by Monroe, Max
“All those numbers?” Wes questions with a laugh. “She loves it. Pretty sure she’s going to be managing my hedge fund by the time she’s twenty.” Kline smiles. “Win’s feeling the blues, though. Says her baby is growing up too fast.”
Milo smiles, even though I’m not sure he’s ever met Wes’s stepdaughter, and I don’t miss the pathetic fucking longing that goes with it. The bastard’s been a fucking goner since he got involved with his best friend Evan’s little sister. Now, he’s engaged to be married and apparently ready to add some mini-Milos into the mix.
Wait a minute…
“Oh God,” I groan at him, throwing my head back dramatically. “Don’t tell me Maybe is pregnant already.”
“Is she?” Trent asks, his inflection going noticeably upward at the end. Because, unlike me, he’s excited.
Love-sick fools. The whole lot of ’em.
“No,” Milo says with a little smile. “I’m just thinking about the day she will be.”
“Ugh,” I groan, miming sticking a finger down my throat. “First of all, you just got en-fucking-gaged, you bastard. And secondly, are we really talking about women and babies during poker night? And not, like, the good part of women, like how well their pretty mouths can wrap around our cocks. But how lovely they are?”
Trent laughs. “Yeah, Cap. If you stopped sleeping your way through the entire city, you might find out why.”
I scoff. “Fuck that. I’m not like you guys. I like a plethora of pussy, and I like it often. I’m not gonna tie myself to one chick for the sake of…what? Insanity?”
Trent shakes his head, while Milo smiles behind his drink, the fucker. They’re absolutely convinced I’ll be just like them one day, twiddling my dick while some high-class chick shops with my money.
But they don’t know me like they think they do. I like my life the way it is. Full of freedom and fucking and anything else I want to do.
My time is my own, and my body, a free agent.
I get to sample the best of the best, over and over if I want or just take a taste. I have my cake, and I eat it too, and fuck anyone who thinks just because it’s the way of the world, I need to change my ways.
In fact, after today, there’s a new pussy on the horizon, new fun to be had.
The pretty blonde with the hot body at the library who apparently likes to listen to audiobooks that are reminiscent of some of sixteen-year-old Cap’s favorite pornos.
Goddamn, she was something. A petite little bombshell whose choice in listening pleasure has me more than intrigued.
She didn’t give me her name, but it doesn’t matter. I am a man who thrives off a good challenge, and I already know my future romp with her will be a better time than any of these fuckers has ever had.
And hell, who doesn’t love a good naughty librarian fantasy?
Certainly not me.
That pretty little librarian doesn’t know it yet, but she’s the new chase.
My new mission.
And I won’t stop until I’ve tasted her and fucked these guys and their monogamy right out of my damn head.
Ruby
As I head to my last class of the day, I ignore the way fatigue threatens to settle into my muscles and bones. I don’t have time to be tired. Hell, I never have time to be tired. Between law school and narration work and all the other shit I manage to fill in my not-at-all free time, I’m barely keeping my head above water most days.
I snag a banana and a granola bar out of my bag and look both ways before doing what I love to call the New York bob-and-weave across the busy street and back onto the sidewalk.
It only takes me two blocks to scarf down the pathetic and very late lunch, but thankfully, the constant ache that had settled into my stomach wanes.
I’m a girl who loves to eat but one who is so busy somedays, she rarely remembers to actually do so. With the way I love carbs, it speaks more of just how busy my life is than anything else.
A piercing whistle cuts through the sound of the Avett Brothers’ “Live and Die” streaming through my headphones, and I turn to look over my shoulder and up the crowded NYC sidewalk.
A tall figure with dark brown hair and a tacky mustache stands out above the rest and makes me smile.
My best friend Kevin has been my rock throughout the entirety of law school. We’re both in our third year at NYU Law, but he’s a couple years younger than I am. I took a year and a half off between getting my bachelor’s degree from the University of Southern California to travel the United States, exploring all the corners of our country few people get to see.
It was sketchy sometimes, being a woman by herself on the road, and drained all of the money I’d saved from odds-and-ends jobs during high school and undergrad, but by and large, it’s become the most impactful year and a half of my life thus far.
I’ve seen so many different facets of life that exist here—right here in this country—and the different ways they live and work. There are cultures and subcultures and nuances even below that, that I, a California girl, never would have known existed otherwise.
And I like to think it’s made me more open-minded about—and more respectful of—other people’s opinions.
Not to mention, it made me learn how to stretch a dollar to surprising lengths.
Kevin finally winds his way through the crowd and falls into step beside me. I’d say we’re shoulder to shoulder, but in reality, his shoulder is about two feet above mine. At seven foot two, he has to duck to go through doorways. I, despite many years of wishing for long legs, barely clear five feet. The sight of us walking together must be hilarious to outsiders.
“You sure stand out in a crowd, man.” I flash him a cheeky grin. “Waldo would be horrified to be your height. They’d have to rename the books Here’s Waldo just because he could never get anything by anyone.”
Kevin rolls his eyes at my teasing—something I’m always doing to him—and picks me up and into his side with one arm.
