Duarte LA - Taste of Utopia

 

Dedication Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two Chapter Twenty-Three Chapter Twenty-Four Chapter Twenty-Five Fall Out Girl Chapter One Chapter Two

A Taste of Utopia Copyright ©2015 By L. Duarte All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the author of this book. This is a work of fiction. Names, character, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. License Notes This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.   Interior formatting by Cassy Roop of Pink Ink Designs

 

  To my husband and children

  MOST PEOPLE CELEBRATE their birthdays. Not me. I celebrate the anniversary of my death. That’s the date I did the one noble act of my shallow life: I died. They say memories aren’t as accurate as one would think. But I clearly remember that day. It’s etched in my brain, encoded and stored in my mind, and promptly ready for retrieval. I still remember the stench of melted plastic and burning wood. I can feel the warmth irradiating from the crumpled structure. I can perfectly picture the smoke curling up in the sky, resembling snakes rising upward under the influence of a snake charmer. I approached a firefighter holding a metal clipboard. He was making notes and assessing the damages. “Excuse me, what happened here?” He glanced up from the clipboard. His brows furrowed, silently asking me if I was seriously asking him this question. “A fire,” he finally responded with the impatient tone of someone stating the obvious. “But . . . but what happened?” I scrunched up my face. “Too early to determine. We do know, however, that the fire started in a stove. It appears it was some sort of explosion.” “Did anyone get hurt?” My heart threatened to come out of my mouth. Were Mom and Luna okay? “Two fatalities. A female and her teenage son,” he said, turning his back to me and resuming his notes. Though sluggish, my mind processed the information. Mom. Female body. Her son. Mom was dead. I clenched my teeth to avoid the tears burning the back of my eyes from falling. Subsequently, it hit me. They assumed the guy’s body to be me. Me. But why? A flash of Jerry placing my probation bracelet around his ankle crossed my mind. Of course. They assumed his body was mine. That’s when I should have called the firefighter back. Informed him I was not dead. Asked if he’d seen my cousin Luna. But the words lodged in my throat and I couldn’t bring them out. Petrified, I stared at the house for what could have been hours. It was destroyed. In its place were a charred skeleton and a pile of ashes. When I finally snapped out of my stupor, I decided I had to find Luna. Explain everything. Tell her I was alive, that they had misidentified Jerry’s body as mine.

Altered voices caught my attention. I circled the house. That’s when I saw Caleb, my Cousin Luna’s boyfriend. The guy I was sure was the love of her life. He was arguing with an older man. Immediately, I recognized the man. He was Caleb’s dad. Also, he was the judge presiding over my drug-related case. As I approached, I heard Caleb saying, “Nothing will keep me away from Luna now, Dad. Jake’s dead. You can’t use him to separate us anymore.” I took a few steps back. Caleb’s dad was using my pending case to blackmail Caleb and separate him from Luna. I fled without them noticing my presence. I went back to the blue bench at the beach where I had passed out from drinking. I sat there for hours, thinking. I realized, I was unconsciously destroying Luna’s shot at happiness. But there was a way I could avoid further damaging her life. If I were dead, there would be no more blackmailing. Caleb and Luna could be together. Free from me. Free from my baggage of screwed-up decisions. When night fell, I hitchhiked a ride and skipped town. And I never saw my cousin Luna again . . .

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I PUSH OPEN THE door to Chemistry   101. Long, confident strides take me to the middle seat in the first row. I place my notebook on the desk and sprawl out in the chair. I bring the tip of my pen between my teeth and chew on it. The professor writes her info on a whiteboard.

Prof. Edith Smith. Ph.D. in chemistry. E-mail: [email protected]

She proceeds to list the schedule, availability, expectations, yadda, yadda, yadda . . . The words fade and my gaze falls on the professor’s tight ass swaying as she writes the information. My eyes scan the back of her black heels and then travel to her toned and tanned calves, rising higher to her ass clad in a gray pencil skirt, and bouncing chestnut curls cascading down her back. Holy hotness. Yeah, that’s fucking material, all right. My cock twinges coming to full attention. As I readjust my jeans, Professor Smith turns and her eyes find me in the front row. Her eyes fly to my crotch catching the unsettling movement of my hand adjusting my dick. Her breath catches in her throat, her eyes darken, and I swear she reads the lewd thoughts reeling in my mind. She goes on to say what was already written on the board. “Welcome to Chemistry 101 . . .” Though I don’t pay attention, I don my utterly attentive student mask. My eyes fix on her face as if drinking the words rolling out of her painted lips. “Let’s start with basics. Chemical elements are everywhere, including the human body. We can find sixty chemical elements in the body.” She strolls toward my desk. The click of her heels echoing in the auditorium. She props a hip on my desk and continues. “Ninety-six percent of our body mass is composed of water, being made up of the main elements oxygen, carbon, hydrogen, and nitrogen. That leaves the periodic table of elements to produce the

remainder four percent.” Her hand slightly trembles as she brings her fingers to push the black-framed glasses back on her nose. Her tongue darts out of her mouth to moisten her lips. Her eyes meet mine yet again. They are dilated and dark. Oh, this will be lots of fun. All I have to do is endure two hours of mind-numbing chemistry.

A BUZZ RESONATES from hidden speakers indicating the end of the class. The immediate sound of screeching chairs erupts in the room. A herd of students race to the door, tripping over one another, anxious for freedom. Slowly I gather my books, stalling to be the last student remaining in the class. I glance up. A lanky student with greased hair glued to his forehead makes his way to the professor. Her face crumples with obvious disappointment, but quickly recovers. The sorrowful expression dissipates, and she grants the student her full and undivided attention. With my notebook in hand, I file behind the group of students exiting the room without looking back. Lingering in the hall, I wait until the lanky student leaves the room. I reenter the auditorium and quietly lock the door behind me. I step across the room as silently as a panther closing in on its prey. Professor Smith is absorbed by the task of packing away her books in a smart-looking leather messenger bag, her back toward me. With an ability mastered after years of experience, my fingers shackle her wrists and I twist them to her back. She gasps and before she has the chance to scream for help, one of my skilled hands clamps over her mouth. “Hush your dirty little mouth.” I pin her against the desk. “I don’t want a peep leaving your lips. Right at this moment your body is mine. I’m going to fuck and ravish you so thoroughly that for the rest of the semester, every step you take will remind you of my cock slamming into your pussy.” I ram my pelvis against her ass. “Are you going to be a good girl and keep quiet?” She nods. I remove the hand from her mouth. Her body trembles under me. An anguished moan escapes her throat. “You have a mighty fine ass, Professor.” One hand holds her prisoner while the other roams over her body to squeeze her voluptuous and perfectly rounded ass. I do enjoy a plump behind. Slowly, my fingers travel over her body until they find the small pearl buttons on the front of her shirt. One by one, I undo them and unfasten the front clasp of her bra. “Your tits are big and ripe.” I cup her heaving breast and pinch her nipple hard and rough. She squirms and moans loudly. I tighten my hold on her wrists and pull them back harshly. “I said quiet.” I drag her unbuttoned shirt over her shoulder, and my teeth sink into the exposed skin, punishing her for emitting the noise.

Under my firm grip, she struggles to suppress another moan. “Good girl.” I soothe the bite-mark with my tongue. I bend her over until her face rests on the desk’s surface. “I’m going to let go of your hands. If you move a muscle, I’ll punish you. Understood?” I whisper those demands into her ear, my teeth scraping the sensitive skin. She nods. I release her arms and place them over her head. I straighten my body and retreat a step. She tries to glance over her shoulder. “Don’t look at me,” I warn. She presses her cheek against the surface of the table. Her breath comes in fast gulps, and her body shakes. I caress her round derriere. “You, my lovely wench, shook your firm ass in my face to tease me, didn’t you?” My fingers grasp the hem of her tight skirt. I yank it up until it’s bunched at her waist, exposing the black lace partly covering her behind. A loud smack resonates through the room when my palm meets her butt cheek. She gasps, but doesn’t emit a sound. “You enjoyed watching me adjust my pants. You knew my cock was painfully hard. Yet, you continued to provoke me.” I caress the pink handprint where I just slapped her. I unbuckle my pants and shaft my dick with a rubber. “I could be nice, do a little foreplay, court you and all that. But I won’t. Your pussy will be punished for being such a tease.” I grip the flimsy fabric of her undergarment and rip it to shreds in one swift movement. She groans and squirms attempting to suppress her surprise and anticipation. I smile and stall. She remains still and silent. “Such an obedient slut,” I praise, sticking my hand between her thighs and cupping her sex. “Oh, my professor’s cunt is wet with need,” I tease. I place my cock at her entrance, grip her hips, and slam into her. Two hours, three orgasms, and another satisfied customer later, I count the wad of hundreds she handed me. My costumers pay in advance. However, she added a thousand dollars gratuity for turning her fantasy into reality. Being a male escort is a tough job, but somebody has to do it.

Two months later . . . I slam the door closed and glance at my watch. It’s six in the morning, almost time for my morning run. I drop my luggage on the floor, toss my rumpled jacket on the couch, and kick my shoes off. The smell of coffee beckons me to the kitchen. “Morning, Zach,” I greet my roommate and best friend as I sit on the bar stool by the granite island. “Morning to you,” he says filling a mug with the black elixir of gods—also known as coffee.

“You want some, yes?” He offers me a steamy cup. “How was your trip? Enjoyable?” Zach is wearing a silky kimono patterned with cherry blossoms. Outside the house Zach only wears manly apparels. At home, he always wears a feminine Geisha kimono. Some of them rival Japan’s imperial family’s wardrobe, in my opinion. “Thanks, man.” I retrieve the offered cup with a grin. “It was the usual: Middle of the night sex, shower sex, elevator sex, dressing room sex, public sex.” “How’s the oriental beauty?” He wiggles his brows. My grin morphs into a full-fledged smile. “If I ever get married, please remind me to marry a chick in her forties. The stamina. Damn.” “Well, too bad we can’t say the same for men.” He grins and a dimple pops on his left cheek. Zach is beyond goodlooking. He is a beautiful specimen. Tall, strong build, aquamarine blue eyes, blond—and curly—hair. “How was your date, by the way?” I ask. Zach is bisexual. Well, I’m not entirely sure what he is. As an escort, he only did women but in his personal life, he specifically dates men. “Fantastic!” he says in a singsong voice. “Though it was very chaste.” His face deflates. “We kissed goodnight and parted ways.” His expression turns dreamy. “But the kiss . . . ? Wow. Memorable. Unparalleled.” His face beams. That’s Zach. He has no poker face. I’ve never met someone so easy to read. “Not having sex on a first date doesn’t make a person chaste, you know. That’s how most relationships roll.” “Speaking of dates, you have a message from Adriana. She has a new client for you.” I frown. It must be someone important. I seldom take new customers. My schedule is booked year round with regulars. “Please say it’s a traveling gig. Destination: Fuji. Purpose: Wild beach sex.” I prop my elbows on the granite counter and press my fingers on my temples. A splitting headache is numbing me. “You look awful. Everything okay?” Zach asks, raising his brows. “Yeah, man. All is well. Just need a legit vacation.” “I’ve warned you. Too much work.” He gets the coffee pot and tops off my cup. “Between working at His Secret and your gigs with Adriana, you barely have any personal time,” he reprimands me for the millionth time. “Your lifestyle is a recipe for premature cardiac arrest.” “You shitting me? My lifestyle is extremely healthy.” Why did I mention anything about being tired? Now Zach is going to grill me with his BS about my needing to quit my job as an escort. Since our company, His Secret, started to turn in a profit, he’s been pressuring me to commit full time to it. He stares at me. His lips press into a thin, firm line before he says, “You don’t get to tell me you live a healthy life just because you eat organic, drink wheatgrass every morning, and work out like a lunatic.” “Someday, you’re going to make a great dad,” I tease. “I’m serious, S. You need to take the time to chill out and enjoy life.” “I enjoy life. Have you seen my closet? My car?” I wave my arms around me. “This apartment?”

“I’m not talking about material possessions, Seth. I’m talking about having fun, meeting people, and going out.” “I went to New York on a chartered plane.” I hold out my hand and count on my fingers as I boast the events of the previous days. “Visited museums. Watched the New York Philharmonic. Dined at Rao’s. Spent a week in a suite at Ritz-Carlton. And went shopping at exclusive boutiques on Fifth Ave. I even rode in one of those fucking corny carriages in Central Park. But, you dare say I don’t enjoy life? Oh, and did I mention how much I paid for any of the mentioned extravaganzas?” I make the universal sign for zero dollars. “Does it ever occur to you that soon, we’ll be able to afford to pay for all of those and much more with the money from our company? Dude, His Secret is taking off. We’re about to dominate the international market. No small feat, my friend.” “When we get there, I’ll consider leaving Tailored.” “Why don’t I believe you? Oh, yes, because you don’t sound convincing.” “I enjoy what I do. I enjoy fucking women. What can I say? Sue me!” I shrug. “Yeah, yeah. You do. And it’s easy to hide behind sex.” “Here we go again.” I raise my hands up. When I drop them, they hit the counter with more force than I anticipated. “I’m not sugar coating, S. You seriously need to reassess your life. And while you’re at it, you should consider reevaluating your values.” “I have plenty of uncomplicated sex with gorgeous women. Tell me what’s to evaluate about that.” “Sex. What about satisfaction?” “Get as much as I give, bro.” “Intimacy. Spooning. Arguments. I just read an article claiming that arguing with your partner decreases the chance of Alzheimer’s. It stimulates the brain, challenges you.” “I get all I want from my arrangements.” “I’m talking relationships, Seth. Real dates. Fights. Romance.” “Did I tell you about the stamina of my last client?” I rub the overnight growth on my cheeks. “I got to fuck a gorgeous woman senseless. Did I also mention she was starving for attention and requested multiple orgasms? She woke me up with a blow job most mornings. Need I continue?” “She paid you for the attention and the orgasms. I’m talking about intimacy, bonding, and companionship.” “You’re redundantly pleading your case.” “You need friends. A social life.” “Hey, I thought you and I were friends, Dr. Phil.” I cock my head. “My point exactly. I’m your sole friend, yes? That’s not much to write home about.” “Good thing I don’t have anyone to write home to.” I wanted to sound playful, but it came out bitter. “Fatigue makes you grumpy. Why don’t you drink your wheatgrass and go ahead and take a nap?” Right, I haven’t slept for over twenty-four hours. My body is in a dire need of rest. “Nah, I have to work out.”

“C’mon. Your temple,”—he waves a hand over my body—“can wait for worship. You need the rest. Adriana said the new client is young, wealthy, and inexperienced. You’ll need your strength and endurance.” He wiggles his brows. “Fucking hell, some spoiled patrician. Hate those.” “Well, hazards of the job.” He lets out a mirthful laughter. “Can’t always have the older women.” “Yeah, damn shame.” I put the empty mug in the sink and head for my room.

TWO HOURS LATER, I dial Adriana’s number. “Hey, Querido, how’s the best city in the world?” Adriana asks, her Brazilian accent dragging more than usual. “Diverse and noisy as ever.” I lounge on my bed. “Are you okay? You sound stuffy.” “I’m just getting over a cold.” She sniffs and coughs. “So, what do you have for me?” “Did you get your beauty sleep, yet?” “Nah, just finished my workout, grabbed something to eat, and thought I’d call you.” “So you’re in for tonight?” “When have I ever let you down? “Well, after a week with the nymphomaniac I feared you’d need a break.” “Nah, I’m good. But tell me about tonight. Zach said she’s a new client and a young chick?” “Yeah, sorry about that. I tried my best to push Mario or James, but after seeing your picture she was adamant that you’d be perfect for her friend.” I settle in a chair to hear the details for tonight. Well, I guess life could be worse than being paid to fuck some spoiled brat.

Lottie

“BE STILL!” CHLOE reprimands me for the umpteenth time. “Why did you blow-dry my hair straight if you were going to curl it?” I rub my burning ear. “My goodness, if you don’t sit still, I’m turning into Maleficent.” Chloe fancies that line of thinking tonight. Apparently, I’m Cinderella and she’s my Fairy Godmother.  “You’re hurting me,” I protest to no avail. Chloe continues to curl my hair into submission. “And Maleficent is from Sleeping Beauty, not Cinderella.” “Technicality. They’re all fairy tales.” She continues to tame my hair with the curling iron. “Beauty has a price, Lottie. And tonight we’re both paying up.” I huff out and blow a strand of hair falling over my eyes. To celebrate my twenty-first birthday, Chloe brought me to her home in Vegas. We’re going clubbing. God help me. With a smile in her voice, she continues. “Tonight, you’re going to have your very first orgasm. It will be the dawn of a new era in our lives.” I open my mouth to confess the truth to Lottie. “Yes, that’s the plan,” I say instead. Coward, you’re the worst friend in the history of friends. Guilt gnaws at my chest. Chloe and I met in the dorms at Yale during our freshman year. We were two geeks who hit it off within the first five minutes together. And I knew immediately that I had found a friend to the end of time. When we first met, for a reason beyond my understanding, we talked about sex. I wanted to impress her—we would be roommates for a year! So I told her I had had sex with my high school boyfriend. I also said I hadn’t had an orgasm, and we broke up right after. In reality, we never consummated the act. At the last minute, I couldn’t go through with it. As a result, I became the laughing stock of the school. Things like “Frigid,” “Celibate Belt,” and “Holy Virgin Mary,” were often written outside my locker.

Now here we are, years later, and I haven’t had the courage to ‘fess up and tell Lottie I had lied to her on that first day we met, that I am still a virgin. Every year since we met, we’ve roomed together. During summer vacations and holidays, we spend time at each other’s houses. In her case, the penthouse of the Constellation. How can I come clean after all these years of being the bestest of best friends? “Ouch, my ear.” I place a protective hand over my singed earlobe. “Shut up and put your big-girl panties on,” she says sternly, but I hear a smile in her voice. “You just burned me. Again!” “Shush or I swear to God, your twenty-first birthday will be memorable for the wrong reasons.” I slip back into the role of Bella from Twilight or Anastasia from Fifty Shades of Gray. Chloe and I are both bookworms. Hence, her silly attempts to play Alice or Kate and doll me up. I accept the part knowing it makes her happy. However, in reality this spectacle is the dramatization of a different book. Beauty and the Beast. And I play the part of Beast when they tried to beautify him for Belle. For the next two hours, Chloe pulls, curls, infuses a bottle of hair spray on my hair, and uses hundreds of bobby pins. Relentlessly, she applies layers upon layers of makeup on my face. Finally, with her face beaming with satisfaction, Chloe runs her fingers through the tight curls falling over my shoulders. “Why go to all of the trouble of curling my hair if you’re going to just smooth it out?” I ask irritated. She doesn’t make any sense. Pull straight, curl, pull straight again. Argh. “Just shut up,” she says with a proud smile spreading on her face. She applies another layer of lipstick on my painted lips. “Oh God, Lottie.” She sighs. “Close your eyes.” I obey. She grabs my hand and guides me. “Right here.” We both come to a halt. Anxiety snakes its way through my chest, making me inhale a much-needed breath of air. “Open your eyes,” Chloe says softly. I hesitate. Mostly because I’m schooling my face into my best fake smile. I don’t want to disappoint her. Despite Chloe’s efforts, she isn’t a miracle maker. I wasn’t blessed in the beauty department. Reluctantly, I succumb. When my eyes find the image reflected in the mirror, they widen and my red lips part as I gasp. My trembling fingers touch the flawless skin. The image reflected in the mirror is not me. She is, I dare say. . . . beautiful. “I told you, the makeup course I took would be worth it,” Chloe says, clasping her hands and sighing dreamily. “You are a miracle worker.” “Nope.” She waves her hand in mocking modesty. “Tonight I’m just your Fairy Godmother, Cinderella.” In disbelief, I sigh deeply. “I just hope midnight doesn’t strike soon. Thank you,” I whisper.

“You deserve it, Lottie. We both deserve to be happy. And it’s time we seek it. Write our own destiny and all that jazz.” “I look so different.” “You look like the gorgeous woman I know you to be.” Tears burn the back of my eyes. “No. Don’t cry,” she says softly. “Your eyes are going to be all puffy. Besides, you’ll ruin my masterpiece.” She dabs the tears off my face. “You’re beautiful. After tonight, our lives will never be the same.” She gives me a brief hug and walks to the closet. “Let me get your second birthday present.” Since it’s our summer vacation, Chloe’s gift to me was the airplane ticket to come and spend a week in Vegas. Apparently, she got me something else. “Come on, paying for my ticket was already too generous. You shouldn’t have bought me anything else.” “Trust me, Lottie, I’ve only just begun. Wait until you see your main gift. It’ll be unforgettable.” She squeals in excitement. Chloe collects a hanger from the closet. “Present number two.” The hanger’s cover announces in bold letters that its contents are from Prada. Her fingers swiftly unzip it, revealing a strap of fabric sewed together. I gasp again. This time in horror. I can’t wear something so tiny. It would barely cover my behind. Besides, with my curvy figure I would look hideous. To make matters worse, the micro dress is red. Bright, bold, blinding red. “Oh, no. No, no, no. I won’t be caught dead in that.” “You swore on your life you would live wild tonight.” “Showcasing my derriere has nothing to do with it.” “You promised to do as told. Besides, only your back will be on display.” I did promise. We made a pact that we would live a night of debauchery. Not for one minute did I think it would include a tiny red dress. Resigned, I push the robe off my shoulders. “Where’s the bra?” “Silly, you don’t wear a bra under this dress.” A frustrated groan finds its way from the back of my throat. And as a lamb walking to the slaughter, I step into the dress she holds out in front of me. I examine my reflection again. The dress has a halter top with a floaty skirt that covers only midway to my thigh. I turn only to see that the bare back dips low and dangerously close to my buttocks. Chloe kneels in front of me and slides a pair of silver Louboutin heels on my feet. I’ll be lucky to survive my twenty-first birthday without cracking my neck. The stilettos feel several feet high. “Now, just like we practiced, confident and elegant.” She stands up and claps her hands. Her Alice complex is growing to unhealthy levels.

“Not one male in that club will go home without dreaming about getting you in the sack.” She pulls me by the hand toward her bed. “I’ll be ready in a few minutes.” “Payback is a bitch, Chloe. Wait until you turn twenty-one.” Laughter trails her as she goes to get ready. For almost an hour, I wait for Chloe. I don’t move a muscle, fearing death if I ruin any of her work. Again, I consider the possibilities of tonight. Perhaps it’s time I hook up with a random guy and lose my virginity and all the romantic notions I grew up nursing from reading too many romance novels. Or maybe I can just confess the truth. It’s mortifying keeping this from Chloe. Most people have a slew of secrets. Not me. I have two. In my entire life, I managed to collect two secrets. They both haunt me daily. One is the lame lie of having had sex. The other . . . Well, the other’s too dark. It has the power to cloak my family in darkness. So I avoid thinking about it. Lottie reappears in the room and snatches me from my musings. She’s wearing a charcoal dress that displays all her curves. “You look gorgeous,” I say. “Thank you.” She spins. “Ready?” she asks. “Yep,” I say. We link arms and leave the penthouse of the Constellation Hotel. In the lobby, we stroll to the front desk. All the while I’m terrified to fall off my high heels and land on my behind. Melissa, the hotel manager, flashes a warm smile at us. “Hey girls, are you heading out?” I wave a hand. “Hi, Melissa.” According to Chloe, the manager used to be her nanny. “Yeah, tell Daddy not to wait up,” Chloe says. “You have your cell phone on you?” Melissa asks with a slight frown. “Of course.” Chloe rolls her eyes. “Have fun. But watch out for creepers. Vegas is infested with them.” “I know, I know.” Chloe rolls her eyes again. “Don’t accept drinks from strangers, don’t leave our drinks unsupervised, follow the buddy system. Check mark on all of those. And just to remind you, we’re going to Neptune.” Neptune, one of the hottest nightclubs in Las Vegas, is on the 50th floor of Constellation. Chloe’s father happens to own the chain of hotels. The Las Vegas hotel is the headquarters of the chain. “I trained you well,” Melissa says with a smug smile. “Hot guy at three o’clock is checking you out.” Chloe leans in and whispers in my ear. I glance back, and I see an Adonis standing in the center of the lobby. “No way,” I say breathily. “He’s just looking in this direction.” “He’s totally checking you out,” Chloe restates. “No, he is not!” Yes, he is. He’s totally checking me out, making me so nervous I want to throw up. I’m not used to being on the spot. I’m not going to hyperventilate. I chant to myself.

I glance in his direction. He smiles and winks. My legs get wobbly. Mr. Adonis winked at me! We’re locked in a stare. I want to look away. I do. But I can’t. His gaze is too intense, ensnaring me. I’m captivated. Although we’re several feet away, I feel his eyes roaming over my body like a warm caress. My cheeks feel hot. My heart goes haywire. For a moment, the babbling of the water fountain, the classic music resonating from hidden speakers, the voices surrounding me, all fade away. There’s just him and me. Electricity hums between the space separating us. It sparkles and crackles in every direction. He takes a few steps in my direction but stops abruptly. His brows furrow and he shakes his head slightly. In the beat of a second, I see a war waging on his face. Then his expression goes dark. No, it goes blank. Gone is the flirtatious Mr. Adonis. He rakes his hand through his perfectly styled hair, making it spike in all directions. If he was sexy before, now he’s smoking hot. Totally. Combustible. Suddenly he turns away and strolls toward the elevator without a second glance. Upon closer inspection, he must have realized I was just an ugly duckling playing Cinderella for the night. I want to go back to my room and curl up in bed. I swallow the heavy lump lodged in my throat and forge a smile. “He must have forgotten his contact lenses in his room,” I say matter-of-factly. However, my stomach is in a tight knot. I don’t usually get my hopes up. Guys don’t take a second glance at me. And most certainly, not Adonis’ hot incarnation. When he looked at me, the hunger I saw in his eyes liquefied me down to the bone. I’m not talking about a sexual, predatory stare. Well, it was that too. I felt desired. But it was more. His eyes peeked into the recess of my soul. I never had anyone looking at me like that before. And the horrifying thing is: I liked it. No, I loved the tingling sensation surging through my bloodstream, making me giddy. “Did you look at yourself in the mirror? You look stunning. Edible!” Chloe gloats. She leans in and adds, “And tonight, you’re going to get laid and have your first orgasm, so help me God.” I glance at Melissa, but apparently oblivious to what Chloe just said, she punches the computer’s keyboard. We bid Melissa adieu and head to the same elevator Mr. Adonis used. As it ascends to the nightclub, I make the decision to forget the handsome face of the stranger. Tonight is about having fun. The doors part and I step out. Butterflies flutter in my stomach, and I welcome the excitement. Tonight will be unforgettable. I can feel it.

Seth

I TOSS THE KEYS to my BMW to the valet, and adjust my button-down shirt. As I enter the luxurious lobby of the Constellation, the eyes of an overweight and middle-aged woman makes its way to my package—yep, I’m referring to my boy part. My penis. Her eyes scan my body, and when her gaze meets mine, I flash a broad smile and wink. A warm glow of pleasure tints her face. With eyes filled of embarrassment, she looks away. Most likely she’s not used to being the recipient of admiration. If she only knew how beautiful she truly is. I cannot fault her or most women for feeling inadequate. The standards set by society dictates that unless you have the same figure as a Barbie doll, you aren’t pretty enough. Vexing the situation, most men are b lind assholes who fail to see and celebrate the diversity of beauty. I’m not claiming to be a martyr who only sees the beauty beneath. I also admire a babe when I see one. However, I don’t attach beauty to body size, hair color, age and all that. It’s a crap idea prepackaged by the media and shoved down the throats of willing victims. No, my vision of beauty is unhindered and unveiled. Mindlessly, I stroll across the lobby. And that’s when I see her . . . standing under a dome decorated with a perfect replication of the Ursa Major constellation. My body comes to a halt. Then my mind, my heart, even the air surrounding me seems to come to a standstill. I cock my head and examine her. The red dress she wears dips low on her back. I haven’t seen her face yet, but it doesn’t matter. Something about her tugs at my heart, a magnetic pull of sorts. Another girl is standing next to her and glances at me. She looks familiar, but my mind’s fogged. I can’t remember from where. I continue to stare at her back, willing her to turn around. My palms become damp. What in the fucking hell is wrong with me? The girl with the familiar face whispers something in her ear. Both girls look my way. My eyes fix on the girl with the red dress. Wow. She’s breathtakingly beautiful.

A shy smile blooms on her cherry lips. There’s no pretense in her face. It’s pure and sincere and wildly demure. Her gaze casts down, and her alabaster skin turns an adorable shade of pink. The brilliant lights of Ursa Major dim before her beauty. She’s the brightest star I have ever seen. Her light is blinding. Finally, my heart lurches back into gear and I resume breathing. I offer my two-thousand-dollar-an-hour smile and wink at her. My feet, as if disconnected from my brain, take a few steps in her direction. Then the memory of who I am, and what I’m doing here, rolls into my head like a bulldozer. An insane thought tumbles with the awareness—I can call in sick. Oh, that’s fucking brilliant! I pull on my hair. For the first time in years, I resent what I do for a living. I must be delusional to think I can act like the typical nine-to-five person. Sobering my mind, I shake off the urgent desire to approach her. I plunge back into my reality and stride away. I enter the gilded elevator that will take me to the nightclub where I’ll meet my client. It’s almost eleven, the appointed time. Kissing those cherry lips isn’t on tonight’s schedule. I bypass the line to enter Neptune and give my name to the bouncer. He swings the door open, allowing me in. Inside the club, my eyes do a quick scan. Although this isn’t my first time here, I admire the outer space meets shabby-chic decor. From a blue sphere simulating the planet Neptune, a DJ plays a Lady Gaga remix. The crowd, with their arms raised, swings their bodies on the dance floor. The vibe reeks of exclusivity and money. Neptune is the go-to hot spot for locals with fame and fortune. The VIP section where I’m supposed to meet my companion is empty. So I buy an overpriced vodka tonic with lime and head out to the patio. Outside, the sound of music is quieter. A warm breeze washes over my heated body. I lean on the wall that snakes around the ledge of the building, soaking in the magnificent view of the strip. My mind reels back to Cherry Lips. No longer caring about my preppy and perfectly styled hair, I run my fingers through it. That smile. My heart skips another beat at the thought of seizing those lips into a kiss. My mind wanders and I imagine her face flushed with desire, her eyes staring up at me as I take her. Then, I picture her hair tousled from sex, her lips turned up in a sated smile. Shit, I’m hard as fuck. I adjust my pants and chug my drink. I have to purge her out of my mind. I’m not about to fail to perform with a client because I’m pussy whipped by a girl I saw for less than two seconds, a girl I’ll probably never see again. I head back inside the club. With another glance at the VIP area, I see my companion has yet to arrive. I weave through the throng of people on the dance floor, matching my body to the tempo of the song and crowd. The DJ plays a remix of “Star to Fall” by Cabin Crew. With my eyes closed, I join the dance. My body pulses to the energetic rhythm of the music. I feel the same electric tug I had felt earlier. Damn, I have to get Cherry Lips out of my head. I flutter my eyes open. That’s when I see her. Again. My mind goes numb while my body continues to move to the beat of the song. She’s standing at the bar, her friend talks and flirts with the bartender as if they’re close friends. They must be regulars. Time stretches, bends, and twists as I battle to resist the pull drawing me to her.

Oblivious to my internal turmoil she stands as if she’s the very star I’d been waiting all my life to emerge in the sky. Yes, I do feel like an idiot. Shit like I’m thinking is the makings of a Hallmark Channel movie. I rake through my hair with two exasperated hands. The direction of my thoughts irritates me. I cast a last glance at the VIP session. The client remains a no-show. On an impulse, I decide to introduce myself to Cherry Lips. Perhaps talking to her would break the spell I’ve fallen under, demystify the allure surrounding her. I push through the throng of moving bodies, heading toward the girls. When I have a clear vision of the bar again, she and her friend have disappeared. Relief floods me. It wasn’t meant to be. I spin back to the dance floor and resume dancing. Again, I glance at the VIP area. For the second time tonight, my body goes rigid. Cherry Lips stands inside. In total dismay, I study her. With her hips swaying to the beat of the music, she watches the crowd. Her friend says something in her ear, and she tilts her head back in delighted laughter. In my head, I recapture the conversation I had with Adriana. “A threesome?” I asked. “No, no. Her best friend’s birthday. And you are the gift.” “Do I add a bow to my dick?” “Querido, your cock is gorgeous as it is. No need for embellishments.” She lets a throaty laugh out and continues, “Now, get this, the girl hiring your services is Chloe Greenberg, the heiress to Constellation. I’m sending her picture so you can identify her at the club . . .” No fucking way. Cherry Lips’ eyes find mine, bringing me back to reality. Damn. It’s her birthday, and I’m the gift. A slew of mixed emotions swamps me. I need another drink. That’s why her friend’s face had been familiar earlier. But my mind was too infatuated for me to make the connection. The perspective of fucking Cherry Lips senseless hits me. My cock stands at attention. However, for some unfathomed reason, I don’t want to be her hired fuck. Not hers. Well, fuck me. Better make that drink a double. I push my way to the bar and order two drinks to send over to them and another double vodka tonic for myself. I toss the liquor back hoping for liquid courage. It burns my throat. I grimace and slide the cup across the bar top. “Another one, please,” I call over the loud music. Perched on the barstool, I inconspicuously study Cherry Lips. She and her friend remain in the VIP section. After what appears to be an argument over the drinks I had sent, the server points to me, and they accept them. Chloe Greenberg raises her glass my way. She probably knows I’m the hired fuck. I raise my glass back, my eyes never leaving Cherry Lips. She looks down. Either she’s painfully shy, or is playing coy.

Either way, I snap into my role of predator. According to Adriana’s directions, I am to pursue her with the casualty of a regular guy out clubbing and hunting for the night. And I am never to mention the word escort. I understand. The word can be a killjoy. Well, I can live with that. I’m used to role-playing. They pay for fun and sex and I always deliver. For the next few hours, I would be a typical guy. I would flirt and score the girl with cherry lips. At the end of the night, she would writhe under me, moaning in pleasure. Life would go on.

Lottie

“WE CAN’T ACCEPT drinks from a stranger,” I remind Chloe. “Who sent it?” Lottie asks the server. “The gentleman leaning against the bar. The taller one.” “Oh my God, look! It’s the guy that we saw in the lobby earlier. He’s the one who bought us drinks.” Chloe nods in the general direction of the bar. I follow her gaze. There he is, in all the splendor of his divine beauty. Our eyes meet. The lights flash on his face, revealing his intense gaze. “Who prepared the drinks?” I ask. The server certainly knows who Chloe is. I mean, everybody here must be under orders to keep an eye on us. “The bartender, ma’am. I witnessed.” With a  surge of giddiness dizzying my head, I agree with Chloe, and we accept the drinks. I hold an elegant glass filled with a red liquid that matches my dress and sip from it. A bittersweet taste floods my mouth. He bought me a drink! In the movies that’s the cue a guy’s interested. Oh my, I can’t bring myself to believe he’s interested in me. I glance down, breaking eye contact. If I continue to look at him, I’ll drool and make a fool of myself. Still inside the VIP area, I dance and people watch. From time to time, I steal glances toward the bar. Chloe sweeps the fancy red drink from my hand and places it on a center table. She collects two tequila shots, gives me one, and says, “Bottoms up!” In unison, we drain the liquid. It scorches my throat and sears through my bloodstream like wildfire. “Let’s dance,” Chloe yells, snatching the empty cup from my hand and placing it on the table. She grabs my hand and drags me to the dance floor.

“Rain Down Love” blasts from the speakers. The tequila I gulped goes straight to my head, giving me a slight buzz. Chloe and I are full-fledged geeks. Unapologetically. We proudly wear our thick glasses and bury our noses in books. However, there is one un-geeky thing about us. We can dance. Honest to God truth: Beyoncé doesn’t hold a candle to us when it comes to shaking our booties. Though we rarely go out, when we do, we dance the night away. I follow Chloe. Instantly, the fear of tripping over my heels dissipates. I morph into my alternate ego I like to call “Rita”—as in Rita Hayworth, one of the greatest film noir actresses and dancers. Waves of vibrating energy zing under my skin as I walk through the throng of beating bodies. We stop at the center in the middle of the writhing dancers. Every muscle in my body coils, ready to spring to life. Shyness be damned, whenever I dance a rush of confidence surges through me. I raise my hands and close my eyes, overtaken by the tempo of the music. That’s when I feel it. The air crackles and an electric energy hums through my flesh. A warm hand slides down my waist, settling on my hip. My eyes flash open. Before I can react to whoever is touching me, a charming smile gleams down at me. Mr. Adonis, in the flesh, materializes before my eyes. He dips his head to my ear and asks, “May I join you for this dance?” His voice is loud, but deep and husky, sending another wave of energy that reaches down to my marrow. I open my mouth to answer. His eyes drop to my lips. He swallows which causes his Adam’s apple to move in an erotic way. I picture my tongue running over it and dampness floods my panties. What’s wrong with me? My body’s reaction is unprecedented. Well, in my defense, the man before me is more like one of those Greek gods than an actual human. The already heated temperature of the room rises to a suffocating level. I want to say something, but manage only to produce an ungraceful sound. Thank God for small favors. I’m sure the loud music muffled it and saved me from dying of embarrassment. I give up on producing speech and eagerly bob my head in agreement. Maybe I seem a little too eager because he chuckles before moving his other hand and planting it on my hip. I swoon. My legs tremble, threatening to give out. He must sense the pathetic state my body is in. With a firm tug, he pulls me closer to him and threads a muscular thigh between my legs. Whoa! Is this too close too soon? Ah, who am I kidding? He feels good, and I have no intention of stopping. My body flushes against his and we start what is certainly the most erotic dance of my life. If I thought I was a good dancer, I have finally found my match. Mr. Adonis, to my delight, is exceptional. Even though I don’t even know his name, we dance with the intimacy of lovers. And the feelings! It’s as if we’ve known each other before, maybe in another life. A siren blares in the back of my mind as it fiercely tries to bring me back to my rational self. Vainly reminding me that this is way out of bounds. I blissfully ignore it. We continue the provocative dance. This stranger enthralls me. His body, his stare, and the way his hands possessively hold my waist, it’s all like a concoction of a strong hallucinogen. At this moment, I have no desire to be cautious or sober.

My body moves with reckless abandonment, throbbing to the commanding beat of the drums. The music, the lights, and his radiant heat all serve to transport me to an alternate world composed only of our mingled bodies. Song after song, we dance, throb, pulse. Our bodies, beaded with sweat, cling to one another. I slide my hand around his neck. He slides his hands over my ass. We grind and grapple shamelessly. If this were under different circumstances, I would be mortified. I’d never behaved so uninhibitedly toward a guy. Somehow, this stranger unhinges me to the core. Not even my alter ego, Rita, would ever behave this way. My body floats on a cloud of lust and desire. My hands travel from his neck to his chest to his shoulders. I writhe and twist with the beat of the music. All my senses are hyper-aware of his proximity. I lose track of time. We could have been dancing for years, or hours. I don’t have the slightest idea. I do know, however, that the instant lust and chemistry we initially had quickly shifts to something strangely deeper. It’s like returning home after a long journey. I shake my head, questioning my sanity but immediately discard the concern. We’re just dancing for crying out loud. People do this all the freaking time. No overthinking allowed. I decide to focus on the here and now. His hands, flat and warm over my bare back send flames blazing across my skin. I unconsciously hook my arms around his neck and press my bra-less breasts against the vast expanse of his chest. I’m apparently granting him a green light to any advances. He moves his hands under my arms, his fingers grazing lightly against the side swell of my breasts. I gasp for air. My tummy muscles clench as my hands fist his hair. I glance up, offering my lips. The tip of his tongue glides across his lips, but he doesn’t kiss me. I could die of disappointment. His hands return to my hips. His fingers dig into my skin and with a firm pull and a sudden thrust, his obscene erection presses against my lower abdomen. The pressure is so immediate and perfect that I feel my legs tremble, and my eyes roll to the back of my head. I must admit, this is the closest to an orgasm I have ever come in the arms of a man. And I want more. As bright as the sun on a cloudless day, the awareness that I want this man—this stranger, hits me. I barely recognize myself. And I don’t care. With my body singing with desire, time passes. I’m unsure of how long it has been, but all too soon Mr. Adonis leans in and asks, “You want to get something to drink?” My descent is fast and violent. I blink my eyes, realizing where I am. Dang. Where’s Chloe? I look around and see her parked on a barstool, talking to Roberto. She knows the bartender from when she used to live in the hotel. I bite my lip, momentarily unsure of what to do. But I brush the uncertainty aside and nod. He clasps my hand and pulls me toward the door, only stopping to order some drinks from a waitress. He releases my hand and pushes the patio door open. The cool night breeze touches my warm cheeks, sending a shiver through my hyper-aware body. With a hand on the small of my back, he guides me to a small gazebo.

