I wake up to the relentless pounding on my door. The sound doesn't stop—not even after what feels like an eternity.
And, for some reason, it's even more irritating in slow motion.
Grumbling, I drag myself toward the door and peek through the peephole.
Andy.
Before I can curse, I remember—I deleted him from my eye-recognition door lock system.
I yank the door open. "What?!"
"For Satan's sake, I thought you were dead!" Andy scolds, his face still carrying traces of panic.
"Dead? I just slept!"
"For two days?!?!"
"What…? What are you—"
Andy shoves his phone in my face, the screen displaying today's date.
It's two days after I last opened my eyes.
"Shit!" I curse under my breath.
"Tiffany was worried because your phone's been dead since yesterday, so she begged me to check on you," Andy explains, stepping inside my apartment.
His eyes scan the place before landing back on me. "Geez, you look like hell."
Then, without warning, he leans in and sniffs me.
"And you stink, too."
I don't argue—because he's right.
I flip on the living room lights, brightening the space as Andy settles onto my couch. His eyes widen the moment he sees my coffee table.
Five and a half empty bottles of liquor.
A half-empty strip of sleeping pills.
"Four?!" Andy blurts out, gaping in disbelief. "Were you trying to kill yourself?!"
"I couldn't sleep even after two pills, okay?" I defend myself.
Andy shakes his head. "Go clean yourself up. We're getting you some girls tonight."
I chuckle, sighing at the same time. "I don't feel like—"
Right then, a deep, rumbling growl comes from my stomach.
Well… I did sleep for two days.
"Fine. Dinner only, okay?" I bargain.
"Just go! Quick!" he orders, waving me off like a child.
-
An hour later, Andy has successfully dragged me out for dinner at a new club, since I refused to go to Cougar Momma for… sentimental reasons.
When my steak arrives, I dig in heartily while Andy sips his cocktail, scanning the crowd.
"I need to move," I tell him, speaking around a mouthful of food.
Andy doesn't even look at me. "From your apartment? Why? I thought you loved that place so much that you bought it."
"Radwansky knew me. Scorpion is Scott Bennet," I say, keeping my voice casual. "He even kidnapped us right in front of my apartment building. He said he had help with that. Which means… someone else knows about me. And where I live."
Andy's head snaps toward me. His eyes go wide.
He knows who I am—who I've always been.
But this? This is the first time my cover has ever been blown.
Well… aside from Thief, of course.
Andy exhales sharply. "Knowing Jen has been nothing but bad luck for you. First, they almost blew you up. Then, you almost died. And now this," he grumbles.
I chuckle, not bothering to argue.
It's not like I disagree.
But I also know my opinion is… biased.
The waiter comes to clear my plate and replaces it with my next dish.
"So, will you help me find a new place?" I ask, twisting my fork into my spaghetti.
"Sure… but first, help me with something."
I pause mid-bite. "Help with what?"
Andy gestures subtly with his chin. "That guy over there. Sexy, dark brown, sitting at your two o'clock."
I glance at the man in question. He's glancing at us, too.
Andy leans in. "I need to know if he's checking out me or you."
I sigh. "Fine. I need to use the bathroom anyway."
"Thanks, man," Andy grins, slapping my shoulder.
I stand and make my way toward the restroom. The guy doesn't follow me, so I guess he's definitely checking out Andy.
By the time I return, Andy is gone.
But he left some cash tucked under his cocktail glass.
I scan the room and spot him—already making his move on the guy.
Shaking my head, I chuckle to myself before returning to my meal.
Just as I take another bite of spaghetti, a voice interrupts me.
"Hi. Are you straight?"
I pause, my fork still in my mouth, and lift my gaze.
A woman stands in front of me, draped in an outfit that's both sexy and elegant.
"Yeah," I reply, chewing slowly. "Why?"
"Good," she says. "Can I sit here?"
I nod.
Without hesitation, she slides into the seat beside me.
"Thanks. I'm Laurel, by the way."
+++++++
[WARNING 18+ MATERIAL]
I don't know how, but I end up on her bed—topless.
Meanwhile, Laurel is eagerly working on my jeans, undoing them like a woman on a mission. And just as quickly, regret starts creeping in.
"Up," she orders.
