Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72091 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72091 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
I laughed. “Oh my god. Leave your Top Chef obsession out of my sex life.”
“Ah-HA!” She pointed at me. “So there was sex. Come on. Spill it. I’m growing cobwebs down there. Let me fuck vicariously through you.”
I elbowed her out of the way and picked up the spatula, pushing around the vegetables and flipping over a few chunks of chicken. “Fine. There was…” I closed my eyes and exhaled deeply. “Good sex. Insane sex.”
“Better-than-Ian Sex?” she challenged.
“Can’t-Even-Remember-Who-Ian-Is Sex.” I fixed her with a look and she bounced a little in place.
“Damn, girl. That’s not even fair.” She opened the cabinet and pulled out two paper plates, setting them out on the counter. “Especially since this glow seems more than just post-orgasm.” She leaned forward and peered at my face as if examining it for evidence. “Dare I say…” Her eyes widened. “Holy shit.”
I shoved her away. “You’re so dramatic.”
“You’re in love with him?” She glanced over her shoulder as if Lydia and Jackie might suddenly pop out of spin class and into the hall. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I thought you were just … I mean, he’s married, right?”
“Right. And we were casual, or I was trying to be casual but …” I turned down the burner and set the spatula down. “I don’t know. I couldn’t stay away from him. I tried. And you know me. I fought against feeling for him with every ounce in my being, but it still happened.”
That was sort of a lie. My love hadn’t just happened. It had perched on my shoulder in the casino, and followed me through every subsequent interaction, taking its time to slip into my heart and suction-cup itself to every artery until I couldn’t help but breathe it in. I had been done for the minute our eyes had met.
“Can’t say I’m surprised.” She opened up the fridge and reached in, grabbing a two-liter of Diet Coke and twisting off the cap. “Something’s been different with you, ever since you met him. Not to be all Debbie Downer on you, but what’s the plan from here? Is he gonna leave his wife?”
“I don’t know.” I pushed my glass toward her and watched as she refilled it. “He’s talking to her about it now.” I glanced at the clock and imagined the two of them at an intimate candlelit table, discussing their marriage. A stab of jealousy and fear hit.
What was the plan? Did we even have one?
* * *
—I spoke to Gwen.
how’d it go?
—Not great. Come to the suite tonight.
your manners suck
—PLEASE come to the suite tonight. My cock misses you. So does my heart.
it’s been four hours. Your cock is high maintenance.
—text me when you are on your way
omg. stop.
—I love you
FINE. I’ll be there. give me a few hours
—I love you
I love u too. I’m sorry about Gwen.
—I’ll figure it out. Be safe.
I read his last text with a smile and tossed the phone onto the bed. Turning back to my suitcase, I pulled items out and returned them to their proper place. I thought of Dario’s comments, his critical appraisal of my room, his urge to stay in the suite.
Just a few weeks in his world, and I could feel the pull, the easy intoxication of it all. I could say yes and have daily maid service. Say yes and never do laundry again. Say yes and kiss goodbye to frozen pizzas and fast food, credit card debt and car payments. I could quit my job and spend my days poolside, my afternoons shopping, my nights drinking expensive wine and bouncing up and down on the most powerful cock in Vegas.
It would be easy.
I stopped before the tall mirror in my room, twisting my hair up and turning my head, imagining a string of diamonds around my neck, chandelier earrings hanging from my ears, a glittery evening gown hugging my curves. I dropped my hair with a shaky inhale. In the last month, I had searched the Internet for photos of Gwen and Dario, had seen countless images of the statuesque brunette at charity events, ribbon cutting ceremonies, and social events. She didn’t look like a girl who grew up on welfare. She didn’t look like someone who once stood, bruised and shivering, in a police station and told a story that no one believed.
Guilt stabbed at me, because she also didn’t look like someone who grew up with a psychopathic father. I wouldn’t trade childhoods with her. I don’t know anyone who would.
I turned away from the mirror and hated every bit of this situation. Yet, I couldn’t walk away, not from the man who now owned my heart.
* * *
DARIO
A few hours. Enough time for him to get Gwen home, spend some more time with her, and then leave. A few hours would give them enough time to talk through this and find a solution, or a few possibilities. He sent Bell a final text and switched his phone to silent, pushing it into his pocket. Looking into the bathroom’s mirror, he straightened the line of his suit, pulling at the cuff of each sleeve, and watching the man in the mirror critically.