A cascade of golden lights cast a dim glow on plush chairs. I’m uncertain if I should sit or not. A feeling of ineptitude reminds me of my inexperience in the dating department. Not to mention that under the golden light, his face gleams with astonishing beauty. I’m way out of my league here. “You must forgive my rudeness.” He flashes his perfect teeth. His voice is deep and confident. “The noise inside kept me from introducing myself.” He holds out a hand. “I’m Seth Phoenix.” “Hi,” I say. Lame, lame response. He raises a perfect brow, and a glint of amusement fills his eyes. “Oh. Uh.” Geez, what’s with me? I’m on the shy side, but I pride myself of having my wits about me—most of the time. “Sorry, I mean.” My cheeks burn. I’m certain my face is bright red, only deepening my embarrassment. “I’m—” “Lottie?” Chloe’s voice snaps me out of my stupor and rescues me from continuing my babbling. I turn to see Chloe as she sashays our way. “There you are. I’ve been looking all over for you,” she says with a note of mischief in her voice. She comes to a halt and looks at us with expectant eyes. She clears her throat and nods slightly toward Seth. “Uhm . . . Yes . . . Sorry. Um, this is Seth. Seth this is Chloe.” “Nice to meet you,” she says, offering her hand. “Likewise,” he says, displaying another killer smile. “I’m going up to my room.” She miserably pretends to stifle a yawn. “But before I go.” She leans over, pushes a square plastic card in my hand, and says into my ear, “This is your third gift. Stardust Suite.” She plants a kiss on my face and adds a, “Happy birthday.” Before I have the chance to say something, she saunters away, saying over her shoulder, “Have a good time, kids.” Panicking a little, I turn to Seth and hastily say, “Excuse me a moment.” I rush after Chloe, reaching her when she’s about to open the door and head inside the club. “Wait. Chloe, hold on.” She turns to face me. “What? What’s wrong? You didn’t like him?” she questions, confused. “No. I mean yes!” I try to organize my jumbled thoughts. I glance back at him and see the waitress placing drinks on the table. “It’s . . . Well, this goes against the rules. I just met him and stuff.” “C’ mon, Lottie. Be a little more spontaneous. Besides, I checked on him. It’s not like he’s a psycho or something. Roberto knows him.” “Oh.” That settles all my worries. Especially as to why in the hell a hot guy like him is talking to a girl like me in the first place. “Don’t.” Chloe’s voice is gentle, but firm. “Stop overthinking things. It’s time we enjoy life too, Lottie. Like the other girls our age. I call it: The Emancipation of Charlotte and Chloe.” She smiles. “Go back to your date. That waitress is all but rubbing her silicones on him.” She places her hand on the door handle and says, “And remember: no rules is our new rule.” I sigh in resignation. Truth be told, the thought of spending time with Seth is quite thrilling.

I RETURN TO THE gazebo just in time to overhear part of the conversation between Seth and the waitress. “It’s been a while,” the waitress says in a sugary voice that has my stomach churning. Obviously they know each other. “Yeah, busy, traveling a lot,” he responds charmingly, but somehow without the typical haze of lust that sort of women evokes. I notice the moment he senses my presence. His face turns to me, and I swear it transforms as if the entire world just faded away, and only I remain. A small smile tugs at the corners of his lips, making my body clench. No exaggeration, his smile is that breathtaking. I offer one back, vaguely noticing the waitress murmuring something as she disappears toward the door of the club. He offers me a cosmopolitan. “Here, hope this is okay.” “Yes, it’s fine. Thank you.” I take a long drink, almost emptying it. He grins. “So, Lottie. Is it?” “Charlotte. But I go  by Lottie.” “Free man.” “I’m sorry?” “Your name. The meaning.” “Yes, I know. But how do you know?” “Promise not to judge?” he asks, sipping from his drink. “Yes.” I nod. “I have a fetish for names.” “So every time you’re introduced to someone you just produce the meaning to their name? Amazing.” I swallow the remainder of my cosmopolitan.

“Just if I want to make an impression on that person.” I swallow loudly, almost choking on the drink. “Oh,” I finally bring myself to respond. Wow, Lottie, way to make a fool of yourself. And to think I’m going to law school. Some attorney I’ll make. Again I vaguely notice when the waitress places new drinks to the table and discretely leaves. “Here.” He collects my empty cup and puts it on the table. “We must dance to this song.” And so we develop a deliciously tortuous routine for the next hour. Drink, dance, repeat. To my disappointment, he has yet to kiss me. I mean, our dance isn’t innocent, and there’s nothing naïve about the way I rub against his erection when he gropes my ass. But all tease with no actual kiss. Although I want just to stay under the gazebo dancing with him, my feet start to throb in complaint to the hours of abuse. He must have read my thoughts because he says next, “Tired?” “My feet are killing me,” I reply and giggle when I realize I’m slurring. “You’re adorable,” he says, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ears. “Do you mind if I accompany you back to your hotel?” he asks in a heated voice. “I’m staying here at the Constellation.” I might be inexperienced with this type of encounter and the many cosmopolitans I’ve drank impairs my judgment significantly, but I can almost swear he wants more than to just “accompany me to my room.” I bite my lip, a frenzy of nervous energy reverberating through my body. His eyes zoom in on my mouth, and his bright blue eyes darken under my gaze. He reaches up, his thumb roughly presses on my chin, pulling the skin to release my lip from under my teeth. “Don’t,” he growls out with a choked hiss. “What?” I ask, confused but so turned on by the dark desire flashing under his heavy lids. “I’ve been dying to kiss you all night.” “And . . .” I swallow. “Why haven’t you?” “Oh, fuck it all to hell.” One of his hand fists my hair, the other slides behind my back crushing my body to his as his mouth captures mine. If I believed I was drunk before, at this moment, my body levitates. That’s a poor way to describe the state of things, but it’s the only coherent thought my mind can produce. His tongue enters my mouth with skill and seduction. It touches mine with intimacy, and warmth, and control, and demand. Stars collide and shatter into millions of blazing dots behind my closed lids. His breath turns harsh. His hands travel over my body, up my shoulders, down to the dip in the back of my dress. His fist tightens its hold on my hair, sending a sweet ache down my spine. His mouth devours me with hunger and passion. My lungs burn, begging for air, but it would be too much to breathe something as simplistic as oxygen when I have his mouth over mine. His tantalizing taste is the only thing I want.

My arms, hooked around his neck, tighten their hold. I want to fuse our bodies together. Turn us into an eternal marble statue. My brain knows it’s too soon—way too early, even illogical, to conjure such a thought. But I’m aware that this kiss has just sucked half my soul from my being into his. And from this moment on, I will only be whole when we are united.

Seth

WHEN MY LIPS seize hers, need slams into my body. Holy fuck. This is just a kiss. But what a kiss. That’s what magic is made of. That’s what utopia tastes like. That’s what it’s like to dream while awake. That’s the place in the universe attainable through potions, where notions are created and destroyed. Volcanic. Explosive. Fuck. I pull away. A moan of protest escapes her lips. My eyes narrow at her. She is soft and pliant under the web of spells my hands so skillfully knit. She’s ripe for the taking. She inhales deeply, and her lustful eyes flutter open to find me. An undone, uncontrolled, and shaking man. That’s not how it’s supposed to be. I’m always in control. Am I that drunk? Yes, I’m hammered. Usually, I restrain myself to two or three drinks. Excessive alcohol is awful to the body, my tool of work. Getting a buzz makes things interesting for my clients, but a drunken me won’t be up to the top-notch performance I’m paid to deliver. Tonight, between cocktails, songs, the sweat of her skin beneath my fingers, her intoxicating body, I let loose and drank more than I usually do. Way more. So yeah, it’s safe to say I’m drunk. I never act so recklessly. I’ve excelled my workmanship. I’ve mastered each tool of my craft. Reigned over them. I’m a professional. One of the best in the country. A kiss from this seemly naïve girl tears through me like a lightning bolt pierces through the bark of a tree. I mentally debate if I should just run the hell away from her. The argument is brief. I won’t walk away. Her scent alone makes my blood simmer. I have to have her. Fuck her. And if I’m getting paid for it, all the better. Not to mention it will be a sober reminder that this is just another business transaction. So I lick my lips—still tasting of her, and ask, “Let’s go?”

She nods shyly. I wonder if it is a plot to be coy. If she wants to pretend this is a real date, fine by me. To each their own. At least I don’t have to pretend to be a priest, like I had to once. Now that was beyond my comfort level. I don’t like to mess with the divine and shit. I can easily handle this scenario. According to my directions, I’m to pretend this is just a hookup. Another one of those occasional one-night stands that have become so culturally common. I gulp down the remainder of my drink. Since I’m breaking so many rules as it is, might as well be thorough. I grab her small hand, guide her back through the club and out into the hotel. We step into the elevator. I glance at her and ask, “Where are you?” She fidgets and furrows her brows. A multitude of what appear to be conflicted thoughts crosses her face. Is she having second thoughts? After the brief hesitation, she lifts her chin, squares her shoulders, and says, “Ninety-seven.” Her voice falters slightly, but her eyes remain locked with mine. A small smile tugs the corners of my lips. I get it. It happens often. Some women have difficulty reconciling with escort services. It’s my job to put them at ease. I take a slow step toward her. She retreats until her back is pressed against the wall. “You know why I debated kissing you earlier tonight?” I run my nose along her left shoulder, inhaling the smell of jasmine and spring mornings. I pull back and cock my head, studying her face. She bites her lip again. She must want to play this role of innocence to the tee. Fine by me, I can be the Big Bad Wolf. I prop one hand against the wall and lean in close enough to feel her irregular breath brush the skin on my neck. I raise my free hand and in a feather-like touch, I slide my index finger up her jaw and along her earlobe. Slowly. Tantalizing. Her body trembles under my touch. “Because every time I looked at your lips, I imagined my dick stained with your red lipstick.” My hand slides back to her mouth, and my thumb roughly grazes the lips that I have wiped clean with my own. Her breathing hitches, making her chest rise and fall rapidly. Her pupils dilate, and her nipples visibly tighten through the satin of her dress. You can’t blame me for enjoying my motherfucking job so damn much. A chime announces our arrival. We step out. I retrieve the plastic key from her trembling hand and slide in. A soft buzz tells me the door is unlocked. “Presidential suite, huh?” Lottie nods. “Umm-hmm. Part of my birthday gift from Chloe. It’s her family’s hotel.” “Happy birthday!” I say, appearing surprised at her announcement. I push the door open. The lights automatically flick on. The spacious room is filled with velvety drapes, puffy couches, mahogany floors, lavish artwork, and flowers. Bouquets upon bouquets of multi-colored wildflowers. Her friend spared no expense. I release her hand and approach a chilled bottle of champagne waiting on a wood console table. I retrieve my iPhone and scroll down, finding a pre-prepared playlist, and latch it to a dock that waits on the table. The gentle chords of a U2 song drift from overhead speakers. I pour champagne in the glasses and stroll back to

Lottie. She remained where I had left her. Petrified. Her lips twitch slightly, forming a nervous smile. Seducing Miss Naivety will be a pleasure, but certainly not an easy task. She appears to be genuinely nervous. Tonight is most definitely her first time with an escort. I have to pop her escort cherry and make it unforgettable. Our fingers touch when she takes the glass I offer. It thrills me to think I’m her first hired fuck. At the same time, a surreal and illogical rage surges through me at the thought of her hiring someone else in the future. I run my hand through my disheveled hair and allow the momentary irritation to vanish. “To your health,” I say, and her smile broadens. The glasses clink, sounding like a bell. “And to the multiple orgasms you’re bound to have tonight.” Her eyes widen, and she empties the glass with one gulp. I shrug and follow suit in an attempt to encourage her. I don’t need liquid courage for a fuck. After I refill the glasses, I place them on the console. “Dance with me?” I press her body against mine. She gasps. In perfect synchrony, we sway to the soft notes floating in the room. Our movements are erotic, unhurried. Between songs and glasses of champagne, we continue the slow, sensual movement of our bodies. My hands brush over her soft, warm skin. With our faces inches apart, our lips so close, I can inhale her breath. I gather all my selfcontrol to restrain from kissing her. Anticipation is a potent aphrodisiac. I forgo the second bottle of champagne chilling in the ice bucket and raid the minibar for other drinks. Though I’m crossing the line of professionalism by overdrinking, I don’t give a fucking iota. To appease my guilty conscience, I reassure myself I’m doing this for her benefit. But in truth, I’m enjoying this unguarded moment. Maybe a little too much. But fuck me if I can’t break protocol once in a long and successful career. I hand her a small bottle. We both swig it down, resuming our dancing. Her giggles snatch me from my reverie. “What?” “You stepped on my foot,” she says with an adorable slur. Impossible, I’m an excellent dancer. “Impossible. I’ve. . . .” I shake my head. “Sorry.” Loud laughter roars above the soft music. “I pride myself in being a good dancer. For fucks sake, I even included it in my resume,” I say apologetically. “Thank goodness this isn’t a job interview then,” she replies, making me join in on the laughter. “Well, well, if it was, would I get the job?” Fuck me for feeling insecure as I wait for her response. She tilts her head and smiles. “With a wage deduction. Yeah. Definitely.” And her eyes are so full of rare, genuine purity that I want to cradle her to my chest and never allow anyone to take that away from her. I stop in my tracks, but the room continues to spin. Both my hands cup her face.

Her eyes rise to meet mine. They are full of wonder, full of naïve expectations, full of innocent desire. It makes me wonder why a fabulous girl like her needs to hire an escort. Are the fucking guys around her that inept with their dicks? Her hands tentatively pat over my chest, slowly climbing to the back of my neck and running through my hair, silencing all the fucking thoughts that have been tumbling through my mind. My lips touch hers. And I feel it again. The taste of utopia, slowly unfurling into my mouth, permeating my senses. Then, like rampant fire, it sears through my bloodstream. First, it burns. Then it cools, soothing my blood flow, dulling the initial singe. A relentless desire to possess her engulfs me. I have to make her mine. It’s not optional. I tilt my head to intensify the kiss. The inside of her mouth is warm, soft. A guttural groan erupts from the back of my throat. She tastes of champagne and fine sugar, a heady combination. Hot damn. It’s official. Her cherry lips are my new favorite flavor. If her mouth feels like this, I can’t wait to taste her pussy. I reach under her dress and run my hand over her thigh until I palm her ass and knead it. Holy motherfucker! It’s firm but soft. Round and just right. Jackpot. I really love my job.

MY HANDS FUMBLE along her curves, trying to touch her all at once. I burn with need. Our kisses are a clash of teeth and tongues. My hands fly over her body. Caressing. Seeking. Demanding. My fingers fidget clumsily with the side zipper of her dress. Fuck. I pull away. Wow. Pause. It can’t be like this. Ensuring a client’s needs prevails over my own. That’s what I get paid to do. Oh, fuck it all to hell. I clasp her head with both hands and pull her back to me. “What’s happening to me?” I mumble against her lips, before delving into another kiss. She moans. The sound erupts a drive within me. I’m a possessed man. The primal need to ravish her delicious body dictates my every move. My arms possessively wrap around her voluptuous body. Blinded by the need to complete our sexual connection, we stumble as I guide her to the bedroom’s door. All I can think of is to plunge inside her with a complete abandonment that leads to nirvana. Abruptly she pulls back. “Wait,” she says with both hands pushing on my chest. “Wait.” She steps away from my embrace. The room spins again. I question if it’s the absence of her or the liquor running through me. “Sorry, I can’t.” She finally says stumbling further back. Her eyes are gleaming. Shit, is she . . . ? Is she going to cry? I squin t my eyes. Yes, those are goddamn tears. With a long stride, I close the distance she imposed between us. My teenage impulses and lack of finesse just ruined this for her. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. “Sorry. Fuck. I got carried away. Too fast, huh?” I run my hands over my hair. “Fuck. I’m not usually like this. I’ll, um, I’ll slow down.” I hold my fucking breath. She can’t back down. Not because of the money. My fee is ensured if a client has a change of heart. It’s paid in advance. It’s just that I haven’t wanted to complete a job for my own satisfaction in a long time, as in never. Hell, I don’t think this is even a job anymore. My body yearns for hers. I crave being inside her now, as I have never desired another client. “It’s not you, Seth. I mean you’re . . .” She waves a hand toward my body. “You are you.” Her eyes scan my body appreciatively. “It’s just that . . .” Her voice trails off. Her face is bright red. “You don’t want to do it. This is too awkward for you. I get it.” Shit.

“I do,” she says hastily. “I mean I really want to. I, uh, I just can’t. I thought I could, but I can’t.” She shakes her head to emphasize her words. Fucking an escort isn’t for everybody. Many of my colleagues have tales of women breaking down on the brink of having sex. However, this is the first time a woman declined my services. It’s time to be professional and make this easy for her. “Sorry, my fault. I rushed you. I, uh, I’m sorry. I’m not usually this impulsive and . . . Fuck . . . Sorry . . . I mean if you want a re—” Before I complete the offer for a refund her hands flash to my lips. “No . . . no . . .” She shakes her head apologetically. “It’s not you. It’s me. You were perfect. Really.” I smile. Poor thing is trying not to bruise my ego. That’s such a refreshing concept. Most clients treat me like what they pay for. A fuck. But here she is, filled with worry and genuine concern for me and my shitty excuse for a performance. “The truth is, I um . . .” she says, but stops before the words fall from her lips. “What?” My brows furrow and I lean in. “Never mind.” “Do tell, Cherry Lips.” “What did you call me?” “Your painted lips, they remind me of a bowl of cherries on a lazy summer afternoon.” I let my fingers run over her lips. “But what is it? If you don’t want to, fine. I totally respect that. But if there’s something I’m doing wrong, tell me, and I’ll fix it.” First, because fucking her is my goddamn job and fuck me if I don’t do what it takes to perfect a job with complete customer satisfaction. Secondly and perhaps more importantly: my balls are blue. “Promise you won’t laugh,” she begs. Her eyes are uncertain. “Pinky promise.” I raise my hand to offer her my pinky. Way to pussify a man. I’m lame as hell. Not only is my dick behaving like a teenager, now my brain has joined the party. She giggles and I immediately forgive myself for the lame ass comment. With her pinky linked to mine, she sighs. “Well, I don’t know how to say this.” I raise our linked fingers in reassurance. “Spill it, Cherry Lips.” “It’s just that I’ve never done this before.” She speaks in a hurry as if afraid the words won’t get out. “I know.” I look at her, confused. “You know, is it that obvious? I mean, you seem experienced and all. But can you tell I’m a virgin?” Her cheeks turn bright red. “Oh.” What? In slow motion, I process her words. It’s her first time having sex. She is a virgin. “Oh. Okay.” Shit. It dawns on me that her friend is paying me to pop her proverbial cherry. Not only is it her first time with an escort, but it’s also her first time, period.

Unbelievable. Where has romance gone? Why would someone pay to have a first experience? I shake my head, trying to organize my hazed and drunk mind. “It’s fine. We don’t have to. No one’s first time should be like this,” I finally say. A mixture of disappointment and relief battles on her face. “I guess I’m being ambiguous. Sorry. I’m awkward, and this isn’t a conversation I usually have with anyone.” “You don’t have to explain yourself. You can think about it.” I forge a smile. “Perhaps another day. You can call me at any time.” Kill me for saying these words. But I am an escort, not a jerk. She apparently changed her mind. I won’t pressure her. Though I wonder if I’ll ever recover from this case of blue balls. “It’s just that . . .” Her chest rises up and down as she inhales deeply. “I know it’s silly and outdated. But um, my mom—I adore my mom,” she clarifies as a way of justification. “She’s my hero. And all I ever wanted was to be like her. And, um, don’t laugh. Shit, this might sound weirder when I say it than when I think it.” She’s rambling and that’s so adorable. “Well, she married a virgin. And all I ever wanted, dreamed, was to do the same. And I thought I was ready to let go of the stupid idea. Because, seriously, who has such an old-fashioned dream? I mean, this isn’t the eighteen hundreds where virginity is looked upon as a virtue or prize that a man has to register a woman under his name to conquer and stake a claim on. No longer does that tiny piece of flesh dictate the value of a woman . . .” Words continue to flow out of her luscious lips like water rushing out a broken dam. Our pinkies, between us, stay linked. Meanwhile, a frenzy descends upon my body. An urgent need seeps through my pores embedding in the depths of my soul. I watch her in wonder and awe. Stronger than the need to have sex with her is this new desire to give the woman in front of me every desire of her heart. Out goes self-preservation, self-control, and rational thinking. A primal part of me takes charge. I want two things at this moment. One is to ensure Lottie gets all she wants in life. The other is to sink into her depths and taste her innocence. “What I’m trying to say is: I’m a virgin. My dream is to marry a virgin. Like my mom.” Her eyes cast down as if ashamed of something so beautiful and pure. And I know in my heart of hearts that I’ll do anything to make this woman mine, and most importantly, to make her happy. “Marry me.” My palms cradle her face forcing her to look at me. Her guileless eyes peek up at me. Lottie is simply captivating. Her unworldly innocence is not only rare, but also fascinating. Her lips part, but she doesn’t utter a single word. “Marry me. We’re in Vegas. Before the end of the hour, we can go back into that room and consummate our marriage.” Am I serious? “Are you, are you serious?” She vocalizes my thoughts. No, just batshit crazy. “Dead serious. Say yes. Say you’ll marry me.” “Okay. I mean yes. Why the hell not?” I can see she’s as surprised with her answer as I am with asking her. Oh, well. Above and beyond the line of duty. “First we need a ring. No, we need a license,” I say, strolling across the room to snatch my phone from the dock. “Are they open, this time of the night? What time is it?”

I scroll down my list of friends until I find Jeremy’s number. “Well, it’s Vegas, baby.” Jeremy answers on the first ring. “This better be fucking good, Seth.” “I’m getting married,” I tell him. “Fucking great! Not only are you dashing my dream of turning you into my sex slave, but also you are waking me up in the middle of the night. What the hell, dude?” “Congratulations would have sufficed, douche. But here’s the deal. I need a license.” “Come by at nine.” “Now.” “You’re fucking shitting me.” “No, calling in a favor.” “Fuck you. You know I can’t say no.” “You can. But I know you won’t. Meet you in front of your office in ten.” “Fuck. Let me wake up at least.” “Fine. You have twenty minutes to get your sorry ass together.” I hit end and shove the phone in my pocket. “Oh my God! I’m getting married!” Lottie squeals clenching her hand to her mouth. She gathers her ID and cell phone and hands them to me. I slip them in my pocket. I collect the hotel key, a bottle of champagne, and tug her hand. “Let’s rock, betrothed. We have five minutes to pick up a ring.”

Lottie ABOUT HALF AN hour from when I said yes, my hand trembles as I scribble my signature on the marriage license. “You two are crazy.” Jeremy shakes his head, but his eyes betray him. I can see he’s amused with our insane wedding. This is the stuff Vegas is made of. I tell myself this as a way of pacifying my conscience. I rebuke any thought of being sensible and refuse to allow it to surface to the forefront of my mind. Tonight I’m following the one rule established by Chloe: No rules. Anything goes. And if whisking a handsome man to the nearest chapel fits the bill, so be it. I’m young, free, and I don’t have a care in the world. There. I said it. Nothing will get in the way of this new reckless version of me. Not even the smart, intelligent, sensible, rational, knows better, know-it-all me. “It’s official. You two lovebirds are all set. Congratulations.” Jeremy thumps a heavy stamp over his signature.

“Thanks for opening the joint and doing this,” Seth says, shaking hands with his friend. “I owe you one.” “Nah. Just call it even.” “Got to go, man.” Seth waves the certificate. “Wedding to attend.” He grips my hand and pulls me out of the Clark County Marriage Bureau. Once we make it back to the strip, Seth strolls with long and resolute steps. I take in the warm night breeze blowing from under my dress, sending a shiver running over my sensitive body. Thoughts swirl, turn, and thumb around my mind with the fierceness of a windmill right before a storm. My mind is teetering between sobriety and drunkenness. Neither completely one nor the other. But one thing is certain, my head buzzes with an uncharacteristic giddiness that I’ve never felt before. There’s no way in hell I’ll walk away from this liberating feeling. Seth comes to a halt, causing me to stumble upon him. “No cold feet?” he asks and nods to a chapel. I look up at him. His lips curve into a youthful smile. His turquoise eyes are sparkling with mischief, mirth, elation, and a hidden mystery that I’m bent on unraveling. Again, my conscience assures me this is insane, irresponsible even. That’s what pulls me to the edge, dissipating any and all doubts. The fun of it all is in the recklessness. “My feet are toasty warm,” I say. Seth opens the door to the chapel. We sit on padded folding chairs. An Elvis Presley officiator is marrying two women. They’re wearing white suits. Both of them wear a crown of white wildflowers in their hair. The shorter and seemly younger one also holds a delicate bouquet of white daisies. They look ethereally beautiful. After a few more words, the officiator declares them married. While the couple kisses, he beckons us to approach. Yep, everything is utterly unromantic. Seth hands the license to the notary and proceeds to pay him. The chapel provides two witnesses, which are Sonny and Cher impersonators, nonetheless. The girls end their kiss. We congratulate them as the officiator scans our license and IDs. “Thank you,” the taller one says. “Congratulations to you both as well.” With linked arms, they stroll down the aisle. The shorter one turns back, and with an elated smile stretched on her face, she asks, “Would you like the flowers?” “Yes. That would be lovely.” I squeal in excitement. “Since I won’t be tossing a bouquet, might as well.” She hands me the bunch and carefully removes the crown of flowers from her head and places the arrangement over my hair. “Oh, thank you! This will make it perfect.” My voice cracks with emotion. “I wish you both a lifetime of happiness.” “To you as well,” she responds as her bride pulls her to the door. Well, apparently we aren’t the only ones in a rush. I turn to face my groom. When our eyes meet, a smile tugs on the corners of his lips. His eyes study me from the stilettoes to the flowers in my hair. His fingers lightly touch the petals and then he brushes his knuckles along my heated cheeks. “You are a perfect mix of sex and purity. Goddamn, woman. You’re killing me.” An instant smile blooms on my face. The officiator clears his throat in an apparent attempt to speed things up. “We are gathered here today. . . .” He proceeds to speak the words that will unite me to this man—this stranger.

However, his voice becomes only a hum in the background. Mesmerized, I do a leisurely examination of the man I’m marrying. If there were fairness in this world, the dictionary would provide one word to describe him. Because handsome, attractive, striking, good-looking, hot, exquisite or stunning just won’t suffice. As I continue to study him, I question my reasons for this insane act. Insanity, drunkenness, or just shallowness? Yeah, I could lie to myself until I’m blue in the face and say it’s because I’m drunk. Which I am. Or just say I’m shallow. Seth is, after all, a drop-dead gorgeous male. I can even tell myself I’m reckless, impulsive, or outright and insanely horny. However, there’s an underlying reason for me to have agreed to this craziness. I just don’t know it yet. But one thing I know. Whatever is driving me to do this, it is beyond Seth’s perfectly chiseled body, or his sharp jaws, or the little indentation in his chin, or his magnetic smile. It’s beyond the need to get laid while fulfilling the silly dream of marrying a virgin. I also question what drove Seth to marry me. It’s hard to understand what I see in the depths of his eyes. They have a familiarity, a darkness, a vulnerability, and a deep yearning. When he looks at me with such intensity, it kindles a sincere desire to know more. To comprehend him. “You all right?” he asks, pulling me back to the moment. I nod and smile. “Here,” he says, reaching for my hand. “With this ring I’m yours. Body, mind, and soul. I promise to do my best to get to know you and honor this day.” He slides the delicate wedding band that accompanies the massive princess cut diamond he had placed on my hand earlier. I position his band on his finger and stare at him. “With this ring I’m yours. Body, mind, and soul. I promise I’ll do my best to get to know you and honor this day.” I repeat his simple vows. First, because I can’t come up with anything. Secondly, because I like the simplicity of his words. It might be the epitome of silliness, but as I slip the ring on his finger, tears wet my cheeks. “You may kiss your bride.” Elvis duly declares. “Wait. We need a picture,” I say. “Do you have my cell phone?” Seth fishes his pocket for it and hands it to Cher. Then he looks at me. His stare is of primal possession, raw ownership. As if he’s a man who never had any possessions and was suddenly faced with something of his very own. I’m not into the whole caveman thing, but his domineering gaze makes me ache in areas that are totally new to me. He gathers my face in his hands, and his lips seize mine. It’s an all-consuming kiss. My heart soars free from its cage. It doesn’t fly very far because I can feel it when it lands inside Seth’s chest. Seth pulls away slightly, and with his forehead touching mine, he whispers against my lips, “Let’s get the hell out of here.” We retrieve the marriage certificate, my cell phone, the bottle of champagne and we dash out. In the lobby, Seth stops. With his thumb, he pops the cork. Bubbling liquid flows out. He raises the bottle and says, “To us.”

“To us,” I repeat. He places the bottle in my mouth. As I’m pulling a gulp of the fizzy drink, he replaces the bottle with his mouth, stealing a kiss and half the liquid from inside my mouth. His hand slides around my waist, and he yanks me closer to him, making his erection notable against my lower tummy. Everything surrounding us fades away, my arms snakes around his neck, and I get lost to the flavor of champagne mixed with the stroke of his tongue against mine. It’s too much. My body hums with an aching desire. He pulls away. “We’ve got to get back to the hotel,” he says with a groan. “Like right now.” Holding hands, we dash out of the chapel and onto the strip. I have no concept of time. It feels like I’m in an alternate universe. After Seth takes gulps of champagne, he hands it to me. I take a long pull and give back to him. We stroll down the strip, sharing the drink, making out on corners, laughing, half-running and half-walking. Dozens of people surround us. Share the same road. But it feels as though there’s a magical capsule isolating us from the rest of the world. I’m filled with anticipation. But mostly I’m filled with an exuberant and bubbly happiness that I had never experienced before. And it’s beautiful. And it’s romantic. And it’s dreamy . . .

AT THE LOBBY of the hotel, Seth hands the empty champagne bottle to one of the hotel’s concierges. Laughing for no reason, but giddiness, we stumble inside the elevator. As luck would have it, the car is empty. I press my back against the wall. My heart is pounding from the running and nonsense laughter. Seth pushes the button to our floor and turns to face me. Energy zings in the air. His facial expression morphs from carefree to predatory. He paces my way, like a lion approaching a gazelle. My breath catches in my throat. The laughter dies in my mouth. He places both hands on the wall on either side of me. “You look mighty delectable laughing like this, Mrs. Phoenix.” My eyes flash to his mouth. He leans his head in and runs his nose along my collarbone. And oh my. That sweet spot south of me clenches and throbs. He lowers his hand and clasps mine. He brings it to his erection. “Look what you’re doing to me. I’ve never been so goddamn hard.” I inhale a sharp breath, surprised at his forwardness and terrified of his astounding size. He moves my hand to his lips, placing a kiss and stroking his tongue lightly at the center of my palm. The softness and warmth of his tongue sends a jolt of pleasure to my clenched muscles. Moisture dampens my panties and my legs weaken. A ding announces our arrival. I’m mentally preparing to force my legs into motion when the floor disappears from beneath my feet. A squeak leaves my mouth. “Allow me,” he says, carrying me out of the elevator. Somehow he expertly opens the door while holding me and crosses the threshold. He places me on the floor and retreats a few steps.  The champagne we just drank renewed our fading buzz. The sight of Seth standing a few feet from me is intoxicating. My mind swirls in anticipation and my body hums with desire.

His eyes bore through me. His perusal is slow and heated, making a tingling sensation travel from the soles of my feet to the tip of my head. “Hot damn, woman! You’re mine,” he says, a guttural sound escaping his throat. His words turn my body into molten lava. And I know I need him to take me. Claim me as his. Inside, a battle wages. My usual reserved ways are fighting a wanton woman that I had no idea lived inside me but who is now striving to break free. The wanton woman wins and words roll off my lips, “Then come and take me.” My roguish voice is foreign to my ears. “Damn straight I will,” he growls and leaps my way. His hands dart around my waist. His mouth crushes mine. His tongue delves in my mouth. Domineering. Overruling. Possessive. I moan. And the sound seems to set him on fire. He urgently cups the back of my knees and yanks my legs around his hips. Another moan, louder and feral rips through me when my wet apex presses against his erection. My body vibrates and my heart pounds inside my chest. He carries me through the room, his mouth consuming mine, his erection grinding against my damp panties making my body float on a cloud of pleasure. After pushing the bedroom door open, he sets me by the bed. “Holy fuck, woman, I want to take my sweet time with you, make it memorable. But hot damn, I can’t control this beast you unleashed inside me.” He reaches for my hair, and I notice his fingers trembling. I revel in the knowledge that I, too, shake him a bit. Because he is unhinging me. “I want to fuck you wearing nothing but these flowers in your hair.” With those words, his lips seal mine. His heat envelops me. His overpowering build dwarfing mine. I surrender. There is no doubt, fear, shyness, past or future. Time and space blurs, erasing any rational thought. It’s just us. The present. Tangled bodies. Sweaty skin. Throbbing hearts. Animalistic needs demanding to be sated. The kiss is sensual and slow. Like a simmering heat. A contained fire. His lips leave my mouth and brush against my jaw. It sets my skin ablaze. His tongue strokes a spot behind my ears that has my legs giving out under me. He tightens his grip on my hips, holding me to him as a prized possession, sustaining me. I gasp and groan. My head spins like a lost satellite. “Your smell is intoxicating.” His tongue, warm and wet, touches my earlobe. “Your skin tastes so good.” His breath in my ear makes my insides clench. “I can only imagine how heady the taste of your pussy is.” His teeth scrape on my lobe. My body convulses with an onslaught of sensations that are spiraling me into an abyss of carnal pleasure. The fabric of his shirt crumples under my balled fists. His mouth is now traveling along my neck. His sharp teeth sink into the soft skin at the junction of my neck and shoulder. I cry out loudly, my head falling back. Mercy me, what is he doing to my body? Is this how sex is supposed to feel? How did I avoid it doing this all these years? Then, again, there is nowhere else I would want to come undone, but inside Seth’s embrace. “Turn for me,” he commands with a guiding hand over my hips. I find the courage to move my feet so my back is to him. His hands sprawl over my lower belly as he bends his knees and thrusts his pelvis against my ass with a gyrating motion. I lean my head on his chest.

“Can you feel how hard I am for you?” His hand palms my sex roughly and firmly. I groan, and my nails sink into the skin of the arm that is holding me. “My dick wants your pussy so bad it fucking hurts.” Had he not been holding me, I would have fallen on my ass. He pulls away from me, and his fingers find the dress’s zipper at my side. Slowly, tantalizingly, he begins the descent of it. “Your skin is magic. Fucking magic.” He pushes the dress down. It falls in a silent swoosh, pooling around my feet. I want to turn around, kiss him, and quench my parched throat. But I don’t dare move. I can sense his eyes perusing my backside. I hear the shuffling of fabric, and I imagine him doffing his clothes. The mental image of him naked spreads warmth through my skin. The cold air of the room pebbles my skin. I crave his touch. “Fuck woman, your ass is perfect.” The words sound strained. “Round like cherries. Just like I thought when I saw you standing in the lobby.” Both his palms spread in a long caress over my shoulder blades. My breath hitches. Desire and need overflowing in a concoction of anticipation. His hands disappear. He plants open-mouth kisses on the burning skin along my spine. I sense him lowering to the floor, his breath coming in hot puffs against my ass cheeks. “Turn,” he demands, guiding my hips. I bite my lip and obey. My heart goes haywire when I see him kneeling before me, only wearing boxer briefs. The vulnerable position is at odds with his undeniable sexual prowess. He gazes up at me with heavy-lidded eyes. “Hot damn,” he says with his eyes fixed on my heavy breasts. Reverently he raises his hands to cup my breasts. “You are beautiful.” The simplicity of the statement, along with the awe laced in his voice makes me believe the sincerity of his words. His hands run down to my hips, and his head lowers to my apex. He nuzzles on the damp lace covering me and inhales. I fear for my poor and feeble heart. His fingers hook over the elastic of my panties, slipping them down my legs and over my feet. His nose is an inch away from the patch of hair between my thighs, but he doesn’t touch it. After what feels like hours, his hands circle my calves and smoothly move up and along my thighs. “So fucking beautiful . . .” He gently guides me to the bed and hovers over me. His skin against mine, his weight over me—a delicious torment. He kisses me again, his lips hungry, rough, demanding. He trails kisses along my neck, sucking, teeth scraping. He pulls back and gazes at my heaving breasts momentarily. “Mine,” he growls. His lips close over my nipple with a hard and deep suck that connects every nerve ending in my breast to my clenched sex. “Seth,” I scream, my hands flying to his head, my fingers fisting his disheveled hair in a tight vice. “So responsive,” he says as he switches to the other breast and repeats, invoking another scream from me. I am at a loss of how to act. My body is an unrecognizable heap of flesh, and Seth has taken charge of it. With his lips trailing down my abdomen, he lowers his face down to the bundle of nerve endings that are begging

for some sort of release. He spreads my thighs open and for a beat his complete attention is focused on the most intimate part of me. I should be embarrassed. I’m not. His eyes are dilated, and his breath catches as he hisses. He plunges his head in between my legs, his tongue leaps over my sensitive skin. Bells chime. Stars collide. My body levitates. With every muscle in my body coiled, my skin becomes too tight for my body. Relentless, Seth delves his tongue into my throbbing depths. I moan and cry, the overload of sensation overwhelming me. He slides a finger into my narrow entrance. The pressure of his finger combined with the onslaught of his tongue is too much and I fall. I spiral down into a black hole of sensation and pleasure. My nails sink deep into my palms. My body trembles. My lips utter his name repeatedly and reverently. My mind, drunken in pleasure, tumbles over a cliff of blissful ecstasy. I’m still riding the wave of pleasure when Seth strips off his briefs. Sitting on his haunches, he shields his shaft. I want to savor the sight. It’s so erotic. But my vision blurs. With fluid movements, he props up on his elbows, hovering over me, his body a whisper from mine. And the absence of skin contact is a painful void I feel deep in my soul. “Please,” I say, raising my eyes to meet his. “Please what?” he asks, licking his glistening lips. “Please, take me. Make me yours.” He opens his mouth to say something, but only a guttural sound escapes his parted lips. He covers my mouth with his, his tongue stroking mine. The taste of me, salty and enticing, spreads in my mouth. Overwhelmed from the overload of sensory stimulation, I close my eyes. His hand guides his erection until it finds my wet and ready opening. He pulls back and commands, “Open your eyes. I want you to look at me when I take you.” My lids flutter open. His brows are furrowed, his face full of deep concentration and undeniable lust. But I see a glimpse of something else. Something sublime. A vortex that could swallow me completely into a forever of pure happiness. “This is going to sting, okay?” Before the end of his words, he firmly thrusts inside me, and I feel a sharp pang of pain. He stills. His eyes are locked on mine. Our stare communicates words we have yet to speak. It exchanges more than other couples have shared in a lifetime together. Getting acquainted and intimate in a way we have yet to be, given the little time we’ve known each other. And I know that our circumstances are a suspension of reality and that I might be a fool to think this way. But when I look into his eyes I see a part of me that has been roaming the Earth, finally ready to return to its home. Then, he moves. Buried deep inside me, he moves. I discard all the racing thoughts, all the feeble attempts of reason and comprehension and all common sense. I focus on this monumental event. The sacredness and perfection of the act eclipses the crazy way I got here, under Seth.

“You okay?” Seth asks in a whisper. I nod. He gyrates his hips and thrusts deeper inside me, hitting every nerve ending that is begging for relief. “Seth . . .” My voice is breathy and needy, pleading and imploring, husky and taut. “You are beautiful,” he says reverently, his hips keeping a tantalizing tempo that has me writhing. And I fear that I’ll split in half. The overload of feelings and sensations are almost too much, and I’m at a loss of how to go on, what to do. “Seth . . .” “Let it go, baby, I’ll catch you,” he says and pounds hard and fast inside me. I gasp, not in surprise over his change of pace. But in surprise that it’s exactly what my body was begging for. That this man—stranger, who now is my husband—knew what my body needed when I didn’t. But thoughts evade me. The feeble grasp I have on reality dissolves. The energy in my body simmers down to a low heat, as the peaceful and gray brewing of a summer storm. Seth increases his pace yet another notch. “Come for me, baby,” he growls between his teeth. He clasps under my knees, raises my legs, and pounds into me. And I fall. And he catches me. And he falls. And I catch him. And we spiral downward in a kaleidoscope of tangled bodies, intertwined souls, screams of release and the rapture of pleasure. The gray clouds and the storm lift. Everything is still. And blue, so blue and so peaceful. Seth’s body goes slack on top of mine. He buries his face in the crook of my neck. “This is what utopia fucking tastes like,” he murmurs. He props up on his elbow and his eyes pierce through mine. “You okay?” His voice is so tender and at odds with the feral tone during our lovemaking or the seductive tenor of the foreplay. It undoes me. My eyes glimmer as tears threaten to come out. His face scrunches up. “What?” He brushes a strand of hair glued to my sweaty face. His vulnerability is so breathtakingly in contrast to the gorgeous, confident man I met at the club. “Seth, this was . . . it, uh, God, it was incredible.” A multitude of emotions crosses his face, but pure male satisfaction prevails as he replies. “Glad to be of service.” He smiles and withdraws from inside me. I grimace at the pain and discomfort.

“Be right back,” he says and disappears into the bathroom. When he returns, I’m still in the same position. I’m too sated to move. I wonder when I’ll regain full command of my body. If ever. “Here, let me clean you.” He rubs a warm and soft washcloth inside my thighs and my most intimate place. He is kneeling in between my legs. From my vantage point, I see a full erection going. It renews my desire. I want him again. He looks at me with clouded eyes. His gaze is full of hunger and desire for more. It’s parallel to my own desire to have him again. My lips turn up slow, in a quiet invitation. However, he shakes his head, and vehemently says, “No, you’re sore.” He continues his gentle sweeping. I sigh in disappointment. He places a kiss on my apex, disposes of the cloth and climbs my body until we’re facing each other. “You need to sleep, to get some rest.” I fight to break free from the stupor that holds my body inert. I want to seduce him and change his mind. Fatigue wins the battle. He lies beside me and tucks me under his arm. “Sleep, Cherry Lips.” He places a kiss on my head. I nuzzle on his shoulder; my hand slides around his narrow waist. I breathe in the woodsy scent of him and close my eyes. And Dreamland welcomes me.

