by Shen, L. J.
“Bet. So don’t check them.”
The need to find out whether he was pulling my leg or not overwhelmed me. The ego boost would be intoxicating if he told the truth. My eyes traveled down to his sweatpants. He was hard.
So hard.
The ridge of his cock was long and thick and pointing to his stomach. I swallowed. If kissing Hunter felt so far removed from anything I’d experienced with Beau, I wondered how having sex with him would be.
Divine.
Euphoric.
Destructive.
I then proceeded to wonder how dumb I could possibly be. I’d signed a contract vowing to keep him celibate. I couldn’t sleep with him.
I looked away, munching on the skin around my thumb. When I heard Knox still shuffling around in his room, I couldn’t take it anymore. I turned around and stuffed my hand in Hunter’s pocket without giving him any warning. My fingers collided with his penis, and I almost jumped back, when I felt something. A piece of fabric. I narrowed my eyes at him, stopping dead with my fist around the fabric.
“No.”
He gave me an exaggeratedly sweet look, batting his lashes.
“Stop pretending to be innocent. Your innocence died a long time ago.”
“That it did, bloodied and screaming. All the same, it could be Knox’s lingerie. He is a fine-looking specimen.”
I snorted. “I’m pulling it out.”
“Hey, that’s supposed to be my line.”
I tugged at the fabric. My fingers shook around it.
Yellow.
With red spots.
Did I have red and yellow underwear? I racked my brain trying to remember. But it wasn’t my underwear. It was a bloodied piece of cloth. It looked like part of a shirt. I realized it was a piece of the shirt the guy he’d fought with at the pub was wearing. Hunter had kept it. Shame, excitement, disappointment, and every single other feeling in my emotion basket slammed into me all at once. My eyes darted up.
He curled his fist around mine, so we were both holding the fabric. He leaned down. His lips brushed mine.
“Fuck, you are easy to rattle. Your ass is so mine for the next five months.”
“Get away from me.” But my words lacked conviction. They were empty, hollow, wispy.
“Submit, prey,” he growled darkly.
“Fight harder for it, Hunter.”
“I’ll swallow you whole.” His breath caressed my cheek and ear, sending my hair flying with warmth. “You don’t know my kind. Arrow-proof.”
A dark, delicious quiver ran down my spine as he whispered that.
Knox came back when we were a fraction of an inch from a kiss, with me hanging on to the remainder of my self-control with bloody fingers.
He stood in front of us with a cardboard box full of equipment, cutting the charged moment with a metaphorical knife. “Ready to play?”
Hunter looked back at him, completely poised, calm, and in control, smiling devilishly.
“Always.”
I replaced the clock in Syllie’s office after everyone had left.
It was just the cleaning ladies and me, vacuuming, gossiping, ohh-ing and ahh-ing to the distorted Filipino station they blasted from a radio.
The clock was the easy part. Earlier today, I’d gone down to the parking lot and put a tracker on Syllie’s car. One of Da’s accountants had stepped out of his Model X Tesla when he saw me on all fours, fingering the bottom of Syllie’s Mercedes like some auto-fetish creeper.
“What on Earth are you doing?” he’d demanded, looking down his nose at me—testament to the fact that Da hadn’t claimed me as anything other than a glorified PA, minus the generous rack.
I had to think fast. “Getting high on fumes,” I said without missing a beat.
Yeah. That was the best I could come up with. Shut up.
“Is that a thing?” His saucer eyes widened.
Considering he was approximately a thousand years old, I figured he’d buy it. I pretended to wipe my nose with the sleeve of my blazer, grinning.
“Gives the best high. If you haven’t tried it yet, are you even living?”
“Will you teach me how to do it?” His plump face twisted in question.
Being the cool kid sucked balls in Boston. Plus, this particular cool kid didn’t even have any friends—other than Sailor, who was a potential fuck buddy, so I couldn’t get attached.
“Bet.” I stood up. “Sometime soon. Not now.”
What I really meant was when hell froze over.
Yeah, that seemed like a good fucking time to spend time with the old sod.
