With a headache and drool on his pillow, Max slowly is brought back to the conscious world. Still laying down, he pulls his knees up to his chest to stretch his glutes, turning his head to look around the room. There, next to him, is Tiffany, her makeup smeared but still beautiful.
“Morning, Rich Boy.”
His breath catches in his throat. Realizing with a sinking feeling in his stomach that his dream wasn't a dream at all. Tiffany is laying next to him, one eye smeared with eyeliner, a sleepy smile on her face. She leans in and kisses him and a chill runs up his spine. The kiss feels nice, but it's wrong.
Tiffany has always been more of a little sister to him. There's so many things keeping him from even considering her romantically. For one, she comes from a poor family and her parents hold his wealth against him. For another thing... she isn't Charlotte.
“Did we...?” He asks, too scared to finish the question he already knows the answer to. Tiffany cocks her head to one side, her red hair falling in tangled waves down her back.
“Did we have sex?” She clarifies. “Yeah, we did. You were my first.”
Oh, God. I took her virginity and now I have to somehow explain to her that this wasn't ever meant to happen. A bead of sweat slips down Max's forehead before dripping from his nose. Tiffany watches him for a moment, suddenly realizing this won't be the happy moment she was hoping for. No, he's not going to suddenly want to date her.
“We don't have to be awkward about this,” she says. She smiles as casually as she can muster, hoping that it will fool Max.
“Okay,” he replies.
“I'm fine with taking our friendship to the next level, or not. It's like, whatever, right?” She says. He wishes he could give her what she wants, but he can't. He doesn't feel that way about her and never has. Max's heart sinks. How is he supposed to let this beautiful woman down?
“Tiffany, look.” He stops and thinks, the pause long and awkward. He starts again. “Things with Charlotte are complicated but, you know. And you know that we probably can't ever work, since your family hates me.”
Max can't bear to look at her while he's crushing her heart in his own hands. Instead, he picks at his fingernails, and then at the callous on his palm from weight lifting. He hears her sniffle but still doesn't look up.
The bed shifts as Tiffany stands up. She gulps down the bile in her throat, the taste of battery acid that always accompanies being let down. This taste is one she knows better than the taste of alcohol. “Hey, Rich Boy, that's fine. I meant that our next step could be like, friends with benefits or something. What did you think I meant?” She tries to choke out a laugh. It almost sounds convincing. “Anyway, I have work in a little bit, so I'm gonna go. Text me next time you're at the club.”
She covers her breasts and looks around the room before opening up Max's shirt drawer. “Gonna borrow one of these, okay?”
Max nods and looks away again as she slips his shirt on over her head. It swallows her, the bottom of the shirt going well past the bottom of her leather skirt. Glancing at her, Max catches her wiping away one tear and then fluffing out her fake red hair in the mirror.
“Later,” she says, sounding cheerful. How does she manage to sound like that?
“Later.” His voice isn't much more than a whisper.
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Dalia Daudelin is a young erotica and romance author. She started writing and self publishing in 2012 and hasn't looked back since.
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The Sadist's Series Season One (Love and Sex for Money) Page 6