Seth

I WAKE UP TO A pounding headache and the throbbing of a raging erection. A soft ass shifts, rubbing against said erection. Patches of memories from the previous night slide in my mind, making me growl with renewed desire. She shifts again and fucking precum drips off my dick. Well, fuck me. I haven’t felt this way since I was a teen. Her hair is fanning over my face, releasing the scent of gardenia. Thinking about last night, I tighten my hold on her. I was so goddamned horny. I hadn’t felt that way toward a woman in a long time. Most likely never. In my reasoning, I thought that fucking her senseless would purge this burning desire she awoke in me. It didn’t. My mind tries to dictate what to do next. But the head down below pleads, and throbs and jerks, ultimately winning. My hand slowly slides over her round thigh. It descends into the valley of her small waist and climbs her torso until reaches the summit of her full, generous, firm breast. My fingers knead into its voluptuousness and focus on the nipple, pulling, elongating and pinching. She squirms, half-asleep, half-awake. Her sensual, raspy groan resonates through the silent morning. I grind my dick against her ass as my teeth scrape the sensitive skin on her earlobe. She turns to face me. Her sleepy eyes are already full of desire. She parts her lips to say something. Before she utters a word, my mouth crushes hers. My body stretches out on top of hers. She moans in my mouth, and the sound alone takes me to the brink of an orgasm. Fuck. Come on Seth, you can do better than that. I inhale and draw back. My body needs a reprieve. This raging desire renders me a wreck. But I see her under me. She has dreamy eyes and flushed cheeks. My body ignores the mental command to go slow. I capture her lips with uncontrolled hunger, undiluted passion. She writhes and parts  her legs, accommodating me between them. She raises her pelvis, adding some friction. Her sex presses hot and wet against my cock. Her responsiveness sets me on fire.

My hand slips down to her inviting pussy. I sweep my thumb lightly over her clit. “Seth,” she cries. “Hot damn, baby, you’re so responsive.” My hand finds her moist opening, and I fuck her with my finger. “Baby, I need you, hard and fast.” “Please,” she begs. “Now.” Her plea morphs into a demand as she arches her back so my finger sinks deeper into her. “Fuck.” I grab my pants from the floor and fish the pocket for a condom. My fingers are trembling. If I don’t bury my dick inside her, I might have a heart attack. I’ve had years of practice, but my fingers are clumsy. The frantic need to have her is so intense that jacketing myself rivals climbing Mount Everest. I settle back in between her legs and spread her legs open. She is exposed and all mine. I glance up at her face. Her cheeks, flushed pink, turn bright red. She is feeling shy. I shift my attention back to her red folds. They’re swollen and glistening with desire. I run my tongue over my lips. “I want to taste your sweet cunt so bad, but my dick is kind of in a hurry.” Her lips make an O shape, shocked and surprised at my crude words. She is a mixture of angel and minx. And the erotic combination might just be the death of me. I climb back over her and position my dick in between her hot cleft. I rub my erection on the moisture along her clit, lubricating the tip of my cock. “Fuck.” With a grunt, I thrust hard and deep into the hot depth of her. Her body coils, taut and tense. Her mouth lets out a cry. It carries the sound of pain and pleasure. I capture her lips and thrust my tongue into her mouth. My hands shackle her wrists, and my hips pin her to the mattress. My thrusts are merciless—hard and fast. Her cunt convulses around my dick. I want to slow down, savor and lengthen our pleasure. But my body wants what it wants. I release her wrists. Her hands, so small and delicate, grab my biceps, her legs wrap around my hips urging me closer, deeper. My name becomes a liturgy on her tongue as she cries out repeatedly. My mind borderlines complete insanity. My body, bursting with energy, is as uncontrollable as a ruptured live wire is. “Goddamnit, woman,” I grunt, plunging my tongue back in her mouth. She sucks my tongue, her nails sink into the skin of my arms. Her pussy, tight and warm, clenches, throbs and grips my dick as she rides her orgasm. I come. Hard. I lower my face to the valley of her breasts. My panted breaths are blowing on her skin, my hips making slow, short thrusts as I too, ride the remnant of my orgasm.

We are silent. There is nothing to be said. The feelings of what transcribed between us transcend words. Render them useless. “Good morning,” I finally say. “Morning.” Her voice is raw from screaming my name. I withdraw from her. And the absence of her surrounding me makes me feel as naked as Adam must have felt that day in Eden. I snatch the condom off my dick and dispose of it in the wastebasket next the bed. A soft purr from Lottie calls attention to my semi-erection. I glance at her. Her hair is tumbled with sleep, her lips are red and swollen, and her face is flushed. But I’m drawn to her eyes. They are wide, innocent, and full of sunshine. It sends a shiver up my spine. Has a virgin pussy whipped my dick into submission? I shake off the line of thought. “Baby, if you make another sound like that I’ll have to take you again. You’re sore, I’m hungry, and we both need a shower. ” I gather her in my arms, so she is lying on top of me, and kiss the top of her head. “So hush.” She stretches and nuzzles into my chest making another lazy and quiet purr. “I’m warning you.” She raises her hand, and her index finger starts to draw loops on my chest. “Is this real?” she asks in that raspy voice of hers. “Pretty sure it is.” Unless it’s a utopian dream and I’ll wake up. “Are we insane?” “Pretty sure we are.” “Are we really married?” “Baby, I have the certificate that says so, and the bloody sheets to prove the consummation.” “We need to talk about it.” “No, we don’t.” Ignoring me, she slips off my lap and sits on the bed. Her hair falls over her shoulders, covering her breasts. I want to reach up and brush it away so it won’t obstruct my vision of her gorgeous tits. But her face is grave. She’s intent on having this conversation. However I’m not ready to address the damn white elephant sitting in the middle of the room, so with swift movements I stand, scoop her up and take her to the bathroom. “First things first: Shower, food, conversation.” “But—” I kiss her open lips midsentence.

“In this order: shower, food, talk.” I place her on the marble floor. Inside the shower stall, I switch on the water, flip on all the jets, adjust the temperature, and say, “Get your gorgeous behind in.” I smack her ass as she steps into the stream. “I’ll order breakfast and will come back to shower with you,” I say, closing the door. After ordering breakfast, I fish in my wallet for another condom. I should have specified that a shower included wet, steamy, vertical sex. An urgent pounding at the door bursts the bubble that had been keeping us isolated from the world. “It can’t be room service. I just placed the order,” I mumble, putting on my pants, not bothering with a shirt. When I yank the door open, a fuming Chloe storms into the sitting room area. “What the fuck did you do to my friend?” She spews the words out in an angry little burst. Her nostrils are flared, and her eyes dart around the room, searching for Lottie. Her skimpy nightgown, raccoon eyes, and tangled hair tell me she rushed here. I’m taken back by her hostility. “Nothing that you didn’t pay me for,” I answer, irritated. The nerve she has to burst in, all righteous, acting as if I raped her friend. Wait, is this some sort of ploy to incriminate me? She holds her cell phone up toward me as if it were a loaded gun. “This! Tell me this isn’t true.” “If you care to exp—” “Did you fucking marry Lottie?” I blanch. “How the fuck do you know?” “Where is she?” Her eyes flash to the bedroom door. “Shower. Who told you?” Maybe Lottie called or texted her. “It’s all over Facebook, you asshole. Clear picture and bold letters.” She shoves the device in my face. I retrieve it from her, taking a closer look. The picture is the one Cher snaped. It frames our profile while we kiss. Elvis Presley behind us. Lottie’s left hand rests on my arm, the ostentatious ring and wedding band I put on her finger glint as if confirming our marriage. The caption, most likely written by Cher, reads: ‘Elvis just made it official. We’re married <3.’ The picture has dozens of shares, hundreds of likes and an equal amount of comments. “Fuck,” “Yes, fuck her not marry her!” Chloe screams. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” I return the device to her. “Well, you give me a virgin that would only have sex if she was married. What did you expect, sweetheart?” I know I’m coming across as a jackass. But my head’s spinning. “Wait! Does she even know I hired you? You didn’t tell her, did you?” she asks in an accusatory tone. “Tell her what?”

“That you were her birthday present, that I hired you to fuck—wait what did you say? Who’s a virgin?” “What do you mean tell her? She doesn’t know? My directions said to act casual so this would go down as a casual date. Role-playing and shit. You’re fucking telling me she doesn’t know I’m an escort?” The conversation I had with Adriana runs through my mind. She never said anything about this. “No, no, no. Don’t turn this on me. I was crystal clear with your madam, or boss, or whoever the hell the owner of Tailored Companionship is.” “The hell you were crystal fucking clear. I was told to never, ever, mention I was an escort.” “Bullshit. I was clear. You were to flirt with her and then tell her I had hired you to give her twenty-one orgasms to make up for her asshole of an ex that didn’t make her come when they had sex. Of course, I trusted the institution to send a man with smarts and sensitivity. Someone to make it all smooth, and even a bit romantic. Hence,” she says, waving a hand around the room. “This room, and the flowers. Oh God, oh God!” She covers her face. “What have I done to my best friend?” “Shit. Fuck.” I pace the length of the room. Racing thoughts tumble and crash through my mind. What do I even care? It’s not like I know Lottie, or care about her. Fuck, whom am I kidding? I knew exactly what I was doing last night. I knew I wanted to fuck her more than I wanted my next breath. I knew I would have given my right kidney to make it happen. And since I’m being honest, I am aware that there was a connection between us, one inexistent with the hundreds of other women I fucked throughout my career. Accepting these truths is easy. However, what do I do with them? Where to go from here? I don’t have a clue. However, I know this much: I don’t want this crazy thing between us to end. Not yet. Not until I understand whatever the fuck this is. “You have to tell Lottie.” “The hell I do. I won’t tell her anything.” “Then I’ll tell.” “Fucking no you won’t.” I can’t bear to even imagine Lottie thinking what happened last night wasn’t real. Because, fuck me, it was as real as it gets. “You will get a refund. It will be as if this was indeed a casual date.” “I can’t lie to my best friend,” she says, sitting on the couch and holding her head between her hands. “Lie about what?” Lottie asks as she exits the bedroom. “Chloe, what’s going on? Why are you here?” She furrows her brow. Her eyes flick to me and back to her friend. With long steps, I cross the distance between us. “Nothing, baby.” I link my fingers with hers. Chloe stands up. “It’s just that—” “It’s on Facebook,” I interrupt Chloe. “What’s on Facebook?” “A picture of our wedding,” I say. “How? Did you post it?” Lottie looks at me. “No, my guess is that Cher posted after she snapped that pic of us. I recall her saying something about posts and I

thought she meant you had notifications on your Facebook or something.” “Oh, my God. Mom.” She turns to me with startled eyes. They’re so worried it shatters my heart into a million small shards. “Where’s my phone?” I fish my jeans pocket for it and hand it to her. “Oh God, please let Mom not have seen this. Please, please, please,” she chants, switching on her device. “This doesn’t look good. Shit,” she says, staring at the phone’s screen. “What?” Chloe and I ask. “Twenty-eight missed calls.” I can see her fingers trembling as she opens her contact list. “Oh,” she says, her face drooping like heated wax. “Home.” She points to the missed calls. She closes her eyes and inhales a deep breath. And for a moment, I feel sorry for putting her in this position. I have no family, no ties, no one to care about what I do. But in my eagerness to be with her, I acted like a selfish bastard, convincing her to marry me to satisfy my whim to have her. “I have to call her back. But what do I say? Oh God, just now . . .” She swallows hard. “That she has recovered.” I glance at Chloe, who mouths the word “cancer” back at me. Another pang of guilt surges through me. “Wait. Don’t call her yet.” “I have to. The sooner I call, the easier it’s going to be,” Lottie says. I pace the room, my hands pulling on my hair. “We need to strategize for damage control.” “I know how to do that. It’s called annulment, one, two, three, poof! It’s over. It’s erased from the records,” Chloe says. For a reason that escapes me, my heart stops only to restart with a jolt. “Oh yeah, and what about her mom?” I ask lamely. “She’ll get over it. C’mon, it’ll be less of a blow to deal with an annulment than to accept a marriage. Especially under this circumstance,” Chloe says with a sting in her voice. “Stop!” Lottie says. “The two of you need to stop this bickering.” “He’s not thinking straight. Listen to me, Lottie, we can have Dad’s attorney on it.” “Lottie’s a big girl, able to make decisions on her own,” I say, and turn to face Lottie. “We’ve got to figure out a way to make it less of a blow when you talk to your mom.” “There’s no way around it. Mom’s going to be devastated. I mean, who marries someone twenty minutes after they’ve met them? If only we’d dated for a while,” Lottie says. “That’s it,” I say, strolling back and stopping in front of Lottie. “You can tell her that we met a while back. No specifics with dates, places, etc. Just that we fell in love and eloped.” “But that’s a lie,” she says with tears brimming in her eyes. “To my mom . . .”

“Argh. I hate to admit it, Lottie, but he’s right.” Chloe shoots another deadly stare at me. “I know you hate lying,” she says, approaching Lottie. “But think about it, honey. If you tell your mom you eloped with someone you’ve known for a while, it’ll be much easier for her to accept.” She brushes a tear away from Lottie’s cheek. I’m insanely jealous that I’m not the one touching Lottie’s face and consoling her. The realization is disturbing. I file it away to analyze later. “Think about your mom’s health, honey,” Chloe says gently after casting another glare at me. I put my arm around Lottie’s shoulder and turn her to face me. “Whatever you decide, I’ll back you up, all right?” “As if,” Chloe says under her breath. “Chloe, please,” Lottie says. “It’s his fault that this happened, Lottie.” “Please, Chloe, I don’t need the drama. I need my head clear so I can sound convincing when I talk to Mom.” Lottie turns to me and says, “I need to make this call in private.” She looks apologetically at Chloe and enters the bedroom, quietly closing the door behind her. “I could sue your damn agency for this,” Chloe spits out. “Listen, just chill out okay? And besides, the last thing you want right now is for Lottie to find out you hired me. She’s upset enough.” “No, you listen to me. I made this mess for Lottie, and I’ll get her out from under your paws. How much?” “Excuse me?” “How much do you want to leave her alone?” “How dare you insult me?” “It’s not like you’re not used to making a profit out of selling yourself.” My breath comes in pants, my hands ball into tight fists, and I say through clenched teeth, “Pay attention because I will not repeat myself. This. Is. Not. About. Money. Last night, something happened between Lottie and me. Something that I don’t expect you to understand because I don’t get it myself.” I feel the muscles in my jaw pulsing. “Now, you’re going to get a refund of what you paid, until then, shut your little brat mouth and let me figure this out with Lottie. Am I clear?” “You wish! The only way for me to stay out of this is if I’m dead.” “Fine, go ahead. Shout it to the four corners of the world what happened. Have it your way. Stomp on Lottie’s heart. Some friend you are.” The words have the desired effect. Chloe winces and her shoulders slump in defeat. “I, um, I guess you’re right. I hate to admit it, but I screwed up. Big time. Now I’m trying to use you as a scapegoat.” She walks to the window and is silent for a moment. When she turns back to face me, her eyes have changed. They are now full of genuine concern. “Do I have your word that you’ll only act in Lottie’s best interest? Even before your own?” she pleads in a small voice.

I don’t have to think before I answer, “Of course.” We’re quiet after that, and for the life of me, I can’t stay mad at Chloe. Insulted yes, but not upset. She’s a good friend who played the fool by hiring an escort without clearing it with her friend first. Plus, I have my share of guilt. What was I thinking, proposing, and marrying someone I just met? Not to mention, a client? But, fuck me. I don’t regret one hasty decision from last night. After room service delivers a cart with breakfast, Lottie reappears. She is still wearing the fluffy hotel’s robe. Her hand clutches the phone, and her face is tired and weary. “So, how did it go?” “Better and worse than I expected,” she says and plops on the couch. “Mom is beside herself. She is elated. She said it was romantic and adventurous. She congratulated me. She even said there should be no worries on my part. She understands what it is to be madly in love.” “What did you tell her about us?” I ask. “I went with what you said. I lied. I told her we were dating casually for a while and decided to elope.” “What went wrong then?” Chloe asks. “Dad. He’s furious. He demanded to meet you. Today. He ordered us to get the first flight back home so he can officially meet you.” The worry in her eyes pierces through me. “I’ll do it.” I sit next to Lottie. “Well, I convinced him to wait,” she says. “Wait until when?” I ask. “I tried to convince Dad to wait until I’m back at school, but next week is our annual family vacation to St. Lucia where we have a beach house. My grandpa charters a plane, and we spend ten days there. Mom suggested you and I go together. Dad demanded.” “Do you want me to go?” “Would you even want to do this? I mean, you have your life. And this is my mess.” She casts her eyes on the phone clutched between her fingers. Her voice is so quiet and fragile. I hold her chin and force her to look at me. “Baby, we’re in this together, okay?” “Thank you,” she whispers. And her eyes are so grateful, and pure, and beautiful that the only thing I can think of is to take her again. Bury myself deep into her and show her that I’m not doing anything out of obligation. We’re lost in each other’s gaze when Chloe clears her throat. “Uh-uh, I guess I’m going back to the penthouse. You’re coming, Lottie?” Lottie breaks her eye contact with me. “Yes. I mean. Go ahead. I need to change and stuff. I’ll meet you in a bit.” “Oh, okay. Yeah, sure.” She gets up. “Don’t be long.” She leaves the room without another word to me. Lottie notices it.

“What’s up with her? I mean, she isn’t usually this bitchy.” “It’s all right. She’s just concerned about you. Any good friend would be.” “What now?” she asks with a deep sigh. I know that she wants to talk. I’m not ready for a conversation. “Let’s have breakfast.” “I’m not hungry.” “Try to eat a bit. And we can brainstorm about our situation.” I pull out a chair for her. “What would you like to drink?” I ask. “Orange juice, please.” “You okay?” I ask, pouring juice for both of us. She looks pale. “Yeah. It’s just . . . I’m overwhelmed, I guess. My life has had a heck of a turnaround in the last twelve hours.” “Are you . . . ?” I take a sip from the OJ. I want to ask the question without displaying any trace of insecurity. “Do you regret any of it?” I hold my breath waiting for an answer. “No.” She pauses and scrunches up her face. “Honestly, I don’t regret anything we did last night.” She hesitates and then adds, “I would do it all again.” “What is it, then?” “We’re strangers, Seth.” She furrows her brow. “This. All of it. It doesn’t make any sense. This isn’t the order that we do things.” “What’s wrong with it? Why does life have to follow a linear series of events?” “It’s beyond last night’s impulsive act. It’s what comes after that has me worried. We’re married, Seth. That’s serious. There’re logistics to consider. For instance, we live on opposite ends of the nation. God, it feels lame to think that far ahead when I don’t even know your favorite color.” “Fire.” “What?” “My favorite color is the color of fire.” “One day you’re going to tell me the reason behind that.” She nibbles a morsel of a blueberry muffin. I can see I’m losing her to common sense. “What animal are you most afraid of?” I ask. “What does that have to do with us?” “Just tell me. Better yet, what’s the most dangerous animal on the planet?” “I don’t know. I mean, I hate snakes.” “So, you’re afraid of snakes. You think they’re terrifying, correct?”

She nods, the frown still blooming across her features. “Well, according to researchers, the most dangerous animal on the planet is a seemly harmless mosquito.” I pause, take a bite of my veggie omelet, and watch a slew of thoughts cross her face. Boy, she’s expressive. Just like Zach. “It makes no sense. Why would an ordinary mosquito be dangerous? What’s your point?” “That’s my point exactly. It makes no sense.” I can see I got her attention. “Not everything has to make sense, Lottie. Let’s just get to know each other. I’ll find out your favorite color, meet your family, and we’ll spend time together. Let’s focus on that for now. The rest will fall into place.” She brings another bite of the muffin to her mouth, chewing slowly. I see in her face when my scheme makes sense to her. “What if we hate each other? If—” “Don’t. Don’t overthink. Let’s just do this and see where it leads us. Can you do that?” “I guess,” she finally looks up from her blueberry muffin. Wide eyes, parted lips, naïve and trusting face. My dick stands at attention. Wow, I’ve fucked her less than a half hour ago, and I can’t wait to be inside her again. “When are you leaving?” I ask. “Um, I’m staying here for the week. Then, I’ll fly to JFK to board the plane to St. Lucia.” “See? Let’s not question things. The stars are lined in our favor. One week is plenty of time to get to know each other’s quirks.” “Seth, you can, um, at any time, go back on your decision to help me. I’ll completely understand. You don’t have to feel obligated.” I reach for her hand under the table. I bring it to my crotch and press it on the bulge under my jeans. “Does this seem like an obligation to you?” Her eyes darken with desire, and her face turns pink with what I assume to be embarrassment. “This is what sitting across from you makes me feel. Make no mistake about it. No one forces me do anything I don’t want to. Life is too short to let others dictate it.” “Okay,” she whispers, withdrawing her hand. My young wife is a nymphet in the sack, but a shy little thing outside the bedroom. Oh, this is going to be fun.

Lottie

“PICK YOU UP at eight?” Seth presses me against the penthouse’s front door. “Yeah.” “I want to cook you dinner.” “Okay.” “You sure you don’t want to spend the day with me?” His index finger traces along my jaw until it reaches the curve of my ear. A shiver runs through me. It shakes my decision to put distance between us. I can’t think clearly when he’s near. My brain turns to mush. Spending the day apart will allow me to sort things out. “Yeah, I’m sure. It’ll be good for both of us.” It will give him time to reconsider and who knows, he might not even show up to pick me up. “See you in a bit.” He kisses me, and I swoon. Great. I’m a goner for a sex god that is way out of my league. I close the door behind me, hoping to leave all my worries and fears behind me. But they follow me inside and seem to intensify at Seth’s absence. “About time,” Chloe says. “What took you so long? We need to talk missy.” She is sitting in the living room, her feet tucked under her legs, scanning through a fashion magazine. I sit opposite her but turn my face to hide the tears gathering in my eyes. “Are you crying? What did he do to you?” she asks, darting my way. “Said something to hurt you?” “No.” Between my legs is sore, but no, he didn’t hurt me one bit. “What is it then?” Her voice appears relieved. “We got married, Chloe. Freaking married. Can you believe it? Married.”

“Yes.” “Who even does that?” “Britney Spears.” “I’m serious.” “Angelina Jolie.” “Seriously?” “Hey, listen. It’s actually kind of romantic.” “Says the person who was just screaming at me a few hours ago.” “I was shocked, is all. Now that I think about it, it’s crazy romantic.” “It’s crazy all right.” “Crazy, spontaneous, romantic. Better than the novels we read. C’mon. For the first time in our lives, we’re doing stupid shit like other girls our age do.” She tries to cheer me up. “True. But this is all too surreal. I mean, it’s so not like me to do something this absurd. You should have heard Dad. I’ve never heard him so furious before. And Mom, I could sense her worry, but she took the high road, congratulating me.” “Listen, after next week, your family will meet him. Face will be saved. The reputation of the trad itional Cahan Clan will be ensured. You can just get a divorce.” “Like getting a divorce is a common occurrence in my family.” “Well, the least of the evils, I guess.” “Yeah, definitely a step up from getting a Vegas marriage annulled. Oh, not to mention that I only met him hours prior to the wedding.” “Okay, enough,” she admonishes me, but her tone is gentle. “We’ve been through this already. Put your big girl’s panties on and get over it. Or get the annulment.” And that’s why friends are a pain in the neck. Especially friends like Chloe—honest and brutal. “You’re right. I’m overthinking it. It’s just that I’m trying to wrap my brain around everything, you know?” “That’s not it, is it? There’s something else bothering you. Spill it.” “Yeah. I mean.” I stare at my fingers. “Seth is like, perfect. God, he’s every book boyfriend we’ve ever read conjured into one. You know, like handsome as Christian Grey, mysterious as Edward Cullen, alluring as Mr. Darcy.” I sigh. “But I’m just plain old me.” “C’mon. You being you makes all the damn difference. Give yourself a little more credit, will you? You’re gorgeous, intelligent, and caring. What’s plain about that?” “I want to understand what’s happening to me,” I say in a small voice. “It’s called lust, Lottie. A human condition when two people meet and are attracted to each other.”

I shake my head. “Uh-uh. No. I reject that. I mean, yeah, the lust and the chemistry are there. No denying that. But it’s more. It’s like, returning home. Finding a safe haven. A cosmic event. The union of yin and yang.” “Don’t go down that road just yet, Lottie, you barely know each other.” “And that’s what’s confusing me.” “Let’s just talk about last night, huh? First, I want to know why you lied to me. Then, after I forgive you, you’re going to give me the nitty-gritty of everything that happened in that suite.” She grasps my hand and tugs me to her bedroom. It’s going to be a long afternoon.

Seth “YEP, I’M DEAD serious,” I repeat to Adriana. “What am I supposed to do with Amelia? She secured her appointment last year. She’s already paid for a week and booked the private island in Greece that you liked a couple years back. You can’t do this. I have a reputation, a name to uphold.” She leans forward in her white leather chair. A perfect eyebrow arches in evident exasperation. I pace to the window in her office and look at the strip stretching out under the Nevada sky until my eyes can no longer trace it. I turn back and lean on the windowsill. My eyes focus on the red roses perched on her desk—the only splash of color in the cryptically white office. “Adriana, how long have I been working for you?” “Give or take ten years. But that’s not—” “When have I had a vacation?” “Give me a break, Seth. You’re my most well-traveled employee.” “A vacation for myself, off duty.” “Never?” “When was the last time I let you down?” “Never?” “Rest my case,” I say impatiently. I didn’t think Adriana was going to raise hell when I requested the next three weeks off. I push off the window and sprawl in the white chair in front of her desk. “Did something happen last night that I need to know about?” she asks suspiciously. “No, nothing extraordinary. I just need the time off.” My hands brush my face. “I’m burned out. I need this.” It’s true. I need time off. “Can I coerce you into changing your mind? At least until after you fulfill your commitment with Queen Amelia Bertozo Champziz of Bleemarie.” “No. My mind is made up.”

“Okay,” she says with a sigh. “I’ll see what I can do. That new kid Jasper? He seems promising. I’ll convince her to take him, with a much-reduced price. Hell, I’ll even eat the cost. She’s one of my best clients.” “Thanks,” I say, relieved. “Don’t make a habit of it, Seth. I won’t be as tolerant next time.” “There won’t be a next time, Adriana.” And for a reason beyond my understanding, I knew that statement to be true. I bid farewell and leave her office. Out on the strip, I watch as people walk by without purpose. They’re mostly tourists, visiting Sin City, not a care in the world, not a schedule to abide by. I inhale a deep breath. For the first time in years, I feel free. After a quick stop at the Organic and Fresh store, I arrive home. I make a mental plea that Zach’s at work. “Yoo-hoo!” A voice from the living room crashes my hopes. I’ll have to endure the third degree from Zach. “It’s only me,” I call, heading to the kitchen. I deposit the brown bags on the granite counter. “You’re back,” Zach saunters through the kitchen, his cherry blossom robe trailing behind him. “Home so early?” I ask, glancing at my watch. It’s already five. The meeting with Adriana took longer than I anticipated. “Yeah, the Japanese marketing director canceled. His assistant claimed food poisoning.” He shrugs. “We know better. They gambled all night. I’m sure.” “So, what’s the new strategy? The Japanese market is harder to crack than I anticipated.” “Traditional culture. Traditional men.” He peeks inside the grocery bags. “Very stereotypical of you, but fair enough. Men’s luxury undergarments aren’t a marketable business in many countries. Just be patient, we’ll crack Japan.” I retrieve fresh asparagus from the bag and place it under running water. “Hope you’re right.” “I usually am,” I say with a grin. He nods to the bag. “You have a guest for dinner, yes?” He opens the fridge and grabs a bottle of water. “What makes you think I’m cooking for someone else? Maybe I’m just cooking you a nice meal,” I respond. “You know I hate salmon, yet I see two portions of it. Highly unusual for you to have guests.” He wiggles his brows. “Who is she?” He takes a long pull from the Fuji water. “My wife,” I say, pausing for a minute to taste the word in my mouth. Yes, undoubtedly a primal pleasure. “What?” Waters sports out of his mouth and nose. “What the fuck? Want to give me a heart attack?” I raise my left hand, displaying the band on my finger. “Nope, married last night. Actually sometime this morning.” “You’re shitting me.” “Never been more serious.”

“Do explain,” he says, making himself comfortable on the barstool. As I prepare the meal, I give him a rundown of the events since last night. I keep it light and omit all the unsettled feelings that I have yet to decipher. But Zach isn’t stupid, and he knows me all too well. He knows there’s more to this than I’m letting on. “Wow. I guess congratulations are in order.” He shakes his head, trying to get a grip on all of the info I just dumped on him. “So, when are you breaking it to her that you’re an escort?” Sometimes I forget how blunt Zach is. “I don’t know, man. Everything is confusing.” “Does she know about His Secret?” “No, we haven’t gotten that far into each other’s lives yet.” “Shit, Seth. You didn’t do a prenuptial, yes?” “No, man, there was no time to think about details like that. Besides, she isn’t like that. She comes from money.” “Don’t be naïve. We didn’t build this company from the ground up because we’re morons.” “Nah, nothing to worry about. Lottie . . . she’s just, she’s different, dude.” “They all say that right before a divorce strips them of half their assets.” “For real, man, she’s different . . . a rare brand of woman.” “Goddamnit! You’ve fallen for her. How is that even possible?” “It’s not like that,” I snap. “Either that or she has an enchanted pussy,” “Well, can’t argue the latter. Her little cunt is sweet.” “Dude, who are you? What about the untamed stallion that doesn’t do relationships. One of the most sought-out escorts in the nation. You have princesses and queens, attorney generals and esteemed judges all bidding to buy an hour of your time. Talk about a one-eighty change. You’re pussy-whipped.” He laughs. “Now I’ve seen it all.” “Shut the fuck up, man.” I retrieve a bottle of water for myself and close the fridge door with a bang. He speaks the truth. Another round of laughter roars through his chest and his head tilts back, greatly amused. Fuck me. I’ll never live this down. Should have kept my mouth closed. “You want the premises to yourself and your enchanted pussy, tonight, yes?” he says with a snort. He strolls toward his room. “Thank fuck I’m immune to the likes of it.”

I CLEAN THE KITCHEN while thinking back on when Zach’s path crossed mine. I had just arrived in Vegas. Penniless and homeless, I wandered through the streets, sleeping in dark alleys and eating what grocery stores and restaurants discarded in dumpsters. It’s amazing how one can survive on that alone. I tried to get a job, but no one would take a chance on an underage teen. Not to mention, I couldn’t use my real name. It was mission impossible. In order to survive I had to be creative. Besides eating from the trash, I did the only other alternative I could think of: steal. After carefully choosing my victims, it would be like the movies. A bump, the sweep of a wallet, and voila, all the cash I needed was mine. My first attempts were successful. A teenage girl. Easy-peasy. Except she only had eight dollars in her purse. Next, I decided that middle-aged tourists would be more profitable. Which they were. The first sucker was leaving a casino. All smiles, bragging about hitting the coin machines. I followed his intoxicated ass and swiftly snapped his fat wallet from his back pocket. Bingo. A wad of three hundred dollars—crispy and green bills—glinted at me. Though I recognized the danger of being caught, I got cocky. I changed my demographic yet again. That’s when I spotted Zach—tall, handsome, preppy, and apparently high as a kite. He was leaving the Caesars Palace Hotel. I followed him through the strip until he turned into an alley. When I turned the corner, he was bent over, puking. My chance to slip his wallet. Except as I reached his back pocket, he swirled, and a hand gripped my wrist. Before I realized what had happened his forearm pressed against my throat, and his body caged me against the wall. “What the fuck do you want?” he asked, panting against my face. “I, nothing. . . .” I couldn’t finish the sentence. My throat throbbed under the pressure that blocked my airway. He released the pressure and asked again, “Why have you been following me? Who do you work for?” I gasped for air. “No one. Fuck.” “You’re just a fucking kid,” he said as he studied my face. “I’m going to let go of you, but don’t try to jump me,” he said in a small but menacing voice. He released me and stepped back. With my hands on my knees, I coughed and gasped for air, trying to soothe my burning lungs. “What the fuck, man? I could beat the crap out of you, or call the cops. Neither scenario would be good for you,” he

yelled. I caught my breath and stood tall, doing my best to restore my dignity. I had to fly before the dick head changed his mind and did one of the two things. He studied me for a moment, taking in my raggedy shoes, dirty pants, oily hair, and hoodie that had seen better days. “What do you want, money? Here, take it.” He snatched two twenties from his wallet and waved them at me. When I refused to take the cash, he shoved it into the front pocket of my jacket. “Not worth going to jail for a few bucks, man,” he said shaking his head. “What’s your name?” “I don’t have one,” I responded. “Everyone has a name.” “Not me.” “For real? I just paid for your dinner, and you won’t tell me your name?” “Phoenix,” I said unconvinci ngly. “Whatever.” He didn’t buy it. “So where do you live, Phoenix?” Why did he want to know? “None of your business.” “Hey, the fuck? That’s not how you respond to someone’s kindness.” “There is no such thing as kindness.” “I just handed you forty bucks.” “Well, tough shit. That doesn’t mean I owe you anything.” “Hey, just asking a question, bro, being friendly and shit. No reason to get all pissy.” “My ass you’re friendly. Everything has a price. I’m not sucking your dick.” “What a prick. I must look like a pervert, yes.” He flashed his ultra-white teeth at me. “Fuck you,” I said. “I’ll tell you what. You remind me of a scared boy that arrived on the strip a few years back. Come, let me buy you a hot meal.” And that was that. I skeptically followed him to a burger joint. We talked about where he was from and why he left New Jersey to come to Vegas. His story was worse than mine. His father caught him making out with another boy and kicked him out when he was seventeen. He offered me a place to stay. Why, I had no idea. But I wasn’t about to decline help. A week later, and many failed attempts at finding a job, I inquired what he did for a living. I had my suspicions but didn’t want to pass judgment. He told me point blank that he was a male escort. He gave me the run down but refused to help me. “C’mon, man. You’re a minor,” he said. “So were you when you started.”

He scratched the blond scruff on his face. “True. You need to pass Adriana’s screening. And by screening I mean you have to fuck her to the moon and back. Convince her that you have what it takes. If you catch my drift.” “Fuck a girl. Got it. Is she hot?” “Forget about the physical perception of a woman, dude. To have a chance in this field, you have to see the beauty within. But yeah, Adriana is a hot Brazilian chick.” He smiled wide. “Just one question,” I asked, my voice shaking, and I hated the sign of weakness. “I don’t. I can’t. I can’t fuck or let a man fuck me.” “Adriana runs a high-end agency that caters exclusively to female customers. No gay-for-pay. No need to sweat it.” Less than a month later, I was the newest male escort of Tailored Companionship. Adriana, along with Zach, helped me to invent a new persona. With her connections, Adriana got me a new identity. I became Seth Phoenix. Eventually becoming the most sought-out escort in the nation.

Lottie WITH A SATISFIED NOD, I deem myself ready for tonight’s date. My hair is in a ponytail. I wear a pair of faded but comfortable jeans, flats, and a plain white T-shirt that says, “Not all who wander are lost.” I wonder if I should put my contacts back on and ditch the glasses. I reject the idea. This is the real me. The sooner Seth realized, the better. Since I can remember, I’ve lived in the pages of the books. Avoided reality. Now, it finally feels like I’m living something exciting. It scares the hell out of me and thrills me at the same time. Seth is solely responsible for it. However, I won’t deceive him into thinking I’m this cool and trendy girl. Later today, when we meet again, he’ll face the real me. Not last night’s pimped-out version. I’m not bigger than life, like Anne of Green Gables, or have a poetic name like Isabella Swan. No, I didn’t volunteer to replace my sister as tribute (I don’t even have a sister). I don’t have the sassy mouth of Kristen Ashley’s heroines or the bravery of a Divergent. No, I’m just plain old me. Ordinary. Boring. Unattractive, even. I study my reflection in the mirror. I can’t deny the change the events of last night brought out in me. Somehow, I look different. There’s a glow on my skin, a soft curve on my lips, a twinkle in my eyes and a shimmering aura surrounding me. I raise my hand and study the gigantic rock gleaming on my finger. Everything is too overwhelming to think about, so I finish packing my overnight bag. Earlier, Seth texted me suggesting I pack to sleep over. When I got the text from him, my coiled muscles went slack. In honesty, I had doubted that I would hear from him again. Except to serve me with divorce papers.

Once I’m ready, I text him a new message.

Me: text me when you’re here. I’ll go down, so u don’t need to park.

An immediate response popped on the screen.

Seth: Be there in twenty Me: k

I say goodbye to Chloe, reassuring her I will be okay. She insisted I request Seth’s address and phone number. “Just in case,” she had said disapprovingly. For the entire afternoon, we talked about my new marital status and my relationship with Seth. I was able to convince her that I had to go along with the plan, not only for my family’s sake but also to discover if what happened between Seth and me should be something we explore further. She finally understood. We both came to the same conclusion: Lust dazzled Seth and me. However, there might be an undercurrent energy pulling us together. And to think I was so judgmental of instant love in the romance novels I’ve read. “Karma is a bitch!” Chloe eloquently said during our conversation. I was silent at her comment. She had a point. However, I haven’t fallen in love with Seth. Not yet, anyhow. I had most certainly fallen in lust. And what a lust it was. My body shivered and a rush of warmth rushed to my loins at the mere thought of his hands caressing me. I have to figure this out. But first things first. With both hands gripping the handle of my Louis Vuitton duffel, I stand in front of Constellation, my back straight as a board. As I wait for Seth, I recall how Chloe appeared guilty and worried about the recent developments in my life. I reassured her that I was a big girl. Therefore, she wasn’t to blame herself. But there was no use. She repeatedly hammered how gullible I had been, and how stupid of her to have encouraged me to be reckless. A slick coal black BMW pulls over in front of the hotel. Before I see the driver, I know who it is. I feel a jolt of energy in the air. It’s Seth. He lowers the tinted window and looks directly at me. My bones liquefy under his heated gaze. His lips curve into a slow, dazzling smile. Before he gets out, I sprint to the car, flick the door open and slide inside the vehicle.

“Hi,” I offer, praying he can’t hear the thumping of my heart. “Hi,” he says, grinning. He leans in, and his lips touch mine. It’s a gentle kiss. My body doesn’t interpret it that way, though. It goes haywire. “Ready?” he asks and brushes his lips against mine again. I nod. He plucks the duffel bag from my clutched fingers, puts it on the backseat and takes off. Paying attention to the busy strip, I inhale a calming breath. The classical music floating in the interior slowly relaxes me, dissipating the tension in my distraught body. “Nice ride.” Can’t I ever just find something a little smarter to say? “Thanks.” After he merges into the flow of the traffic, he reaches for my hand. “How was the rest of your day?” He brings my hand to his mouth and his lips stroke my knuckles sending a wave of warmth through my bloodstream. He settles our entwined fingers over his jean-clad thigh. His blond hair is still damp from a shower. He smells of soap, shaving cream, and his woodsy scent. He wears a wellfitted light green shirt that makes his turquoise eyes appear almost a shade of green. He glances at me with inquisitive eyes, reminding me to answer. “I, uh, err, it went well. After Chloe’s third degree, I took a nap. I feel well rested. Thank you. How about yourself?” “I had some business to take care of,” he says evasively. “But I had time for a shower and to cook you a meal.” “You shouldn’t have bothered.” “It wasn’t a bother,” he says, looking down at me in an intense way. Like his words meant more than what he was saying. “Here we are.” He signals and enters a sophisticated building. He parks his car next to a Harley, swiftly hops out of the car, and opens my door. He retrieves my overnight bag from the backseat, plants a hand on the small of my back, and guides me to the elevator. I blame the elevator ascendance for the flock of butterflies fluttering in my stomach. There are so many of them that it feels as though my body could almost levitate. “This is us,” he says, guiding me out the elevator and to a heavy oak door. The only door on the level. As if listening to my thoughts he says, “One apartment per floor.” He unlocks the door and I step into the apartment. I don’t know what to expect. It’s not like I know my husband. Luxurious is an inadequate word to describe the interior. I come from money, so fancy doesn’t impress me. But I identify a beauty and elegance in the place that has me in awe. It’s far from what I imagined his bachelor pad to be. Seth tosses his key on a wooden plate. It lands with a muted thump. He turns to me and says, “This is home.” I follow him down two steps leading to an ample open-spaced living room. The black wood floor glints under the light flooding from the ceiling. The room is painted in soothing shades of gray and blue. Behind an L-shaped couch, a black grand piano adds a glamor that reminds me of the older movies I like to watch so much.

A small area dedicated to eating is adjacent the living room. A distressed wood table surrounded by a dozen chairs takes the entire space. A vase of wildflowers in a plethora of colors—purple, orange, red, blue, and white—adorns the table which is already set for two. “Kitchen.” Seth nods to the right. Behind an island, the small room displays rich mahogany cabinets, stainless steel appliances, and black granite counter tops. Everything is clean and organized to a fault. No one could accuse this bachelor of being a pig. “Something smells good,” I say and on cue, my stomach rumbles. “Dinner is ready. I just need to reheat. Let me show you to our bedroom so we can stow your bag,” he says, holding my hand so I can follow him to a small hallway leading to several doors. “Guest room,” he says pointing to the first door. “Bathroom.” He continues. “Zach’s room. He is my roommate and best friend.” Pointing to another door, he adds, “A mutual office.” He stops in front of the last door. “And what is now our bedroom.” He flings the door open, and I step in. The interior of the bedroom is just as breathtaking as the rest of the place. Hues of blue and seashell make it soothing and elegant. He puts my bag on the king-size bed. “That’s the bathroom if you need to freshen up.” He nods to a door. “Thank you. I’m good.” “So, this is it.” He waves his hand in a vulnerable way that is at odds with his usual self-poised posture. “It’s a great place,” I offer. A movement by the patio’s door catches my eyes. A cat lies on a fluffy feline bed. From my vantage point, I can see its profile. The cat sits on his haunches and languidly stretches its front limbs. “That’s Dona Bella. We call her Dona. She thinks she owns the place.” From her peripheral, she disdainfully casts a glance at me, making it clear she’s unhappy we disturbed her slumber. Her deep blue eyes are big and round, contrasting against her pure white fur. She is the most beautiful cat I have ever seen. She lets out a bewildered meow and turns to face me. I stifle a gasp. The right side of her face is completely disfigured. An eye and an ear absent. Her eye moves over my body. She is examining me, just as I am she. With an indescribable elegance, she prowls my way. I see in her one eye, the perusal. And although as silly as it sounds, I hold my breath in expectation for her approval. She stands in front of me. Her head tilts to the side. A softer meow escapes her lips, which are also slightly scarred on the right side. She proceeds to make loops in between my legs, settling in front of me. I smile and sit on my heels. “Hey there, beauty.” I pet her soft fur. She lets out a satisfied purr, and her slender body rumbles under my fingers. “She is so sweet,” I say glancing up at Seth. He looks at us with a bemused expression. “Yep, that’s Dona.” “What happened to her face?” I ask. “I don’t know. I found her like that. She had a nasty infection in a wound that covered half her face. The vet

recommended euthanasia. I couldn’t let him do it. It took a while to nurse her back to health.” “Wow, I guess she’s lucky you found her.” “I like to think I’m the lucky one. She found me.” There is so much hidden meaning behind the sentence. Most importantly, it reveals a great deal about his character. My head does a little swoosh before I respond. “I guess that makes both of you lucky.” “That’s a way to put it.” He approaches me and grasps my hand. “You hungry?” “Yes.” “Hope you like fish,” he says with a smile. “Um, fish, yes! It’s fine. I mean I do like fish. I love fish.” My head bobs frantically to emphasize my answer. What a lie. I hate fish.