The day after the clock and the car came the real pickle: the glasses. Syllie rarely took them off. He was blind as a bat. When he finally parted ways with them, he put them on his desk and rushed out of his office. I may have asked the stuttering receptionist to call him urgently regarding some papers that had come about the new refinery in Maine. It was a dumb excuse, so I knew I had five minutes, max.
I bolted into his room, pocketed the original glasses, and placed an identical pair with the recording device in their place. It was some magic-ass wireless shit that streamed the recordings live. I rounded Syllie’s desk as he walked back in.
My heart dropped to my asshole. Maybe literally. There was a moment when I wondered if I was going to survive. If not, I dreaded the headline. “Young Heir Leaves Reluctant, Semi-Loving Family and Hot Roommate Behind.”
At least I’d always be remembered for my contributions to society: orgasms, one-liners I borrowed from George Carlin, and starting the bomber-jacket-over-tux-shirt trend at All Saints High.
Song of the day: “Hey, Look, Ma I Made It” by Panic! At the Disco.
“Sonny-boy,” Sylvester greeted me. “What are you doing in my office?”
He sounded chill as fuck. This was how much I didn’t chart as a threat to him. I’d been caught red-handed in his office, and he didn’t even raise an eyebrow. I grabbed the first thing within reach on his desk, a stapler, and started for the door.
“Just wanted to borrow your stapler.” I waved it in my hand for good measure. Oscar-worthy performance, I tell ya.
“Why?” He shoved his hands into his pockets. His face had random features that didn’t really gel. He was lanky and looked like the Caucasian version of Mr. Burns from The Simpsons.
I improvised some more. “Got a little carried away with one of the interns. Ruined her virtue. Also, her pencil skirt.” I exposed my white fangs, hooding my eyes. Syllie grinned back. Wide. After all, I was a “literal fucking joke,” always up for a tumble in the supply closet.
“That’s my boy.” He clapped my back, letting his hand linger there for a second too long. “I won’t tell on you,” he promised earnestly, his hand clutching his heart. “For what it’s worth, I’ve always thought your da was too harsh on you. You should live a little. Have fun.”
I raised my fist to his. We pounded it. He felt cool. My job here was done.
“Yo, if you wanna get high on gas fumes later, let me know,” I offered out of nowhere, turning to him while still walking out of his office. I thought about that idiot accountant from yesterday.
Syllie laughed. “Maybe, son. Maybe.”
Adults were trash.
Later that day, I was invited to a meeting about the Maine-based refinery Royal Pipelines was supposed to open this year, which was still under construction. Syllie rallied for Da, Cillian, yours truly, and himself to take a quick trip there in the next few months to examine it up close.
“We need to keep our finger on the pulse, get a better understanding of what’s not working. It’ll also give Hunter a chance to feel included.” Syllie spoke brightly, looking around Da’s desk.
My father, who still couldn’t look at the hedonist monster he’d created, said nothing, probably his way of trying to figure out if I was worth the hassle. I took minutes during that meeting, then mailed them to Da and Cillian, knowing there was a one-hundred-percent chance they weren’t opening my go
ddamn emails.
Hours later, I decided to take my lunch to the public library and cram in some studying time. Eating at the library was prohibited, so I concealed myself behind the autobiography shelves. Nobody fucking cared—not about what dead people did, and not about me.
As I debated whether it was technically possible to kill myself by smashing my head into the economics textbook, I heard a familiar voice three rows down, seeping from the Braille selections like poison.
“…in motion. You’ll have to put things together quickly. I’m shooting for next month, or the one after it. Soon.”
There was a pause. The other person was talking. What were the chances of Syllie going to the library to take a personal call? Good, I realized. The place was dead, and you wouldn’t find any of the Fitzpatrick men in the library unless it was a trendy name for a brothel.
Or so he thought.
“Father and older son pose more threat than the little one, as I mentioned,” he added.
Don’t be so fucking sure.
“Keep me posted. I’ll call soon.”
He killed the call. I threw my sandwich into the trash can, my appetite gone.
He was going to pay.
