lie to myself. I don't want to know anything else about her. I'm going to forget this whole episode and move on with my life. I need to work instead of obsess.
Only the last remains true. “Send the info to me. And we're going out for drinks since you're here.”
Duke smiles, big. “It's already in your inbox.”
That's what makes him an evil bastard. He looks kind, but he's always twelve steps ahead of everyone with a trap ready to go off. He also knows me well. I was never going to say no.
“ Tarek?” I ask.
“ I'm against this whole thing.” Pause. “Where are we going tonight?”
“ Let Duke pick. He's the workaholic. We can celebrate my self-employment.”
Tarek nods in agreement. “I'm off in an hour. Duke, try not to take any emergency calls from work. And you,” he says to me, “consider letting shit go. She sounds as fucked up as you.”
That's the appeal.
I shake my head both at him and myself.
Duke straightens, fluffs any wrinkles out of his suit, and tilts his head at me again. “You're checking your email as soon as we leave, aren't you?”
To prove him wrong, I dig my phone out of my sweats then and there. He leaves me alone. Or rather, I'm left alone to linger in the cesspool of my life. Semantics.
I pull my knees up to rest my forearms on my thighs. I read about the woman who has turned my life into something unrecognizable. I'd like to say the picture fills in better.
Robyn Hayes graduated with a Bachelors, pre-law, NYU, but she grew up here in California. She came back home. She has roots, family here—her parents. Her father is a school teacher and her mother is a doctor. Only child. Good credit. No criminal record, not even a parking ticket—ever. There's a smattering of articles about her law firm—her name and picture only crops up in two.
According to the information, she should be normal. She should have been disgusted with me, and every filthy thing that turns me on. My memory offers up her soft expression as she swipes her come from my face and feeds me. A woman like that and her father is a school teacher?
Nothing about Robyn makes sense.
The picture the facts draw only make her that much more confusing. With every woman I've taken to my bed, I can draw a direct line to how they ended up there. I appeal to them for X, Y, Z reason. With Robyn—nothing.
For once I'm going to take Tarek's advice and leave it—Robyn—alone.
*****
Four scotches and a few hours later, Gabby is grinding her ass into my crotch in an offbeat way. She's cute so I'll forgive her, especially when she throws her hands over her head and really gets into the bass-thumping song.
The J-Lo look-alike has curves. The black dress painted on her body shows off every one. Her dark-olive skin shines with some kind of body glitter that I'll find for weeks, but she's wearing a perfume that smells like cotton candy. It's different and has piqued my interest.
And you guessed it—I'll let her sit on my face.
Who cares I'm probably too tipsy to make good decisions. I'm swaying my hips to keep up to hers. I like to think I'm more on beat—I did dance erotically for a living.
Tarek is sweet talking a woman at the bar. Duke is trying his best to not look like an evil douchebag. Life is good.
Fuck, Robyn.
I'm sweating out the liquor I have in my system. This won't do. Sober, I think too much. I might notice that Gabby's ass isn't like Robyn's. I don't get hard when Gabby smiles. If she gave me head, I wouldn't think about marriage afterward.
But... Fuck, Robyn.
I lean down to her ear so she can hear me over the music. “Gabby, you want a drink?”
She stops dancing and whirls to face me. There's a pout to her mouth. “Did you just call me Gabby?”
Shit. “What's your name, Sugar?”
“ I just told you, twice. Five minutes ago.”
My alcohol buzz dims with the mini-interrogation, but I try to remember through the fog what she told me. I am sure her name starts with a G, and all I have to do is
Only the last remains true. “Send the info to me. And we're going out for drinks since you're here.”
Duke smiles, big. “It's already in your inbox.”
That's what makes him an evil bastard. He looks kind, but he's always twelve steps ahead of everyone with a trap ready to go off. He also knows me well. I was never going to say no.
“ Tarek?” I ask.
“ I'm against this whole thing.” Pause. “Where are we going tonight?”
“ Let Duke pick. He's the workaholic. We can celebrate my self-employment.”
Tarek nods in agreement. “I'm off in an hour. Duke, try not to take any emergency calls from work. And you,” he says to me, “consider letting shit go. She sounds as fucked up as you.”
That's the appeal.
I shake my head both at him and myself.
Duke straightens, fluffs any wrinkles out of his suit, and tilts his head at me again. “You're checking your email as soon as we leave, aren't you?”
To prove him wrong, I dig my phone out of my sweats then and there. He leaves me alone. Or rather, I'm left alone to linger in the cesspool of my life. Semantics.
I pull my knees up to rest my forearms on my thighs. I read about the woman who has turned my life into something unrecognizable. I'd like to say the picture fills in better.
Robyn Hayes graduated with a Bachelors, pre-law, NYU, but she grew up here in California. She came back home. She has roots, family here—her parents. Her father is a school teacher and her mother is a doctor. Only child. Good credit. No criminal record, not even a parking ticket—ever. There's a smattering of articles about her law firm—her name and picture only crops up in two.
According to the information, she should be normal. She should have been disgusted with me, and every filthy thing that turns me on. My memory offers up her soft expression as she swipes her come from my face and feeds me. A woman like that and her father is a school teacher?
Nothing about Robyn makes sense.
The picture the facts draw only make her that much more confusing. With every woman I've taken to my bed, I can draw a direct line to how they ended up there. I appeal to them for X, Y, Z reason. With Robyn—nothing.
For once I'm going to take Tarek's advice and leave it—Robyn—alone.
*****
Four scotches and a few hours later, Gabby is grinding her ass into my crotch in an offbeat way. She's cute so I'll forgive her, especially when she throws her hands over her head and really gets into the bass-thumping song.
The J-Lo look-alike has curves. The black dress painted on her body shows off every one. Her dark-olive skin shines with some kind of body glitter that I'll find for weeks, but she's wearing a perfume that smells like cotton candy. It's different and has piqued my interest.
And you guessed it—I'll let her sit on my face.
Who cares I'm probably too tipsy to make good decisions. I'm swaying my hips to keep up to hers. I like to think I'm more on beat—I did dance erotically for a living.
Tarek is sweet talking a woman at the bar. Duke is trying his best to not look like an evil douchebag. Life is good.
Fuck, Robyn.
I'm sweating out the liquor I have in my system. This won't do. Sober, I think too much. I might notice that Gabby's ass isn't like Robyn's. I don't get hard when Gabby smiles. If she gave me head, I wouldn't think about marriage afterward.
But... Fuck, Robyn.
I lean down to her ear so she can hear me over the music. “Gabby, you want a drink?”
She stops dancing and whirls to face me. There's a pout to her mouth. “Did you just call me Gabby?”
Shit. “What's your name, Sugar?”
“ I just told you, twice. Five minutes ago.”
My alcohol buzz dims with the mini-interrogation, but I try to remember through the fog what she told me. I am sure her name starts with a G, and all I have to do is
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