HE TUGS ME back to the hall. His roommate’s door swings open at the same time. And Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Adonis number two materializes in front of me. The man is almost as handsome as Seth is. “Perfect timing,” Seth says. “Lottie this is my best friend, Zach.” “And so, we meet, Mrs. Phoenix,” Zach says with a huge smile revealing his pearly whites. To my mortification, I blush. Way to make an impression on my husband’s best friend. “Nice to meet you,” I say, offering my hand. “Oh, trust me, the pleasure is all mine.” He holds my hand and pulls me into a warm embrace. “I’m still in shock that someone managed to whisk this man away. Some spell you must weave with you.” “Zach,” Seth interrupts promptly. “Let’s not scare her away. We’re newlyweds. She can still file for an annulment.” “Chill, Romeo, I wasn’t going to send her running to the hills.” He turns to me. “I was just saying she must be a powerful sorceress, yes.” I smile fondly and genuinely at Zach. I immediately know I like him. Better yet, the sentiment appears mutual. And for the life of me, the realization floods me with satisfaction and relief. It’s like I had just passed two inspections. Dona Bella’s and Zach’s. “Well, I’m on my way out. I’ll leave you two love birds alone.” He points a finger at Seth. “You better dazzle her, yes?” “Will do my best,” Seth responds with a smile, displaying the brotherly love and bond between the two. Wow, they must have been friends for a while. “I’ll spend the night at Mason’s, so don’t wait up for me.” He winks maliciously. “I’ll text before coming back.” He turns to me and pulls me into an intimate hug. “Have a good time, gorgeous.” In my ear he whispers, “Seth went all out to impress you with dinner.” I reciprocate Zach smile. It’s been five minutes, but I feel like we’ve known each other for decades. Zach possesses the same allure and magnetic power as Seth does. It seems charm is a common denominator in this house. “Great to meet you, Zach.” Zach leaves whistling a tune that though familiar, I can’t name it. Seth guides me to a barstool by the kitchen island. “Let me get you something to drink. Is wine good?”

“Yes,” I say. My hands are damp, so I press them on my jeans. Jeez, I’m way out of my league here. Not only is Seth gorgeous, but apparently he’s surrounded by drop-dead gorgeous friends too. The word overwhelmed doesn’t even cover it. What did Seth see in me? Maybe I should just ask: “Oh, by the way, what is a guy like you doing with a girl like me?” I have a healthy self-esteem. I’m not one of those girls who thinks less of herself just because she doesn’t wear size zero. No, I love myself, thank you very much. However, I’m practical and intelligent. Seth and I together don’t add up. Guys like him do not get attracted to girls like me. It defies logic that a man like Seth would hit on me in a night club. And I’m not even talking about the marriage. No! That’s an entirely new level of craziness that my practical intellect fails to encompass. Seth hands me a glass of white wine. His dexterous fingers fiddle with the buttons on a panel on the kitchen wall. The raspy and unmistakeable voice of Louis Armstrong rumbles through hidden speakers. He raises a brow, and I know he is inquiring about the choice of music. I smile. “Jazz is fine. Can I help you with something?” I ask. “No, tonight you’re my guest. I got it covered.” Seth busies himself with the final touches of dinner. He sips his wine and moves through the kitchen. His movements are fluid and confident. Like he knows his  place on this earth. Like he knows he is greatly blessed in the looks department. Like he knows my eyes are feasting on the view. “Tell me a bit about you,” he asks as he pulls a tray of fish from the oven and strolls to the table. I pick up the salad dish and follow him. “Not much to tell. I’m an everyday girl, who lives an ordinary life.” “No.” He shakes his head. “You’re far from ordinary,” he says, lighting the candles. Then he turns to me and adds, “You are the most fascinating woman I have ever met.” His voice is slow. Each word enunciated fiercely. I repeatedly blink and I’m at a loss for words. In silence, we bring the rest of the food and the wine to the table. Seth pulls out a chair. I sit and murmur a “thank you.” I kind of like this pampering. The few dates I had were with college guys who had two ideas of fun: a keg of beer and to get laid at the end of the night. Hence my scarce dating curriculum. “Where do you go to school?” Seth serves me the salad. “Yale,” I say and take a bite of my salad. “Impressive. Ivy League. What’s your major?” “I just graduated this past May, from the Juris Doctors Degree Program. It has all the courses necessary to enter the Graduate Law School.” A sweet taste, with a bite of tart, spread on my tongue. “This is heavenly.” “Thank you. Homemade dressing. A bit too young to graduate, huh?” he asks, cocking his head. The candles cast a soft golden light on him. Under the hue, the already gorgeous planes of his face are multiplied tenfold. “I skipped a grade in middle school. Did tons of summer credits at local Universities while in high school.” Needless to say, my social life has been pretty much nonexistent. I take a sip from the wine. A woodsy taste emanates over

my tongue. “Family?” “My parents live in Maine. My brother and his family live in Palo Alto, California. He’s a photographer. His wife is a vet. They have a four-year-old son and a baby girl on the way.” “Are you close with your parents?” “Yes and no. I adore my parents, but I want to be on my own, you know? My dad can be a bit overbearing.” Understatement of the year. “Why law?” I pause. I want to tell him that my dad dictated I would go to Law School. Which he did. But it’s also what I always wanted. “I really like law. I guess it’s ingrained in my genes or something. I knew I wanted to be an attorney before I could spell the word.” Every generation of my family, dating back to the Pilgrims has had at least one member in the judicial system. “Wow, it must be cool to know what you want to be at such a young age.” “Yeah, I’m one of the fortunate ones. Not only did I know what I wanted, but also, I had the financial means and the full support of my family.” “Not to mention acceptance to Yale. Just whoa.” “Yeah, I suppose.” I cast my eyes on my food. “What? You don’t like Yale?” “I do. It’s a great school.” “Then what is it?” I hesitate for a moment. “I would’ve rather gone to Stanford. But it wasn’t an option.” “Why?” Seth places his fork down. His eyes zoom on me like laser beams. “My father graduated from Yale. Like many in my family did before him.” Way to sound like a pushover. “How about yourself?” I say changing the subject. “Not much to tell. My parents are deceased. Only child. A few years back, I lost contact with the only close relative I have. So it’s just Dona, Zach, and me.” “You and Zach seem close.” “We’re more like brothers than friends. I would do anything for that dude. Don’t tell him I said that.” He smiles. “He thinks too highly of himself as it is. We’re partners in a pretty successful business.” He pauses, his fingers sliding along the stem of the wine glass. It appears he’s selecting what information to share. “Let me see what else. I’m twenty-eight. I’m too vain for my own good. My drug of choice is coffee. I’m a health freak. I have a bachelor’s degree in business and a master’s in marketing, which comes in handy for our company.” “What kind of business?” I ask, gathering all my courage to eat a bite of fish. I brace myself to avoid grimacing. When the flavor of the fish hits my taste buds, I’m pleasantly surprised. “Mmm, this is good.” “You sound surprised.” He grins.

“I, um, I’m not usually a fish lover.” I point my fork to the plate. “But this definitely makes me want to revisit the notion.” Seth throws his head back in throaty laughter. “What?” I ask after bringing another generous bite to my mouth. “You, my lovely wife, are an awful liar. I saw in your face earlier that you didn’t care for fish. I was trying to find a way to get you off the hook. But then again, I’m flattered that you’d try it for my sake.” “Yeah, Chloe always schools me that I have to improve my lying skills. I’ll be a lawyer for Christ’s sake. Lying is a job requirement.” “Nothing wrong with an honest lawyer. We need more honesty in this world.” He winks and all the muscles down south clench. “Let me rephrase that then. I should work on my poker face.” I continue to scarf down the food. “Yeah. That’s true. I can read you like a billboard.” “That bad?” I scrunch up my nose. “Yep,” he responds, bobbing his head. “Maybe, this naïve and gullible me is just my poker face when, in truth, I’m an evil person cleverly deceiving you.” I narrow my eyes in what I hope is an intense stare, but fail miserably to suppress a smile. “Nah, sorry.” He shakes his head. “Nope, not a chance. Still can see right through you.” “Darn it.” “Let me get desert,” he says, standing up. A moment later, he’s back with a plate of chocolate covered strawberries. Oh my, they look decadent, but more than that, they look sexy. What’s with me? Since when are strawberries hot? “I take from your expression that you like these.” He places the plate in the center of the table and waltzes my way. His eyes are intent and predatory. He offers his hand. I accept it. He tugs me to my feet. “I’ve wanted to feed you these strawberries since I saw them at the market earlier.” His other hand slides around my back. “But right now I have other intentions. Let’s save the strawberries for when we’re in bed.” He stares down at me with an unflinching gaze, desire gleaming in his eyes. “Dance with me?” he asks in a low and raspy voice. When I stand, my legs tremble. The only reason I avoid an embarrassing fall is that his strong arm firmly grabs my waist. Louis Armstrong sings about La Vie En Rose. The wine flows through me, turning my body into molten lava. Seth’s sandalwood scent, his warmth, his firm length pressed against my body, overwhelm me. My world spins. My head swims in desire and unadulterated lust. He hasn’t even kissed me yet, and I’m soaking wet. I want to resist the encompassing of his riveting presence. This dinner was for us to get to know each other—but not in the Biblical sense. In this short time together, we’re already well acquainted with that area. This is the time to get to know each other’s quirks, and likes and dislikes. Not to have mind-blowing sex.

However, Seth’s intentions are clearly pressing against my lower belly. My rational self wants to ask him to stop it. To keep it at the conversation level, but screw it. A tingling sensation climbs my spine, spreading out to my limbs, and the tip of my fingers and toes. My skin burns with a desperate need. I want him inside me. Badly. He twirls me around the vast room, our feet gliding on the black wood floor.

MY BODY AND mind float in a cloud of unveiling passion, of dark and mysterious want. They dive into an endless sea of carnal and raw sensuality. The strong desire embeds into the pores of my bones. It feeds me boldness and courage. My hands, resting on his shoulders, slide around his neck. My fingers weave through his hair and my nails graze his scalp. I glance up. Seth’s throat moves as he swallows. My eyes trace from his Adam’s apple up to his parted lips to find his hooded gaze. His bright eyes have turned darker, almost black. They resemble the sky of a stormy summer afternoon. I surrender to the need blazing inside me. I bring his head down. His lips to mine. There is nothing insecure or tentative about the gesture. And though this new persona—this strange side of me, scares the living freaking hell out of me, she also thrills me to no end. Our kiss deepens. We’re all tongues and teeth, hunger and desperation. Seth’s hand cups my apex over my jeans. “I want to fuck you. Here. Now.” His hands grab the hem of my white cotton tee and tear the fabric. Cold air swooshes over my skin. Pebbles spread over my torso and breasts, making my nipples pucker. Seth swiftly unhooks my bra and frees my breasts. His head tips back and his eyes caress my skin. He leans in, his mouth lands on my nipple and he closes his lips around it. First, he grazes his teeth on the pink and sensitive bud. Then, he bites. Hard. I yell out. Borderline pain blends with ecstasy. His tongue strokes the sensitive skin, soothing, enticing. He sucks it, deep, long, and intensely. My hands fist his hair, pulling his head toward my bosom. A feral moan, raw and foreign, leaves my throat. Seth’s mouth continues with its onslaught on my other breast. He grabs my leg and yanks it around his narrow hips. I arch my back. His arousal presses on a primal spot of pure nerve endings. I grind on his cock as if my life depends on it. There, in the middle of the room, with the voice of Louis Armstrong crooning from the speakers, still wearing jeans, I come. I come gloriously and ferociously. My mouth releases a slew of whimpers, moans, and groans. The relief is fleeting. The throbbing and the ache in between my legs intensify. “Seth, God. Please.” Somehow, I’m facing the dinner table. My fingers clutch to the wood edge.

Seth reaches around my waist and unbuttons my pants. He tugs them, along with my panties, down my thighs, exposing my ass. My backside is flush against Seth’s front. His hand sprawls on my back, and he firmly guides me to the table, the ridges of the distressed wood press against the ultra-sensitive skin of my nipples. He spreads the globes of my ass. His index finger traces my back hole. I tense momentarily. “No, worries, babe. Your gorgeous ass is safe today.” He leans toward my butt, and his hot breath is on my ass. His finger finds my swollen entrance. “This is what I want right now. This sweet pussy.” His tongue lashes over my lips and flicks my clit. Another feral scream escapes my throat. My fingers curl on the edge of the table. He slides two fingers inside me and the world tilts on its axis. My body begins to tremble, slowly ascending to a high of pleasure. He withdraws his fingers, leaving me disappointed. “Not yet, baby. When you come again, I want your pussy throbbing around my cock.” He pulls back. I hear the tearing of foil and the shuffling of clothes. The head of his dick presses on my sex. I brace myself. But he slowly and deliberately rubs it along my clit, circling lightly and slowly. “Do you want my cock?” he asks in a restrained voice. “Yes, please. Please,” I beg with a whimper. “So fucking beautiful. Mine. You’re mine. Just mine. All mine.” His voice carries a note of desperation. Of ownership. Of awe. He slams his cock into me. Another cry rips through me. My grip on the edge of the table tightens. I must be bur ning. My flesh seems to be doused in flames from the inside out. My body writhes with a desperate need of release. The tension simmering inside my lower tummy strains every muscle in my body. “Seth,” I cry. “Come for me, baby,” he orders, his fingers digging in my hips, surely bruising my skin. He rams over and over, faster and relentlessly. “Give it to me, baby. Give me your pleasure,” Seth grunts through clenched teeth, as he too, chases his release. I push my hips back, meeting each of his thrusts. The world fades. My eyes roll in the back of my head. My pussy convulses around him. I shatter into a million shards of pleasure. “Oh, fuck, baby. Yes. Fuck. Give it to me.” His dick throbs in spasms of desire. He collapses on me. His breath comes shallow and fast over the skin between my shoulder blades. His heart is thumping so hard, I feel it vibrating against my back. We remain inert. The entire world pauses with us. Time and space are still. My lids are heavy and my body lies limp on the table. I have no energy or desire to move. Ever again. Well, unless a bed is the destination. I’m a sex fiend. Who knew?

Suddenly, Seth stands up. My body shivers, grumbling in complaint of the cold air against my warm skin and the absence of his heat. He pulls me up. He puts his arms under my knees and effortlessly sweeps me off my feet. I lean my head on his chest, inhaling his delicious masculine scent. He carries me to his room and places me on his bed. “Be right back,” he says. As he exits the room, I stare at his behind. His ass is magnificent. When he returns, he balances the wine, glasses, and the strawberries. Oh, boy, he’s not done with me yet. The awareness that this is going to be another long night has my body humming in expectation.

I LAZILY STRETCH my sore limbs and flutter my lids open. The first light of dawn tints the air in soft hues of pink and pearl. A massive arm drapes over my waist, sinking me into the warm depth of a soft mattress. Memories from last night run through my mind in Technicolor. My cheeks flush. Oh, the naughty things Seth did to my body. I carefully nudge his arm away. His breath remains steady though he grumbles about the moon chasing the evil away and a yellow brick road. I stand by the bed and take the time to observe him inconspicuously. Blue sheets, bunched around his hips prevents me from seeing the part of his anatomy that has changed me into a sex fiend. I study the expanse of his wide back. He’s all muscle. The golden freckles sprinkled along his shoulders make my hands itch to touch him. I resist. I just want to drink in this image of him. His dark blond hair is tumbled over his forehead. His long and dark lashes fan over his eyes, depriving me of the beam of light that emanates from his orbs. The dawning light bathes his profile in a soft glow. His face, with shadows of stubbles and an unguarded expression, has a childlike vulnerability. He looks strikingly handsome. So unattainable, yet, so within my reach. As an archangel, he is a mixture of something vulnerable and fierce. It’s confusing. And I don’t like confusing. I’m rational. Disciplined. Practical. I’m proper. Refined. Polished. I am so screwed.

I gather my toiletries bag and tip-toe to the bathroom. I do my morning routine—brush my teeth, finger comb my wild hair in a failed attempt to tame it, and use the toilet. I find a fluffy robe behind the door, put it on, and silently step across the room. In the kitchen, I raid the cabinets searching for coffee. The cabinets’ interiors are clean and neat. Every item is freakily aligned. The labels, facing out, read: Organic, Wholesome, and Healthy. He wasn’t kidding when he said he was a health freak. It’s a little creepy. Too organized and aseptic. Perfect, perfect, perfect. Almost like a statement. I will Cocoa Puffs to appear. No luck. I do, however, find a tin of coffee. While the coffee is brewing, I stroll around the apartment, examining the décor. Artwork, beautiful but daunting, adorn the walls. No personal pictures. No personal touches. Everything is sterile and perfectly orchestrated. I’m studying a black and white picture of an old movie called The Seventh Seal when I feel the charge in the air. I turn my head and my eyes meet Seth’s gaze. With shoulders propped against the doorframe and arms folded across his chest, he examines me. He only wears boxer briefs. Of course, my heart falters. Damn briefs. “Hi,” I say, flushing. Why does he have to be so gorgeous? It’s utterly unfair for someone to look so stunning first thing in the morning. “Hey,” he replies in a voice deepened by sleep. His eyes seem a little distant. I wonder if he’s put off by my snooping around his apartment. “Did you watch this movie?” I ask. “Of course, The Seventh Seal. 1957. One of the greatest black and white movies of all time,” he responds. “I would never pin you for the type to question the meaning of life,” I say, referring to the theme of the movie. “You watched it?” He arches his brows. “Of course.” “You like black and white movies too?” “I adore film noir. The best films in history were made in black and white.” “Well, well.” He takes a predatory step toward me. “We might be kindred spirits after all.” “What do you mean?” “I, dear wife, happen to be a black and white movie buff. Name it and I’ve watched it.” He gathers my hand and leads me to a bookshelf tucked at the far end of the wall. He opens a door, and I gasp in surprise. A collection of hundreds of black and white movies are lined on the shelves, all in chronological order. Of course, they would be perfectly categorized. I glide the tip of my fingers along the movies. Casablanca, Citizen Kane, The Defiant Ones, Manhattan, To Kill a Mockingbird, and so many other works of art. Wow, all movies I had watched repeatedly. My mom passed her obsession with the film noir era on to me. I grew up watching black and white movies with her. Strangely, I sense a shift in the air. As if the mere similarity of taste, makes the invisible thread surrounding us a

little more visible, almost tangible. Like everything that has happened in the last couple of days of my life is less surreal, more explainable. “Can we watch Casablanca sometime?” I ask on a whim. I’ve watched the movie thousands of times. But the perspective of watching it again with him makes my heart do a backflip. “I’ll do anything you want, baby,” he says, his voice loaded with meaning. He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. His eyes intently fix on mine, blazing with a unique hybrid of green and blue. His words, his gaze, his body posture are all too intense, overwhelming even. Energy, strange and pungent, travels in waves from his body to mine. It feels like tentacles softly caressing the depth of my soul. I blink repeatedly. Too soon, too soon, too soon. My mind tells me. Ignore your bleeping mind. My heart tells me. I close the bookshelf’s door. “Coffee should be ready.” “Yes, coffee would be nice,” he says lightly, probably attempting to defuse the intensity of the moment we just shared.

Seth SITTING ACROSS FROM Lottie with my chin resting on my hand, I watch as she nibbles small bites of a blueberry muffin. In my mind, one thought persevere, shower sex. I stand up and offer my hand in invitation. “Shower with me?” “Oh, um, oh.” She fidgets in her seat. The tightening of her thighs and the flush of her cheeks are a telltale sign that her body wants the same thing I want. I grab her hand and yank her against my chest. Her eyes flicker from my bare chest to my mouth, and she runs her tongue over her lips. “I, uh, I.” My mouth seizes hers. The words are gone before they come out. My hand sneaks under the robe gliding along her generous thigh. I grip her beautiful ass tightly and squeeze. God, she’s not wearing panties. My dick, painfully hard, jolts and throbs. “I might need a volunteer to wash my back,” I say with my mouth pressed to hers, my teeth tugging on her upper lip. “Okay,” she says. Her voice is shaky and her breath harsh. “Okay,” I say with a grin and turn toward the bedroom.

SEX IS MY domain. I play a woman’s body like a neurosurgeon works a scalpel, calm and deliberate. However, there’s an urgency to the way I desire Lottie. A desperation. I want to fuck her with the same eagerness a martyr is ready to die for his cause. This raw attraction hums through my body with full-blown intensity. It’s overpowering. At times like this, I question the wisdom of getting further involved with her. But I am unable to resist. I’m blinded to anything other than Lottie. Emotions I don’t recall ever feeling are carving a place inside my chest. These feelings are like corn kernels bursting open when heated. They tumble and bump over one another in a fast and unorderly series of pops. A cosmic explosion of feelings. And my chest is expanding, swelling to accommodate them all. I guide her to the bathroom. After turning the water on, I say, “I want to take you pressed against the wall, your sweet pussy hot and tight around my cock, your mouth crying out my name.” She gasps, her eyes dilate, and her face flushes red. Oh, how I enjoy arousing a woman. How beautiful it is to awaken dormant desires, unveil exotic fantasies, break self-imposed bias, or unlock invisible shackles that prevent people from achieving nirvana. “Get in,” I command softly. She obeys. After so many years working as an escort, I have acquired a particular skill. After only a few minutes with a woman, I detect her uttermost desires. The dark and gritty ones. The unacknowledged desires hidden deep within the prism of the soul, those that lurk in the shadowed corners of the heart. It is as if it emanates out of her pores directly into my nostrils. I inhale the knowledge deeply and use it to provide a woman with unfathomable sexual completion. I step under the jet and close my eyes. A cloud of steam engulfs my body, awakens my senses. Rivulets of water stream down my skin, creating a burning path. But what excites me the most is the intensity in Lottie’s eyes as they examine my body. Knowing she is inexperienced, I allow her time to peruse my form. When my eyes flash open, her gaze meets mine. Her lids are heavy. Her lower lip captured between her teeth. “Wash me,” I order. Her nervous eyes flicker to the soap and back to me. Oh, how I like that she’s shy.

I hold up the bar of soap, handing it to her. She reaches for the washcloth, but my hand stops the movement. “No, I want to feel your touch on every inch of my skin.” A visible shiver runs through her body. My dick throbs in anticipation. Her trembling fingers circle the bar of soap, allowing it to spin under her palm and lather up. I take a step away from the jet. We’re a foot apart. My body is an offering at her alter to use for her pleasure. Her hand, small and soft, strokes my chest lightly. A growl roars on the back of my throat, the sound empowering her. A savage desire covers her pupils. I close my eyes. She continues with the soft sweep of her hands, across my chest, over my shoulder, along my arm and elbow, down to my fingertips, and back on the inside of my arm. Her fingers squeeze the bulge on my biceps and glide over the sensitive skin of my underarm. Damn, her fingers weave through the hair under my armpits and that alone has to be the most sensual and arousing touch I have ever experienced. After the other side of my body receives the same treatment, I turn offering my back. I hear her fumbling with something, and then she pours shampoo over my hair. Her fingers follow. They firmly massage my scalp. And I swear I have to keep another groan from leaving my lips. What’s wrong with me? She finishes the task and pauses so I can rinse. Good, I need the reprieve to gather my self-control. When I step back within her reach, my back brushes against the peaks of her breasts. They are erect, hard like pebbles. I resist the urge to turn and pull them into my mouth. This is Lottie’s time. Her fingers find my upper back, rubbing in circles, slow and tantalizing. They glide down to my lower back, hesitating before reaching my bottom. I reach back and find her trembling fingers. A gasp escapes her lips. I cover the back of her hand with mine placing it on my butt cheek and moving it in a circling motion. When she seems comfortable in touching me so intimately,  I slide her fingers in between the globes. Her hand jerks a little, but she doesn’t withdraw. I have never done something like this before. I never liked, nor have I ever been aroused by anal play—not mine anyhow. But this is beyond lust or sex. The intimacy of the act is intoxicating. Delirious. She proceeds to lather the back of my thighs and calves. I swirl around and face her. Since she is kneeling on the shower floor, her face is aligned directly with my erection. It takes the strength of Hercules to keep me from shoving my dick inside her parted lips. I pray she will finish washing me quickly. A man can only hold back so much. She responds to my silent plea, and before I can register what’s happening her fingers move down to my happy trail, leaving suds and a burning sensation in their wake. The pads of her fingers brush the tip of my dick. “Fuck,” I growl. All the muscles of my body coil in a sweet torment. Her fingers, slick from the soap, glides down my shaft. I groan. She adds a little pressure to her grip around the base of my dick. The savage beast I have been keeping locked in breaks loose. I grab under her arms, pull her up, and press her back against the marble wall. My mouth crashes hers on a frenetic assault. My hand frantically seeks her sex. “Baby, your cunt is so hot,” I say, rubbing my thumb on her clit and sliding two fingers inside her swollen pussy. “So ready for my cock,” I growl with my tongue tracing the shell of her ear to find the erogenous spot behind it.

“Seth,” she cries, tightening her grip on my hair and riding my hand. My lips continue to slide down, paying homage to the silky skin of her neck, her shoulder. I bite and suck hard, marking what’s mine. Her body shakes uncontrollably. She has reached the brink of a precipice. I stop and withdraw my hand. Her eyes flash open, a whimper leaves her mouth. “We’re going to come as one,” I say in a feral rasp. I collect the condom I had previously placed beside the bottle of shampoo and sheath myself in record time. Her legs wrap around my hips. I position my cock on her scorching opening. With one long and deep thrust, I sink into her. That’s when I accept the truth: I’m spellbound. On that night, under Ursa Major, this woman put a spell on me. I drive inside her fiercely, uncontrollably, ferociously. With all of me. I’m a man rediscovering the scope, breadth, width, and complexity of being alive. Lottie’s back arches against the wall, her legs in a tight vice around me. Her hands grab my biceps on either side. I take her lips captive. My tongue invades her mouth, seeking touch, contact. As my hips continue plunging, she trembles and her muscles coil. A groan leaves her mouth. I devour it. The steam intensifies the scent of sex and soap. I inhale deeply, relishing every breath. Her narrow pussy contracts around me. Her mouth cries my name repeatedly. My body quivers. My dick jerks. Every muscle in my body twists and tenses as if ready to snap. A powerful release follows. A bone-deep charge of sensorial lushness permeates through my body as if it had just been struck by a lightning bolt of pleasure. Oblivious to time, I keep our bodies united and bury my face in the crook of her neck. Our breaths start to calm as our bodies descend from the cloud of lust. My hazed eyes slowly refocus on the gray veins of the white marble wall. My mind sluggishly attempts to gear up and understand the rawness and vulnerability that’s resulted from the mating of our bodies. “Tell me you felt that,” I say in a whisper barely above the sound of the water. “I felt that,” she says, her head nodding against my chest. “I don’t know what it is. But it’s real.” It was as if the sky parted and a vortex of secret pleasures lifted me up, sucked me in, and swirled me up in the air, leaving me exposed to the unknown. I wonder if Lottie really felt it. In those five seconds of orgasm, I swear I was certain I was going to die. It was an explosion of nuclear proportions with the aftermath rendering me helpless. Like a worn out seashell that, because of the constant pounding of the waves against the sand, has become so fragile that the slightest touch can pulverize it. Silently, we separate our bodies and resume the washing. The mundane task almost anticlimactic after the rapture of pleasure we just experienced. Once we are dried and dressed, we return to the previously abandoned breakfast. Lottie is avoiding eye contact. I’m relieved for it. I need to get a rein on my thoughts and feelings. And I think she does too.

Lottie

SETH IS RAISING up a wall between us. It’s so tangible I can almost touch it. For some reason, after the shower he looks different. Pensive and withdrawn. By no means have I ever wanted my life to turn into an insta-love romance novel. However, I acknowledge that there is an active and rare force connecting us. It runs deeper than the explosive body chemistry we have. It runs deeper than the unbearable lust I feel whenever my eyes find him. I risk a glance in his direction. He eats a plate containing most members of the berry family. His eyes remain distant, aloof. A tight hand squeezes my heart. Did I do something wrong? My mind mulls over our morning. Other than the snooping he witnessed earlier, it comes up empty. “I want to show you around town, but I need to stop at the office first. Is that okay?” he asks curtly. “Yeah, sure.” I sip from my juice. “What is this?” I ask in a lame attempt to make conversation. “Beets, carrots, oranges,” he replies. “No sugar added.” “It’s delicious.” “Healthy,” he adds. “You really are health conscious, huh?” I remember him mentioning it. “Yeah, you can say that.” “Do you ever eat any junk food?” “Definitely,” he says, wrinkling his nose. “I have an unhealthy addiction to Nutella,” he confesses like he just admitted to shooting up heroin. “Oh my, I’ve married a junkie,” I say with a mocking outraged tone. “The truth is sugar is an awful drug. It promotes diabetes, obesity, and heart disease. It suppresses the immune

system, causes inflammation of brain cells that it is believed to be linked to dementia. Not to mention it’s responsible for premature aging of skin cells. That’s just a small summary.” “Wow, your honor. The defense requires a moment to better prepare a response,” I say. If he sees the interior of my dorm’s fridge, he’ll file for divorce due to irreconcilable differences. “Sorry. That was pushy.” “No, no. Just passionate.” I drink the delicious red liquid. “You’ll get along well with my mom. She’s not as opposed to sugar as you are, but she’s a firm believer in Hippocrates’ principle: ‘Let thy food be thy medicine and thy medicine be thy food.’” “Yep, I have a feeling we’ll get along just fine,” he agrees with a charming grin. God, he’s handsome. It should be illegal to be that good-looking.

AFTER PARKING THE car, Seth links our fingers and we walk down the strip, heading to his office. I’ve yet to find out what my husband does for a living. “This way,” he says, pointing to the door of a commercial building in a prime location. We cross the lobby, and several people greet Seth by name. As we wait for the elevator, Seth makes small conversation with a tall blonde beauty. Needless to say, he’s just acting his usual self, all flirt and charm. I’m not sure I like the way he interacts with her. No, I lie. I hate the way he interacts with her. I try to talk myself out of it. I’m not the dramatic, jealous type. Wait a minute! Since my dating experience is almost non-existent, I don’t know which type I am. Am I the jealous, neurotic type? God, I hope not. It would be mortifying. We enter the elevator. Seth pushes the sixty-six button. The car ascends. He glances at me and his eyes become inquiring. “What’s wrong?” “Huh? Nothing,” I reply, with an exaggerated gleeful tone to my voice. “Really? You look upset.” “Oh, um, no. Not really. Elevators. It makes me a little jittery,” I lie. “I see.” He doesn’t appear convinced but doesn’t push further. “This is us,” he says, clasping my hands again. We exit the elevator, and he guides me to the last door down the hall. A small plaque on the door reads. His Secret. The name is familiar, but it takes me a moment to remember where it’s from. Finally, I recall Chloe and other girls salivat  ing over pictures of two men clad in white underwear in an advertisement for the brand. Currently, His Secret is the most expensive and exclusive line of male intimate apparel. “You work for this company?”

He nods with a small smile and pushes the door open. Inside, we cross a spacious lobby. A receptionist greets us from behind a glass table. “Good morning, Seth. Good morning, miss.” He flashes his perfectly pearly teeth at me. And I mumble a greeting. He’s immaculately dressed in a navy blue suit, and I swear he appears to have just stepped out of a GQ photo shoot. His brown eyes exam me briefly, but don’t give away any emotion. “Good morning, Fernando. Is Zach in yet?” “No, but he called to say he’ll be in after lunch. I prepared all the documents requiring your signature for Japan’s campaign. It’s over on your desk.” “Anything else requiring my attention? I’ll be unavailable for the next two weeks,” Seth says, all business-like. “In fact, we need your approval for the New York advertisement. So I called Max and had him send the proofs. They’re also on your desk.” “Thank you,” Seth says. Two doors are located on either side of the Fernando’s desk. Seth guides me to the one on the left. He pushes it open and ushers me in. I’m not surprised when I see the clean and sterile interior of the office. Besides the rich brown desk and shelves, the room is sleek, clean, and modern. Huge windows allow the daylight to brighten the room and offer a privileged view of the strip. “Make yourself comfortable, I just need a few minutes,” Seth says, sitting behind the massive desk. “If you want something to drink, help yourself.” He points to a small fridge tucked in the corner. I wonder what healthy stuff he has stocked in it. “Thank you. And take all the time you need. I’m going to call Chloe.” In a far corner of the office, near a window with a magnificent view of the strip, I call Chloe. She is livid when I tell her I’ll be spending the week with Seth. “You barely know this guy,” she argues. “That’s why I need to spend time with him. Imagine introducing him to my family without knowing anything about him. My parents would know right away that something’s off.” “God, Lottie. I’m so freaking worried about you, and all this. Why did I ever take you here, or to Neptune? Or encourage you to have sex with a stranger? I’m the worst kind of friend. The worst.” “Please stop acting like this is something awful and that I’m your responsibility. Jesus, it’s not like Seth is a psycho or something. I’m at his office right now; you’re not going to believe what he does for a living.” “He took you to his office?” she screams. “He has one? What kind of office would that be? And you’re okay with that?” “How do you suppose I’m going to get to know him? Of course I’m okay with coming to his office.” Her overreaction irritates me. “And it’s the only kind of office there is. The kind that someone sits behind a desk and does work at. Jeez, Chloe, chill out. I’m a big girl.” “Sorry. I got carried away.” “Anyway, remember that line of male intimate apparel called His Secret?”

“Yes.” “That’s where he works. Can you believe it?” “Small world, I suppose,” she says with less enthusiasm than I anticipated. We chat for another few minutes and then hang up. Her demeanor is worrisome, but I file it away to think about later. After I disconnect the call, I wander through the office. First, I approach the windows and admire the strip. The view is fantastic. A panel of black and white pictures hanging on a wall attracts me. I’ve seen the photos before. They’re in magazines, on billboards along the highway, on posters at the mall, and glued to the sides of buses. It’s the trademark of the company. Pictures of men wearing undergarments, naked torsos, always omitting the model’s face. Some of the shots display the back of the model’s head or a face under a blur. The anonymity of the models is alluring. A brilliant marketing strategy for a brand calling itself “His Secret.” I stand near a picture of two men standing on a beach wearing boxer briefs. One of them is looking directly at the camera. However, his face is swallowed by shadows. I immediately know who he is. I would recognize that body in the dark. It’s Seth. The other model looks like Zach, but I could be wrong. I look at Seth. A crease settles between his brows as he scribbles his signature on the papers. “Seth, is this you?” He glances my way and replies, “Uh-hm. When we first started the company, Zach and I modeled to save money.” He grins. “It turned out the images had a phenomenal marketing acceptance.” He shrugs and points his pen to the picture I’m standing in front of. “That’s from our first campaign in Spain. When we launched His Secret in Europe,” he tells me, and his eyes drop to what appears to be more pictures for advertisement. “Wow. This is freaking cool.” “What?” “It’s like I’ve known you forever. You do know that girls swoon all over the pictures of His Secret, right?” I can’t believe it. “That’s the idea.” He winks at me. And that’s when it hits me. My husband is not only the most perfect male specimen I have ever met, but he’s also one of the brains and the bodies behind His Secret. I turn back to the panel of pictures and continue to scrutinize them, trying to wrap my mind around the discovery. And the more I think, the more I realize that the discrepancy between us is greater than I had first believed. What on earth could a guy like Seth find in a girl like me? There has to be a loophole. I question his motivations, his mental sanity, and his intentions. My head spins as I try to understand it all. It’s been a little over twenty-four hours since my twenty-first birthday, since I was a single virgin, but it seems like a million years have passed. Sleek hands slide against my waist, startling me. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” Seth whispers against my ear, his teeth scraping the shell. “I just realized we could christen my desk,” he says as his lips trail down my neck. He bites me there. Hard. A moan leaves my parted lips. Involuntarily, my back presses against the length of him, seeking the firm edges of his erection. My head falls back on his chest, and my legs are wobbling.

He says, “I want to eat your sweet pussy and watch you come apart over my desk.” Then he takes me to the desk and does just that. After three orgasms, one in his mouth and two with him inside me, I bask in the glow of post-desk copulation. Lying on the small couch with our legs tangled and rumpled clothes in a disarray over the floor, I ask, “You said you wanted to christen the desk. You mean with me?” I can’t help but ask. In the heart of my heart, I hope he meant what I think he meant. “Yes with you. But also, the first time I have sex on my desk.” “Is it a new desk?” I ask. “No.” “You mean you never, ever, had sex on your desk before?” “No. Never. You’re the first person I’ve had sex with in my office.” “Oh.” “You sound surprised.” “I am. I mean. It would only make sense. You have a healthy sexual appetite. So it would be a routine affair to um, eh, have . . . you know what I mean.” All guys have sex in their offices. “No. What do you mean?” “Are you being purposefully obtuse?” I ask in a mocking, indignant tone. “Maybe.” His fingers glide over my ribcage until he cups my breast. “Fine. I just want to hear you say it. It’s so cute when you talk about sex and get all flustered.” I feel my cheeks burn. “I bet you’re blushing right now,” he says. “Am not,” I declare. He bends his head and glances at my cheeks as I try to bury them into his bare chest. He laughs, and his chest rumbles under my hidden face. “I thought so,” he says smugly. “And to be clear on answering your question, you are the first woman I’ve had a relationship with in my adult life. Consequently, you’re the first girl I’ve ever brought here.” I’m stunned into silence by his revelation. It makes no sense. Why would a guy like him not have tons of girls? Is he bisexual? Maybe he’s using the term “relationship” loosely, applying it to women only. When in truth, he’s had relationships with other men. According to an article I read recently, it’s a common practice nowadays. I sit up, and my eyes fix on him. “Seth, don’t take this the wrong way, but why would a guy like you, who doesn’t do relationships, just suddenly decide to marry a girl like me?” I snap my fingers. “Just like that?” He sits up too. The muscles on his shoulders are taut. “What do you mean a guy like me and a girl like you?” I stand up, scoop my dress off the floor and yank it on.

All the confusing thoughts and feelings of the last several hours tumble around in my mind. I pace the length of the office, stop in front of the panel of pictures and draw a deep breath in the hopes of gaining the courage to say what’s been bugging me. “Come on, I don’t have to spell it out to you.” I turn to face him. “Look at me. Look at this.” I wave my hand to the panel. “There is an enormous, ginormous difference between the two of us.” Seth leaps from the couch, and with two long strides, he is towering over me. “Listen—” “Don’t. Please let me speak,” I say, meeting his gaze. “It doesn’t make any sense. Look at you. You were the most gorgeous guy in that nightclub, and you set your eyes on me? Heck, you’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. What would a man like you find attractive in a girl like me? If that’s not mind-boggling enough, you’re obviously wealthy and successful. You can snap your fingers and have your pick of any girl you want. What did you see in me? You say you’ve never had a girlfriend. Why? I need some answers here, Seth.” He pauses. God, the planes of his bared chest are extremely distracting. I force my eyes to look away. Seth seems to be organizing his thoughts. If he’s completely honest with me, why does he have to deliberate so much on how to answer? He rakes both hands through his hair and lets out an exasperated breath of air. “First of all, I didn’t set my eyes on you at the club. This is important. I want you to know this. I set my eyes on you in the lobby of that hotel. It will sound cheesy, but the moment I saw you standing at the front desk, I felt a pull . . . Shit, this is corny as hell.” He goes to the fridge and comes back holding a Fiji water. “It took a lot of restraint not to walk to you and make a fool of myself, not to mention to come across as some wacko stalker.” He opens the bottle and takes a long pull of the water. “When I got to the club, regret was eating at me. It had been years since I felt that attracted to someone, and I just let the opportunity to approach you escape. Then I saw you again. And it felt like I had been given another shot at meeting you. Carpe fucking diem.” I’m sure my mouth is agape as I listen to his explanation. He puts the bottle on a nearby table and stands in front of me, his hands cup my face and his voice is passionate when he adds, “And let me tell you, I don’t know what you mean by referring to yourself the way you do. You’re gorgeous.” He traces his thumb over my lips. “Regarding my lack of relationships, I’ll only tell you this: I’ve been with my share of women. More than most guys my age. I fucked them. All of them. I had a good time, yes. But it all amounted to a string of superficial sex. Until I found you. Please believe me.” He draws his brows. His voice is low and pleading. I see that’s all he is going to share with me today. His explanation is simplistic but convincing. However, although it sounds like he was truthful, it also looks like he’s purposefully omitting something. “I know this is too soon, too much. I’m not professing my undying love here. But there is something between the two of us that demands to be explored.” And there I have it: flipping insta-lust relationship. I lower my eyes. This is all wrong. Seth will realize that we are as opposite as day and night. He’ll want out. And I’ll never recover. “Lottie, look at me,” he demands. “I’m not sure of what this is, where it’s going to lead us. God, I should tell you to run for the hills, to get the hell away from me. But I won’t. I can’t. I believe we didn’t come across each other by accident. Since the first minute I spent with you, all I could think about is burying myself in you. It’s as if I dreamt of

you my entire life. And now I get to touch that dream.” He grabs my hands and places them at the center of his chest. His gaze holds me captive. “Can you feel it? Can you feel my heart beating? Because ever since I saw you under that constellation, I have felt every fucking beat of my heart. And it’s good to feel alive again. To feel my body pulsing with life. It’s like I existed all these years with the beating of my heart suspended. Then you came along and startled it into motion. And this is screwed up, I’m more fucked up than you can ever imagine. And to drag you into my world is selfish and all shades of wrong. But I can’t fucking walk away. Unless you don’t feel the same. God, I’ll take whatever you feel. Even if it’s just a sparkle. I’ll flame it to life. Because, damn me, if I let go of whatever is happening between us.” I have so much to say. But his words reverberate through my body, reaching the deepest part of my soul. For the life of me, I won’t confess I feel the same, even though I do. But I couldn’t turn away even if I tried. Furthermore, I will no longer question my reasoning. Or his sanity. “Okay.” I breathe. His mouth is on mine the moment the word falls from my lips. He grips my hair and deepens the kiss. There is nothing erotic about it. It bruises and brands with desperation and demand. I savor the hunger in which he consumes my mouth, my groans. I understand that his desire and need for me transcends the physical. I know it because it matches my own. When we break our lips apart, we are both panting. “We need to leave. Now. Or else we won’t be leaving anytime soon, and I want to show you around.” He puts his clothes on as I find my panties and sandals under his desk. He adjusts my dress. His hand finds mine, and he links our fingers. “Ready?” “Yes,” I say, still breathless. Though I have to admit to myself, I would much rather we stayed and made love. Again. Maybe with my back pressed against the window. With wanton ideas swirling in my mind, I regretfully follow him. We bid goodbye to the very handsome Fernando and head to the elevator.