HHH: When are you coming home 2night? I got nudes.
HHH: News*. #DieAutocorrect.
HHH: (tho I got nudes too, if you’re interested).
Sailor: You know that means you type the word nude more than news, right?
HHH: I’m sensing you have a point somewhere in this sentence.
Sailor: How often do you sext women?
HHH: Is that a trick question?
Sailor: Nvm. Getting into PT in 2 mins.
HHH: How’s the Patriots’ dude?
Sailor: Good. Thanks for hooking me up.
HHH: Always happy to hook a friend up, unlike someone I know. *eyes peeking emoji*
Sailor: If I had a guilt trip every time you made me feel shitty about holding my side of the bargain with your dad, I’d be crippled with anxiety.
HHH: Sex is great for anxiety.
Sailor: Besides, I gave you Knox.
HHH: That you did. And I successfully deployed all the devices he sold me.
Sailor: I’m glad! I knew you could do it.
HHH: When did you say you were coming home again?
Sailor: Late. Got a meeting with Junsu after this, then I have that shoot for the sports magazine Crystal got for me. DoorDash away without me.
HHH: Ok. x
I ordered sushi that night.
Not good sushi, either. Sailor always knew what to get, where to get it, and who made the best food in the city. The apartment felt extra empty without her. I resisted the urge to FaceTime Vaughn or Knight as I placed my reusable chopsticks and LaCroix on the dining table, listening to a podcast about this hipster chick who lived a year in the Scottish highlands trying to figure out if the cryptozoological loch ness monster really did exist.
The doorbell rang. I opened up. It was a woman: Asian, real babe, with a heart-shaped face and long, purple hair that looked extra silky. Banging body. Sailor-small, as in miniature. She raised the thrice-knotted plastic bag between us.
“Lights are down, and reception is empty. This place is a ghost town. Did you know the electricity is off in the entire building? I had to take the stairs.”
I didn’t, but that meant that Da’s assholes weren’t on my case for the first time in weeks, and I wasn’t even aware. The CCTV was down.
“Nope.” I took the food from her, rummaging my pocket for the tip (people who didn’t tip DoorDash heroes twice were dead to me).
“Enjoy your meal, Rapunzel.” She winked, but didn’t make a move.
“Enjoy it with me.” I threw her a lazy smile.
“For real?”
“Forreal, forreal.”
Sailor was out. The building’s electricity system was down, other than in the actual apartments, I guess, because my lights were on. No one knew I had a chick in here. Bonus points, it had been a long-ass time since I’d shared a meal with something that wasn’t a textbook or Sailor.
“I’m Emily.” She stretched out her hand.
“Hunter.” I took it, pulling her in gently. She fell into my chest, giggling breathlessly.
“Whoa. This place. Are you loaded or something?”
“Cocked, too.” I was openly flirting. She was openly responding.
I closed the door behind us and took another LaCroix from the fridge. There was only one left, and Sailor was going to kill me, but whatever, served her right for not being here when I needed her. We ate.
Two hours later, Emily was still here. We watched Brick on Netflix because she said she was crushing on Joseph Gordon-Levitt like it was 1998. Honestly, I didn’t care for the movie. But the situation was nice. Natural. Our socked feet on the coffee table, munching on the organic dark chocolate the housekeeper stocked the fridge with.
It was the last ten minutes of the movie when she realized I wasn’t going to pounce her. Emily put her thigh on mine and wiggled her socked toes to touch my skin. I didn’t make a move, watching it play out, and knowing I was going to stop it—probably—but also feeling dangerously high on the two hours of freedom I’d been given.
“My bra is super uncomfortable,” she purred, pouting. “Can I take it off?”
“Is that even a question?” I asked groggily.
Hey, that’s just being a cordial host.
Emily reached under the bottom of her shirt and removed her bra with her shirt still on, throwing the lacy, white thing in my face. I let it sit there, draped on my head, for comic value, popping another chocolate square into my mouth.
“You’re such a dork.” She laughed.
Brick, my ass. She was interested in watching this shit like I was interested in bathing in acetone.