My feet tread air above the ground until I squeal my apologies. “Geez. Okay, I’m sorry, all right? You can put me down. And all this after I covered your shift at the library yesterday!”
“The two actions aren’t mutually exclusive, Gem,” he says, using the nickname he came up with for me our first year as he reacquaints me with Earth’s gravity. He lifts one finger. “Thanks for covering my shift.” Then he lifts another. “Stop mocking my height.” I shake my head as he smiles. “See? Two different things.”
“Whatever, Mom. How’d lunch with Julie’s parents go anyway?”
He groans and tightens the straps on his backpack. After a couple years of friendship, I know Kevin well enough to know that means he’s trying to figure out how to say something was fucking awful without just outright saying it was fucking awful. He’s polite like that. “Fine, I guess. Her dad kept asking me to tell him stories from my NBA days…”
I wince. Kevin played in the NBA for a month and a half before he broke his back in a car accident, and the doctors told him he could never play again. As a result, anytime anyone brings up his glory years, he doesn’t really feel much glory at all. I can’t imagine his fiancée’s father being the one asking the questions would make it any easier. How, exactly, do you tell your future father-in-law to fuck off?
“How about her mom?” I ask, trying to steer the conversational boat to smoother tides. “It’s always easier to win over the mom when you’re a guy.”
“She’s some kind of shark on Wall Street and apparently had her Bluetooth surgically placed inside her ear. Every five seconds, Julie would go to say something to her, and she’d hold up a finger in her face and say ‘You’re a go for Nina.’”
“Oh my God, stop!” I shriek. Several sidewalk power walkers turn to look at me, but I ignore them. “You’re a go for Nina? You’ve got to be making that up.”
Kevin shakes his head as he holds the door to the Frankfurt Building open for me. Two women and a beret-wearing hipster sneak out before we can walk in, and I roll my eye
s. Undergrads at NYU swarm this building like locusts, and not a single one of them I’ve met has any sense of propriety.
“I’m not. I wish I were, but I’m not. Julie was pretty much devastated.”
“Geez, Kev,” I comfort. “I’m sorry. My parents are characters… I mean, whose aren’t? But I sincerely hope my engagement lunch goes better than that one day.”
He snorts. “Well, statistically, you’ve got a good chance.”
I frown as I think of Julie, one of the sweetest people on the planet, and an idea pops into my head. “We should have, like, a little party!” When my jazz hands make Kevin frown, I tone it down and pop all the thought bubbles of champagne flutes and ribbon dancers and sword swallowers cavorting in my head to make room for something more practical. “With just a few people we know. Something special for her, though. Something to erase the memories her parents created.”
“That’s a great idea,” he agrees, clearly more on board now that I’m not mentally spending their entire wedding budget. “Maybe I can get something put together for next week.”
“I’ll help you,” I offer. “Just let me know what you need me to do.”
Kevin rolls his eyes as he holds open the door of our property law class, and I lead the way down to our preferred seats about halfway toward the front and all the way to the side. Kevin never wants to sit in the middle, for fear that he’ll block someone’s view. I personally wish he’d use his powers against Gretchen Folstein, our fellow student and the snobbiest chick in the universe, but he never goes for it.
“And when exactly do you think you’re going to do this? In all your free time?”
I laugh as I take off my backpack and slide into the seat. “I’m not that busy.”
“Come on, Gem. You’re busier than most people I know. You might sleep three or four hours a night, at a push.”
“Sometimes, I sleep five,” I say, sticking out my tongue.
“Well, whatever. I’m not going to be the one to cut it down to four, then.”
“If you’re so concerned about my schedule, why’d you let me cover for you at the library yesterday?” I challenge, and he laughs.
“Because I knew you needed the money. And because I had to go to the lunch. And because working there is usually slow enough that you can multitask, which I’m sure you did, and because I guess I’m a little bit of a selfish asshole, too.”
I shake my head with a smile. “You’re not a selfish asshole. I really have more free time than you make it sound like I do.”
He nods, though it’s clear he doesn’t really agree.
“Well, hopefully you weren’t too busy anyway.”
I think about the library yesterday…and the good-looking, smirk-wearing, smart guy who came in just before closing and managed to overhear the dirtiest portion of my audiobook.
Jesus Christ. That was embarrassing.
Or, well, I should still be trying to work my way through the embarrassment, but the sly and charming way he handled it all has my thoughts focused in a different direction that I most certainly need to ignore.
His personality was so huge, it was scary, providing him the ability to flirt without even trying. He was self-assured and to the point, and I’m almost certain he’s a whole hell of a lot of trouble.
Thank God I had the forethought not to do something stupid like give him my name. Or check the name that was associated with that library card number.
The last thing I need is to put a name to that sexy face and make him the kind of memory that sticks around.
I’m certain he’s the exact type of man I need to stay far fucking away from.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell Kevin about the sexy stranger in the library because surely, he’d get a good laugh at my scrambling while Sergio and Catarina were shouting their orgasms into the otherwise quiet of the reception area, but Professor Shank starts in on his lecture, and the classroom grows quiet.