IN THE HALLWAY, a door from another office cracks open. Seth’s body tenses next to me. I glance toward the opened door. My mouth goes ajar. Exiting the office is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my life. With a gait that is runway worthy, she strolls in the same general direction we do. A broad smile graces her perfect full lips. She must be the same height as Seth, with dark red hair draping over her plump breasts. Her bright blue eyes briefly fix on our clasped hands, a smile gleams on her face. Curiosity and something else I can’t identify cross her expression. “Well, well, look who’s here,” she says. No, she purrs the words with a freaking sexy accent. “Hey, Adriana,” Seth responds. And if I’m not mistaken there is an undercurrent of a warning in his voice. “I see you’re feeling better.” She arches her perfect eyebrows. With her gaze locked on me, she adds, “Where are your manners, Querido? You’re not going to introduce us?” “Yes, sure. Lottie, this is Adriana. Adriana, Lottie.” It doesn’t escape me that he refrains from using surnames or titles. Like this is my wife, meet my ex or something. Because one thing is for sure, the way she looks at him tells me she has some kind of claim, past or present on him. She offers her hand. “Pleased to meet you.” She flashes her perfect teeth at me. Jeez, the word perfect is becoming a redundant adjective in reference to her. I could be more creative and go down a list of synonymous, such as flawless, unrivaled, unequaled, superb . . . But why torture myself? “The pleasure is all mine,” I say, shaking her hand. To my relief, my voice is steady. “I’m off to lunch, would you two care to join me?” She pushes the elevator’s button. “Actually, we have other plans,” Seth says. The elevator arrives. “Please,” Seth says, motioning to the opened door. “Oh, pity, pity. It would be great to catch up with you. And to eat in good company. I’ve had the most troublesome morning, trying to convince a client to settle for something lesser than I had originally promised.” She purses her lips, and her eyes are full of hidden meaning. It seems there’s an underlying conversation going on between the two. Or maybe I’m just jealous? The idea makes me cringe. “Next time,” Seth says with a clipped voice. We settle in an uncomfortable silence until a ding announces we’ve arrived on the main floor.

“Well, I’ll look forward to it,” she says. She kisses both my cheeks. “Hope to see you soon, Querida.” She kisses Seth’s cheeks. “Call me when you have a chance, Querido.” “Sure,” he responds. We part ways. I try my very best to refrain from asking about her but fail miserably. “Who’s that?” “An old friend.” Seth ushers me out of the building. “Oh.” I bite the inside of my cheek. “She’s beautiful.” “Yes. Adriana is a beautiful woman,” he says with a flat tone that gives nothing away. “She belongs on the runway,” I say. “Yeah,” he says distractedly and abruptly changes the subject. “Let’s go, I have lots of places to show you.”

WE HAVE A tour of the Wild West at Old Town and a romantic dinner at the Eiffel Town Restaurant. The following day, we witness the sunrise during a hike surrounded by red rocks and marvel at a red sunset at the Stratosphere. Throughout the week, we take long walks along the strip and enjoy late night gambling. Like rabbits, we have sex all the time, and everywhere. During the day, we have sex in the car, in the restaurant’s bathroom, in the desert surrounding Vegas, only to surrender to languorous lovemaking at night. The week passes blissfully. We laugh, we share secrets, we map each other’s body, and we discover each other’s quirks. All duly registered through the lenses of my camera, with Facebook’s share button properly avoided.

SETH KISSES MY shoulder and asks, “What are you thinking about?” I keep my eyes focused on the clouds beneath the airplane. We are on a flight to St. Lucia to meet my family for our annual vacation. “So much and nothing. Do you ever feel that way?” I finally say, meeting his gaze.

“Hmm? Elaborate,” he asks. “It’s been one week, yet, it feels we’ve lived a thousand lives  together, known each other for a millennium.” “True, we packed a lot in a week.” “In a few hours, you’re going to meet my family. I’m a little reluctant. My dad is reserved, conservative. I’m not sure how he’s going to react when he meets you.” “No worries. I have yet to meet someone who doesn’t succumb to my charm and charisma.” He snuggles in the crook of my neck. “Cocky much?” I say. “Not that I should have to point out my skills, nor am I bragging.” He sprawls his hand on my tummy, under my shirt. His hand traces along my ribs, setting my skin on fire. “But take Chloe, for instance. Remember the day we met? It was hate at first sight. Look us now. She’s all but shouting to the four corners of the world how happy she is that we’ve found each other.” “But that’s because you prepared and cooked a meal together and took those fantastic pictures for her Pinterest.” “And because of my magnetic personality . . .” He looks around and his hand cups my breast under my shirt. “And you spent two hours.” I hold up two fingers. “Two hours browsing her Pinterest and complimenting her on all her failed culinary attempts.” “And because of my refined and gallant way with the ladies . . .” He pinches my nipple, and I have to focus really hard to continue the conversation. “And because you and Zach autographed that exclusive picture from His Secret,” I say. “And my undeniable charm . . .” His hand moves to the other nipple. “And you were both bare-chested in the pic.” A little whimper leaves my mouth. “And my distinguished character . . .” His lidded gaze fixates on my lips. “And because you gave her a sneak peek at the new collection for His Secret,” “And because of my beguiling persona . . .” He leans in and nips at my lower lip. “And your pleasant disposition . . .” “And my gentlemanly manners . . .” He plants kisses on my neck. “And your suave moves . . .” “And my honorable intentions with my lovely wife . . .” He pinches my nipple harder. “How honorable?” “Outstandingly honorable.” “Does it include a membership to the mile high club?” I ask breathily. “Maybe.”

“Hmm, that would be an utterly honorable and most admirable intention.” “I’m glad we came to an agreement.” “Hmm-hmm . . .”

Seth THOUGH LOTTIE THINKS it unnecessary, I rent a car for our ten-day stay. She argued that they own a car. I don’t know her family and the last thing I want to do is come across as a freeloader. Besides, having our own vehicle will allow us to have escapades. I link my fingers with hers. After I kiss her knuckles, I put her hand on my thigh. It’s a full hour drive until we reach their beach home. “So what should I expect?” I ask, glancing at her. The tropical air sifting through the windows tousles her hair. God, she’s beautiful. Not the coveted Barbie doll beauty. No, everything about her surpasses that. She has perfect and generous curves. A wonderland that I can get lost in and never find my way back to reality. But her most alluring feature is her eyes. They are smart in a non-presumptuous way. “Mom is very warm, and you two will hit it off immediately, I’m sure.” She bites the inside of her cheeks before proceeding. “It might take a couple days for Dad to warm up to you. But once he knows you, he can be quite pleasant. Especially if you like Cuban cigars.” I hate cigars. “Good to know,” I respond. “The best part of this trip is my grandparents. Granny is ninety-one. Grandpa is ninety. But you would think they’re still teenagers. They’re my mom’s parents. You’re going to love them.” “What about your brother? Is he the typical overprotective type? Should I be worried?” “Oh, that’s the bummer part of this trip. His wife’s pregnancy is high risk. She has complicated pregnancies. They won’t make it. But Mom brought their son. He is the cutest thing in the world; I can’t wait to see him,” she says with a distinct gleam in her eyes. “Are you one of those super aunts?” “No, not really.” She shrugs repressing a proud smile. “With that look on your face I find it hard to believe.” “Well, just wait until you meet him. He’s the sweetest boy in the entire world. You can’t help it but fall in love. Head over hills.” “Thought so,” I say with laughter. For the remainder of the ride, she continues to fill me in on her family and the usual programs that are pre-planned. They don’t deviate from their schedule. Which is fine, since it’s my first time. But boy, do they repeat the same activities year after year? Finally, we arrive. Contrary to what I expected, the waterfront house is modern-style. A Jeep occupies the parking space in front of the garage, so I park on the road.

When I sprint around the car to open the door, an older man beats me to it. “Finally. I was about to revise my will,” the man says, pulling Lottie out of the car. “What took you so long?” “Grandpa,” Lottie says, launching herself at him. Her arms fly around his neck. “I missed you.” “Let me look at you.” He hugs her tight and then holds her at arm’s length. “All grown up. A married woman, I hear. Although I was informed by a third party. ” His voice is warm but carries a hint of reproach. “Yeah, it was a spur of the moment thing. You know me, Pop, Miss Spontaneous,” she says, scrunching up her nose. “Sorry,” she adds, looking down. “You are forgiven. But let me meet your young fellow.” He turns to me. Uh-oh. “So, you’re the one to steal the precious heart of my only granddaughter.” His gray eyes examine without reservation and sparkle with humor. “Seth, meet my grandpa, Benjamin Berger.” The timbre of Lottie’s voice denotes pride and love. “Great to meet you, sir. Lottie speaks fondly of you.” I raise my hand. “Don’t sir me. To you I am now ‘Grandpa.’” He grabs my offered hand and pulls me into a bear hug. “We have lots to talk about, young man,” he says, slapping my back in a friendly way though his voice does hold a warning. “Sure, Grandpa. It will be great to get to know one of Lottie’s heroes,” I say genuinely. “I like the way you think. We’re going to get along just fine.” I offer him a smile and peek at Lottie. She’s drawing circles on the floor with the tip of her flip-flop. “Let me get the luggage.” I step to the trunk of the car, to give her space with her grandpa. “Where is everybody?” Lottie asks. “Well, your father is locked in the office. Your mom and grandma are at the beach with the little rascal.” “Can’t wait to see them,” she says. “They wanted to wait for you, but you know your nephew. He wanted to go for a swim.” I retrieve the luggage and close the trunk with a thump. Grandpa grabs one of the duffel bags from my hands, and strolls to the front door, beckoning us to follow him. “Let’s get you two settled.” As we follow him inside, Lottie asks me, “Can we change and join them at the beach, or do you want to rest?” I smile at her. “Let’s join them.” We change into bathing suits and exit the house without seeing as much as a hint of Lottie’s father. “You didn’t want to greet your dad?” I ask, linking our fingers as we walk through a grassy path leading in the general direction of the beach where Pop indicated the ladies were. She shrugs. “He knows we’ve arrived. The window to his office is open. It’s his prerogative to come to welcome us.” She goes for nonchalant, but a frown marks her face.

“He’ll come around. I’ll win him over,” I say, pulling her to me to kiss her head. After a half hour walking, Lottie abandons the search and asks, “Can we swim?” “We forgot towels,” I respond. “We’ll be dry two minutes once we leave the water,” Lottie says, pulling off the sarong covering her hips. My eyes fix on her apex, hunger stirring in my loins. Calm down, boy. The last thing I need is to meet Grandma sporting a tent in my trunks. “Race you,” Lottie says over her shoulder as she darts to the water. I charge after her. The water is mid-thigh when I lunge over her. Our bodies collide and she squeaks, her arms flailing. I snake my arms around her waist and pull her tight, her back against my chest. We fall back, and she lands on top of me. We are a tangle of limbs as we submerge in warm, salty water. When we emerge, I turn her around to straddle me as I move us in deeper. “Trying to escape your husband?” I nibble on her shoulder. “Never,” she says, pressing her gorgeous titties on my chest, water lapping in the valley between her breasts. “Behave, Cherry Lips. Voyeurism and Granny should never be used in the same sentence.” “Can’t a girl enjoy the attributes of her husband?” she asks with mocking innocence, rubbing her small hand over my chest and pinching my nipple. “Not when she’s bringing the said man to the brink of his control.” I tighten my hold on her, grinding the joint of her thighs over my thick erection, and I lick behind her ear. It tastes of ocean and wind. “Who’s being a tease now?” She pushes on my chest, releases my hips, and lounges back in the water. Her face, framed by the clear water, is flushed with a desire that matches my own. I took her sweet pussy less than three hours ago, making her a new member of the mile high club. Why do I have this urge to move inside her again? My arms quietly stroke through the water, taking me opposite of where she is, and giving my body time to cool down, if that’s even possible. “Jake!” She calls from behind me. Her excited voice is slightly muffled by the sound of the water. My body goes still. Did I hear it right? She calls again. “Jake!” This time, it rings clear, loud, like the chime of a church bell at midnight. My limbs go lax. My heartbeat suspends. My mind freezes. Dazzled, I spin in the water to respond to her call. How the hell does she know my real name?

A FEW FEET FROM me, Lottie is facing the shore, her hand waving over her head. “Over here, Jake,” she calls. Rooted in place, I watch the scene unfold. With a gleaming smile, Lottie dashes out of the water. She meets a little boy sprinting down the sandy shore. Her arms fasten around his lanky body. “Auntie Lottie,” the little boy squeaks, wrapping his arms around her neck. “Hey, little man,” she twirls him in the air, kissing his cheek. I shake my head, hoping to unwarp the distorted images. My eyes peer at the boy. He’s a younger version of me. A rush of thoughts tumbles through my head as images of a jigsaw puzzle shaping into a clear picture: Cahan. Older brother. Yale Law School. Connecticut. Veterinarian sister-in-law. No. No. No. It can’t be. It can’t be. It can’t be. Then, I turn to the shore, to where Lottie’s mother and grandmother stroll down our way. Recognition throttles me. Memories race through my mind. I remain paralyzed, observing the past, catching up with me, like a returning boomerang. “Seth,” Lottie calls to me. “Come and meet Jake.” Oblivious to my inner turmoil she hugs her mother and grandmother. Panic surges through my body, crawling under my skin like a flesh-eating bacteria. What if Mrs. Cahan recognizes me? Though I recall seeing her a few times, I don’t remember meeting face-to-face. What if she’d seen me in pictures and recognizes me? No, impossible. I’m very different from the drug-addicted teen from ten years ago. My feet trudge across the sandy ocean floor, but my steps are clumsy, hindering my progress. Finally, I reach them. “Mom, Granny, this is Seth,” Lottie says with Jake hooked on her hip. I avoid looking directly at him. “Seth, this is my mom, Ana, and my grandmother, Edith.” “Lovely to finally meet you,” I say, stretching my hand out to Lottie’s mom. “Likewise,” she says in a pleasant tone. Her sharp eyes roam over me, scrutinizing me. There is no recognition in them, just curiosity and caution. “Now, I can see that Lottie’s beauty is simply a family trait.” To my relief, my voice is steady, and I’ve regained my poise. The years have been kind to Mrs. Cahan. She hasn’t aged a day since I last saw her.

“So you’re the boy who caused such a fuss in the family?” Lottie’s grandmother pulls me into a hug. “I can see why our Lottie snatched you away.” She turns to Lottie. “Lord have mercy on us, Lottie, it took you long enough, but you sure know how to pick them.” Her wrinkled hand pats one of my cheeks, and she plants a kiss on the other. “Welcome to the family.” “Thank you, ma’am.” “Nonsense, call me Granny.” She pinches my cheek. Winking at Lottie, she adds, “He’s a hunk.” “Granny,” Lottie says with something between nervous laughter and a snort. She turns her red cheeks to me. “And this is Jacob Cahan, soon to be a big brother, and the most amazing boy in the world.” She tickles his tummy from which erupts a series of giggles. I swallow the lump in my throat, and my eyes fix on the little boy. “Hey there, buddy.” My voice catches. “How’s it going?” I offer my knuckles for a fist bump. “Hi,” he says, his small fingers closing into a fist as he flashes a smile at me. “Right on,” I say, fist bumping him. “Are you my new uncle? Daddy told me I was getting an uncle.” “Yes. That would be me, Uncle Seth.” “Cool. My friend Brian has three uncles.” He raises three fingers up. “Now I have one.” He holds Lottie’s face between his hands. “Auntie, can you get me two more uncles?” he asks hopefully. “I don’t think so, buddy,” I say, mussing his hair. “Why?” he frowns. “Because Auntie Lottie is mine,” I say, laughing. “Like when you have a favorite toy and don’t want to share.” “Mom always makes me share,” he says. The mention of his mom sends a pang of pain up my spine. “That was a bad analogy,” I say, laughing. “A woman can only marry one man, hon. I’m afraid Uncle Seth will be it,” Lottie explains it. His face falls. My heart cracks. A desire to make him happy radiates through my body in waves of zealous need. “Here is the deal, though. I promise to be a super uncle.” “What does a super uncle do?” he asks, scrunching up his nose. “Does all the neat things that the parents won’t let you do.” “Like eating ice cream for breakfast?” he asks hopefully. And fuck me. I’ve known him for less than ten minutes, but I know I would do anything he wants. Even allow him to go into a sugar coma. “You caught my drift,” I say with a lopsided smile. “Cool,” he says, wiggling free from Lottie’s hold. “Can we go swimming?” He lifts his little hand, and I take hold of it. The gesture squeezes my heart. I won’t think of the ramifications of being involved with Luna’s family. I’ll just allow myself to enjoy this moment with her son. Consequences be damned.

Lottie   I WATCH SETH and Jake walking to the water, hand in hand. Seth is good with kids. I wonder if he wants children of his own. From the way he interacts with Jake I can tell he’d be a good father. Mom pulls out towels from her beach bag and spread them on the sand. We lounge, facing the water. “One glance at that boy and all my questions are answered,” Granny says, pointing to Seth. “What do you mean?” “First, he’s eye candy.” She fans herself. “But the way you look at each other . . . Better yet, the way he looks at you. Your generation would say it’s hot. I say scorching.” “Granny,” I mumble. “Charlotte,” Mom says, clearing her throat. “Now might not be the best time, but you and I need to have a long conversation. You never told me you were dating someone. Not a word. Then, I find out you got married. This is not me judging you, but you need to admit this is all too sudden.” “You deserve an explanation, Mom. An apology even.” “No, sweetheart. You’ll have enough hell with your dad. He’s livid. I want you to know that I’m on your side. However, I need to understand what happened. You’re not the impulsive type.” She pauses, measuring her next words. “You aren’t . . .” She raises her eyebrows, waiting for me to finish the sentence. “Are you pregnant?” she finally asks. “No. No, no, no. Gosh, Mom, are you crazy?” My cheeks burn, and I know it’s not from the sun. She sags in relief. “I mean, that’s the only feasible explanation I could come up with.” “No, Mom. I’m not pregnant,” I repeat. I look at Seth. He’s throwing Jake in the water. I think of our hasty marriage. Ponder on the unexplainable reasons that drove us here. I didn’t go through this lie, brought a guy I barely know to meet my family to save face. I know Mom would be okay, aside from the first shock, she would get over it. I never feared Dad’s wrath. He lost my fear or respect long ago. No, I brought Seth here because I wanted to keep him close. Get to know him. “I can see the wheels turning in your head. Are you having doubts?” Mom asks. Yeah, that’s my mom. She reads me like an open book. “I don’t know. Everything happened so fast.” “Nonsense. You just know it when you meet the one,” Grammy says. “Like when I met your grandfather. It was my debut. He was visiting his uncle’s family and went to the party as their guest.” Her eyes turn dreamy as she goes on. I have heard the story about a thousand times. But every time she retells it, she has my rapt attention. “When he saw me for the first time, I was dancing with my father.” Her lips spread into a smile. “Before the end of that first dance, he tapped on my dad’s shoulder and requested the next one.” She sighs like a teenager in love.

“’Moonlight River’ played next. Before the end of the song, he asked me, ‘Can you be my girl?’ Oh, that was it. I was smitten. I was in love. I knew then before we finished our first dance, we would be together for eternity. “We were married at the same club three months later.” She sighs again, her eyes dreamy and distant, turned back to another era. And though I have heard that story thousands of times before, it had never affected me like today. Perhaps it’s my own infatuation with Seth. For the first time I accept, without reservations, that Seth and I might indeed have a deeper connection just as my grandparents felt while “Moonlight River” played and they danced. “We’ll see. Time will tell where Seth and I are headed,” I say. “If you two divorced in a few days no one would even remember. You know that, right? It is an option. I would support you through it all,” Mom says. “Oh, Mom.” My eyes fill with tears. My mom is the best, and her support touches me. But truth be told, what has my eyes watering is the idea of divorcing Seth. The realization is scary as heck. What’s happening with me? Am I in love? After a week together? Then, I think of my grandparents and their lifelong testament that it is possible. “Thank you. I know I have your support no matter what.” I lean in toward her and grab her hand. “But how about you? How are you feeling?” “I’m well, honey. You worry too much. Last week was the year mark of my remission. Dr. Taylor is pleased with my last checkup and lab results. No need to worry.” Mom had a double mastectomy and radiation therapy after the detection of a tumor in her right breast. “Well, we’re going to go home and prepare lunch,” Mom says, standing up. “It should be ready in an hour.” “Don’t overthink this, honey. If it is true love, as I suspect it is, you two were meant to be together. It’s fate. The universe conspired in your favor and united you. And nothing or no one but yourselves can separate one from the other.” Granny pats my face. Her hands tremble slightly, reminding me her body is weakening with age, and I won’t have her forever. Her face, wise and crumpled, is filled with emotion. She means every word of what she just said. “Thank you, Granny.” I look up. “Thank you, Mom. I’m a lucky girl to have the two most amazing women on earth by my side.” I stand up and help Granny. “Honey, please be patient with your Dad. He’s not happy. And we have to grant him the right to feel that way. You’re his baby girl.” “I know, Ma.” They leave me to my thoughts. I watch Seth and Jake. They hit it off well. Seth is pretending to be a sea turtle. With Jake on his back, he dives into waves and surfaces. I wish Caleb and Luna were here to meet Seth as well. Seth turns into a sea monster, roaring and pouncing. Subsequently, he transforms into a shark. Finally, he claims to be a jellyfish. “No strength left in my body, little man. We need to get out of the water.” “Can we watch Dragon Tales?” Jake asks. “After lunch? I’m famished.” “I’m famished, too,” Jake repeats in the same tone as Seth. Jake lifts his hand to fit into Seth’s. A slew of emotions runs across Seth’s face as he stares at their linked hands. When he raises his head, his expression is unreadable.

We stuff the towels in the beach bag mom left behind and head home. Strolling up the dry grass skirting the beach, Seth and I hold Jake’s hands and we swing him back and forth. “Weeee. Again, again!” Jake says, giggling and squeaking.

AFTER A QUICK shower to rinse off the ocean, we head to the back patio of the house where we usually have our meals. It offers an astounding view. My heart thumps when I identify Dad’s omnipotent frame. He glares our way. His gaze is fixed on Seth. Oh, this will be a disaster. I can feel it. “Hi, Dad.” I let go of Jake’s hand and inch closer to him. “How are you?” My mouth feels as if I just gargled with sand. Dad locks his arms around my shoulders and kisses my forehead. “Hey, darling.” His body is stiff against mine. I take a side step to stand next to Seth. “I want you to meet Seth. Seth, this is my dad, Ben Cahan.” Seth offers his hand and his lips curve into a warm smile. “It’s great to finally get to meet you, sir. Lottie has told me great things about you.” “Pity I can’t say the same about you. In fact, I never heard your name until the news of this absurd wedding,” he says without omitting the displeasure in his voice. His hand remains unmoving along his body. “Well, I do believe I owe you an explanation,” Seth offers, dropping his hand. The muscles across Seth’s shoulders appear ready to snap. To his credit, he maintains a level head, and his eyes remain on Dad’s. Admiration for my husband floods my chest, bubbling with warm fuzzy feelings. Dad comes from a lineage of great men. He is intimidating. He is arrogant. He is egotistical. He knows his place in this world. Along with the pedigree he inherited, Dad has a sense of entitlement, and a superiority complex. “Damn right, you do. And I intend to collect.” Dad’s voice is glacial and all sharp angles like an iceberg sticking out of the ocean. His stare is as bone chilling as an arctic wind. “Uh, Dad, can we talk about this some other time? Let’s not upset Mom during lunch.” There’s a long pause in which he continues staring down Seth. Seth doesn’t flinch. I’m in awe of him. “You’re right, darling,” he finally agrees and smiles, his face possessing the levity of someone who doesn’t have a care in the world. It always puzzled me how Dad can flip an internal switch on his emotions. We circle the table. I forgo my usual seat next to Dad in favor of sitting between Seth and Jake. Mom and Granny serve a crab salad and cold chicken sandwiches for lunch. We exchange pleasantries as we eat. Grandpa leads the conversation with his easygoing personality and funny jokes. What I love the most about him is how he amuses himself. He often laughs at his own jokes. His exuberant and jovial demeanor is contagious. Within

the hour, Seth eyes him with a glint of admiration that warms my heart. The usual disdain Dad offers Jake, today he extends to Seth. I resent Dad for his indifference to Jake. He shuns his one and only grandchild. All because he never accepted or forgave Caleb for marrying Luna. I love the man to death, but Dad is bigoted and intolerant. He thinks we’re superior to other humans. To him, bloodline, tradition, and the color of the skin, are absolutes. Subsequently, not even money can equal lineage. Take Chloe for instance. Her father has amounted a massive fortune. They have gazillions more money than we do. However, because her dad is self-made, my dad doesn’t deem him worthy of respect. “What’s your profession, son?” Grandpa asks Seth, snatching me out of my reverie. “Sales,” Seth responds after taking a sip of Chardonnay. “What kind of sales?” “Men’s clothing. Mainly intimate apparel.” “What, exactly, is your position?” Granny inquires. “Marketing. But I do administrative work when needed,” Seth responds. His answer is evasive. He omitted the name of the company, and the fact that he is one of the owners. Seth has this mystery about him. Although he always presents himself as genuine, there is always a shadow surrounding him. No, it’s like a cloak of mystery covering secrets. The bummer is: I can’t put my finger on the cause. “Hey, little man, you done?” Seth asks Jake. “Yep. Can we watch Dragon Tales now?” Jake asks. “If it’s okay with your grandma.” “Yeah, sure. He’s been dying to watch the show,” Ana says, turning to Jake. “Just one episode, hun.” “Okay, Grandma.” “Let’s go then, buddy.” Seth stands and stretches his hand out to Jake. I can’t understand why, but Seth looks at Jake in a very peculiar way. Does he have children, and Jake reminds him of them? Perhaps he wants children, and Jake triggers the thoughts. But it’s useless to speculate, I guess. Before they leave, I say, “I’ll help Mom clean up and then I’ll join you.” “Okay,” Seth says, leaning in and pecking a kiss on my head. Then he leaves holding Jake’s hand as if they were lifelong friends. Mom’s eyes sparkle with delight as she watches them leave. Dad’s eyes could poke a hole in Seth’s back. “Your husband appears to be a decent man, Lottie,” Grandpa says. “Don’t be absurd. We just met the man,” Dad grumbles. “A decent character is easy to detect. Especially nowadays, when it’s so scarce.” Grandpa turns to me and asks, “Everything ready for law school?” Grateful for the change in subject, I proceed to give a rundown of my academic life.

Seth

LIFE IS A MEAN bitch, and the world is not nearly as  big as I had thought. I study Jake’s profile as he slides the DVD inside the player. “Do you like Dragon Tales?” he asks. “Don’t know, little man. Never watched.” “My dad loves it. Mom says it’s because he’s two. But he’s not two. He’s older than me, and I’m four.” He puts up four fingers. “What’s your mama’s name?” I hold my breath. Some masochistic side of me wants to hear it from him. “Luna. It means moon.” I swallow hard and rub my clammy hands over my shorts. Thousands of black spots cross my eyes. I sink into the couch. Jake slides next to me. With his feet hanging off the oversized sofa, he leans on me and finds a comfortable position to watch the show. I want to wrap my arms around his shoulder and hug him to my side. Hell, what I really want is to cry. In my wildest dreams, I never thought this would happen. Luna was part of my past. She died to me the same day I died to her. Yet, here I am, sitting right beside her flesh and blood. I study him. His mane of blond hair and eyes are like mine, which in turn are like Luna’s father’s. The genetic pool keeps physical traits well and alive. Jake reminds me of a younger version of myself. But what overwhelms me the most is his name. Luna named him after me. The notion that I meant that much to her is humbling, daunting, frightening even. An onslaught of thoughts rush through my mind, making me dizzy. The past is finally catching up with me. I have a feeling I won’t be able to outrun it any longer. I fix my gaze on the screen as my mind goes back to before I died. Luna was everything I had. She was more than just my cousin. She was my moon, my sun, my best friend but most importantly, she was my savior. Because of her, I didn’t end up in a body bag or get my ass locked up in jail. Luna came into my life after Uncle Simon died. Because of Luna, I learned what love was. She was the perfect definition of unconditional love. We became inseparable. It was her and me against the world. A small world composed of a drug addict for a mother, an abusive fucker for a father, and an empty belly at the end of the day. Memories I tried to gouge out of my mind stomp through my head like an untamed herd of bulls hurtling down a ravine. My stomach coils and lunch threatens to come up. Images I thought I had purged resurface. They stab, burrow, and twist, causing a lifetime of pain to flare up.

Luna has been my hero ever since the day she killed my dad. Disordered and muddled snapshots of the last time I saw Dad run through my head. I hear the hiss of Dad’s panted breath behind my ear. My nostrils fill with the stench of cheap liquor, rancid sweat, and stale cigarettes. I feel the pain of when Dad’s fingers sank on my hips, bruising my skin and charring my soul. I remember the hard ramming of his pelvis on my back, rattling me down to my bones. Echoes reverberate in my head from the blows of his fist on my ear. I still hear the crackling sound of my ribs when my chest caved under the steel toes of his beige boots. I feel the bite of his belt on my skin. I smell the putrid stench of urine as he pissed on me. Then, the merciful veil of unconsciousness shrouds me. Two days later, I woke up in a hospital. A psychologist told me of Dad’s fate. Luna had killed him with a baseball bat. She cracked his head open. Dad would never rape me again.

“ARE YOU OKAY?” Lottie asks, peering at me from the opened door. I repeatedly blink, snapping out of the haunting memories. I raise my eyes to meet hers. A frown creases her forehead. “Huh?” I shake my head slightly. “Are you okay?” She sits next to me. “I’m all right. Tired. Too much sun.” I stretch my arms over my head and link my fingers behind my neck. “Looks like someone didn’t watch the show after all.” She nods to Jake, who is now sprawled on the couch, his head resting on my thigh. I look to the TV screen. It’s blue. I wonder how long I’ve sat here, lost in the past. My hand finds Jake’s mane of blond hair. My fingers sift through the fine strands. It’s soothing. “Hey, if this is too much, and you want to bail out, I won’t hold it against you,” Lottie says, wringing her hands. I glance at the door. The last thing I need is someone prying into our conversation. “What makes you think that?” I study her face. Her lower lip trembles. “The look on your face,” she says in a small voice and fixes her eyes on her hands. “Hey,” I say, lifting her chin. “Hey, look at me.” She peers at me. Fear and insecurity cloud her face. “Well, I’m not going to lie. This whole thing has been overwhelming. Meeting your folks, especially your dad, has made for quite a day. But I’m not going anywhere, okay? Not unless you want me to.” I tuck her hair behind her ear. It’s all true, but there’s so much more to this day. If she knew, her greatest concern would be getting a divorce. Unconvinced, she bites the corner of her lower lip. I don’t know if it is the simple gesture or the innocence displayed on her soft features, but I want her something fierce. Lottie is uniquely innocent in a world of perverted inauthenticity. “Let’s go for a ride?” I need to get the hell away from her family. Get my mind in order. “You’re tired. Wouldn’t you rather take a nap?” she asks. “Nah, I need to move. Get fresh air. Do you want to go for a hike? I looked up a local map. There’s a beautiful three-

mile trail marked ‘easy’ close to here. You game?” “Okay.” She retrieves the remote control and shuts off the TV. “I’ll let Mom know we’re heading out and meet you in the bedroom. I want to change into something more appropriate.” “Get some water bottles, would you?” I ask, gently removing Jake from my lap and tucking a throw pillow under his head. “Yep,” she responds. We head in opposite directions, Lottie to the kitchen and me to the bedroom. Fortunately, I cross the house without bumping into the other guests. Granny placed us in a suite at the far end of the house, probably to give the newlyweds a measure of privacy. Once inside, I raid my luggage for hiking boots, and I put some hiking gear in the backpack. Since I’ve been on the island a few times, I know there are many trails offering breathtakingly beautiful views. After changing my clothes, I stand by the back door leading to the beach and watch the postcard landscape. The sky is cloudless. A cool breeze carries a whiff of salt from the sea. Waves break on the shore forming a white foam. The bedroom door squeaks open. My head turns to see Lottie entering the room. She casts her eyes my way for a brief moment but remains silent. I turn and prop my shoulder on the doorframe to watch her across the room. She fidgets with the lock on her suitcase until it opens. “Put on a bathing suit. The trail leads to a waterfall,” I inform her. She gathers her apparel and disappears into the bathroom. I smile, shaking my head. My wife is modest. I need to help her out of her shell, at least in the bedroom. Call me a selfish bastard, but as far as the rest of the world is concerned, she can remain shy. “I’m ready.” She reemerges from the bathroom, hair in a ponytail, khaki shorts, and a tank top that hugs her small waist. My eyes peruse her body, stopping for a bit at the swell of her breasts. I have half a mind to throw her on the bed and sink into her warmth until I find oblivion. “Let’s go then.” I grab her hand and lead her out.

AFTER A THIRTY-MINUTE drive, I park the car. I gather the gear from the trunk, and we head to the trail. “To the waterfall and back takes around two hours. So we should be good,” I say. Though the sun is riding low in the sky, there are at least another four hours of sunlight. “I told Mom not to wait for us for dinner. It’s promptly served at seven, right after sunset,” she says. We climb a gravel path that will lead to the trail deep into the forest. According to the map, it’s a nature feast for the eyes. Lottie is silent. I’m the one who usually initiates conversation. I need to get my head out of my ass and enjoy these

moments with her. When we get back to the house, I’ll have to focus on putting on a brave face. I want to make small talk. However, the small forest, alive with noises, is distracting. We immerse deep into the tangle of trees, zooming through mazes of wild beauty, synchronizing with the environment. Birds and crickets chirp. The wind whistles through the leaves. Twigs crack under our muted steps. It’s a festival of sound and color. An hour later, a sheer layer of sweat covers our skin. I’m questioning if we took a wrong turn when the hypnotic sound of a waterfall beckons us out into a meadow. Shimmering streams of water hurtle down onto rocks, spilling into a small lake that’s the color of an emerald. Lottie and I stand side by side, soaking in the peace and seclusion the place offers. “You hated them, didn’t you?” she  asks bluntly. My entire body swivels toward Lottie. I cup her face. Her brows are deeply furrowed, her lower lip quivers. Her crumpled face fills me with understanding. It’s important to Lottie that I like her family and vice versa. We got into this position because of an impulsive action. However, Lottie is as invested as I am in this crazy relationship we have going. “No, not at all, babe. But we’re going to need time to get into a friendlier zone.” My thumb traces her trembling lip. “Don’t worry. I promise I’ll have them in love with me by the end of this trip.” My job, my lifestyle, requires me to say things that I don’t totally mean. Often, I lie and make empty promises I have no intention of fulfilling. It’s part of what clients expect. I only say what they want to hear. And I’m paid enough money for it. But at this moment, it tears at my heart to make a promise I’m unsure I can deliver. However, I will say anything to chase her worries away. Because I have nothing else to say to calm the storm I see in her eyes, I do what I do best. I crush my lips to hers in a hungry kiss. Her body responds instantly to mine, yielding, molding. My hands surge over her body, exploring, bruising, and searching. My fingers pull the tank top over her head. I step back to admire the tits covered only by a tiny strip of fabric. A loud growl rises from my throat. I grab my shirt and drag it over my head. With our eyes locked, Lottie shimmies her hips as she pulls her shorts down her thighs. We both work on kicking off our shoes. It’s a festival of tossing clothes and shoes. Our lips clash again. Hungry. Desperate. We are both down to our swimwear. Her generous breasts are pressing against my chest. A possessive feeling grabs hold of me. I cup behind Lottie’s knees so her legs can hook around my hips. I step into the lake, our mouths moving at a frantic pace. As our bodies submerge in the water, Lottie’s becomes weightless. With a firm grip on her ass cheek, I grind her core against my throbbing erection. She moans loudly, her head falling back, her nails biting into the skin of my shoulders. My mouth seeks her neck, sucking her soft skin. My teeth scrape her collarbone, my hips gyrating, pushing into her pussy. “I need inside you. Now.” “Yes, please,” she cries with the same desperation in her voice. “Behind the waterfall.” I let go of her. With a few strokes, we dive under the curtain of water and emerge from behind it.

My need to fuse our bodies together is frightening. Whenever I have sex, though I’m paid to pleasure my partner, I take as much as I give. I enjoy the carnal connection. I savor the ecstasy of coming inside a warm body. Plain and simple, I like sex. But this is different. There is a frenzy surging through me, humming over my nerve endings. The blood in my veins boils. My skin is too tight for my body. A haze of desperation blinds me. Under the water, my hands seek her hips. I flush her body to mine. “I’m not using a condom. I need to feel you bare.” Though my tone is commanding, my eyes seek hers for permission. “I’ll pull out,” I promise. “I’m on the pill.” She shakes her head. “Don’t pull out,” she says, her voice trembling. A groan escapes my throat. I move us until her back is pressed against a smooth wall of stone. Droplets of water saturate the air surrounding us. The green from the trees’ canopies filter through the clear cascade. It’s a piece of heaven on earth. I draw back and look at Lottie’s face. I urge myself to slow it down, make it pleasurable for her. Then, I remind myself that this isn’t an assignment. Yes, I want to please her, need to please her. But not out of obligation. Her pleasure is my pleasure. The stream offers us solace. Water hitting the stones creates a sound barrier. We have our own little world. I pull the strings on either side of her bikini bottom and shove it inside my trunks pocket. I repeat the same with her top. I draw back to exam her. Her wet hair falls into a curtain around her breasts. Her eyes are wide. Her pupils dilated, her lips swollen and parted. Her hands are bracing the wall on either side of her body. She is breathtaking. My dick, strained inside my trunks, throbs demanding action. I ignore it. The need to be inside her is all consuming. But damn if I won’t make this moment last as long as I can. Savor the sight of her. Pliant. Docile. Waiting for me. Her chest rising and falling in expectation. Her need matching my own. No. This is not to be rushed. This is sacred. Then it hits me. Like a meteor crashing earth. This is not sex. I won’t stroll down the cliché road and say we are making love. No. Too soon, too cheesy. However, I’ll be honest and admit that this is more than a fuck. It’s a connection of two bodies wherein the souls are also connected. And therein lies the difference. I shake my head, bemused. The aftershock of the collision makes me dizzy. I relocate my attention back to the texture of Lottie’s skin beneath my touch. Solemnly, I slide my thumb over her lips. Her alabaster skin is flawless. I lean in, and my forehead touches hers. “If I tell you that I never wanted someone else as much as I want you right now, would you believe me?” My voice is hoarse, raw. She nods. She must feel it too. The electric energy that is humming from her body to mine crackles in the air. With my tongue, I trace the water sluicing down her face, along her neck. Her skin pebbles beneath my touch and her body quivers. My mouth captures her pink and tight nipple. I suck its sweetness, relishing in her moans of delight. It’s heady and intoxicating. I acknowledge that our relationship happened excessively fast, rushed even. However, whatever the hell is going on

between us has to be right. She feels so right beneath my hands, beneath my tongue. I give the same attention to her other breast. One of my hands sprawls over her sternum, pinning her to the wall of stone. Her heart pounds wildly. And I swear it beats rhythmically with mine, matching beat by beat. Slowly, I slide my hand over her breast, along her ribs, down her abdomen, finally cupping her apex. On its own volition, my finger seeks her depth. I close my eyes. Inside of her is warm, tight. I circle my finger slowly, touching every inch I’ll soon brand. A small whimper comes from Lottie. Her hooded eyes are a shade darker. They’re pleading. “So warm,” I say, adding a second finger. “Please,” she begs. “Oh, baby, I love when you beg.” “Please, Seth, please.” My lips capture hers. We kiss deeply as she rides my hand. Her breath catches, her head bobs back, her fingers turn white as her grip on the wall tightens. She’s so close. “Come for me, baby,” I order with my teeth grazing her nipple. She arches her back, and I suck at it relentlessly. She cries. Her voice is hoarse, loud, and inhibited. It reverberates on the wall of the small cavern. I pull my dick out of my trunks and with one swift stroke I drive inside her. Her pussy grips my length, and for the life of me, I struggle not to come right away. I move slowly, circling, touching every inch of her. “You feel so good, baby,” I moan, lowering my head to the crook of her neck. Her small hands grip my shoulders. I begin a pilgrimage, searching for nirvana. I slide one arm around her waist to protect her from hitting the stone. My other hand braces the wall. She tightens the hold of her legs around my hips, her heels sinking into my ass. It feels so perfect. So right. “You okay?” I ask, afraid to hurt her on the rough wall. “Yes. Hard. I want hard,” she pleads in a whisper. “Oh baby, you shouldn’t say things like that when there’s no barrier between us . . .” “Hard. Ride me hard. Hold nothing back,” she repeats breathily. Our bodies slither and slap against each other. Her hips writhe, seeking better friction. “Hold on tight, baby.” I draw back and slam into her. She cries and it’s a glorious sound. It awakens the beast I’m trying to keep at bay. It unleashes a wild, primitive savage. My body goes into a blind frenzy of need. I drive again and again into her depth of warmth pushing us both to the brink of an abyss of pleasure. A place that obliterates reality, where body and spirit blend into one being. Her body trembles, her muscles coil, tightening around my cock. “Oh God, Lottie,” I mumble. She screams again. Louder. Bolder. Her screams blend with my grunts. My body coils, trembles. We fall into a bottomless chasm of infinite ecstasy. There is no longer her or me, just millions of blended shards of pleasure.