“Are you going to hit on me?” she asked, finally, her eyes not wavering from my bra-clad face.
“I’m a deadly sin you don’t want to commit,” I confessed.
“I’ve done them all.” She looked at me, straight-faced. “Do me.”
I shook my head, not believing I was doing this, but doing it anyway, because fuck, I needed the money, and fuck, a dirty fuck was just not worth it.
“Sorry, lovely. Getting fucked is not in your cards tonight.”
The door opened.
“Honey, I’m home,” Sailor sing-songed sarcastically. She froze on the spot when she realized I wasn’t alone. I sat upright, thinking, This is salvageable, until I felt the bra falling from my face onto the carpet.
Shitfuckhell.
Song of the day: “Born to Run” by Bruce Springsteen.
“CT, this is Emily.” I motioned to my guest, pretending this chick hadn’t been in the process of hoisting herself onto me a hot second ago. Swear to God, the idea of fucking her hadn’t even occurred to me. I mean, in the future—one-hundred-and-ten-percent yes. Right now, though? Too risky. My bloodline, my inheritance, my future depended on my ability to keep my pants on. Plus, I was putting a dent in the Sailor project. “Emily, that’s my roomie, Sailor.”
“Hi!” Emily jumped to her feet, waving and flashing a smile. Her tits bounced, bra-less, and her nipples were semi-hard. Sailor didn’t return the gesture. I paused the movie no one was watching anyway and strolled over to my banshee frenemy.
You could feel the atmosphere shifting, dipping in dark smoke. Emily picked up on the awkwardness. She scooped up her bra, phone, shoes, and car keys while shuffling around like a harassed ostrich.
I took Sailor’s duffel bag and disposed of it in the spare room for her. “How was the photoshoot, kiddo?”
They’d put Sailor in bright red lipstick and thick, neon blue eyeliner. Combined with her copper hair, it made her look like a sexy David Bowie cross-dresser. Her eyes were still on my face. Round and wide and bottomless and what the fuck have I done?
“I’m out of here,” Emily chirped to no one in particular.
I walked her to the door because I wasn’t a
complete douche canoe, and because I was pretty sure she thought Sailor was my girlfriend. I squeezed her shoulder.
“I’ll call you,” I lied.
“Yeah, okay.”
“Hmm, would you mind taking the stairs?” I shifted my weight from leg to leg. “Ya know, cameras and stuff.”
“It’s a skyscraper,” she hissed.
“Oh, come on. Going down shouldn’t be that hard for you.”
Shut the fuck up, my brain yelled at me. I really had a way with words.
She dashed like a bat out of hell, leaving skid marks on the marble. I turned around, raising my palms at Sailor.
“I can explain.”
She said nothing. Just stared at me. Which was worse than being yelled at, somehow.
“We were just watching a movie.”
“Were you using her bra as glasses?” Sailor inquired dispassionately.
“Actually, the bra was a recent development. She wanted to mess around. I wasn’t game.”
“Why? It’s not like it’d have made a difference. Your father probably knows she was in the apartment through CCTV. That’s why you asked me when I was going to be here today, no?”
It seemed the electricity had come back on.
Sailor didn’t wait for an answer. She sauntered briskly to the bathroom. I followed her, feeling pussy-whipped, sans the pussy. The implausible tininess of her person in contrast to the impact she had on my life made me want to tear this place to its bones and watch it collapse, brick by brick.
“Wrong. I didn’t even know her until a couple hours ago. I ordered DoorDash, planning to listen to the material Knox sent me from Syllie, and she was the delivery girl. She said the electricity was down in the entire building. She came up the stairs because the elevators were down. Da doesn’t know.”
“That sounds like a great porn script,” Sailor mumbled, turning on the tap and trying to wash her face. She tried to claw the makeup off with her fingernails. She had no idea how to remove makeup, but pointing that out was going to make her maim me with her bow.
“It does, doesn’t it?” I stroked my jaw, thinking about the positions I’d fuck Sailor if we ever made a porno together. “Point is, nothing happened. I’m allowed to have female friends.”