Chapter 2
LEO
Saturday, August 19
1 Month Later
I awoke this morning with a pounding headache and someone’s hand around my cock, the consequences of last night’s indulgences. I search my memory for the name of the woman warming my bed.
Christy? Christina? Christine?
Shit . I don’t remember . Waking up aroused is nothing new, it happens every day. Waking up to someone tending to my arousal? I’m going to savor this.
Chrissy! That’s it.
A groan rumbles deep in my throat.
“Don’t stop,” I say with a groggy morning voice.
She murmurs in my ear, “Good morning, Leo,” as she glides her hand up my chest. “Last night was fun.”
Last night was fun. I crack an eye open and check the time on my phone. It’s almost 9 AM.
“Shit.” I sit up quickly and hop out of bed. “You’ve got to go,” I say, pulling on some joggers over my bare ass and stiffie while tossing her clothes toward her .
She stands up quickly, alarmed, and starts getting dressed. “Can’t get rid of me fast enough, huh?” she mumbles.
“That’s not it, Chrissy.” That’s exactly it. “I have a meeting in thirty minutes.” No, I don’t.
Lies are easier than truths in this scenario. Saves everybody unnecessary feelings. I find her bra under the bed and pass it to her. She catches it and slips her arms through the straps.
“But… it’s a Saturday?” she says, confused.
“Yes, and some people work on Saturdays.”
I really need to start picking women for more than just their looks. Chrissy is good-looking, sure. Probably looked even better last night after a few drinks, but still, she’s hot, and we tangled in the sheets for hours.
“I’m calling an Uber for you. Type your address in,” I say, handing her my phone. She rolls her eyes, standing in her bra and underwear, and types it in before chucking the phone back to me, not caring if I catch it or not.
“You might be the hottest asshole I’ve ever slept with,” she says begrudgingly.
I scoff. “You weren’t complaining last night, love.”
I nudge her down the stairs before she even has her dress completely pulled down. I race behind, simultaneously helping her with her zipper.
She glares at me.
“Would you like a coffee while you wait?” I ask, trying to make up for my behavior.
“Yes please.” She softens. “I would appreciate that.”
Damn. She looks sad. I hate being the reason a woman feels that way. When I’m with women, I strive to pleasure them and love making them feel desired. I make her a cappuccino and hand it to her in a to-go cup.
“I apologize for rushing you out so quickly. You’re beautiful, and I had a great time last night.”
“It’s fine. At least you were a good lay,” she says with a smirk. “That accent of yours is hot.”
I chuckle inwardly. Being British in America definitely has its perks. “Your ride’s here, love. ”
I walk her to the door of my townhouse and open it for her. The morning sun filters through the skyscrapers, casting long shadows on the riverwalk.
She turns on the doorstep. “Thanks,” she says, “I had a great time last night.”
As she’s speaking, I notice a gorgeous woman a few houses down, running along the sidewalk.
“I had a great time too.” I give her a brief hug out of courtesy, mainly so I can get a better look at the runner.
As Chrissy heads down the sidewalk, passing the row of townhouses, to where her Uber is waiting, the runner glances over at me and her eyes linger longer than normal. She looks forward as she passes my house, and I watch her go by, unconsciously waving to Chrissy as she walks away, while checking out this girl’s ass. She has a great ass. I’m standing there shirtless, my joggers hanging way too low around my hips, when she looks back for a double take. I smile and let that soak in. When she realizes I caught her looking, she abruptly turns her head forward.
I’m about to follow her when she stops running and rounds into my neighbor’s yard. The townhouse that’s been vacant for three months. The for-sale sign went down a few weeks ago. I walk down my front pathway and watch her go inside.
Holy shit.
She lives next door.
My new neighbor is a complete smoke show, and we’ve both been caught ogling each other. I stand there, stunned. This is awkward. For the first time in a long time, I don’t know how to proceed with a woman. I obviously need to do the neighborly thing and introduce myself, but being caught half-dressed with my one-night stand as a first impression… I’m at a loss. I want to meet her, but I figure it’s best to let this blow over first.