Body, soul, and spirit entwined, mingled. We are one. We are one million pieces. We are bound by the exchange of something deeper than a mere carnal union.

Lottie

I STUDY SETH’S FACE. He looks down at me with an intensity that is new and intimidating. “God, Lottie,” he says with a slow roll of his hip. “It’s never felt this good. I swear it. Damn it all to hell if I ever came this good.” His daunting eyes lock on mine. “What’s happening to us? Tell me you feel it too. Jesus, is it just me?” “I feel it too, Seth,” I finally say. “I see it too. But it’s too intense, too bright. I’m afraid that whatever this is, if I get any closer, it will burn me.” There. Now he knows my feelings. He knows I’m way out of my league here. “I won’t let it burn you, baby. I promise.” “Let me dress you.” He pulls the two pieces of my bikini from his pocket. I brace my hands on the cold stone. Seth sweeps his fingers over my skin while settling my bikini back into place. Then he pulls his trunks over his hips and grimaces as he adjusts himself. “What is it with you that makes me hard all the time? I just had you, and I want it again. I haven’t been this horny since I was a teenager.” He leans his hard body against me and I sense his rigid erection pressing on my tummy. An involuntary smile blooms on my face. I can’t help but feel empowered by his statement. “Is it not always like this? Cause I, too, can’t have enough of you.” “Nope, it’s not at all like this. Trust me.” “Well, then, I guess I’ll enjoy it while it lasts.” I splash water on him and offer a grin. “I have a feeling this is a long-lasting thing. Like until the end of times.” My grin turns into a full smile. “Lead the way,” I say before I jump him so we can have sex again. What’s gotten into me? I feel sexy and bold. With a few strokes, we make it back to the shore where we dropped our clothes.

“If we keep up a good pace, we can make it back in time to shower before dinner is served,” he says, wiping the sand off his feet before putting his socks and shoes on. Then he gathers my shoes and wipes my feet clean. The muscles in his arms and bare shoulders ripple with each movement as he slides my socks and sneakers on. I watch, mesmerized. “Are you up to it?” “Huh?” I shake my head to disperse the state of enchantment his body puts me under. “Enjoying the view?” He cocks his head. His eyes glint with amusement. “I, yeah, I, uh, sure,” I say as my cheeks turn red, and I resist the urge to look away. At times like this, I wish I were more assertive. Seth pulls a shirt over his magnificent chest, making me mourn the loss of the view. He smiles broadly. “I’m yours to look at and do with as you please, woman. No need to get all flustered when I notice you’re admiring what belongs only to you.” He pecks a kiss on the tip of my nose. “Let’s roll.” He gathers my hand and we head down the trail. As he predicted, we make it back in time for a quick shower before dinner. Fully dressed, I examine my complexion in the bathroom mirror. A soft glow covers my usually pale skin. My eyes are what catch my attention. They are wider, vivid, and alive with color and emotion. I’m applying a layer of lip gloss when I hear a soft knock on the bedroom door. “Come in,” Seth calls out, followed by the squeak of the door opening. “Auntie Lottie?” Jake calls. “Hey, little man, your auntie is finishing getting ready. You know girls, they take forever.” “My mom doesn’t,” Jake replies. A brief silence follows before Seth says. “I guess your mom is an unusual female.” I hear the smile in his voice. I open the bathroom door and stand at the threshold, watching their interaction. “Oh, Dad says Mommy is unique and mysterious. I forgot what unique means.” “It means one of a kind. And your dad is right, some girls have a mystery to them; we must unravel it.” “Huh?” Jake asks, his features scrunching up. “Like when you get a gift. It’s all wrapped up right?” “Mm-hm.” Jake’s head bobs up and down. “You have to unwrap the paper to find out what’s inside, right?” “Yep, like when I got my X-men. They were wrapped in blue paper.” “And you had no idea what was inside, right?” “I kind of hoped it was one of the X-men. And I kind of knew it was.” “But only after you opened it you knew for sure, right?”

“Yeah, I guess.” “That’s how girls are. You have to unwrap, peel every layer of paper until you find out what’s inside. Then you will know how to deal with them. And trust me, Jake, girls are complicated.” “Dad says that a lot about Mom. He says he never knows how Mom is feeling. But I’ll tell him to unwrap her so he can know what to do.” Seth’s laughter reverberates through the room sending a thrill up my spine. He doesn’t laugh out loud much, the sound is beautiful, crystal. And just like that, I make it my life mission to make him laugh like that more often. I approach them. Seth is lying on his back, his hands tucked under his head. Jake is sitting with his little legs swinging off the edge of the bed. “Hey, little guy,” I say, placing a kiss on his head. “Grandma said dinner will be served shortzly.” “You mean shortly,” I say, giggling. “Yes, that’s what I said.” “All righty, then.” I ruffle his hair. “Ready?” I ask Seth. “Yep. All that swimming helped me work up an appetite,” he  says with a wink. A blush creeps up chest, neck, and face. There was absolutely no swimming in that lagoon. We exit the bedroom. My parents and grandparents all stand up when we enter the living room. “Hope we’re not late,” I say. “No. Not at all, Marta is running behind,” Mom says. Marta is the housekeeper as well as the cook. “Come here, handsome boys, sit with me,” Granny asks Seth and Jake. I halt, undecided if I should sit across the room next to Dad, my usual spot. But Seth tugs my hand and pulls me next to him. His hand slides over my leg until it settles on my thigh. Dad’s eyes zoom to Seth’s hand, and he cringes. His sour expression does nothing to conceal his discontent. “Now, you have to tell me how you two met. And, please, if it wasn’t romantic, make up something.” Granny gathers Seth’s free hand in between hers. My body tenses. Seth squeezes the hand he has planted on my thigh and applies small, circling movements. I will my muscles to relax. “Don’t be absurd. We don’t have enough time for that tonight. Dinner will be served shortly,” Dad roars from across the room. “Nonsense. Go right ahead, honey,” Granny says, waving a disdainful hand at Dad. “Well, here goes.” Seth flashes his white teeth at Granny. He repositions himself. His hand, now on my back, strokes

me soothingly. “Not long ago I sat on the balcony of my apartment, bored and lonely, watching a full moon crawling across the twilight sky.” Where the hell is he going with this? My face is turned to Seth, but from my peripheral view, I see Dad rolling his eyes. Mom discreetly elbows him. I shift my weight, my discomfort growing rapidly to unbearable proportions. “Aww, that’s such a romantic depiction.” Granny clutches Seth’s hand to her chest. “Go on, hon.” “The night was only a child, and the stars were yet to make an appearance, when I had this thought—almost like an actual voice, loud and clear in my head. It said: tonight, you must go to Neptune. The dance club at the hotel Constellation,” he explains. “I obeyed the command. By the time I arrived at the hotel, stars burned brightly in the sky. I thought to myself: something special is about to happen.” He looks down at me. With his gaze fixed on mine, he continues, “I entered the hotel and stood under a dome with beautiful artwork resembling Ursa Major. And that’s when it happened.” He pauses. His eyes darken. “In front of me, under the Constellation, shone the brightest star my eyes had ever seen.” He smiles, his eyes seem distant, dreamy. I, too, am transported to that moment when we first laid eyes on each other. At the time, I had felt the connection. However, to hear his account of the encounter had the effect of a fist gripping my heart and squeezing it tight. I’m so falling for this guy. Our silence must have lasted longer than appropriate because Granny clears her throat and asks. “So, did you introduce yourself?” Seth blinks and shifts his gaze to Granny. “Oh, no. Lottie here didn’t . . . how can I say without sounding selfdeprecating? See, the thing is, she didn’t seem that interes—” The ring of Dad’s cell phone interrupts Seth. Dad glances at the device and says wryly, “Fascinating stuff, but I must answer this call.” After Dad leaves the room, Seth continues the story of when we met. He skillfully tells how he bought me a drink and how we danced the night away. All the while, he emitted that it had happened just a few days prior. According to him, we have been dating for a few months and with my recent visit to Vegas, we decided to elope. “We were both a little tipsy. But I had known since the moment I first saw Lottie, that she would be my wife.” Granny sighs. “That is very romantic. And to see how happy you are together chases away the disappointment of not seeing my Lottie walking down the aisle.” “I’m sorry, Granny. I know how much you wanted me to have a big wedding.” “Nonsense. I’m an old fool. A romantic dreamer. You kids have new ways of doing things. It’s all right, as long as you make each other happy,” she says. “Perhaps we can have an intimate celebration. A few friends and family,” Mom says with a hopeful tone. An unsettling understanding of the ramification of my hasty marriage seeps through my mind. It encompasses more than just Seth and me. It significantly affects my family. “Sure, Mom. We can talk about it later.” How can I convince Seth to be part of this? According to our agreement, we would simply get to know each other. Nothing more. If things keep on getting more complicated, he’ll want out. I can’t blame him for it. “That would be awesome,” Seth says, squeezing my waist. He’s a fantastic actor.

“Is dinner ready yet?” Dad’s voice thunders as he enters the room. “I’ve got my appetite back,” he adds with a sneer. We proceed to the dining room. For the next hour, Dad engages in pleasant conversation with us. To my dismay, he includes Seth, looking him in the eyes, asking questions about his business. Whatever news he got, changed his mood for the best. My shoulders relax, and I venture a few jokes. But Seth is the main attraction. At the end of dinner, we are all laughing at Seth’s witty and funny remarks. Including Dad. Just the way Seth had predicted, he charmed my family. “How about we go to the back patio for some cocktails?” Mom says, standing up. “Well, I do believe bonding time with this young man is in order. Seth, would you like a cigar?” Dad asks. Seth’s eyes narrow slightly, but he flashes a smile at Dad and says, “Of course.” “I’m going to bed. I’m beat,” I say. “I’ll join you soon, baby.” Seth pecks a chaste kiss on my cheek. He follows Dad to the office. Despite Dad’s ecstatic mood, I have a pang of apprehension. What if Seth tells Dad we just met. God no, Dad would go ballistic. I say goodnight and retire to my room. I swing the French doors open. A breeze blows the white curtains and brings the smell of the sea inside the room. I resist the desire to listen to music. The sound of waves crashing on the shore is hypnotic. I do not intend to fall asleep, but my lids get heavier. My body melts in the bed. All the stress, fear, and worry of the past week leaves me. And I drift into a peaceful sleep.

Seth

“PLEASE HAVE A SEAT,” Mr. Cahan offers with a smile that is obviously forged. I sit across from him. He flips a box open, pulls a cigar out, and offers me one. “Cuban. Best quality money can buy.” “No, thank you. I quit smoking years ago.” His eyes fix on the cigar. He rolls it between his fingers, weighs it in his hand before he speaks again. “Not a whole lot of people surprise me.” He talks slowly, calmly, almost as if speaking with someone mentally challenged. Patronizing bastard. “But you, young man, you surprise me.” Meticulously, he clips the end of the cigar. “Since the day Charlotte told me about this ridiculous wedding business, I have been puzzled by how my smart and sensible daughter has done such an atrocity.” He flicks the lighter, lighting the end of the cigar. His lips purse around it, and he blows big puffs of white smoke in my face. I guess politeness doesn’t always precede money and breeding. “Cognac?” he asks. “Yes, please.” With the cigar clutched in between his teeth, he walks to a cabinet and retrieves a bottle of cognac and two tumblers. I have learned from Luna and life lessons to be a perceptive person. I’m a master of body language. Mr. Cahan is playing a game. He poorly pretends to be nice. His patronizing voice, the subtle glint in his eyes, all hint he isn’t genuine. It works together to tell me: “Hey, I don’t like you. I’m just pretending here.” He’s faking a sentiment he doesn’t have, and he wants me to know he is pretending without saying it plainly. He pours the amber liquid inside the tumblers and passes me one. I accept the drink but remain silent, waiting for his lead. From the way he looks at me, I don’t think I will enjoy this conversation. “When I was a young boy, I lived in a farmhouse,” he says, tasting the cognac. “Growing up, I was fascinated by a wasps’ nest in the barn. It was so well constructed. Genius engineering.” He plays with the tumbler in between his

thumb and index finger. “My father warned me many times not to touch it. Told me the dangers of it. “When I turned twelve, I decided to poke it. I wanted to see the interior, discover its secrets. Rattle the lives of its inhabitants. ” He drags another puff of the cigar. The smell is nauseating. “You can imagine the result of my quest.” “Please make your point, Mr. Cahan.” “Oh, you want me to be direct. Youth. Tsk-tsk.” He shakes his head. “Always antsy, impatient, and unwise. Fine. Let’s get to the point. You’re staring a nest of wasps in the eye, son. The question is. Are you going to poke it?” “I still don’t follow you, Dad.” “You will.” He tilts his head back and tosses down the remainder of his drink. “When Charlotte informed me of your wedding, the first thing I did was hire a private investigator.” My muscles coil. What the hell has he discovered? Since I haven’t been arrested yet, I can hope he hasn’t found out my real identity. The buzz inside my head is like the sound of a colony of mad wasps. “See, I needed to know what kind of person you were. A criminal, an opportunist, a gold digger? My children seem to attract the latter.” Hot, liquid anger surges through my body when I realize he must be speaking of Luna. I grind my teeth and close my hands into tight fists. I’ll just listen to the fucker. See what he knows about me. “The PI just e-mailed me detailed information about you.” He waves a few pages my way and settles them on the desktop. “There isn’t much of a record prior to your eighteenth birthday,” he tsk-tsks again. “Makes me wonder what kind of family you came from. But that’s beside the point.” Relief makes me dizzy. Adriana had one of her clients create my new identity and wipe out any information before the age of eighteen. It was easier if my record was sealed to avoid questions about my life prior to my adulthood if I ever got into trouble with authorities. He drums his fingers on the oak desk. “Regardless of what you have hidden in your past, we’ll focus on the present issue at hand.” He sifts his fingers through the pile of papers. “To my surprise you have amounted a small, yet remarkable fortune. Not surprising when your rate is four grand minimum, for two hours of labor.” He continues to flick through the pages. He knows. Shit. His eyes lift from the papers and zoom in at me. “Now, I pride myself in resolving issues in a diplomatic way. I suppose it’s a trait I acquired from being a judge. Therefore, I’m ready to offer you a generous deal. ” As if we were having a leisurely conversation, he pauses to take another drag of his cigar. “For whatever reason, perhaps social escalation, you married my daughter. I honestly don’t care to know your motivation. What I am interested in is resolving this issue with the least amount of damage to my family’s image.” I force myself to remain silent as he blows another nauseating puff of smoke in my face. He continues. “You were hired by that low-class cunt that professes to be friends with my daughter. You must have

done your homework, found out Lottie’s a girl with family ties. Pedigree, if you will. You saw in her a young, gullible, and vulnerable girl. A perfect opportunity to get yourself into a prominent family. It’s understandable. Your career as a whore is coming to an end as you’re aging. Your looks are dimming. You have a new company that is promising. If it continues to go well, it will be a multi-billion dollar business. A wife from a prestigious family would make you look good at business dinners.” He pauses and an indentation forms in between his brows. “You must be greedy and ambitious to continue to sell your body to the highest bidder. Money obviously isn’t much of a concern any longer. You have a considerable income from His Secret. “Anyway, that’s irrelevant. Let’s focus on the problem at hand. We can resolve this in one of two ways.” An evil glint fills his eyes. “Both my ways. The first option, you leave this office and never approach my daughter again. The second option is I leave this room and tell my daughter about the low life you are. I’ll reveal that you were hired to have sex with her, that you are using her to climb the social latter. I guarantee you, she’ll never want to lay her eyes on you again.” I wonder why he’s so generous as to offer option number one. Apparently all he cares about is the “family’s image.” Why didn’t he go ahead and tell Lottie before having this conversation with me?  “Tick-tock, tick-tock,” he says, tapping his fingers on the desktop. “I’ll take option number one.” “For a man whore, you’re not that stupid. Very well, then.” He stands up. “But—” “No buts. You must leave now. I’ll escort you to your car.” “Before I leave I want five minutes. I need to pack, and Lottie deserves a goodbye.” He frowns. Suspicion crosses his face. “I’ll escort you to her room.” “If you want Lottie to suspect you’re behind my departure, be my guest.” He pauses. I take advantage of his reluctance and add, “If you give me five minutes, all that will happen is that your daughter is going to believe I got tired of playing this game and decided to be on my way.” His shrewd eyes narrow. “You are taking this better than I anticipated. I hope you aren’t planning revenge. If after you leave, you tell anyone what you do for a living, I guarantee you, you will not be able to sell your piece of shit of a body for two dollars. Ever again. Not to mention, I’ll use all my power and influence to destroy your successful business. You have no idea the leverage having generations after generation of family members in government will grant you.” “Five minutes, Mr. Cahan. I’ll even file for the divorce myself.” “You need not concern with a divorce. I’ll have it annulled.” “Five minutes. Pack. Say goodbye. Out. You and Lottie will never see me again. And you have my word I’ll never mention your family’s name.” “Your time starts now.” The chair screeches under me as I stand up. With purposeful steps, I leave the office without looking back. I cross the living room, heading for my suite. From the open windows, the wind carries the sound of the rest of the family chatting on the back patio. I stroll directly to the bedroom. I push the door open and flip up the lock.

Lottie is already in bed. Wearing skimpy shorts and tank top, she has her legs tangled in the crisp sheets. Her delicate features are bathed with the silvery moonlight filtering through the opened French doors that lead to a small garden on the side of the house. I grab her cell phone that’s charging on the nightstand, unplug it, and shut it off. In the bathroom, I hastily bury it under the dirty clothes in the hamper. I quickly collect a few personal items from the sink and return to the bedroom. I yank the luggage from the closet and shovel the items inside as well as the first clothes my fingers touch. From my nightstand, I collect my wallet, our passports, and my cell phone and dump it all into the bag. I grab the keys to my car and slide it into my front pocket. I pause for a moment. Lottie deserves better than this. Better than me. But for the first time in the last decade, I feel alive. I’ll be damned if I lose the person responsible for it. There is too many what ifs in my life as it is. I don’t need another one. “Lottie,” I say, running my fingers through her hair. “Lottie, baby. You need to wake up.” “Hmm,” she murmurs, rubbing her sleepy eyes. “Wake up, baby.” I gently nod over her shoulder. “What? You’re coming to bed?” She stretches her limbs languidly. “Listen.” I assist her into a sitting position. “Listen, baby. Something came up. I need you to trust me. Can you do that?” “What? What happened? Is everything okay?” Her face morphs from sleepy to alert. “Yeah, yeah. Everything is fine. I don’t have time to explain right now. I just need you to trust me.” I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. My eyes narrow. “Come away with me?” “Now?” “Yes. Now.” “Okay . . .” She looks at me. Her eyes are still hazy with sleep. But I identify utter trust in them. “Here. Put this on.” I slide a pair of flip-flops on her feet and clasp her hand. “Let’s go.” I retrieve the duffel bag and tug her to the back door. Outside, the moonlight guides us through a narrow path around the garage onto the street where I parked the rental. Voices and laughter drift from the back patio. I open the passenger door quietly and tuck Lottie in. I jog around the car. Inside, I turn the key and the engine roars to life. The tires skid on the asphalt as I speed away. Only after I hit the main road do I exhale the breath I had been holding. I glance at Lottie. Her eyes are wide and startled. Shit. What do I say now? “Can you explain all of this now?” she finally asks. “Hold on, baby. I need to make a phone call,” I say not only to buy time but also to form a plan to get us away from here. Roberto answers on the third ring. I quickly explain my needs and give him my coordinates.

“Sure. I’ll see what I can do. Call you back shortly,” Roberto tells me and hangs up. I head toward the airport. From there I’ll decide where to go. “Now, can you tell me what this is all about?” Lottie enquires with a hint of impatience in her voice. I’m surprised she’s not upset about all of this. “I asked you to trust me, Lottie. And I need you to continue to do so. As soon as we settle in a place away from your Dad, I promise I’ll explain everything.” I drive for thirty minutes. We are both silent. Waves of tension are coming from Lottie. She might have given me the benefit of waiting, but her frustration is almost palpable. Questioning this stupid plan, I sigh. I make the decision to pull over, spill the truth to her, and let the chips fall where they may. I signal to pull over to the shoulder of the road when my phone rings. I answer without pulling over. “Talk to me,” I answer. “Okay, great news. I just spoke to the manager at the Hotel Pousada Feliz. They’re filled. However, the manager has a cousin that handles renting a house on a private island a couple hours off the coast. The house is only available for two days. But it’s secluded and will give me time to make a more permanent arrangement.” “That’s more than I could ask. There will be no way to trace me, correct?” “Nope. We’re mint. I’m making all the payments, including a generous bonus to the guy who is arranging everything —in my name. All you have to do I show up at Pousada Feliz, and ask for Fabricio. He speaks decent English and will take care of you.” “I owe you one, Roberto.” “I’ll remind you at the time of my Christmas bonus.” “Sure thing.” “Lottie, grab a pen from the console. I need you to write down an address.” Roberto tells me the address of the hotel, and I repeat it to Lottie. “Thanks a million, Roberto.” I disconnect the call. “Here, baby.” I hand her the phone. “Enter the address into the GPS.” She does as she’s told. Her fingers remain clutched to the device as it tells us where to go. I reach over and take one of her hands in mine. “As soon as we settle, I’ll tell you everything,” I assure her. “Mm-hmm.” She links her fingers through mine, and we proceed in silence. Again, I question what this girl saw in me that has her granting me this level of trust. When we finally reach the hotel, it is past midnight. “Wait here,” I instruct Lottie. In the lobby, before I reach the receptionist, a man intercepts me. “Mr. Seth Phoenix?” “Yes.” I turn to face him.

He is a short and slender man with a goatee and receding black hair. “Fabricio Delgado.” He offers his hand and a broad smile. “Hey, pleased to meet you, man.” I shake his hand. “Mr. Roberto told me you need a house. My shift is finished. I take you to house.” “You want me to follow you there?” I furrow my brow. “I have boat. Everybody on the island has boat,” he explains. “You drive to boat. I put you in boat. I take you to house on island. Island close to here.” According to Roberto, Fabricio is trustworthy. Even though I’m desperate, I worry about Lottie’s wellbeing. “You work at this hotel?” “Yes. Ten years.” “Is it safe to drive a boat this time of the night?” “For you, no. For me, yes.” He stretches his boney hand in front of me, palm facing up. “I know these waters like palm of my hand. I take you there with eyes closed. You safe with me.” He beckons me to follow him. “Ocean calm. Moon bright. Good night for going on boat.” At the hotel’s door, I tell him. “Fabricio, I need you to keep this between us. If someone comes looking for us, you can’t say anything.” “I finish my shift at hotel, go home and sleep. I never see you,” he assures me with a smile. “Thank you.” I can only imagine what Roberto is paying him for his service and silence. “That’s me.” I point to the rental. Within five minutes, we turn down a small road lined with a row of similar-looking shacks. Fabricio points to a small dwelling that is distinct from the others because of the madness of wildflowers in the front. “This my house. You park in back. I cover car.” I do as he instructs. I usher Lottie out and get our bag from the backseat. Fabricio disappears inside a small shed in the backyard. When he returns, I hand him the keys. He drapes a green tarp over the car. “Now, you follow me. We walk to boat.”

IN ABOUT FIFTEEN minutes, we reach the place where his boat is anchored. The boat is a hybrid of motorboat and fishing boat. A fading script on the side reads “Guadalupe.” “Permission, señor,” Fabricio says, taking my bag. I help a wary Lottie inside the boat and climb in after her. Fabricio swiftly leaps in and hands me the bag. He yanks a life jacket from under a seat and hands it to Lottie. “For security, señora.” He enunciates his every word carefully. I have a feeling he wants to impress Lottie. The motor coughs before roaring to life. “Pronto? Ready?” he asks in both languages. I give him a thumbs-up. Fabricio turns the motor on. He jerks the lever down and the boat rumbles and rattles before jolting forward and cutting through the black water. I drape my arm over Lottie’s shoulder. Though every muscle in her body is tense, she slowly melds her body against mine. A thousand ways to tell my story run through my mind. I can’t settle on any of them. Some are mediocre, making me come across as the man whore that I am. Others make me the victim. And I am far from being the victim. I own every decision I’ve made. Lottie’s breath becomes even. I glance at her face. Her lids are closed. I wonder if she’s fallen asleep. After what feels like hours, Fabricio looks over his shoulder and shouts, “The island.” His hand motions in the general direction of a light flickering on the distant horizon. “Hey,” I say, patting Lottie’s shoulder. “We’re here, baby.” “Already?” she murmurs, rubbing her eyes in the familiar way she does every morning. “Did you sleep?” “I snoozed, I guess.” Fabricio slows the boat. With skilled maneuvers, he places it parallel to a small pier.

“Aqui estamos, señor.” He shakes his head and repeats. “Here we are, Mr. Seth.” I release the lifejacket off Lottie and grab our skimpy bag. We leap off the boat. As we cross the pier and follow through a narrow stone steps leading to the single post with the light I saw from the distance, Fabricio gives us information about the house. He pulls a key from his pocket and unlocks the door. Once inside, he flicks on the lights. The interior is rustic. The ceiling is tall and round like a tepee. Whoever decorated intended to bring the ocean inside. The furniture is made of driftwood painted in a washed-out gray hue. The wood walls are bright blue. Seashells, sea glass, and driftwood sculptures are strewn throughout the space. A large beige sofa is placed in front of wide glass doors leading outside. An infinity pool, at odds with the rustic decoration of the house, sits between the house and the ocean. “Ocean view in every room,” Fabricio explains. “The fridge has bottled water, beer, and soda. But mañana, I bring food.” “Thank you so much for your help, Fabricio.” I pull my wallet from my pocket. Fabricio emphatically raises his hand. “No. Mr. Roberto pay good money. You no pay me.” I open my mouth to protest but close it. In all honesty, I’m anxious for him to go. Now, that me telling the truth is eminent, I want to get it done and over with. “Gracias, señor,” Fabricio says. “No, thank you. You’ve been great.” “I see you mañana.” He exits the house, leaving nothing but silence behind him. Lottie strolls to the door leading to the pool and swings it open. A crisp ocean breeze shifts inside the room and rattles the chimes hanging by the door. Lottie stares out at the sea. The boat roars to life, filling the quiet night. When it fades in the distance, I step closer to Lottie. My eyes follow her gaze. A round moon casts a silvery light that glimmers on the black water. “Do you want something to drink?” I ask. “Beer,” Lottie mutters. I walk to the kitchen and pull two beers from a blue fridge. When I return, Lottie is standing outside before the pool. Her hair, cascading over her shoulders, shimmers in the moonlight. She looks so unattainable. Almost like an entity meant to be watched from a distance. My fingers itch and ache with the need of touching her. I glare at my hands. Hands so full of sin and secrets. I’m certain I’m unworthy of her. “Here.” I hand her an opened beer and take a pull on my own. God, I hate beer. It tastes like piss. “How long are we going to stay here?” Lottie asks with an edge to her voice. “Two days.” She is silent for another beat. I clench and unclench my hand, trying to decide how to begin my piteous tale of being a man whore.

“You said you have something to tell me.” “Yes, I—” She turns abruptly. Her hand flies to my lips interrupting me. Her brows furrow. “Whatever you have to tell me . . . will it . . . ?” She licks her lips. “Will it be the end of us?” I run my hand over my face and hair and then clasp it behind my neck. After inhaling a big breath of air I say, “It might.” Most definitely, it will. She’ll never accept who I am. “Whatever it is that you’re omitting, does it place anyone in danger?” she asks and the agony in her eyes makes my heart raw. “No,” I say earnestly. At least this is an honest answer. Her mouth opens forming an “O” then closes. Finally, she says, “Can I have this night, before you tell me, then?” Her eyes glint with emotions I can’t identify.

Lottie

“WHAT?” SETH ASKS taking a step back. “I know it’s stupid to ask for this. Especially considering that you might tell me you’re married already, and we just committed bigamy.” My teeth sink into my bottom lip before I continue. “Truth is, I’m not ready to let go of this. I know it’s irrational. We fell in lust, not love. But, Seth, I like the way you touch me. I like the way your gaze lingers on my lips. I like the way it feels to have you inside me. I like the way you flirt with me first thing in the morning when I have bad hair and bad breath.” I sigh before continuing. “I like the way your bright, clear eyes darken with desire when you dive inside me. I’m not ready to let go of it. Not yet. Give me tonight. Please.” He places his half-empty beer bottle on the table and pulls me to him. My body succumbs to the warmth of his. “God Lottie, if I had my way, I would never tell you any of it. I would lie my entire life. I would not taint what we h ave.” He kisses the crown of my head and tightens his hold of me. I pull back and look up at him. “Can we pretend we are on our much-planned and anticipated honeymoon?” “Anything you want, baby.” I press my cheek to his chest. “No one ever called me baby before. I think I like it,” I confess. “I like it when you call me Cherry Lips, too.” In the few days we’ve been together, Seth has made me look at myself through his eyes. And I swear I like what I see. It’s wanton, sultry, alluring. I want to give him something back. “What’s your one fantasy that you never did with a girlfriend?” “Oh, Lottie, I can’t remember the last time I had a girlfriend.” “But you have had flings, right?”

“Yes. We can say that.” “So, the one thing you didn’t do to them that could be just for us?” I feel so stupid and naïve suggesting this. Seth has the art of making love mastered. Surely there isn’t anything that I can offer him that would be unique. I lean my head back against his chest. My shoulders sink as I let a breath out. He pulls back. His fingers find my chin and raise my head to face him. “Actually, there is something I’ve always wanted to do with someone who belonged to me.” My blood simmers in my veins with the possessive way he says I am his. “But before I say anything, please promise to say if it’s beyond your comfort zone.” I nod. “Say it,” he demands. “I promise.” He raises a brow. “I promise to say no if it’s something I’m not comfortable with,” I say with a smirk of half apprehension and half anticipation. “Are you familiar with BDSM?” I gasp, and I’m sure my eyes are bigger than saucers. “I uh, sure. I’ve read Fifty Shades of Grey.” His lips curve into a half a smile. “So, are you open to some kinky sex?” His brow rises in expectation. “Yes. Sure. Absolutely. I would love some kinky sex.” I give myself a mental slap. Way to sound sexy and wanton, moron. “Hey, you promised.” He tilts his head. “I’m not sure how I feel about pain and spanking,” I say regretfully. His smile broadens showing his pearly teeth. “No pain, not spanking. I’m not a dominant. I do, however, have lots of things I would like to do with your body . . . your pussy.” His voice drops an octave, and his eyes darken. A pulse beats in my clit. His stare alone has me dampening my panties, but when he talks dirty to me, God I could die of arousal. He leans in and brushes his lips against mine, and his warm breath tickles my cheek. “Stay here. I’ll be back for you.” I nod, and my eyes trail after him until he disappears inside the house. “What am I doing?” I sit on one of the lounges, facing the water. I drink the beer with three long pulls and end Seth’s half-full beer as well. I might need some liquid courage to go through with this. What was I thinking? We barely know each other. I have zero sexual experience. Zilch. Nada. Nothing. This is surely a mistake. I can never be sexually on par with Seth. The man is a beast. He’s probably a sex god pretending to be a mere human. I’m sure that must be it. I’ll call this outrageous thing off. Before I turn our last night into a fiasco. I spring from the lounge and turn to head to the house.

That’s when I see him. I open my mouth to say something but shut it. A moonlit Seth stands like a carved Greek sculpture in the splendor of his nakedness. His striking erection points at me. I swallow the words before they tumble out of my mouth. He prances my way. Slowly and predatory. Every muscle in my body coils. The earlier throb in my clit is back with a vengeance. He is holding a piece of cloth. Is he going to tie me up? A shiver runs up my spine. I run my tongue over my lips. Helplessly my eyes zoom in on his dick. God, he is beautiful. “Before we do this we need a safe word.” “What?” I shake my head, forcing my brain’s synapses to connect so I can produce coherent speech. “A safe word. You must be familiar with the concept.” “Yeah.” I mull over for a moment. “Uh, Dona.” “Dona?” he inquires. “Yes. Dona,” I confirm. “Okay.” His places his index finger on my left temple and with a feathery touch, he traces my face. “You’re breathtaking,” he says with a husky voice. He inches his face to mine. My droopy lids close. He pecks a kiss over one eye, then over the other. “Turn.” I obey. “I’m going to blindfold you.” He places the soft fabric over my eyes. His mouth is close to my ear. “It heightens the senses.” Confirming his word, as soon as I’m deprived of sight, my body switches focus to other senses. Quietly, I listen to my surroundings for clues to what’s happening. The stillness and quietness are unnerving. He gathers my hair and puts it in a ponytail at the nape of my neck. “We need your hair out of the way for what I have in mind.” Obediently, I stay still. In the romances I read, the heroine always wants to please the hero. This is my novel, my story. Real life, with a real person, but just like in the romances, I’m eager to please Seth. My back is pressed against his chest, and I roll my head with abandonment. “Be still. I’m going to undress you,” he says, running the pads of his fingers along the inside of my arm. “I need to see your naked body bathed in the moonlight.” I feel his absence. My body trembles. Where is he? He hooks the hem of my tank top, his fingers caressing my tummy. He is now in front of me. He drags it up, his nails graze on my skin, leaving a tingling sensation. He pulls the tank top over my head. “So exquisitely beautiful,” he says, cupping the underside of my breasts. His hands slide down my rib cage, over my waist, and grip my shorts. He pulls them down and says, “Step out of it, baby.”

For a while, he’s silent. Then, the ground disappears from under my feet. My hands and legs flail in a very unflattering way. “Let’s go inside. I need to have my way with you.”

AS HE CARRIES ME, I lay my cheek on his sturdy chest. His heart pounds heavily beneath my ear. With me in his arms, somehow he opens and closes doors. He deposits me in what I believe is the center of a bed. “Sit on your heels,” he directs and assists me in finding the position. I must look pathetic. The deprivation of sight makes me excruciatingly clumsy. Ordeals like this are a bit sexier in the novels I’ve read. I remain still, waiting for the next instructions. A fresh breeze brings the sound of the ocean inside. The air is scented with a mixture of salt and candle wax. “Give me your hand,” Seth orders. His voice is deeper than usual. He places something in my palm. My fingers close around it. The texture is a little rough. “It’s a rope,” he informs me. “It’s not as soft as I would like it to be, but I guess I was lucky to find it.” I swallow hard. Seth removes the rope and places a kiss on the hollow of my hand. The mattress shifts under me as he climbs out. The steady beat of drums floats all around me. It’s the sound of a tribal song. The steady beat lulls my heartbeat to follow its rhythm, heightening my anticipation. My ears are attentive to every minuscule sound, even though the music muffles every other noise. The receptors in my skin stand alert. My head flicks to one side, then the other. To no avail, I try to anticipate where Seth is. The seconds stretch. It could be minutes, days, decades, I dunno. My concept of time is significantly compromised. Seth’s mouth captures mine. He tastes of beer. His tongue, cold and soft, dances inside my mouth, matching the crescendo of the song. Not one part of him touches a part of me. Just our mouths are united. My skin twitches in complaint. It craves his hands. The mattress shifts again. Seth’s warmth envelops me from the back. “Put your arms behind your back,” he says against my ear. His husky voice sends a gush of moisture between my legs. He positions my arms so they cross at the back, and each hand is holding the opposite elbow. Then, I feel the rough texture of the rope around my torso, right under my breasts. He winds the rope two times, and then ties it at the back. He repeats the process right above my breasts.

Not bad. I can do this. Next, he winds and twist the rope making what appears to be elaborate knots on the back, and a V shape that starts in between my breasts goes over the shoulders onto the back. The ropes now encase my breasts. My nipples prickle as if millions of tiny little hands knead them. He moves the rope down to my waist, winding it around a few times and tying it in the back. The knots on my back massage a few tender spots along my spine. It’s incredibly erotic. It incites and awakens a dormant part of me that I didn’t know existed. The song drifts to “Desert Rose” by Sting. The bed shifts again. That’s my main cue of what Seth is doing. “So beautiful . . . All mine.” He sounds primal and primitive. But also reverent. For the next minute, I don’t hear anything. My head moves from side to side. I try to anticipate his next move. Blindfolded, with my hands tied behind my back, my breasts exposed and pushed out as if an offering, I feel vulnerable, but I have never been so aroused. My body waits impatiently for his next move. A warm and wet tongue flickers the tip of my breast. A loud moan escapes my throat. “Shush. Your pleasure is mine. I tell you when and if you can make noise.” I nod my head. “Good girl,” he says appraisingly. He moves to the other nipple. The cool breeze moves over the one he just abandoned, sending a shiver through my body. He licks my nipple and pulls back. The wetness of his mouth has my nipples taught and tight. Every muscle in my body coils. My skin feels too snug for my body. Where is Seth? Suddenly, his mouth returns to my nipple. And he sucks. Hard and deep. The only part of Seth touching me is his mouth. However, my entire body, disoriented and surprised, shakes and trembles. I suppress the moan that builds in the back of my throat. Moisture continues to gather between my thighs. The ache in between my legs starts to intensify. My core pulses at the same speed Seth’s mouth sucks my nipple. My head drops back. My fingers clasp my arms in a vice grip. A burst of colors and lights stretches behind my closed lids. My body recoils and trembles. And I come. Just like that, a wave of pleasure washes through me. The effort to maintain my body in an upright position and to keep quiet, beads my body with a thin layer of perspiration. Trying to calm my hitched breath, I wonder if that’s even possible. Seth didn’t even have his hands on me. “So responsive, baby,” he says against my nipple. “I like that. It gives us endless possibilities.” He pulls his mouth back. “When you come again, you have my permission to scream.” He switches his attention to the other nipple. I brace myself. My body, already limp, recoils at the enclosure of his warm mouth. Again, he sucks, sending a direct jolt to my sensitive clit. I feel my nipple elongating, molding to the interior of his mouth. I sense the warmth and the texture of his soft tongue as it massages and entices. I bite my lip until it bleeds and press my legs together. The acrid taste of blood spreads across my taste buds. I should be mortified, but I enjoy the taste. It contributes to the sensuality of the moment. I fight to avoid the impending orgasm. My body battles in confusion. I need a relief to the simmering desire that has me panting, but I don’t know if I can handle it.

Seth must notice my reluctance. His teeth sink into the hypersensitive bud. I scream. Loud. And without my conscious permission, my body releases another orgasm. Again, just like that. My head rolls. My chin touches my chest. My flesh trembles, my bones feel liquefied. I realize again that Seth hasn’t even touched me yet. Oh. My. God. I can’t take this. It’s too much. The safe word is on my tongue, ready to roll out. I inhale a deep breath, willing my heart rate to slow. I swallow the safe word. I want whatever else Seth has in store for me. No, who am I kidding? I need it all. There’s no way back. Seth’s caught me in his web of seduction. I will do anything for this man. Even if it’s for this night alone. Helpless and vulnerable, I wait. Seth flips me over. I remain on my knees, but he lowers my chest and face to the mattress. My behind is up in the air, exposed. I should have been disconcerted by the position. But I can’t find an ounce of embarrassment. I am, again, sensing a slow stir inside my lower belly. I wait. I recognize “Light, No Light” by Florence and the Machine floating from the speakers. I love the song. A whisper of a touch caresses the nape of my neck. It must be a feather. The light sensation tickles and prickles at the same time. The mattress shifts under me. The tantalizing touch continues along my back. The contrast of the tight rope massaging my skin and the feathery light touch is intriguingly arousing.  I try to lift my chest. The sheet rubbing against my nipples is too much stimulation. “Be still,” Seth commands. The feather glides on the inside of my hands, across the ropes and reaching the tips of my fingers. My body trembles. Goosebumps rise where it touches. He makes his way along my spine until he reaches the seam of my ass. I tense. That’s uncharted territory. No one has ever touched that area of my anatomy. I want to voice my discomfort, but the expectation of the unknown keeps me silent. His index finger replaces the feather. “I want your ass,” he says, sliding his finger along my crack until it reaches the small hole. “But some other day,” he says, pressing the ring. The earlier tension deserts my body replaced by a delicious and raw sensation that eradicates from my backside and travels through my body. Unconsciously, I arch my back. Seth chuckles. “My girl likes this?” His finger runs down to where the moisture of my pleasure sits. “Now, that’s promising . . .” His finger, now wet, returns to my ass and rubs again on the sensitive bud of nerves. I squirm. A loud smack startles me. “Be still,” Seth admonishes me after slapping my rear. The sting of his spanking makes me tremble in anticipation of more. What’s happening to me? Who is this wanton woman, enjoying this foreign situation? Seth’s finger finds my sensitive hole again and penetrates. My body shakes visibly. He slowly inserts and withdraws the tip of his finger. The sensation is overwhelmingly pleasurable. I’m panting again. His tongue suddenly laps my clit. I bite my lip to keep from screaming. Tears fill my eyes from the effort of not moving or making a sound. My heart beats disorderly. “My sweet girl,” he says with his cool breath tickling my sex. He laps his tongue again along my clit. “I won’t let you come now. You can only come again when your pussy is gripping my dick.” His body shifts behind me. He rubs his erection against my entrance. “Look how hard my cock is for you.”