Reflexively, I obey.
A second later, my jeans and boxers are around my ankles.
"Look, I don't—"
She cuts me off with a wild kiss.
She's good. Skilled, even. But her lips… they're not Jen's.
I curse my own brain for thinking of her at a time like this. And, of course, now that the thought has entered my head, it refuses to leave. Even as Laurel trails her kisses downward, her mouth moving with a sensual slowness, all I can think about is how different it feels.
I sigh when she licks the head of my cock. Her hand starts pumping, and—yeah, I can't lie—it feels good. Even better when she takes me into her mouth, sucking with enthusiasm.
I groan, and she seems to take that as encouragement, working harder.
But instead of pleasure, irritation builds in my chest.
She's not Jen.
I grab a fistful of her curly hair, guiding her rhythm, pushing her deeper and faster, trying to shut my damn brain up.
It's still not the same.
I curse inwardly, frustrated with myself, and suddenly pull her away. I need to stop comparing.
"Condom?" I ask, my voice hoarse.
She gives me a knowing smirk, reaches for her nightstand, and pulls one from the middle drawer.
Ripping it open, she rolls it onto me with practiced ease.
I flip her onto her back, positioning myself between her legs, ready to end this torment.
But just as I'm about to push inside—
"I'm not ready," she purrs into my ear. "Make me wet first."
I sigh.
Jen is always ready.
Shut up.
I shove the thought away and slide my fingers inside her, moving them in slow circles while my lips work her breasts. She moans, arching into me, clearly enjoying it.
It should be a turn-on.
Instead, her voice grates on my nerves.
I grit my teeth and pick up the pace, curling my fingers to tease her clit, determined to get her there fast.
She moans louder.
Still not there.
Jen would have already—FUCK.
I flip her over onto her stomach before my brain can continue its self-sabotage.
Lifting her hips, I kneel behind her and push in, not giving her time to think.
She screams in ecstasy.
Gripping her hips, I close my eyes and focus on the rhythm—quick, deep thrusts followed by slow, deliberate ones.
She starts cursing in pleasure. Loudly.
"OH GOD—YES! FUCK! SHIT—YES, JUST LIKE THAT! OH, YOU BASTARD—"
Jesus.
She's calling out every animal in the kingdom, mixing them in with words that would make Satan file a harassment claim.
I suppress a groan—not from pleasure, but from pure secondhand embarrassment.
Jen is always polite. Even in sex.
And that only makes me more irritated.
I want to stop. So badly.
But I was the one who initiated this. I kissed her first, after dodging flirt after flirt.
Backing out now would only make things worse.
So, I keep going.
I tune out the words. Focus on mechanics. Reach around, squeezing her breast while my other hand finds her clit, rubbing her in time with my thrusts.
She screams louder, practically convulsing.
"OH—FUCK! DON'T STOP, YOU BASTARD! I'M CLOSE—OH, FUCK ME HARDER, DUMBASS!"
Jesus Christ.
I can't take it any longer.
So, I do what any desperate man would do.
I fake it.
I speed up for a few seconds. Suddenly her entire body shaking as she reaches her peak, her voice hitting a decibel that probably violates human rights.
So, I continue my act, inhale sharply, and make a very convincing strangled moan.. While her body collapse on bed, I slow my movements, thrusting sluggishly a few more times before pulling out with an exhausted sigh.
Rolling onto my back, I strip off the condom, balling it up in my fist.
The very empty condom.
Yes. I just faked an orgasm.
And I nailed it.
Laurel hums in satisfaction, lazily wrapping an arm around my chest.
"That was amazing," she murmurs.
"Uh-huh."
I let her cling to me for a few minutes before gently peeling myself away and reaching for my jeans.
"Where are you going?" she asks as I start getting dressed.
I glance at her. "Home."
She pouts. "I thought we could cuddle…"
"I don't sleep with girls on the first night," I lie effortlessly, buttoning my jeans.
"Oh. Okay…" she mumbles, disappointed. "Call me, okay? Or—I have your number. I'll just call you."
"Sure. See you."
I lean down, peck her lips quickly, and walk out.
The second I step outside, I exhale in relief.
I hope I never see her again.
I gave her Tim Chang's already inactive number.
Good luck with that.