Chapter 9
I wake with a jolt.
The sheets are twisted around me and my cock is agonizingly hard and hot.
I was dreaming about the girl.
Fuck.
I ease my fist around my huge, rigid length and all it takes is a couple of strokes before I’m coming in hot, excruciatingly intense bursts.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Holy fucking hell.
Breathing hard, I lay there for a few minutes, coming down from my fever dream and my crazy rush.
I’m covered in my own sweat and cum.
What the fuck is happening to me?
Get a grip, boy.
A ceiling fan rotates in slow circles overhead. The French doors leading out to the balcony are open and the city hums with the far away sounds of New Orleans waking up mixed with the sounds of New Orleans never quite making it to bed.
I glance over at the glowing digital clock on the bedside table. 7:08.
Damn. This is the latest I’ve slept in a very long time. Usually I’m in my home gym by five.
Last night, I sat at the bar at the Hotel Thibodeaux until Amelie finished her shift, just after midnight.
I asked her to have a drink with me.
I never touch the stuff, she told me, politely but in that feisty way the little dream girl has managed to turn into an art form. I know this because I sat there watching her—not creepily, I was listening to the music and enjoying the night just as much, almost—for four or five hours.
I told her we could drink coffee. Or Coke. Or water. That I’d take her to a late dinner.
I have an early shift for my other job in the morning, was all she gave me, before rushing off to serve the never-ending line of people wanting her attention.
So I suggested tomorrow night, trying in vain to fish for more information. Her last name. What her other job is. Housekeeping. ‘Scuse me, I have to go serve these other customers.
Housekeeping? It’s so fucking wrong. That the most beautiful girl in the entire goddamn universe is cleaning up after other people and fucking serving them. It’s something I plan on changing. Today.
I offered to walk her home after her shift. Oh no, I live close by.
How close by? At that, she gave me a long, slow look. Then she smiled with soft, serene finality, handed her iPad to the bartender taking over for her, and told me to have a good night.
The little minx dismissed me.
I sat there getting used to the feeling. I waited to see if she’d come back.
But she’d already disappeared into thin air.
Maybe it’s Karma coming back to bite me on the ass, who knows.
I’ll be the first to admit I haven’t always treated women as well as I could have.
They’re always so desperate for more of whatever I’ll give them, it can be a little too easy to be cruel.
I’m not deliberately trying to be cruel, but some of these girls just don’t know how to take no for a fucking answer, even when I spell things out for them in black and white.
I tell them up front I don’t do relationships but they’re always crying and having meltdowns when it’s time for me to go.
And now, when I’ve actually—finally, against all odds—found the girl I want to talk to and be with in whatever way she’s willing to give, all I get is, Y’all have a good night now.
Luckily, little Amelie, I don’t give up that easily.
I get out of bed and take an ice cold shower, which does nothing to tone down my … situation. Since the second I laid eyes on the girl of my dreams, my blood is running hot. My cock is already huge and hard again, just thinking about her.
I’m stepping out of the shower when my phone rings.
“I’m surprised you waited this long,” I answer. I texted him last night. “Good morning, Todd.”
“Morning, Einstein. How’s the hotel?”
“Perfect.”
He’s cautious already. My assistant can read a weather system in two syllables. “I got your text last night. At one a.m.,” he adds. “You want to postpone your return to New York? For a week?” Like I’ve completely lost my mind.
“Yes.”
His pause contains the distinctive silence of a control freak watching a very detailed mental calendar go up in smoke. “The Black/Gold conference call is Monday afternoon,” he begins. “And you have the Midtown Equity Partners’ dinner on Wednesday—”
“Move them.”
A longer silence. “Can I ask—”
“You may not.”
“Is everything—”
“Everything’s fine. Move the week, leave the jet here and fly yourself home in first class.”
“But—”
“It’s called taking some time off, Todd. I’m sure you’ve heard of it.”
“Yes. I have. For … other people.”
“I’ve never done it, I realize that. Which is why I’m doing it now.”
“I mean, should I be concerned? Medically?”
I exhale something that’s not quite a laugh. “Medically, no. And I don’t need you contacting my—”
My phone buzzes with an incoming call. “Sorry, too late,” Todd apologizes, not at all apologetically.
“—brothers,” I don’t get a chance to finish. “Todd?”
“Yes?”
“We’re going to have to revisit the boundaries conversation."
“Of course.” Then, quickly. “I’ll move everything back by one week. And Dallas?”
“What.”
“It’s about time. Have fun.” He ends the call.