I ache and hold still. I brace myself, ready for him to thrust against my hip. He disappears yet again. I could weep in frustration and want. A feathery touch tickles the arch on the sole of my foot. I tremble. I can’t take it any longer. My body is so taut it feels as though it could snap at any second. Seth unhurriedly gives the same treatment to the lower half of my body. Alternating between a light touch and the grazing of his teeth, he leaves a trail of blazing flames in his wake. When he finally reaches my buttocks, I’m grinding my teeth. My hands are closed into tight fists. My chest presses on the mattress, rubbing my sensitive nipples on the sheet, seeking release. “I need to taste your sweet pussy again,” Seth says. Tears gather in my eyes again. I need him. Not his tongue. “No matter what, don’t scream. You can only make a sound when you come. And you don’t have my permission to come just yet,” he says, caressing my ass. His mouth closes around my clit. He sucks. Tears flow out of my eyes. My body strains like the taught string of a pulled bow. I fear I will break. I’m on the edge of no return when Seth stops the onslaught of his mouth. He rearranges himself in my entrance and grips my hips firmly on either side. “You have permission to scream and come.” The words stumble out of his mouth choked. With one long and sturdy thrust, he rams deep inside me. My cry is so loud and raw that I fear it will damage my vocal cords. Relentlessly, Seth continues his thrusts. Each time, he withdraws his erection to the tip and drives it back to the hilt. My nipples rub against the sheet each time. The impact of every collision shifts the knots on the rope binding me. The constant massage cajoles me to scream and cry out Seth’s name. The combination of stimuli dizzies me. I arch my back, imploring for more. Begging for more. Desperate for more. Seth’s right hand lets go of my hip only to slap my ass. “Come for me, baby,” he commands, his hand flying back to my hip so he can continue the thrusts. Every fiber of my body tightens. It reaches the point of no return. A cosmic explosion. A burst of energy. Everything goes black. My body, defying gravity, levitates. Then I fall in a spiral of pleasure and weightlessness. In my descent, I hear Seth’s own cry as he follows me to climax. He calls my name. His body shakes with mine. He goes still, his erection twitching inside me. He collapses on top of me and rolls us to our sides. The position is awkward, but my limp body doesn’t complain. After a minute, Seth releases the tie on my back and sits me on the bed. My body is unrecognizable to me. He massages my hands and arms. “Are you okay?” His voice is worried. I try to speak, but my lips don’t move. I nod my head. He removes the blindfold. My lids blink rapidly as I adjust to the soft light of dozens of candles flickering around the room. My gaze finds Seth. His eyes are strangely shy and expectant. “How was it?” he asks in a murmur. I run my tongue on my lips. “God, Seth . . .” My voice trails off.

“Good God, Seth that was awful, or Seth, you’re a god?” He jokes, but his voice is charged with insecurity. “Don’t make me talk, or think. It was . . . I can’t speak. There are no words to describe . . .” I try to raise my hand to caress his vulnerable face. But my limb doesn’t obey me. “Kiss me, Seth.” He gathers me into his lap and kisses me. And during the kiss, I can’t imagine anything that he can say that will have the power to separate us. Seth has just seared through my soul and rooted in the most hidden place of my heart. A secret place we reserve for the unique soul that belongs to us. He rocks me and whispers words that soothe me. There on his lap, without realizing, I dive into the land of dreams.

Seth

I RECLINE ON THE pillows, bringing Lottie with me. Both my arms and legs surround her body, securing her to me. That’s when I know for a fact that I can never let her go. I learned the Japanese rope bondage technique back when I first became an escort. Throughout the years, I’ve performed the technique hundreds of times. For the past decade, I have acquired full knowledge of an unlimited variety of sexual techniques. I’ve catered to every taste. BSDM, fetishes, kinky sex, role-play. I conduct a woman’s senses with the same precision a maestro conducts the symphony of a magnificent orchestra. It’s what I do, and I’m damn good at it. My clients dreamed it, and I turned it into reality. However, to attain full control of my profession, I forwent my own needs. I settled for second-hand emotions. For a decade, my primary goal during sex has been strictly to the complete pleasure of a client. Now, I clearly see how one-sided it has become. In order to preserve my soul, I relinquished pieces of me. Not that I haven’t enjoyed myself. I have. Tremendously. However, the satisfaction I ripped was just as fleeting as the average four-second duration of a male’s orgasm. My life remained shallow and superficial. Perhaps that’s part of what made me excel. Each time I had sex I wanted to do it again, better my performance. I chased a nirvana that always eluded me, mocked me. The need for more was always there, gawking at the edges of my soul. All the while, my confused mind perceived it as a healthy sexual appetite. It wasn’t. How massively deceived I was. I was unsatisfied. I wonder how I managed to satisfy my clients when I, in turn, was so empty. Again, they bought sex. They expected nothing more. And I delivered carnal pleasure, each and every time. Tonight, unknowingly, Lottie gifted me something I had lost. A piece of myself I had stored away, like a used shirt that no longer fits but you like it so much you stuff it in the back of a drawer. Eventually forgetting it’s there. Tonight changes everything. Regardless of Lottie’s decision, I can’t go back to shallow sex. My life as a male escort is a closed chapter in my life now. Time to move on.

Lottie jolted my soul to life, rekindling a dormant need to connect with a partner. I will no longer settle for just sex. My mind shifts to the problem at hand. How am I going to reveal who I am to her? Not only will she never accept this part of my past, but she will also despise me. And the notion of her hating me feels like barbed wire squeezing my heart. I carefully settle Lottie’s body on the mattress, propping pillows under her head. I go to the bathroom and find a washcloth. I soak it in warm water and return to the room. Carefully, I wipe Lottie clean. She murmurs my name but doesn’t wake up. I take a quick shower and slide into the bed with her. My body remains alert, aware of every breath Lottie takes, of every twitch of her body, of every sigh she exhales. Sleep deserts me. Before dawn, I peel Lottie’s arm and leg from me and get up. A dark purple tints the dawning sky. The muted light filters through the curtains and casts a dreamy hue on Lottie’s bare skin. God, she is beautiful and pure. The very essence of perfection. How am I supposed to let her go? After a bathroom visit, I head to the kitchen. I prepare a pot of coffee and lean on the counter, waiting for it to brew. I fill two mugs and head back to the room. I sit on the edge of the bed, debating if I should wake up Lottie. Before I come to a decision, her eyes flutter open ending my dilemma. “Good morning, sleeping beauty,” I say with a shit-eating grin. Being with Lottie has transformed me from a fully in control Casanova to a cheesy bastard. “Morning to you,” she replies with a hoarse voice. She stretches her limbs. A grimace mars her perfect features. “What’s the matter, baby?” I quickly deposit the cups on the nightstand, and my hands fly to her. “Are you hurt?” “Sore,” she says with a shy smile, her cheeks turning pink. “There’s a Jacuzzi by the pool. We can soak later.” I smile. “And luckily for you, your husband holds a license in massage therapy.” I wiggle my fingers. “These hands are known for making miracles.” “Well, I’ll hold you to it. But first give me that liquid love.” She sits, resting her back on the bed board. “I didn’t even notice this last night,” she says, running her fingers over the mosquito net surrounding the bed. “Understandable, you were otherwise engaged.” I hand her the coffee. Her eyes lower to the cup and she drinks from it. When she raises her gaze to me, it’s clouded with desire. “Wait here,” I say, diffusing the sexual tension. I need to put some space between us before I sink inside those orbs and can’t find my way back out. Each moment I spend with Lottie makes it harder to confess the truth to her.

I check the medicine cabinet and find a bottle of aspirin. After making sure they’re not expired, I pop two pills out. “Take these.” I offer her the pills accompanied by a glass of water. “Thank you.” “You want to go for a swim?” I ask. “I don’t think I have a bathing suit.” “Lucky for us, we don’t need one,” I say, wiggling my brows. “You want to swim . . . in the nude?” Her eyes widen, and she puts emphasis on the last word. “Why not?” I offer my hand and coax her from the bed. “But, uh, but, what about Fabricio? Isn’t he coming back with food?” I shrug. “The sun isn’t even up yet. I doubt he’s coming this early. Besides, if we hear him, we can run for cover.” Before she has the chance to come up with more excuses, I bend down, grab her by the waist, and haul her over my shoulder. She lets out a squeak and says, “Hey, put me down!” She taps my back. “Hush,” I say with what I hope is a deep, dominant caveman voice and smack her ass. “Man bathe woman.” Her laughter trails behind us as I run to the ocean. I enter the water and the cold temperature shocks my system. Since the sun isn’t up yet the water feels colder than usual. I trudge through the waves until the water is at my waist, and then I toss Lottie in. Her arms and legs flail before her back hits the water. When she surfaces for air, I gather her in my arms and kiss her something fierce. I break the kiss just enough for her to gasp for air. Then, my lips seal over hers again. This time, I take my time languidly exploring her mouth. Her arms hook behind my neck and her legs snake around my hips. I’m instantly hard. But I won’t take her again until there is no deceit wedged between us. Not until she finally knows the truth. I free her mouth. Her teeth clatter. “It’s cold,” she says. “C’mon,  don’t you live in the East Coast or what? Don’t you kids do the Polar Plunge?” “No. Mm-Mm. Not me.” “Let’s swim to warm you up a bit.” I release her. Disappointment crosses her face. I have to summon all my will to resist the desire to make love to her as the sun rises from beneath the water. We swim for an hour until I hear the distant rumble of a motor boat. “Let’s go back in. It must be Fabricio with food.” While Lottie takes a shower, I greet Fabricio, collect the food, and set a pickup time for the following day. When I’m finishing preparing breakfast, Lottie enters the kitchen. “Have a seat, I’ll pour you some coffee,” I say, keeping my back to her.

I serve her avoiding eye contact. “I’m famished,” I say, sitting in front of her. “You’re resourceful in the kitchen. Your momma must have done a great job raising you.” “My mom was a crack whore. She never taught me shit.” Where did that come from? Even my voice sounds angry. “Sorry,” Lottie says, fixing her eyes on her plate of bacon, eggs, and toast. “No. I apologize. I shouldn’t have said that. I mean it’s true. About my mother. But it came out all wrong.” I run my hand through my hair. My appetite vanishes. “Did you teach yourself to cook?” she asks, trying to lighten the conversation. “My cousin. She taught me to cook.” “Oh.” Her eyes, full of curiosity, meet mine. “Is she the one you lost touch with? You don’t know where she is?” “No. We haven’t talked in over ten years. Listen, can we not talk about it?” I come across harsher than I wanted. “Sorry,” she says, toying with her food. I guess I wasn’t the only one to lose their appetite. “Do you want to go for a walk?” I ask, giving up on eating. My nerves won’t allow me to stomach any food. “I think we better,” she says, rising from her chair. She knows it’s time. We walk down the stone steps leading to the beach. The sun, already high in the cloudless sky, warms my bare back. In companionable silence we stroll along the shore, the waves lapping at our feet. The water is much warmer than earlier. How do I tell her everything? I ponder. “Want to sit for a moment?” I point to the trunk of a fallen coconut tree, lying on the sand. We remain silent. Both our gazes lost to the horizon. I inhale a big breath and square my shoulders. “Baby, look at me.” I hold her chin and examine her face. Her features are crumpled with fear and anxiety. Oh, what I would do to dissipate that expression. “No matter what happens, or what I tell you today, I want you to know one thing. These past days I spent with you were the best of my life. And I’ll treasure them until the day I die.” “You’re scaring me, Seth,” she says with a nervous laugh. I release her chin. My gaze returns to the horizon. “I grew up in a dysfunctional family. My dad was a piece of shit of excuse for a man. My mom was a junkie. He died when I was twelve. She died when I was sixteen.” I gather a handful of sand and watch it run through my fingers. “Prior to my mother’s death, I had made a terrible mistake that ruined my cousin’s life.” Images of Luna with a broken heart flood my mind. I shake my head slightly. That’s another story for another day. If there is another day. “After Mom died, I had the chance to make it right with my cousin. I took it. To do so I had to sever our relationship.

Losing her is the only regret I have in my life.” I shrug. “Even though she’s better off without me.” I scoop another handful of sand. “That’s when I moved to Vegas. Alone. Broke. Homeless.” “Oh, Seth.” Lottie reaches for my free hand and squeezes it. “Please don’t pity me. I deserved every bit of it. I had screwed up royally and almost ruined my cousin’s life. “My early days in Vegas were rough. I shoplifted from tourists, dug in dumpsters for food, slept in dark allies. There was no way I would go to a shelter. They checked IDs. I was a minor and had no intention of going into the system.” “Seth, I’m sorry.” She squeezes my hand again. “You sure you want to tell me all of this?” she asks me with a pained voice. I look at her. “I need to tell you this so you can understand why I did what I did. Why I am who I am.” I fix my eyes on the horizon again, before my courage to continue our conversation waives. “One lucky day, I jumped Zack.” I laugh mirthlessly. “I was so hungry. It was unusually chilly for Vegas. Even my bones were frigid after spending the night on the cold pavement. All I wanted was to buy a warm meal. I was careless and got caught snatching Zach’s wallet.” I’m silent again, remembering that day. “Zach has a tragic background, too. But that’s his tale to tell. Anyway, he was just a few years older than I was and had been in a similar situation when he arrived in Vegas. He took pity on me and bought me a hot meal. One thing led to another. And for whatever reason, he helped me. Fate is a bitch, you know? But also, fate can line up good things along the way. Zach was one of the two good things that happened to me. My cousin was the other. He took me to his house and offered to help me get on my feet. Soon after, I discovered what he did for a living, and I convinced him to hook me up with a job.” I swallow hard. “Zach was a gigolo.” I’m silent for a moment, allowing the implication of what I just revealed to sink in. Lottie was the first to speak. “What are you saying, Seth?” she asks, her voice wavering. “I’m a male escort, Lottie. Chloe hired me for a night of pleasure for your twenty-first birthday.” Let the chips fall where they may. “No. No, no, no.” Lottie leaps from the log as if it had electrocuted her. She trots to the shore. Her back is to me. I wait for her to say something. But she is as silent and still as a statue. I approach her slowly. I put my hand on her shoulder. Lottie winces, shrinking away. “Don’t touch me!” she says. “How much?” “Lott—” “How. Much.” “Eight grand for the night,” I say it so quietly I wonder if she even heard me. “I knew it.” A manic laughter blares over the crashing waves. “When would a guy like you take a second look at a girl like me?” She sweeps a finger under one eye then the other, laughing again. “When he got paid for it. That’s when.” Her pain throttles my throat. “Lottie, you have to let me explain.” “What’s to explain? Did you charge extra for marrying me? How about meeting my family? Of course, Chloe can afford you. Money is of no consequence to her. Perhaps you gave her an exclusive. An all-inclusive deal. Like . . . like an all you can eat buffet.”

“No.” I shake my head. “Lottie, let me talk.” “God, I’m so stupid. How didn’t I see this one coming?” “Stop it.” My fingers clasp around her elbows, forcing her to face me. “Was last night included in the package?” “I’m falling in love with you . . . ,” I whisper. “No. You don’t get to play your sick games with me anymore.” She shakes her head. Her tear-stained face crumpled with pain. “It’s not a game. Lottie, you must believe me. I didn’t know it was you.” My voice breaks with emotion. “When I saw you under the Ursa Major constellation the world faded away. It was just you and me. I swear I didn’t even know you . . . Please, Lottie, you need to believe me.” A salty taste permeates my mouth. First, I think is the taste of the ocean, but I realize a solitary tear rolls down my face. Lottie jerks her arms trying to free herself. Desperate, I pull her to me and crush my lips to hers. The taste of our tears mingles, my lips bruising hers. She pushes and punches at my chest. My arms around her tighten in an unforgiving hold. “Please,” I say with my lips still against hers. “Don’t do this. Please.” I continue to hold her. “Give me a chance to explain.” Her body hesitantly starts to relax. “I beg you.” She relents. She drops her head, resting her forehead on my chest. After she collects herself, she steps back and inhales deeply. Her eyes meet mine when she asks, “Why did you do it?” I run both hands through my hair. In the distance, a flock of tropical birds chirps gaily. I pathetically envy them. I clear my thoughts, trying to be concise and consistent with my story. “When I got the instructions I was told to pretend it was casual. I swear, Lottie. I thought you were in on it.” “But I was clueless of who you were. I never gave any impression I knew you were an escort.” “God, Lottie, I thought it was your fetish. That you and Chloe had it all planned out. Some women don’t like me to mention I’m a hired fuck. It’s part of the fantasy or whatever.” Her face contorts at the mention of other women. “But you married me,” she said accusatorily. “Was it because you were bent on earning your wage?” I rub my face. “I know I don’t have the right to ask this of you, but I really need you to suspend your skepticism. I don’t know what came over me. God, Lottie. I have been doing this for a living for a decade. I never, ever lost control before.” I pace back and forth in front of her. “It all started wrong. First, I had felt a pull toward you. Then, I discovered Chloe and you had hired me. I drank too much. I never drink more than a couple glasses. I take my job seriously. Everything with you went wrong. And fuck me if I can tell you why it happened that way.” “I was a virgin, Seth. Did you seriously believe I would hire someone to deflower me?” I laugh bitterly. “Nothing surprises me anymore, Lottie. I’ve been doing this for too long, seen too many things.” “When did you find out I didn’t know you were hired to fuck me?” I wince. “When you were taking a shower. Chloe came to the room and started yelling at me. It all happened too fast.” “Why did you lie after that?”

“I don’t know,” I say sincerely, but Lottie doesn’t appear convinced. “Because I couldn’t help myself. After we had spent the night together, I knew there was something between us demanding to be explored. I couldn’t let it go. I couldn’t let you go.” “I can’t believe Chloe would do this to me.” She clamps a hand over her mouth. “She was desperate. Everything had gone wrong. According to her, when she spoke with Adriana, she was adamant that I told you I was an escort before we had sex. Somehow, I got the message reversed.” “God, Seth.” Lottie raises her hand to touch my face, but with a grimace, she lowers it before I can feel the softness of her hand. “I need to be alone.” She turns to the ocean and her arms go around her torso. “Lottie, please . . .” “Please leave,” she says. I linger for a moment, debating if I should stay. I decide against it. She needs solitude to digest all the information I dumped on her.

Lottie

ONLY YESTERDAY I believed almost nothing would keep me away from Seth. But this? How can I overlook the fact that he makes love to women for a living? He kisses their lips, whispers loving words to their ears, caresses their skin, and satisfies their arousal. Images of tangled bodies under sheets roll through my head searing me as if I touched red charcoals. It might say loads about my lack of character, but right about now I would rather have discovered that he was married than this. I stare out at the ocean, my mind replaying the last few days. Days of passion and discovery, moonlight kisses and carnal pleasure. There was reverence in Seth’s touch. Sincerity in his late night whispers. There was contentment when he drove inside me. I feel betrayed, lied to, handled, and used. Worse, I feel a deep sadness. Down to the marrow of my bones, I feel the anguish of losing something I didn’t even possess. And that’s a tragedy. I wander around the island. I lay under the shade of the palm trees, my feet sinking into the warm sand, my head churning over the words of a male escort. All the while, I think, hope, and wonder. Could I get over him being with other women? I try with all my might to picture him coming to me after being with someone else. I rationalize it. Analyze it from all angles. I even put myself in his shoes. It would be like an actor that kisses the actress and then goes his merry way home to his wife and children. The same concept. All an orchestrated scene. After hours of agonizing thoughts, I come to the obvious conclusion. I can’t do it. I could never sit home twiddling my thumbs while my husband pleasures himself and another woman. The mere thought of it ignites a surge of jealousy that throttles me. When it becomes unavoidable to return to the house, I pick up my crumbled self from the sand and stroll back. In the way, I rehearse a reasonable, clean, and sterile speech. I’ll point out the reasons why this would never work.

Oh, and I’ll thank him for all the help with calming my family. Also, I’ll request—no, demand to pay the fee for his services this past week. I do have a trust fund that I barely touch. Might as well put it to good use. Lastly, I’ll inquire about his future services. No, of course, I’ll never hire him. But it will give a touch of maturity and separation to the situation. I enter the house through the front door, but Seth is nowhere to be seen. I cross the living room to find the patio door open. Once outside I spot Seth. He’s sitting on the edge of the infinity pool, facing the sunset. A multitude of colors burnish the sky—red, purple, pink, and seashell. My resolve falters at the sight of him. He is so handsome and lonely. Almost vulnerable. A completely different person from the cocky man I spent the last week with. An intense physical pain unfurls inside my cavity chest. It feels like the after effect from the explosion of a homemade bomb. If someone peeks inside my chest, all that would be left is a mutilated heart, chopped lungs, pulverized bones, and charred flesh. With uncertain steps, I approach him. If he notices me, he doesn’t show it. Reluctantly, I sit next to him. My next words will set the tone of this conversation, so I remain silent for a while. We both watch the sun journey down toward the water. “I’m sorry,” Seth says so softly that I wonder if I heard him correctly. “I’m sorry, too,” I say, commanding the tears that are burning my eyes to stay at bay. “It appears I have a special talent for hurting those around me.” His eyes remain fixed on the horizon. “It’s always been that way. Whenever I love someone, I find a way to destroy it.” He runs both hands over his face. The scruff on his cheeks makes a soft swishing sound. My fingers itch to touch him. He turns and faces me. His eyes are dark pools of sadness. For the first time in my life, I understand that people sometimes don’t have the same upbringing I had: a sheltered life with caring parents, a respected surname, and a trust fund. “Seth, I don’t, I can’t.” The words scramble in my head. “I don’t want to judge you. You did what you had to do to survive. I get that.” That’s not my rehearsed speech. What am I saying? “Lottie, do you have any idea of what it’s like to roam through life aimlessly? Then one fucking day you find that someone who rocks your world, but you aren’t good enough for them?” His piercing eyes implore, beg for understanding. Before I could halt the words, they roll off my tongue. “I’ll do it. I’ll give us a try.” Relief and surprise battle inside me. I couldn’t settle on either. What I just said derived from the feelings taking root in my heart, nonetheless, I couldn’t believe what I just spoke them aloud. “What exactly are you saying?” His lips press into a thin line and his eyes narrow. My shaking hands clumsily cup either side of his face. “It’s all confusing, overwhelming even. But I’m not ready to let go of us either. Not just yet. Maybe I never will.” More tears fall. I mourn for the side of me I’m losing. But if having Seth comes at this hefty price, I’m willing to pay up. Does that make me a horrible person? Will Mom die of disappointment when she finds out? “If you mean it that you have feelings for me, I can overl—” “You’re saying . . . God, Lottie. No. Don’t ever say something like that.” His nostrils flare. I wonder in confusion why

he is mad. “Don’t you want me?” My lips tremble pathetically. That’s definitely not what I rehearsed in my head. “Lottie. . . .” He puffs out a breath. “You’re all that I want since I first saw you.” He places both hands over mine. “You should never settle for someone like me. You deserve so much better.” “And all I want is you. I’m willing to try to accept you. Just as you are.” There is a begging tone to my voice. But I don’t care. Unless he’s just trying to get out without hurting my feelings. Shit, I would love to be confident at times like this. “Lottie, I’ll never ask that of you. Whether or not you will take me, I’m done being an escort.” The tears roll fiercely now. “Seth, I don’t want to change you, or who you are. My entire life, I tried to please my dad. I know how it is to have the essence of who you are living in shackles. I don’t want you to resent me. Ever.” “No. Not only I would never ask you to be with me while I have this job, neither could I be with someone else. Ever again. Not now that I love you.” His fingers dab the tears wetting my cheeks. “I love you, Lottie.” I open my mouth, but before I say anything, he presses his fingers to my lips. “No. You don’t have to say it back. Or feel sorry for not saying it. Or think I’m premature for saying it.” His eyes are so forlorn, so vulnerable. “I’ve lived most of my life craving, coveting love. I do know what it is. Because it’s rare and pure and dazzling and tangible. You might think it’s too soon. Society sets rules of when we should fall in love, but I have loved you since that night I saw you under the Major Ursa constellation. You returned laughter to my heart, breathed life into my dreary bones. You gave me the courage to feel again, to connect to the present, to obliterate the past, and to hope for the future. This love, rooting deeper and deeper into my heart, is a treasure. So I boldly confess to you, Lottie, I love you. I know I love you like the sun knows to brighten and warm the days from the ancient times.” “I love you too, Seth,” “No.” “I do.” “What I mean is, I’m not Seth.” “Huh?” “Seth is a fraud. A cover-up. An identity I picked up, literally and figuratively, when I started to work as an escort.”

Seth

CONFUSION MARS HER fl awless face. “What?” I tuck my hands under my thighs. The feel of Lottie under my hands intoxicates me. When I reveal the next part of my secret, I want to do in absolute sobriety. Because it is a truth that has the potential to destroy us. I stare at the last rays of the sun burnishing the water red. If I want to give us a shot, I need to own up to the liar that I am. Come clean. Or else this relationship will be doomed.

“This is a small world, Lottie.” I ponder on what to say next. Her silence encourages me to continue. “My real name is Jacob McCoy.” The name tastes foreign on my tongue. I haven’t uttered it in over ten years. “I was born in Westfield, Connecticut.” I allow the information to sink into her mind. Her eyes widen. “Whoa.” Her mouth is agape. “Wait.” She blinks repeatedly. “Westfield?” “Yes. And, uh, the cousin I mentioned. . . . Her name is Luna.” “What are you saying Se—?” She shakes her head. “Jake? The Jake? The one who died in the fire? Luna’s cousin?” she asks, astonished. “Jacob McCoy. The one and only. Except for the dead part.” I meet her eyes. “Oh my, God. It can’t be. No, there was a funeral. Your funeral. And your mom’s. Is your mom alive, too?” “No, mom did die in the fire. But the other body they found wasn’t me. It was Jerry’s. He was one of my mom’s boyfriends.” “Oh my, God.” Lottie clamps her hand to her forehead. “So you faked your death?” she asks. “No. I just allowed everyone to believe it was my body they found.” “Why? Why would you do such a thing?” “I wanted to give Luna a fresh start. Without my screwed-up baggage,” I say. “I don’t understand. Luna never got over your death. She still mourns you. God, she named Jake after you.” “I figured as much when I met him.” I smile. “He looks just like Uncle Simon.” “He has your eyes,” Lottie points out. “Luna always said that.” “Indeed he does. We both look like Uncle Simon.” “You must have had a reason just to disappear like that.” She frowns, her voice holding a hint of accusation. “In hindsight, it’s easy to see the flaws in my plan, to see the long-term damage my decision would cause. The price I would have to pay.” I stare out at the horizon. The sky is in limbo between day and night. “Luna was my only family. The only person who truly loved me. Because of her I know what love is.” I swallow the lump in my throat. It settles in my stomach like lead. “I started using drugs before Luna moved in with us. I don’t want to be the victim here, but when your dad’s favorite pastime is raping you, drugs are a welcome oblivion.” The memories of those days roll in my head like a bulldozer. “I grew up lonely. Then, Luna dropped in my life. I was twelve, I think. Her grieving soul connected with my tainted one like Siamese twins. We clung to each other, trying to master the skill of survival. “Luna, my moon.” A wistful smile spreads across my lips. “She was so vibrant and sweet when she came to us. Life at my house corrupted her. After a few years living with us, Luna became a murderer and a drug dealer. All because of me.” I shake my head, the pain of the memories squeezing my heart. “Luna was just a child when she killed my

dad.” I smile. “‘It was either I killed him, or he would have killed you, Jake.’ She repeatedly said when guilt dug at her in the quiet of the night. Had not Luna killed Dad that day, surely he would have ended me.” Memories that are now scar tissue resurface. “For the first time in my life I had attempted to get away from him. I punched him in the nose. It didn’t even bleed or anything, but he was livid. I passed out way before Luna got home. Before she killed him. “I digress. Let me get back to how I ended up pretending to be dead. “Luna and I always went to sleep with an empty belly, in a cold house. My mom used all the money we had for drugs and booze. So genius here had the brilliant idea of my selling drugs. But Luna wouldn’t have it. Instead, she started selling the drugs. We had an agreement that when I entered high school I would do it, too. We did all right for the most part. Luna was shrewd enough to learn the ins and outs of successful dealings. Her tactics hindered greater profits but kept us under the cops’ radar. Until the day stupid me decided to make more money. I needed to fund my use, which according to Luna was breaking the holiest of cardinal rules. A drug pusher should never use. “I started to get some gigs on the side. At one of the drop-offs, I got caught. Long story short, I went to jail. Luna bailed me out, but I faced jail time for trafficking. In hindsight, I was the most stupid motherfucker you can think of. But I thought I was too sleek and smart. Like any other teen, I assumed adults were just stupid grownups trying to keep up with my adolescent cleverness. What an asshole I was.” I stare at the horizon. The sun is long gone. The sky is a solid midnight blue. The only sound we hear is the waves crashing on the shore. I gather the courage to continue. “The night of Luna’s prom, I went to a luau by the beach. Jerry knew how to get the parole bracelet off my ankle and onto his. “At the party I drank too much and left early. However, I passed out on a bench at the beach. “When I woke up, I went straight home. I approached one of the remaining firefighters at the scene. He told me that they had identified the bodies. He wouldn’t tell me their names, but he said they were a female and her teenage son. Though I was too horrified to think clearly, I realized that what they assumed to be my body was Jerry’s. “I had to find Luna. Explain everything. Tell her I was alive, that they had misidentified Jerry’s body as mine. “When I stepped around the house, I spotted Caleb standing by his car. He was arguing with an older man. As I approached, I heard Caleb saying. “Nothing will keep me away from Luna now, Dad. Jake is dead. You can’t blackmail me anymore.” I shake my head at the memory. “I retreated a step. Caleb’s dad, your dad, was the judge presiding over my case. Even though I was a moron, I quickly added everything up. The fucker was using me to separate Luna and Caleb. Which explained Caleb’s attitude toward Luna. “Again, I went back to the blue bench. I sat there for hours. Thinking. When night fell, I hitchhiked a ride and skipped town.” My shoulders sag, relieved of the weight of years of secrets. “The rest you already know.” Silence follows. Lottie becomes eerily quiet. I want her to say something. But I wait. “Wow,” she finally says. “That’s a lot to process.”

That’s when I ready myself to beg for her understanding. “I was just a child, but I remember how devastated Luna was. She spent the days prior to your funeral at our house. She was like a zombie. As soon as your—whoever’s—body was laid to rest, she disappeared. It took Caleb the entire summer to find her. He almost went crazy.” She looks at me, an unexpected smile gleaming in her face. “Luna will be so psyched when she finds out you’re alive.” She pauses and grabs my arm. “You are going to tell her, right?” I freeze. I hadn’t thought that far yet. “We have to tell her, Seth—or . . . uh, Jake?” “Call me Seth. Jake no longer exists. He died in that fire.” “Oh, sorry.” I smile and shake my head. “Only you would apologize for that.” I grab her hand and bring it to my lips. “I’m a lucky bastard. You know that?” Her lips curl up in a sweet and slow smile, the same smile I fell in love with so quickly. “The answer is no. I won’t tell Luna I’m alive. I ruined her life once. Won’t do it again.” Lottie withdraws her hand. “But, but . . .” “No, Lottie. You have to understand. I can’t. Luna is happy. She has your brother. She has Jake. She’s expecting a baby. I can’t ruin it all for her. Not again,” I say resolutely. “Seth, you don’t understand. Luna would be thrilled to have you back.” “No!” My voice thunders through the night. Lottie cringes. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to yell. I’m sorry.” I gather her hand back. “Nothing will convince me to invade Luna’s life and tell her I’m alive.” “So, um, what about us?” “What about us?” “We can’t be together without Luna finding out.” Shit. That’s true. “We’ll find a way.” I can’t ask Lottie to live a lie or pull her away from her family. If we remain together, I’m bound to be found out. “We’ll figure it out,” Lottie says resolutely. “As long as we’re together.” We sit in companionable silence until the moon is high in the sky. “I’m hungry,” Lottie finally says, breaking the silence. “Let’s go in. I’ll fix you something to eat.” I like the levity the casual conversation brings back. We had too much drama for the night. We need an emotional break from the cumbersome and dirty. We prepare dinner and eat by the pool, sipping wine. When we go to bed, our lovemaking is slow, bonding, and

transcendent.

AS AGREED, FABRICIO returns for us at sunrise. We reach the main island and ride back to Lottie’s family house. Each of us lost in our own thoughts and concerns, remain quiet. “I’ll talk to Dad,” Lottie says with new bravado in her voice. “No. Absolutely not. I’ll handle him.” The house comes to view. “But, uh, Dad can be harsh.” “If by harsh you mean an asshole, you’re right.” “I think it’s best that I talk to him,” she utters. “No. This is between him and me. I’ll talk to him.” First, because I will not put Lottie in a position where she has to argue with her dad. She adores the douche. It would hurt her deeply. Second, because I want to have the satisfaction of watching his reaction when he hears all I have to say. I park on the street in front of the house. I usher Lottie out of the car. With my hands gently holding the side of her face, I ask, “You ready for this?” She nods her head, but her beautiful features crumple with emotions. The front door flings open, Ana sprints out of the house and dashes our way. “Lottie.” She gathers Lottie into a protective hug. “Where have you been?” She pulls back, and her eyes dart between Lottie and me. “I’ve been worried sick about you two.” She hugs Lottie again. “Hey, Mom. Too tight,” Lottie says letting out a squeak. “Oh, sorry.” Ana releases Lottie. “God, you can’t do this to me. I’m old and susceptible to a heart attack.” “Oh, stop all the nonsense. Let the girl breathe,” Granny says as she approaches us. She puts her arms around me for a hug. When she pulls back, she winks and smiles. “I think it is utterly romantic to snatch your bride away for a real honeymoon. Tell me you took my granddaughter to a place where you two spent the day naked.” Her broad smile is hopeful. Lottie turns pink. “Granny,” she mumbles, staring at the ground. “What? I live vicariously through you these days, deary.”

“Let’s get in. Your dad has been in a sour mood since you left.” I possessively grasp Lottie’s hand. There’s no way I’ll let her dad near her. The man is a douche, and there’s no telling if he’ll unveil his wrath on her. I’m not taking chances. She’s risking a lot being with me. Surely her family won’t approve of her marrying an escort. However, she is my wife now. It’s my job to protect her. Even from her family. A fulminating stare meets us inside the living room. “Charlotte. My office. Now.” With those words, Mr. Cahan turns on his heels and storms out of the room. “Let me face the music,” she says, pulling her hand away from mine. One thing I already know about my girl is that she’s a pacifist. This ordeal must be absolute hell for her. We walk toward the office. At the door, when we are out of earshot, I say, “You stay out here. I’ll handle your dad.” I hold her hands and squeeze them in reassurance. “Dad is furious.” “More of a reason for me to do this. He’s mad at me, not you. When I’m done with him, we’ll face your family together and then we’ll leave.” I tuck her hair behind her ear. “How do you think they will take it?” Insecurity laces her voice. “Why don’t you pack? They’ll need time to digest everything. It’ll be best to give them some space.” I drop a kiss on her lips and follow Mr. Cahan into the office. Before I enter, I turn back and wink at her. Her lips curve up into a trembling smile. God, I would do anything to wipe that sad and worried expression off her face. I wonder if she ever questions herself if I’m worth the trouble. I hope not. “I don’t recall inviting you in.” Mr. Cahan chugs down the amber liquid from a tumbler. “Yet, here I am.” “Get Charlotte.” I flash a smile at him. “My wife isn’t going to be part of this conversation.” “Your wife is my daughter. Get her. She needs to hear what I have to say.” “I’ve already told her everything.” I sit, uninvited, across from him. “Did you now, Jacob McCoy?” The blood swishing inside my veins freezes. Holy Shit. He knows. “You didn’t think I would sit idly by while you continue to ensnare my daughter in your web of deceit, did you? See, McCoy, I protect what’s mine.” “So do I, Mr. Cahan. Lottie wants to stay with me. I, too, protect what’s mine. I’ll protect Lottie from anyone, even you. Whether you like it or not, she is my wife. Nothing you do will separate us.” “Oh, I don’t suppose you include jail time in that pathetic little speech of yours.” He retrieves one his horrendous cigars. My stomach churns at the sight. He lights it and blows a stinky puff straight toward my face. I do hate this man. “Besides, when she finds out who you really are—a criminal fugitive of the law, she’ll rethink this spectacle you two call a marriage.” The smoke from his cigar curls up like a snake around his head.

“She already knows, Mr. Cahan. Married couples shouldn’t keep secrets from each other, now, should they?” He narrows his eyes and stares at the cigar he is rolling between his index finger and thumb. “You certainly don’t know who you’re dealing with, young man. Don’t pick a fight with someone bigger than you.” His voice is quietly menacing. “Walk away now or rest assured that soon you will be in jail. And while there, you’re going to rot and wallow in the guilt of having destroyed your cousin’s life.” He calmly brings the cigar to his lips. I blanch at the mention of Luna’s name. Where is he headed with this? “See, my beloved daughter-in-law has had a hard time carrying a baby full term. She got pregnant against medical advice. As we speak, she is at home, peacefully on bed rest to ensure her safety and that of her unborn child.” He clicks his tongue. “Imagine the stress of having a long-dead cousin resurrect from the dead, only to go to jail. It would be so devastating. Chances are she’d miscarry.” His expression is one of so much concern and sincerity that it’s disturbingly surreal. The man is good. And by that, I mean cruel and evil. “You wouldn’t. It’s your grandchild she’s carrying. How could you live with yourself after causing so much devastation in the life of your flesh and blood?” “Caleb chose her over his family. He’s a big boy. He can handle the consequences.” “You wouldn’t.” I shake my head in defeated disbelief. “Oh, I will.” The door opens abruptly. “No, Dad, you won’t.” Lottie steps into the room and sits beside me. Other than wringing her hands something fierce, her face is serene. “So good of you to join us, Charlotte. I assume you neglected your manners and were listening behind the door? Well, that will save me the trouble of having to repeat myself.”

Lottie

“YES, I HEARD EVERY bit of your speech. And I never felt so ashamed of you. And trust me, Dad, I have felt ashamed of you most of my life.” Seth turns, startled, to me. He has never seen this side of me. Hell, I have never seen this side of myself. I have a mellow, shy, and calm personality. A sheltered life nurtured those traits in me. But desperate times call for desperate measures. There’s a lot at stake, and I have to play in the big leagues. “I don’t appreciate your tone, Charlotte. You’ve been exposed to some bad influence. It’s time to end this circus. My offer stands. His secret will remain a secret so as long as he vanishes from your life.” “Oh, give me a break. I’ve been around you my entire life. That’s enough of an evil influence to rot me through to my bones.” I turn the laptop on the desk to me and access my e-mail account. “I have an e-mail, actually a series of e-mails with very descriptive language, dates, and pictures of Gwen.” I glance up and catch a glimpse of Dad’s ashen face. I scroll down until I find the folder that has burned a hole in my soul ever since I labeled it “Cotton Candy World.”

With a satisfied expression, I glare at Dad’s confused face. “There, I just forward it to you.” I log off my account and look at Dad.  “See, Dad, according to the dates you started your affair with Gwen, she was a month shy of her sweet sixteenth birthday. The legal age of consensual sex.” From my peripheral view, I see Seth shifting his entire body to face me. But I remain impassive. My eyes are fixed on my speechless father. “Go ahead, Dad, open your e-mail.” “How did you get access to those e-mails?” he fumes. His face has turned from pale to crimson red. “Remember when I was going through a computer phase? Remember you all reprimanded me for having my face buried in the pages of a book or in the screen of a computer? I hacked your e-mail account. Not on purpose, mind you. I was just experimenting with my computer skills. All I thought was how wrong, dishonest, and invasive my action was. In the haste to exit your e-mail account, I clicked accidently on an e-mail and an image of Gwen popped up. To my mortification, she was naked and fondling herself.” My voice wavers. “You were the perfect man I had adored and admired my entire childhood. I knew there was a reasonable explanation for the picture. So I searched, Dad. And what I found about you made me see you for who you are. A hypocritical father and a cheating husband.” “But you . . . you never said anything.” Dad’s voice is weary. The arrogant man of five minutes ago has vanished. He is playing the victim now. “Of course not. I love Mom and Caleb too much to ever to tell them that. Gwen was Caleb’s girlfriend, Dad. How could you?” “Lottie, you don’t understand—” “Spare me. I will never, ever, understand. How could you? An immaculate judge. Exemplary citizen. Keeper of justice and peace. Perfect father and husband.” My voice trembles at the last part. Up until I found the e-mails that’s exactly how I saw my dad. Surprising lightness descends upon me. It’s been years that I carried the weight of this secret. So many times I felt like a major traitor. Along with Dad, I had become a liar and a cheat. But how could I destroy Caleb’s and Mom’s image of him? I cursed the day I came across the e-mails until today. “I can’t believe you would hurt Caleb and Luna like that over destroying my relationship with Seth. That’s evil, Dad. Luna is pregnant with your grandchild.” Dad springs from his chair. With a pointing finger he says, “No child of that whore will ever be related to me.” Then everything happens too fast. Seth flies to his feet. His fist, quick and precise, collides with Dad’s nose. Before I have time to react, I hear the dull sound of a crack. “Never call my cousin by that term again, you asshole,” Seth spits. He is leaning on the desk, and I fear he’ll pounce over it and end Dad. “Seth, please calm down. I’ve got this.” I wrap my hands around his biceps, pulling him back. “You broke my nose!” Dad cups his hand around his nose. Blood gushes between his fingers, flowing down his face onto his baby blue Polo shirt. I grab a handful of tissues. “Here, put pressure on it to stop the bleeding.” I toss the tissues at him. “I believe we have an understanding, Daddy. A word of this from you to Luna or anyone else, and you will be joining Seth in jail. And from what I hear, inmates aren’t fans of judges.”