I walk back inside, feeling slightly guilty for kicking Chrissy out this morning. But I have certain protocols that I follow, and not allowing women to stay past 9 AM is one of them. I’m not a total jerk, I swear. I never bring women home if they’ve had too much to drink, and I’m always upfront about only looking for a casual shag—never promising more than a one-night stand or even a phone number. I figure grown-ass women can make their own decisions. Trust me, I’ve had my fair share of rejections. It’s not for everyone.
Still, I foresee a potential challenge. My new neighbor is fucking hot, and I don’t sleep with women I know, especially ones who live next door, but I definitely want to know her.
I leave for London tomorrow on business, so figuring out if she’s worth the trouble is a future problem for when I get back on Thursday.
* * * * * * * * * *
Friday, August 25, 6:30 PM
1 Week Later
I gather my laptop and other belongings, placing them into my backpack, then I survey the room one last time, ensuring everything is prepared for Tuesday. Satisfied, I text Noah.
Leo: Hey mate, I’ll be there in about 40 minutes.
Noah: I got you. The usual?
Leo: Make it an old fashioned tonight.
Noah: Consider it done.
I arrived home from London late last night. Exhausted and jet-lagged from the quick trip, I’m going to need something a hell of a lot stronger than a bloody beer. I tuck my phone into my pocket, loop my arms into my backpack and walk to my car. It’ll be a fifteen to twenty-minute drive home from the university on a Friday night, followed by a ten-minute walk to Craft’s Pub and Kitchen. I can practically taste the mouth-watering steak I’m planning to order.
My trip to London had been a last-minute decision. With it being my last week off before fall semester, I almost didn’t go. It had proven to be time well spent. Not only was I able to wrap up some important business deals with my father, I spent some much-needed time with my brother Andrew.
“Ah fuck,” I groan to myself. Sirens flash, indicating an accident up ahead. The traffic is horrendous. I check for new routes on my maps, searching for a shorter ETA. If I turn on to Lake Street up ahead, I can avoid the majority of the traffic.
It takes me twenty-five minutes to get home. Leaving me fifteen minutes to shower, get presentable and walk to Craft’s. I’ll be a few minutes late, give or take.
I rush inside, shower, and dress quickly. It’s too warm for a jacket, so I throw on a fitted white tee under a blue shirt-jacket and pair it with grey denim. I quickly style my hair, throw some shoes on and run out the door.
I go to Craft’s Kitchen almost every Friday after my last lecture of the day. A few years ago, I partnered with my friend Michael to open the restaurant. He’s a well-known chef and his cooking style is farm-to-table. All the food is fresh, local, and delicious. He didn’t have the funds to open the restaurant by himself, so I offered to help him out by becoming a silent partner. I didn’t— and still don’t —know shit about cooking or restaurants, but I had the capital and his best interest at heart. Four years later and Craft’s Pub and Kitchen is thriving, and remains one of the hottest restaurants in Chicago for the second year in a row.
I arrive at Craft’s at 7:20. There are loads of people waiting outside. I maneuver my way through the throng to where a young, cheerful hostess greets me.
“Good evening, Mr. Weston,” she says. Noah has a seat reserved for you at the bar.” With a smile, she gestures toward the far end of the restaurant.
“Thanks Lilly.” I wink at her while beelining toward the bar, where I can see my drink waiting for me, as well as a petite, dark-haired woman occupying the seat next to mine. There is a vacant seat next to her. I assume her date will be joining her soon or has gone to the restroom.
Approaching the bar, I catch Noah’s eye. He sets down the drink he is making and shouts out, “Leo! ”
“Noah!” I bellow and reach my arm across the bar to meet his in a firm handshake.
“How are you, man?” He grips my hand and slaps me on the shoulder.
“I’m good, mate. Thanks for snagging a seat for me.”
“No problem. Let me know when you need me.” He pounds the countertop twice with his fist, picks up a drink shaker and starts rattling it.