I quickly grab my laptop, fire it up, and start typing notes as fast as I can. Professor Shank always speaks from the moment class starts until the moment it ends, and I don’t think she takes a breath at all in the time in between. I have to type a hundred and fifty words per minute just to keep up with her.
I glance away from her high-waisted pants and the back of her bob to look over at Kevin. He’s using the hunt and peck method on his keyboard, his tongue peeking out between his lips as he hits one letter at a time. It’s fucking painful to watch, and I roll my eyes before knocking his elbow with my arm.
“You’ll never get anything down like that, for God’s sake. I’ll just give you my notes.”
He smiles then, removing his hands from the keyboard and settling into his chair to better listen without argument.
This is the way it always goes, and a small part of me wonders if he’s pretending to be terrible at typing on purpose. That’s exactly the kind of thing a man would do; I’m certain of it.
I’d tilt my head in contemplation if I had the time.
Instead, I speed-type my way through the next ninety minutes of class and promise Kevin my notes when I get home.
He thanks me, stoops low to give me a kiss on the cheek, and then bounds up the stairs of the lecture hall four at a time to make it to his shift at the law library.
I grab my stuff at a much slower pace and head for the door, as I have much different obligations.
I’ve got a novel to read and a Starbucks booth to warm. Sounds luxurious, I know. But there’s a little more to it than I’m letting on.
When I first moved here to start law school, I did it on a wing and a prayer. I had a bit of money saved up, but not much, and my parents removed any chance of paying for more education when I took time off to travel the country.
But NYU Law was an option I couldn’t turn down, despite knowing it was going to take some sort of a miracle to keep myself from becoming homeless.
Rent in this city is ridiculously inflated—especially if you’ve ever lived anywhere else—and as a result, I live in a tenth-floor walkup.
But it’s a place I can rest my head at night, an amenity I pay for with something I, quite frankly, stumbled into.
I’ve always loved books, especially books about love. They make my days bright and my nights warm, and reading them has taught me almost as much about the world as traveling.
Every night, I’m able to immerse myself in a new city, a new time, a new world.
When I got really busy working three jobs to stay afloat, I started listening to audiobooks. They were a way to get my fix without having to stop moving.
After listening to close to a hundred of them, studying the way they sounded and comparing it to the way I read in my head, I realized I might be able to do it too.
It took me a month and a half to save up enough money to rent booth time to make a demo, but it turned out to be one of the best investments of my life.
I was hired a week later as a narrator for my first novel, and because I want to keep my law school life and narration life separate, I’ve been working under the pseudonym Elizabeth Aster—my late grandmother’s name—ever since. It’s how I’m paying for law school and my apartment and, give or take, enough food to keep myself from becoming malnourished.
It’s also my sanity in the middle of an extremely chaotic life.
Because the more involved in everything I became, the more I realized I didn’t want to give up any of it. I want to narrate books and be a lawyer. I want to put in enough hours to know what I need to pass the bar exam, and I still want to have time to read for pleasure.
And one day—one distant, fantastical, almost mythical day—I want to have a family. A guy who can’t get enough of me, a sex life to go along with it, and the support I’ve spent years giving to myself—only, from someone else.
They’re big dreams, all of which require a lot of work and sacrifice, but somehow, I know I’ll make them come true.
I always do.
Starbucks on Fifth and 32nd is
jam-packed full of businesspeople and tourists alike as I squeeze my way in the door. The line is long and the baristas are busy, but I’m not here for the coffee anyway.
I’m here for the space and free Wi-Fi, plain and simple.
I weave my way through the crowd to the back of the small store and grab the only empty booth in the place before some guy wearing high-rise socks and sandals can snag it for himself.
He looks at me like he’s expecting an apology, but I’m sorry to say, he won’t get it.
There are few things I’m cutthroat about, but my booth in Starbucks to read between class and recording is absolutely one of them. I will cut a bitch and her baby should she get in the way of reading in the ambiance of a good dark roast, so you can imagine what I’d do to sandals guy if tempted.
Cutthroat? Maybe a little. But you have to have a spine of steel to live in this city.
I slide my bag onto the seat next to me, pull out my Kindle, and flip open the book I’ll be recording today.
It’s a really interesting story about a celebrity turned recluse, a bearded, hot-as-hell man who rescues a woman who gets separated from her tour group in the brush. She’s unconscious when he takes her back to his cabin, dresses her wounds, and nurses her back to health, but when she wakes up, boy oh boy, do things heat up.
She’s just what he needs to rejoin the land of the living, and he’s the reality check she needs to ground her.
They’re a great match, and I’m thrilled to be working with such top-notch material.
I scan through a page, trying to make sure there aren’t any words that are going to trip me up and make a few notes on certain emotions I want to try to hit.
I’m about to flip back to my spot in the book when an alert pops up on my phone.
I grab it from the tabletop and open the messages to see one from my mom. I roll my eyes. She only texts or calls about once a week, but when she does, I always know it’s going to be interesting.
Mom: Dateline tonight is about a girl living on her own in NYC who stumbles into the sex trade business and spends six years of her life living a nightmare in every remote corner of the world.