused to do the honors myself, stripping it off in front of him.

As I did, I pushed my chest out for a good presentation. Just the look on his face as my barely covered cleavage came into full view made him stroke his chin thoughtfully. "Parfait, ma chérie," he remarked.

That'll do. I wanted him to fuck me. And this man delivered, flooding my senses with his kisses. Mouth to neck. Chin to jaw, then ears. Until he pulled those thin straps down and suckled my tits. Oh, fuck. His hot mouth covering and nipping them made me gasp, and I rolled my hips faster, humping him until I could feel the wetness in my panties through the friction of our clothes.

His tongue flicked over a nipple, making my head sink onto his shoulder. When he swept that tongue across the peak, giving an audible suction before letting go to attend to the other one, I let out a helpless croak near his ear, heaving shallow breaths as his tongue worked wonders.

I was heady with just how fucking good it felt. Then, a sudden noise came from nearby.

"Katarina," a cold voice dropped out of nowhere.

Who the fuck?!

Just like that, our beautiful session was shattered. Frederic removed his mouth from my tits, smoothly pulling the straps of my top back up, before we both turned towards the sound.

I saw that asshole Mi-ka-el, arms crossed, leaning against a lamppost. "Your father might be looking for you, don't you think?"

In another life, under different circumstances, I would have driven him away, arguing that I wasn't some high school kid needing a curfew check. How the fuck did this asshole dare bring my father into this? See what a bastard he could be? He was no perfect saint, alright.

But he did perfectly ruin my mood. For tonight, anyway. I'd get to second and third base another time.

"Damn. I'm sorry, Frederic," I told him, swinging my legs off his lap to stand up. "It seems I have a babysitter."

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