about rushing to the emergency room to be with your son gives a woman a bit of an adrenaline rush. Not sure when I’ll be wound down for the night.”
“Can I call you when we leave?” I ask, checking on Cris from the corner of my eye.
Maren pauses and then exhales. “Yeah. You can call me.”
Victory is mine.
“Don’t fall asleep,” I say. “We need to hash out this story of ours.”
“Story of ours ?” she scoffs. “This story isn’t mine to tell. Thought I made that clear earlier.”
“Yeah, it is. I gave it to you. I passed the torch. We’re co-writers now. This is a joint venture. Think of it as a group project.”
“I hate group projects.” She groans, but I can almost hear her smile. “There’s always one person trying to pawn their stuff onto the other person, and then the other person ends up doing most of the work.”
“I don’t operate like that,” I say. “I’m a fifty-fifty kind of guy. That’s why I started the story and I want you to finish it. Fifty-fifty.”
“Is your brother an author?” I overhear the nurse ask Cristiano.
Cris coughs. “Oh, god, no. No, no, no.”
I excuse myself and take my call to the hall.
“Think about it,” I say, keeping my voice low. “Think about what you want to happen next.”
I hear her release a long, held breath, and I hope she’s sighing and not yawning.
“I’m going to call you as soon as I get home,” I say.
“This feels like a lot of work,” she replies after contemplative silence.
“Excuse me?”
“Having to be all sexually creative,” she says. “Sometimes I just want to be taken, you know? Like slam-my-back-against-the-wall, crush my mouth with a kiss, shove your hand up my skirt and make me yours. Like that kind of taken. Like romance novel taken.”
My cock throbs, and I try to respond but nothing comes out.
“I’ve spent well over a decade having missionary sex in the dark with the first man who ever kissed me,” she says. “And the sex wasn’t even that good! I never came. Not once.”
“I’m sorry. That’s . . . that’s unacceptable.”
I could make her come. I could make her come so hard.
“Jesus. Listen to me. I don’t know why I’m telling you this.” She sounds flustered now, embarrassed, and her voice is shaky. “I’m not even sure where I was going with all of this. I’m sorry. I’m tired. I should go to bed.”
“No.” I interject. “Do not go to bed, Maren.”
I hear her yawn in the background. There’s no mistaking it this time. So much for her adrenaline rush.
“I’ll finish the damn story myself,” I make a promise out of desperation. “All you have to do is wait up for me. Answer the phone when I call. I’ll tell you what happens next.”
“Fine,” she says, her tone satisfied. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”
* * *
“ W here the hell is the doctor?” I’m pacing the exam room. We’ve been waiting well over ninety minutes now. “Of course you just had to tell them you wanted your nose re-set by a plastic fucking surgeon.”
“ Gesù Cristo , Dante, settle down.” Cristiano leans against a wall, eyes fluttering shut. “This is my face we’re talking about. This is how I get laid. I’ve got to keep it looking tight.”
“Do me a favor.” I huff, glancing at the ticking clock above his head. “Next time someone’s talking shit about Alessio, stay the fuck out of it. Fans are allowed to have their opinions, and a lot of people were upset about his retirement. It’s not your job to police them.”
“All right, all right,” he says.
“Not like I didn’t want to beat the shit out of that loser too,” I add. “He wasn’t the first to talk shit about our brother, and he certainly won’t be the last. Got to rise above it. Be better than those trash-talking shitheads.”
“I forgot. You’re a classy millionaire now.” Cristiano rolls his eyes.
I purse my lips and blow a hard breath through my nostrils. “Do not. Do not start with
“Can I call you when we leave?” I ask, checking on Cris from the corner of my eye.
Maren pauses and then exhales. “Yeah. You can call me.”
Victory is mine.
“Don’t fall asleep,” I say. “We need to hash out this story of ours.”
“Story of ours ?” she scoffs. “This story isn’t mine to tell. Thought I made that clear earlier.”
“Yeah, it is. I gave it to you. I passed the torch. We’re co-writers now. This is a joint venture. Think of it as a group project.”
“I hate group projects.” She groans, but I can almost hear her smile. “There’s always one person trying to pawn their stuff onto the other person, and then the other person ends up doing most of the work.”
“I don’t operate like that,” I say. “I’m a fifty-fifty kind of guy. That’s why I started the story and I want you to finish it. Fifty-fifty.”
“Is your brother an author?” I overhear the nurse ask Cristiano.
Cris coughs. “Oh, god, no. No, no, no.”
I excuse myself and take my call to the hall.
“Think about it,” I say, keeping my voice low. “Think about what you want to happen next.”
I hear her release a long, held breath, and I hope she’s sighing and not yawning.
“I’m going to call you as soon as I get home,” I say.
“This feels like a lot of work,” she replies after contemplative silence.
“Excuse me?”
“Having to be all sexually creative,” she says. “Sometimes I just want to be taken, you know? Like slam-my-back-against-the-wall, crush my mouth with a kiss, shove your hand up my skirt and make me yours. Like that kind of taken. Like romance novel taken.”
My cock throbs, and I try to respond but nothing comes out.
“I’ve spent well over a decade having missionary sex in the dark with the first man who ever kissed me,” she says. “And the sex wasn’t even that good! I never came. Not once.”
“I’m sorry. That’s . . . that’s unacceptable.”
I could make her come. I could make her come so hard.
“Jesus. Listen to me. I don’t know why I’m telling you this.” She sounds flustered now, embarrassed, and her voice is shaky. “I’m not even sure where I was going with all of this. I’m sorry. I’m tired. I should go to bed.”
“No.” I interject. “Do not go to bed, Maren.”
I hear her yawn in the background. There’s no mistaking it this time. So much for her adrenaline rush.
“I’ll finish the damn story myself,” I make a promise out of desperation. “All you have to do is wait up for me. Answer the phone when I call. I’ll tell you what happens next.”
“Fine,” she says, her tone satisfied. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”
* * *
“ W here the hell is the doctor?” I’m pacing the exam room. We’ve been waiting well over ninety minutes now. “Of course you just had to tell them you wanted your nose re-set by a plastic fucking surgeon.”
“ Gesù Cristo , Dante, settle down.” Cristiano leans against a wall, eyes fluttering shut. “This is my face we’re talking about. This is how I get laid. I’ve got to keep it looking tight.”
“Do me a favor.” I huff, glancing at the ticking clock above his head. “Next time someone’s talking shit about Alessio, stay the fuck out of it. Fans are allowed to have their opinions, and a lot of people were upset about his retirement. It’s not your job to police them.”
“All right, all right,” he says.
“Not like I didn’t want to beat the shit out of that loser too,” I add. “He wasn’t the first to talk shit about our brother, and he certainly won’t be the last. Got to rise above it. Be better than those trash-talking shitheads.”
“I forgot. You’re a classy millionaire now.” Cristiano rolls his eyes.
I purse my lips and blow a hard breath through my nostrils. “Do not. Do not start with
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