Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 87629 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87629 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
I don’t have to feel sour, though. I made a date tomorrow for a training session with Michael, who seems like a good guy. A guy who I probably should’ve let escort me home.
But you can never be too careful in New York.
I down my sidecar in one large gulp.
Then I wave to Frankie on the dance floor, letting her know I’m leaving.
Outside, I catch a cab home.
It’s nearing midnight, and I walk up to my apartment and gasp.
Jackson is sitting next to my door. He’s wearing a jacket and… Damn. Black jeans. Three guesses where he’s been.
“Jack, what are you doing here?”
“Waiting for you.”
“Why didn’t you use your key card?”
Jack and I always have keys to each other’s places.
“I didn’t want to be presumptuous.”
I scoff. “Since when has that ever stopped you? You could have at least let Roger out. Jeez, don’t you hear him scratching?”
“Mandy,” he says, “please, just let me in. I need a place to crash.”
“What about your place?”
“I can’t. I can’t be alone tonight.”
Only then do I notice the look of sheer desperation on his face. Something is bothering him. Disturbing him. Frightening him, even.
I unlock my door quickly. “Of course. Come on in.”
Chapter Twenty
Jackson
So much for staying away from Mandy.
When I got to my place, after escorting Blossom home and making sure she was okay, I couldn’t bring myself to go in.
Who do I always turn to when I need to talk?
Mandy.
But I don’t talk to her about my dark and dirty lifestyle. She wouldn’t understand.
Still…this is where I came tonight when I needed someone.
I came to my best friend in the world. Mandy. My Mandy Cake.
Only…
She doesn’t look anything like my Mandy Cake.
Her makeup is different. Her hair is different. Hell, her whole demeanor is different.
She looks…
She looks like she’s been…
“Where have you been?” I demand.
She grabs Roger’s leash and affixes it to his collar. “I was at Rossi’s with Frankie and Gigi.”
“Oh.” Relief surges through me.
I’m not sure what’s with the smoky eye, but hey, not my business, right?
No. None of it is my business. If I don’t want her in my bed, I don’t have any say in whose bed she ends up in.
Except I don’t want her in anyone’s bed.
I want her here. At my beck and call. To be my best friend the way she’s always been.
God, I’m a dirtbag.
If only I could tell her about Blossom. About how I went overboard. About how I lost trust not only in myself but in everything I believe in.
All because…
All because of the woman standing before me. The woman who will take care of me. I don’t even have to ask her to.
I grab the leash from her. “I’ll take him out.”
“Thanks.”
After Roger has christened a fire hydrant, I bring him back up to the apartment.
And there’s Mandy, taking care of me. Already, she’s making the couch into a bed. She walks to her closet, pulls out sheets, grabs a pillow.
All the while, I simply watch her.
“Are you hungry? I can make you a sandwich. Ham on rye?”
I shake my head.
“Glass of water? Or I can brew a pot of coffee.”
I shake my head again. I don’t need coffee. I haven’t been drinking. I never have more than one drink at the club. I feel very strongly about having all my wits about me when a sub is under my care.
“A drink?” Mandy asks. “I’ve got some bourbon. Vodka. I’m sorry, but I’m out of gin.”
She’s out of gin—Tanqueray—because she buys it for me and always pours me a gin and tonic when I’m here. That’s okay. I need something a little stronger to soothe me tonight. “Yeah, if it’s not too much trouble. Bourbon. Neat.”
She nods.
“Join me?” I say.
“I had two sidecars at Rossi’s. I’m good.” She pours a finger of bourbon into a glass and hands it to me. Then she sits down on the edge and motions for me to sit next to her. “Spill it,” she says. “What’s wrong, Jack?”
“Nothing.”
“Right. Because you show up at my place after midnight on a Friday night when nothing is bothering you. Happens all the time.”
“Maybe it should happen more often, Mandy Cake.”
“Didn’t we talk about Mandy Cake?”
She’s right, of course. I’ve eaten this woman’s pussy. My dick has been inside her. I can no longer call her Mandy Cake.
“So what’s going on?” she asks again.
I sigh, take a sip of my bourbon, let the smooth silkiness burn my throat. “This is good. What is it?”
“You don’t recognize it? It’s the Basil Hayden’s you got me three years ago when you came over for dinner with Frankie and Penn.”
It comes back to me then.
How much I’ve taken this woman for granted.
“I thought it was funny at the time,” she continues, “because you know I don’t drink bourbon, and you don’t normally drink it, either, but you do drink it when something’s bugging you.”