THE CLOUDS BELOW us are white and fluffy. We’re on board a plane returning to the US. “Your mom will be okay,” Seth says, sliding his thumb between my brows to undo the frown. “Your mom and grandparents are mint. They reacted much better than I could ever guess.” “Yeah, I was surprised, too,” I say leaning against his shoulder and stifling a yawn. After the initial shock, Mom embraced Seth and expressed her understanding. Along with it, she expressed her expectations moving forward. I think it went well. Grandpa wasn’t as understanding. However, in the end, he just went along with Granny. After a veiled warning of the consequences of hurting me, in clipped tones he let out a “Make my granddaughter happy” kind of speech. All in all, it went well. “Thank you,” Seth whispers in my ear. “For what?” “For defending me. What you did today was very brave, you know.” His hands are softly patting my hair. “Up until to today, Luna was the only person ever to stand up for me.” His voice breaks. “Dad is a bully. I only wish I had known he had blackmailed Caleb, I would have put a stop to it.” “Don’t feel sorry, you were a child at the time it happened.” “Yeah. It wasn’t until I studied law that I realized that Dad had committed a crime and all that jazz. I just thought he was a monster for betraying Mom and Caleb that way.” “Why didn’t you ever say anything?” “I feared it would destroy them.” “How did you do it? Keep this secret all this years. You were so young. And . . . I mean, how you reconciled your previous image of your Dad, and all this junk you found out about him. You never let out a hint of resentment toward him.” I shrug. “Love has to be unconditional or it’s not love at all. When I found it out, I went through all the stages of grief. Looking back, it was the equivalent to burying my perfect father and accepting a tarnished version of him. I was angry, lost, and disappointed. Not to mention the guilt and shame of keeping it from Mom. For years, I battled this awful desire of wanting to die.” I turn to face him. “Your death was pivotal in my life.” “How so?” He raises his perfect brows. “Following your death, Luna was in our house for a few days. One night around one o’clock I went to the kitchen for a glass of water when I saw her outside. She was lying on the grass, with arms and legs spread out, under a starlit sky. The moon was round and yellow. I had never seen someone as vulnerable and frail as she was that night. Also, I never saw someone so strong.”

“Yep, that’s Luna for you. Always a paradox.” A cloud of emotion fills his eyes. “I laid beside her with my legs and arms spread out, mimicking her. I wanted to know how it felt to be so free and fierce. We were silent until she started to tell me stories of you. How you liked Nutella and how she gave you hell for eating junk food. She told me how life had given you a shitty hand, but you had survived. But what hit the most was one thing she said. ‘Jake was a pothead, but I loved him wholeheartedly. And love that is complete and unconditional never dies or withers. It just lives on in the chambers of our heart. When you decide to love someone, love despite the cracks and dents, despite the stains and imperfections. Just love, because it will endure it all.’” Seth’s body is so still I wonder if he is breathing. “Do you think Luna would forgive me? For lying to her and putting her through hell?” His voice is so vulnerable he sounds like a little boy. “Of course she will. You were trying to protect her. She’ll be mad as heck at first. You know her. But having you back will outweigh it all. Luna is mature beyond her years. She has lost too much to not know when to rejoice over gaining something.” “I hope you’re right. I couldn’t get over it if she didn’t forgive me.” “She will,” I reassure him. We both fall into a soothing silence. I am in peace. Like a tapestry of golden threads our future gleams with promising happiness. And though we don’t know what the future will bring, the lack of knowledge doesn’t scare me. The present is what matters. Being together is what counts. Seth and I have so much to figure out. So much to clear out. Our love is a tiny seed, seated in a very fragile place. We’re determined to allow it to root because we both understand the unique spark our connection makes. We both see it. Feel it. Smell it. It’s rare. And it is potent. It’s worth a chance of growing. Snuggling on Seth’s chest, I sigh. No, I almost purr in utter satisfaction. Just like the heroines of the many romance novels, I have found a soulmate. Seth’s warmth wraps around me like a blanket, and I can see a lifetime of happiness stretching before us. Everything is going to be all right. Time is our ally. It will give us the chance to nurture the speck of energy that sparkled that night under Ursa Major. We have each other. And that hasty promise we made before Elvis Presley and God. Above all, we have love. And love is the fairy dust that makes the real world go round.

  One year later . . . Seth LIFE IS CONSTANTLY changing, evolving like an organic matter. We resist so many of those changes. Until one day it slaps us across the face, bruising us into a rude awakening. And if we only accept these changes, if we are brave to face the battles, God, oh God, life can be such a magnificent journey.

By no means do I want to jinx my luck, so I avoid asking God for much. But today I feel the need to say a prayer. As I debate on whether or not to wear a tie, I fervently ask God for one more favor. Today is the day I’ll see Luna. After over a decade, I will be face-to-face with her and I’m terrified. “It’s just Luna, Seth.” Lottie peels the tie clenched between my fingers and returns it to the hanger. “You really want to wear a tie?” “Is this shirt all right? Maybe I should wear the gray one.” I smooth an unseen wrinkle on the sleeve. Lottie studies the light pink button-down shirt I’m wearing and rolls her eyes. “You look fine, Seth.” She adjusts the collar. “Do you have Jupiter and Jake’s gifts?” “Already in the car.” “How about Luna’s flowers? Should I take her flowers? Luna is such a practical person. Oh, no. We should have gotten her something else.” “She likes flowers. Trust me. Cal gives her flowers every week,” Lottie says, folding the sleeves up to my elbows. “Then we definitely should not have gotten her a potted flower. A bouquet would be so much more refined.” “She will be touched that you remembered she likes sunflowers. Besides, she can plant them at the new house they’re buying.” “What time is it? We’re going to be late.” “We are a half hour away from them. Dinner is scheduled for seven. It’s five-thirty right now.” “I don’t want to be late.” “We’re not going to be late.” “Is this shirt all right?” “Yes, it’s fine.” Her forehead wrinkles when she glances at the pile of clothes strewn over our bed. It took me a while to decide on what to wear. “I’ll put them away,” I say sheepishly. Lottie flashes me her broad smile. “It’s okay. We can do it when we come back.” “No, I’ll do it now. Why don’t you get ready? I would hate to be late.” “Yeah, it would be a catastrophe of biblical proportions.” She wraps her arms around my neck, and her lips brush lightly against mine. “It’s okay to be nervous, but—” “I’m not nervous.” “Uh-huh.” She shakes her head and rolls her eyes again. “For real.” “Okay.”

“Well, okay. Perhaps a tad.” “Uh-huh.” “Get ready. We have to go soon.” She grants me another smile and disappears into the bathroom. We have just moved in together. Lottie transferred to Stanford where she’ll finish law school. I relocated, too. After a year apart, only meeting on weekends when I would fly to New Haven to be with her, we decided to move in together. And every piece of our lives fell together perfectly. We all got what we wanted out of the deal. Zach and I relocated His Secret headquarters. Lottie is twenty minutes away from campus. And, most importantly, we are a half-hour drive from Luna and Caleb. See? Everybody’s happy. Half an hour away from Luna. My stomach revolts, threatening to expel the little contents I have in it. What if she hates me? What if she can’t forgive me? I finish putting the clothes away and head to my office. I want to get some items from our new collection of men’s intimate apparel for Caleb. After I place Caleb’s gift in the backseat of the car, and certify that the kids’ presents are secured, I return to the house and settle on the couch. When Lottie enters the living room, I hold my breath. She is astounding. Lottie must be one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen. But what amazes me the most is that she doesn’t realize it. There’s not one ounce of entitlement in her bones. I stand up and extend my hands to link with hers. “Babe, you look beautiful.” “Thanks,” she says, turning pink. My wife still flushes when I compliment her, which is often. I want her to see herself through my eyes. “I have a gift for you.” “For me?” “Yeah, for you.” I pull a small blue box from my pocket. “Thank you.” She flips the top open. A gasp escapes her lips. “Happy anniversary!” I say, kissing her lips. “Oh, my. Seth, this is beautiful. Thank you.” “Here, let me.” I gather the necklace and clasp it behind her neck. The diamond pendant gleaming in between her collarbones was made to match her engagement ring perfectly. “I have something for you, too,” she says, touching the stone. “I’ll give it to you tonight.” She blushes.

Her words are laced with just enough sexual innuendo to make my dick notice the clue and come to full attention. “Does my innocent wife have some naughty plans for tonight?” “You have no idea,” she says breathlessly. The pink on her face turns bright red. “Now I’ve got to get through dinner with a cousin I haven’t seen in over a decade with a full-blown hard on.” With my arms snaked around her waist, I plant small kisses on her warm face. Boldly, she palms my erection. “You want me to take care of that before we go?” she says, biting my earlobe. Oh, how I like my prim wife when she turns on the kinky mode. “Well, I think we have a little time . . .” My lips seize hers into a deep kiss. “But first give me a hint of what my gift is.” “We’re not going to leave this house until you find out what it is, will we?” I cock my head. Lottie knows her husband all too well. I’m way too curious for my own good. “I might try to extort the truth out of you. I know some effective strategies that render significant results.” I’ve learned that my little minx will give in to anything when I withhold her orgasm. Oh, and it’s so much fun getting her to surrender to my will. The only conquest I have yet to achieve is her delicious ass. That’s one thing I want her to want to give to me. I want her to have the same eagerness that I have. If it takes time, I will endure the wait. “Fine, let me get it.” She returns from the bedroom with a small silver box. “Happy anniversary,” she says with a flushed face. I undo the white bow and remove the lid. A blue card sits on top of a piece of thin paper. It reads:

“Tonight, every inch of my body is yours to do with as you please. Happy First Anniversary! Xoxo, Lottie.”

With curiosity coursing through me, my fingers flip through the layers of tissue paper only to find nestled under it a small butt plug. A growl leaves the back of my throat. “Wow, woman, you sure know how to turn a man on.” I push her against my rock hard erection. “You sure?” I ask against her ear. I don’t want her to do this because she feels pressured. “Yes.” Her breathy voice is a whispered promise. “Why did you do this to me?” I growl. “It’s going to be torture to sit through dinner—in front of your big brother, I might add, and wait for when we get back home. I’m a dead man.” “Hey, don’t complain. You’re the one who wouldn’t drop it. Besides, it’s all about building anticipation.” She cups my erection and gives a firm squeeze. I’m on my knees. Literally and figuratively. My wife has me at her feet, and she knows it, the minx. “You have a good teacher,” I say, dragging the hem of her dress up. I run my nose along her panty’s soft silk.

“I need a taste of you. Now.” I drag the piece of fabric down her round thighs and bury my face in my favorite place in the entire universe. Pure bliss. “This is it,” Lottie says when I park in front of a small house bathed in the last rays of sunlight. The first sight my eyes catch is a few birdfeeders hanging from a dogwood tree in the front yard. The knots in my stomach get tighter. Back when we were teens, Luna built birdhouses and birdfeeders as fast as I used to go through a box of condoms. “Let’s do it,” I respond, filling my lungs with air. We gather the gifts and flower pot from the backseat and head to the front porch. The front door is already open and a petite woman stands in the dimming light of dusk. I study her face. The same big blue eyes that I thought I would never see again stare back at me. A lump forms in my throat. She is still like a statue. I freeze too. Jake storms out of the house, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “Auntie! Uncle Seth,” he says, hugging Lottie. I ruffle his hair, my gaze never deviating from Luna’s. Finally she breaks free from her stupor and collapses against me, her arms going around my waist, squashing the sunflower pot that I’m holding in my arm at an awkward angle. Attentive to our awkwardness, Lottie retrieves the pot from my hand, saying, “Let’s go inside, buddy, you have to introduce me to your little sister.” I return the embrace, burying my face in hair with pink and blue stripes. Luna’s smell is the same, gardenia and a hint of mint. Her body shakes uncontrollably. Her cheek is pressed in my chest and her tears dampen my shirt. I notice that my face is wet too. “It’s really you, Jake. It’s you,” she says in a whisper. “Yeah, my Moon, it’s me,” I say, kissing the crown of her head. She steps back. “I can’t believe you lied to me, you prick,” Luna says, planting her hands on her hips and cocking her head. Loud laughter echoes in the twilight silence. “And you haven’t changed a bit have you? Already busting my balls.” “Shut up, Jake. You deserve the ultimate speech right now. Lucky for you I’m too hormonal and happy to see your ass to preach.” She pulls me into a hug again. This time she whispers, “I missed you, you know. So, so much.” “Oh, Luna, I missed you too. Not a day went by that I didn’t think of you.” “Why did you do it, Jake? I was so miserable, so lost without you.” “I had to do it, Moon. I’ll explain later.” I pull gently away, and say apologetically, “I go by Seth, now, by the way.” “Oh, yeah. Lottie and Caleb warned me. But you know some habits are hard to get rid of . . . Seth. I’ll get around to it.” She offers me a smile. Luna’s smiles used to be seldom and precious. I wonder if that has changed. I have a feeling it has. “Come on in. Caleb and Jupiter are waiting for you. Cal thought it would be nice to give us some private time before you came in.” Luna grasps my hand fiercely as if she’s afraid I’ll disappear again. My eyes glisten with more tears. And I don’t have the “I’m hormonal” excuse of a new mom. “Nice place,” I say, looking around. The interior is just like Luna, a mix of many styles all coexisting in perfect

harmony. “Thank you. We got it right after we graduated. With Jupiter’s arrival, we need a bigger place. But I just love this house. You must see my garden. The herbs and greens of tonight’s dinner are all from it.” “I hear you’re a veterinarian, congratulations.” “Thanks. Let’s go to the kitchen. You probably remember I always wanted to be a vet,” Luna says mindlessly. It hits me. Luna feels as insecure and nervous as I do. We are two lost souls. Acquainted, but strangers. And it will take work to return to normal. A pang of sadness pulls at my chest. We missed a great deal of each other’s lives. “Yeah, of course I remember.” I stop in my tracks. “Luna, wait.” My tone is grave. She spins around to face me, her eyes anxious. “Yeah. What?” she inquires. “Listen, we’ll have time later for me to explain everything. But I need you to know something. Now.” “Spill it, Jake—Seth,” she says matter-of-factly, but I see the barriers of defense going up around her. “I love you,” I say clearly and loud. She swallows. “All that I did—going away, pretending I was the one who died—I did because I love you, and I thought it would be the best for you.” She reaches up and her fingers brush the hair falling across my forehead. “I know, Seth. I know. And that’s the only reason I forgive you.” She smiles again. I think I can get used to her smiling often. “I love you, too.” With our fingers entwined we enter the kitchen. It smells of vanilla and basil. My stomach growls in complaint. It seems silly now that I was so nervous earlier that I could barely eat. “Hey,” Caleb says, pulling me into a man hug. “How’s it going, dude?” “What’s up?” I return the half hug and pat him on the back. “Where’s Jake?” Luna asks. “Playing with his new toys. This time, he got a double amount of gifts. Lottie blamed it all on Seth.” I offer an innocent smile. “I’m partly to blame, but Lottie is far from guiltless.” “Come and meet Jupiter, Seth. She’s absolutely precious. Aren’t you?” Lottie croons adoringly. “She looks just like her favorite auntie.” “You’re her only auntie, Lottie.” Caleb shakes his head mockingly. He looks at Luna with inquisitive eyes. His lips slide up when she returns a serene stare. He pulls her to his side and tucks her under his arm. They exchange a companionable and silent communication that speaks volumes of love and complicity. “We know, don’t we, Jupiter?” Lottie says, skimming her nose on the baby’s round cheek. “By default I’ll be your favorite, but that won’t keep me from doing my hardest to keep the spot.” She turns to me. “Want to hold her?” I glance at Luna. She nods. Her eyes are full of emotion. My hands tremble slightly as I gently collect the tiny infant. “Want a beer?” Caleb asks. “Seth hates beer. He says it tastes like piss,” Luna says, opening the fridge, pulling out a tray of appetizers and

placing it on the breakfast bar. “Wine?” Caleb asks, smiling. “Got to give it to her.” I tap my head. “She has the memory of an elephant. Wine will be cool, Caleb, thanks.” Jake, fully dressed as Spider-Man, tumbles inside the kitchen. With both hands up, he ejects imaginary spider webs at us. “How did you know Spider-Man is my favorite superhero, Uncle Seth?” He asks. “Just a hunch,” I say smiling. Spider-Man was my favorite as a child. In a house full of noise, permeated with the scent of food and happiness, and surrounded by people that I love, I know for sure that we will be okay. More than okay. We’ll be happy. With baby Jupiter’s little fingers clasped around my pinky finger, I gaze at the woman I madly love. She fixes her eyes on me. Her full lips turn up with a smile that I adore. I mouth, “I love you.” She closes her eyes briefly as if savoring the moment. When she opens them, they sparkle with emotion. She mouths back, “I love you more.”

The End

      Fall Out Girl By L. Duarte

 

We are so accustomed to disguise ourselves to others, that in the end, we become disguised to ourselves. Francois de La Rochefoucauld.

    Chapter One

PATIENCE WASN’T MY strong suit. Yet there I was, sitting on a boulder—poised, self-assured, and cocky. Perfectly masked. Waiting for someone absolutely pissed me off, especially if it were a client. My foot started to bob, repeatedly hitting the ground with little muffled thuds, displaying signs of my anxiety. I pressed a firm hand over my thigh. To show emotion was the same as cracking open your chest and inviting others to pry out your secrets, dissect your soul, and ultimately judge and condemn you. No, thank you. I had built a stronghold around my heart. No one got in. Where the hell was Andrew? I glanced at my watch. Tick-tock. Ten seconds late. If he was a no show in the next fifty seconds, I would flee. One of the cardinal rules of a drug delivery: Don’t wait. Junkies are punctual to a fault. Weird, right? But true. Desperation for the next fix is a great motivator. I had learned that, in this field, tardiness equaled trouble. And I had become an expert on dodging problems, earning the reputation as one of the best hustlers in the area. I pushed off the boulder I was sitting on, and stood up. Thirty seconds. With a look of serenity far from the way I felt, I opened my compact mirror, mussed my hair, and checked my makeup, a pretense to scan what was behind me without appearing concerned. Twenty seconds. I shoved the mirror in my messenger bag and glanced at the interior. The secret compartment where I stashed drugs was the way I intended—unnoticeable. Ten seconds. “Luna!” An overly-friendly voice called. I snapped my head up and locked eyes with Andrew. He always gave me the creeps, but he was a stellar client. Cocaine, pot, pills, the works. He was always an eager consumer. “You’re late,” I said, appalled. “No, I’m not.” “Fifty seconds. I don’t do late.” “Jeez, take a chill pill,” he said with a charming grin that had girls melting their panties. A nervous energy hummed through my skin when I noticed a stranger standing behind Andrew. My hands balled

into tight fists. “Who is that?” I nodded to the guy, my eyes never deviating from Andrew. “Oh, this is my boy, Caleb. He moved here over the summer.” Andrew’s arm flung to the guy’s back, propelling him forward and making introductions. I refrained from rolling my eyes. During transactions, the less emotion on display, the better. But I couldn’t resist the urge to examine the incoming boy. I bit the inside of my cheek as my eyes zoomed in on him, tracing his face and body. He was a typical all-American boy—sharp jaw, green eyes, full lips, disheveled dirty blond hair—in a dire need of a cut, perhaps it was the new trend—broad shoulders, and narrow hips (such a cliché description, I know, but I’m just stating the facts). To add offense to his good looks, he had an unnerving and mesmerizing smile that promoted him to the poster child for the term “golden boy.” Did I mention the dimple? Yep, according to popular belief, an angel had kissed his left cheek at the time of his birth. Not that I was cataloging him, or anything, I wasn’t. Did I mention that I was an observant person? I was. Besides, the idiot might be a potential future client. “You know that’s not how I roll.” I adjusted the strap of my bag. Shit, I was counting on this transaction. Cash. Good cash. But I also valued my freedom. Jail had no appeal to me. Unless I did a background check on my clients, and anyone observing the transaction, I didn’t deal. There was always another junkie waiting on my endless list. I circled Andrew, making haste to leave. But Andrew’s boy was faster than I was, and sidestepped, blocking my path. “What’s the hurry, love?” he asked, with a deliciously husky voice. The cocky smile hadn’t left his lips. (P.S. his lips looked soooo kissable). I shook my head, discarding the hideous thought. What’s wrong with me? For the record, I was a hardcore, badass, and bitchy teen. I didn’t do attraction to cute, dimpled boys. That idiotic thought was just a lapse in judgment. I took a hard look at him, my eyes roaming over his body in a contemptuous stare. Had I not known better, I would classify him as handsome with a genuine soul. But I knew better. He was just another spoiled rich boy. Kids like him often came to me, looking for a fix to make their pathetic lives more exciting. I ground my teeth, another bad habit I knew better than to have. In an attempt to mask it, I inhaled deeply. Big mistake. His male scent, mixed with sweat and some expensive cologne, hit my nostrils and filled my lungs. I felt dizzy—giddy, even. But irritation rescued me from momentary lust, and brought me back to reality. In a span of a couple minutes, Andrew’s boy had managed to break two cardinal rules: Invasion of personal space and, the most abhorrent of all, calling me an endearment. “It’s Luna,” I growled through clenched teeth. Andrew took a step in our direction; his hands raised, his tone pacifying when he said, “Luna, listen, we’re tight. You know me. I won’t screw you over.” My eyes, never wavering from the infamous new guy, narrowed. “C’mon, Luna.” Andrew’s voice pitched higher. He was nervous. Good, let him squirm. It would teach him a lesson. “Later, Andrew. I’ll be late for class.” I took a sidestep to walk around Andrew’s boy. That’s when new boy broke the holiest cardinal rule. His long fingers wrapped around my arm, halting me, and he said, “Listen I—” Before he completed the sentence, I jerked my arm free and had him in with one arm locked behind his back. (I

neglected to mention earlier, but I have a junior black belt in karate). I snatched a pocketknife from my bra. With the blade of the small knife pressed against his neck, I spoke with a calm and menacing voice. “I’m easygoing, Andrew’s Boy, and because I’m in a good mood, I won’t discard a future relationship with you.” I shifted the blade up along his neck. When it reached his jaw, I pressed it, purposefully nicking his skin. “However, it’s imperative that you refrain from touching me, and never, ever, call me by a pet name again.” A small drop of blood trailed down his neck. “Am I clear?” “Gotcha,” he said. With a rush of blood carrying the sound of my heartbeat to my ears, I drew the knife back. Whenever I did a delivery, I was fully armed for warfare, a scowl on my face, a lie on my tongue, and a weapon hidden somewhere in my body. I wiped the blade against my jeans, snapped it shut, and returned to its safe nest between my breasts. Taking a few steps back, I placed a safe distance between us. With a wink and a smile, I said, “Good-bye, fellas.” I turned on my heel and headed to the back door of the school building. A rush of adrenaline coursed through my body. My legs trembled weakly as I trudged through the halls in search of first period. If I were in the business of self-deception, I would tell myself that the reason my heart fluttered inside its cage was the confrontation. But nipping Andrew’s boy was only part of the theatrics. Those two were just harmless amoebas. My little attack on Andrew’s boy was just a way to safeguard my reputation. I hadn’t felt for a moment that I had been in any real kind of danger. No, having my knife against Andrew’s boy’s neck didn’t raise my heart rate. His scent and his strong muscles beneath my fingers were what had me frantic. The skin on my arms where he had touched me burned as if it had been branded. I shook off the feeling and examined my list of classes. First period was Social Studies. I entered the class and zoomed to the last seat in the back corner. Yeah, you guessed right. I chose the seat strategically so I never turned my back to anyone. Junior year I had dropped Spanish class because Mrs. Consuelo insisted I sit in the front row. Not happening. Yep, another cardinal rule. As the class filled, exulted babblings about summer vacation hummed through the room. They tossed out phrases like “a village in Italy,” “weekend in Paris,” “Fourth of July on a yacht,” “resort in Tahiti,” and “golf in Hawaii.” I remained sitting, slouched, with my legs spread out, and hair falling around my face in a protective curtain. My hand idly doodled on a blank page of a spiral notebook. But contrary to my careless and withdrawn appearance, I was alert to my surroundings. Habit of my trade, I suppose. To any teacher looking at me, I was the perfect picture of a slacker, skin-tight, ripped jeans, combat boots, heavy makeup, facial rings, stripes of blue and pink highlights in my hair, and tattoos. It was only after I aced my tests, and completed all assignments promptly and thoroughly, that teachers gave me a slight bit of respect.  Contrary to what teachers and peers chose to believe about me, I was smart. And I knew it. “Hotness alert,” Jessica, the cheerleader squad leader and daughter of Mr. Westfield’s Mayor, whispered in a notso-discreet tone. She sat two chairs up from me. Her best friend Megan sat next to her. “Is that the infamous Caleb Cahan?” Megan inquired in an even less discreet whisper. “Yeah, the one and only. The son of our new judge.” From my hooded eyes, I spotted Caleb standing by Mr. Bank’s table, handing him a paper. Shit, we had a  class together. I wanted to die.

“Oh, my, you were right; he’s hot.” Megan flipped her blond hair. “I call dibs,” she said in a singsong voice. “Sorry, he’s taken,” said Jessica. “Oh, how do you know?” Disappointment dripped from Megan’s voice. “He is having dinner with me Friday,” Jessica bragged. “Huh?” Megan’s blue eyes widened like saucers, her jaw hung open. “And you kept it from me?” Megan asked with an accusatory tone. “Well,” Jessica said, “My family is hosting dinner for his family. You know, welcome them and all.” Oh, how touching. The mayor’s family would welcome the judge’s family. Shoot me. I couldn’t endure purgatory any longer. I sighed. Dear Lord, grant me the strength to endure what I cannot change, or deaf ears during this period of tribulation and mind-numbing boredom. Amen. “You bitch,” Megan squeaked. “OMG, he is coming our way.” “Be cool. Neediness is a major turn off.” My head remained facing down when I heard someone plop in the chair next to mine. At first, I was surprised. My classmates avoided that seat. I had a natural repellent that kept them away, not that my merry mates needed an incentive to keep their distance from me. Adolescents are proficient . . . Scratch that. They excel at the art of shunning rejects in high school. The familiar scent that had made me all hot and bothered earlier stroked me again. Except, in an enclosed space, it was ten times more potent. “Hey, Luna,” Caleb said, ignoring the other girls. Megan whispered behind her hand. “Social suicide on the first day? Can’t he tell she’s bipolar or something?” “Shush,” Jessica hissed. Rolling my eyes, I reminded myself that only one more year in purgatory, and I’ll be atoned for a lifetime. “Hey, ah, I think we got off to a wrong start. Sorry about earlier,” Andrew’s boy said, leaning toward me. My fingers continued with the steady sweep. I had put a knife to his neck, and he was the one apologizing. Are all white people this stupid? Yeah, I was aware I was white, too, but it made me feel superior to separate myself from the herd. From the front of the classroom, Mr. Bank was introducing himself and calling class into session. “Listen, I might have come across as a jerk, but I didn’t mean to,” he continued, apparently not appalled by my silence. The boy was confident. I admired the trait. “Let me make it up to you. How about dinner and a movie?” Now there is a fine line between confidence and stupidity. Andrew’s boy had just crossed it. I slowly raised my head and narrowed my eyes. Gorgeous green eyes met my fulminating gaze. Did you ever hear the expression twinkling eyes? Yeah, the sentence made me want to throw up too, but that’s the only way to describe his eyes accurately. “Do you have a death wish?” I scrunched up my face.

Before he answered, our teacher, Mr. Banks, said, “I see our new student is already socializing. And with our social butterfly, Luna, no less.” That’s when I noticed that the class was quiet, and we were the only ones talking. “Sorry, Mr. Banks,” Andrew’s boy said so obnoxiously polite that I threw up in my mouth a little. White folks, so respectful and perfect all the time. Except when they came to me for a bundle. I looked at Andrew’s boy disgusted. Horde of hypocrites! Andrew’s boy must have caught my contempt, but he proceeded to say, “I’m just trying to convince a lovely girl to go out with me.” “How’s it working out for you, Caleb?” Mr. Banks asked in a playful voice. “I was about to get an answer when you interrupted us.” Caleb grinned. “But it was looking good.” All eyes were riveted on me. I wanted to crawl under my desk, a feeling I wasn’t familiar with. For years I had successfully managed to remain inconspicuous. I had a reputation to maintain, and being unapproachable had been my most effective tactic. Maybe I was getting compliant, or Andrew’s boy was more stupid than I had first thought. In life we all have special aptitudes. In my case, I was either gifted with, or forced by circumstances to develop, a valuable skill. I could think fast under pressure. I made a quick assessment of the faces turned to me. They all waited for me to kill Andrews’s Boy. I have to admit, my mind was churning, trying to find a way to get away with murder. Again. “Pick me up Friday at seven,” I said, adding a sweet smile for good measure. A cacophony of gasps and murmurs erupted throughout the class. “Seven it is . . .” He grinned, and as an afterthought he added, “Love.” No one who followed the laws of logic would have repeated that endearment after this morning. I was livid. I couldn’t understand his insistence on trying to get himself killed. With a forced, docile smile, I said, “Only one small request, sweets. I’ll choose the place.” “Anywhere,” he answered smugly. Mr. Banks clapped his hands. “Okay, class, please divert your attention to me, your Social Studies teacher . . .” He went on, but my mind was fully focused on plans for the upcoming dinner. Andrew’s boy wanted to play with fire, so I would give him one hell of hot night. Pun intended, blazing flames included, free of charge. The bell of freedom rang. I stood up, ready to flee hell. However, Andrews’s boy blocked me, again. Invading my personal space, he smiled and cocked his head. This boy had a serious issue with boundaries. “Out of my way,” I said. Ignoring me, he reached into the front pocket of his jeans and grabbed a piece of paper. I gripped my notebook, summoning all my self-control to resist the urge to kill him before eyewitness. “There, love, now you can text me your address.” He pushed the small paper in my clenched hand. Without a word, I shoved his shoulder, forcing him out of my way, and stomped out of the room. Didn’t my reputation precede me any longer? Or perhaps he wasn’t mentally competent.

My cousin Jake was waiting for me by the lockers. “How did your date go?” he asked. Dating was code for drug transactions. Together, we had a good partnership. Boys were my clients and girls were his. It raised fewer suspicions that way. “Not too hot, we had a disagreement.” I opened my assigned locker and pushed a few notebooks in. “Fill you in later.” “Cool.” We strolled toward my next class. Here’s where I insert some flashbacks into my story. Bear with me, back stories can be boring, but I promise there are some important points that are necessary to give you a better understanding of how I morphed into this cold and heartless bitch.

***

Once upon a time, there was a girl named Luna, who lived with her father in a lovely cottage in the woods. Her father, a zookeeper, had two passions in life: His daughter and birds. For the sake of story flow, I’ll only say that her mother was an evil witch and the people from the nearby village had hung her. (Truth: She abandoned us when I was an infant.) “What’s up, Dad?” I greeted him with a smile, dropped my backpack on the floor, and kicked off my sneakers. “You’re home early. Everything okay at the zoo?” “Come here, sweets.” He pulled me into a tight embrace. My arms went automatically around his waist. The urgency in his voice alarmed me. My smile faded. “What’s wrong, Dad? You sound weird,” I said with my face pressed against his strong chest. “Nothing’s wrong.” He disentangled me from his embrace, held me at arm’s length, and sighed. We were too synchronized to one another. Therefore, he knew I suspected something was off. “Come, let’s build a birdhouse.” We went to the garage, where we had a workshop. He’d already sawed the wood, which meant he had put thought into this project. We had built dozens of birdhouses and birdfeeders and placed them in the woods surrounding our house. Every Saturday we refilled them with bird food and peeked inside the birdhouses to check for eggs. It was our hobby. I inhaled the rich smell of freshly cut wood and rested my hip against the workbench to choose a color for the birdhouse. With a familiar camaraderie, Dad and I sanded and nailed wood together. I had a pressing feeling that something was off. This project wasn’t just about proving shelter for birds. It was about the two of us, to be more specific, about me. “Remember when I told you about my memory lapses lately?” Dad finally asked. “Yeah.” “Well, I had a seizure at work earlier this week. The ambulance took me to the hospital.” He put a lever on the inside of the house. That was weird. We never built anything like it. “According to the CAT scan that I was given, I have a tumor the size of a golf ball in my brain.”

His words held an unconcerned tone, but I knew Dad, it was taking all his strength to sound so casual. I stared at his firm hands as they assembled the birdhouse. My eyes narrowed, and I tried to swallow the lump in my throat. “Dad, how serious is it?” “They don’t want to do a biopsy. So we don’t know whether the tumor is benign or malign. But I have a surgery scheduled for next week.” He inserted a doubled floor to the small birdhouse. “Remember when I told you always to have a second plan?” “Dad, I know where you’re going with this, but you’re gonna be fine. I know it.” “I called your Aunt Lace. She has agreed to take care of you.” “We hate Uncle Robert. How can you even suggest that I go there? Besides, who will take care of you after the surgery?” “Well, Robert left home a few months ago. Lace and Jake are alone. And the arrangement is for you to live with them if anything happens to me. According to the surgeon, there’s a minor risk during the surgery.” “Dad don’t say that. . . .” “We have to have this conversation, sweetheart.” He pulled the hidden lever and then opened a secret compartment inside the house. “If anything happens to me, can you keep a secret?” “Sure,” I said. “I have a good life insurance policy, this house, and some investments that will guarantee you don’t lack for anything. I’m meeting with Mr. Bakosi later on the week to write up a will. However, I need to know you’ll be okay. See this secret compartment?” He pointed to the intriguing doubled floor. “I’ll put our savings here. It’ll be your second plan.” “Dad, please,” I said with tears and fear choking me. “It’s okay. I’ll be okay. But I need this peace of mind.” We finished the project in silence. I couldn’t dislodge the dread taking root in my chest. Later, I learned that feeling was called premonition. I painted the entire structure a deep sky blue. On the roof I drew a burning sun, floating clouds, and flying birds. Seven days from the day we built the birdhouse, with Aunt Lace on one side and Jake on the other, I buried Dad. I kept his secret.

    Chapter Two

BACK TO THE FUTURE. On the ride home I related the morning’s events to Jake. He was stupefied. “I don’t trust Andrew. You should drop him,” Jake said as I parked my beat-up Mustang in front of our house. Aunt Lace demanded that I left the driveway unoccupied for her guests. The cape house was a faded gray that resembled a stormy day. My eyes swept over to an unhinged shutter hanging precariously from the structure. When I first moved in, the burgundy shutter caught my attention in an inexplicable way. It had glared at me sinisterly, causing the hair on the back of my neck to stand up. It was like a warning, an omen of sorts. “Welcome to the bowels of hell.” “He’s already here.” Caleb nodded to Serratore’s white Escalade parked on the driveway. We stepped across the overgrown grass, and I collected a few of the empty beer bottles that were strewed on the ground. I tossed them in the recycle bin propped on the back stairs. Jake flung the back door open, and we went in. The inside had a suffocating smell of dampness and pot. “Hello, Hansel and Gretel.” Serratore greeted us with a smile. His gold tooth gleamed diabolically at us, making me shiver. He sat on one of the unmatched kitchen chairs. Aunt Lace was perched on his lap, her tits in display. With clumsy fingers, she started buttoning her shirt and did nothing to conceal her post-coital state of elation. The cigarette hanging from her swollen lips almost fell when she stuttered a hello. A wave of disgust rushed through me when I saw a discarded condom on the floor. My heart cried for Jake. “I hate that she’s a crack whore,” he’d confided in me once. “What’s up Serratore?” With a quick glance at his mom, Jake retrieved a tin can from the freezer. From inside, he snatched a zipper-lock bag with a wad of cash, and tossed it to Serratore. “Do you have our stuff?” Jake inquired dryly. I stayed on the sideline as Jake and our supplier did the transaction. “It’s in the oven.” Serratore licked his thumb and started to count the bills. I opened the oven and took a toll of the drugs: cocaine, pot, ecstasy, and Ritalin. Those were the favorites amongst our clientele. I nodded to Jake. “Always a pleasure dealing with you,” Jake said without making eye contact. We stomped to his bedroom to find our hideout for the drugs. The sound of Aunt’s Lace drunk laughter trailed behind us. In my peripheral, I saw Jake’s jaw tightening. If school was purgatory, home was hell.

“Tell me about Friday’s plan,” Jake asked, most certainly as a subterfuge to forget the image of his mother’s halfnaked chest. I turned the radio on to an angry-sounding rap station, loud enough to muffle the sounds from the kitchen, but low enough that we could talk. After we organized and hid the drugs, I texted three of my “hook-ups,” the code word for clients, to set up a “date.” After the quick dates, I returned home to get ready for my volunteer gig. The news that I do volunteer work may come as a shock to many. However, I recall a disclosure where I declared to be smart. Yes, I realize “drug dealer” doesn’t necessarily scream intelligence. In my defense, I didn’t opt for the temporary career because I wanted to make easy money. (Side note: it was not easy money.) Unforeseen circumstances had forced me. I’ll explain, in detail, at a later time. Anyway, there was a stupid old saying that went like this “when life gives you lemons . . .” That’s what I did. I made a shitload of lemonade out of the lemons life had offered me. While at that time, I sold drugs and lived in a hellhole, I did have a second plan. It included college, and a future where I earned an honest living. But, most importantly, it included taking Jake away from this life. Once I turned eighteen, I would have the financial means to achieve that. Dad had seen to it. But a series of things had to be in place before then. Which brings me to the volunteering gig. I needed an acceptance letter from a university. My GPA was a perfect score, thank you very much, and I was confident my SAT score wouldn’t be bad either, but I knew it wasn’t enough for the school I was applying to. Since I wasn’t part of any school clubs, it was critical to have an extensive volunteer history. So, four to five days a week and most Saturdays, I volunteered at an animal shelter. I removed all facial rings, wiped my face clear of heavy makeup, and showered. I shrugged into a clean white tank top, a pair of khakis, and beige Converses. I combed my wild hair into submission and put it in a smooth ponytail. After I had applied a clear layer of lip gloss, I examined myself in the mirror and nodded in approval. I swung my canvas bag over my shoulder, and before I left, my fingers glided over the blue birdhouse hanging from the ceiling. “I miss you, Daddy,” I said in a nostalgic whisper. I hopped in the car and drove to the shelter. Driving always calmed me. It allowed me to clear my mind. I recalled Megan’s remark about me being bipolar. Well, I had to admit that my life was twisted and marred with many inconsistencies. At all times, one side of me tried to eclipse the other, leaving me wondering which side would eventually win the constant tug of war. In my defense, it didn’t happen overnight. I didn’t wake up and just decide to be a jackass. No, it evolved gradually, curling up on me like fog slowly swallowing everything along its path. I know I promised to keep flashbacks to a minimum, but I need to tell you how it all began. The drug dealing, I mean. Before I transition into the flashback, allow me to give you a tidbit of the old me. Dad taught me integrity. Another thing I learned from him was not to defend my actions with excuses. Therefore, I’m not seeking understanding or forgiveness. My intent is to relate my path. In life, we all make choices based on a variety of reasons. My choices weren’t the ones many would have made, but it was what I had to do at the time. I own them. On July 4, 1776, Thomas Jefferson wrote in the Declaration of Independence that we all had “certain unalienable rights;” rights that no one could take away, rights to “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.” Don’t be surprised, I was a stellar student. And besides, I have a point. I knew I had a sacred right to fight for an existence where happiness abounded. Although my dad raised me to place a hand over my heart and sing the Star

Spangled Banner, to respect my elders, and to be a law-abiding citizen, in order to achieve that goal, I had to break the law. My interpretation of the rights under the Declaration became self-serving. But, hey, life can be an unfair bitch. Boo hoo! I could name many reasons why I did what I did. The list was endless, being an orphan, hunger, physical abuse, yada, yada, yada. Don’t worry, I’ll spare you a sudden death caused by boredom. However, I’ll say this, in life we fight with the weapons handed to us. Picture this: someone dumps you inside a deep well in a deserted, forlorn area, no rope, no food, no water, no one to listen to your pleas for help. It’s hot during the day and cold at night. One day, two days, three days . . . . . . starvation, thirst, hallucination, desperation. The flesh and bone ache. The conscious mind demands that you curl up and wait for death’s rescue. However, a voice from deep within whispers encouragement, lighting a small ember of hope. This feeble murmur refuses to be ignored, and persists until it bursts forth, blazing energy, supernatural power, mystery. It’s no longer a soft suggestion; it becomes a command. It demands action. And though warfare is terrifying, we obey the voice, we engage in battle. We claw, our nails to the walls, and we crawl out. The process may damage us beyond repair. Regardless, we do it. Why? It’s a complex reaction simply called survival. But, I digress . . . back to the flashback.

Two years prior . . . “You’re up to something, and you’re gonna tell me,” I said, pacing Jake’s room. “And what’s this awful smell?” I headed to the trash can. “You have to toss your garbage. Whew, gross.” I wrinkled my nose as I tied the waste bag and put it by the door. I turned to him. “Spill it, Jake.” Jake raked both hands through his hair and sank on to his unmade bed. “Fine, I’ll tell you.” “Is this clean or dirty?” I held up his boxers with the tip of my fingers. “It’s laundry. Do you want to know or what?” “I’m listening,” I said, as I dropped the boxers in the hamper. “Remember, last week when Mom got beat up?” The hair on the back of my neck stood up. “Hmm-hmm.” I abandoned the cleaning task and sat beside him. Something in Jake’s tone scared me. “It was Serratore’s men. It was the first warning. ‘Pay up or next time we’ll end you.’” He propped his elbow on his knees and held his head in between his long hands. Jake had just hit a growth spurt. And even though he was only thirteen, two years younger than me, he was already several inches taller than I was. “Oookay, and how much does she owe him?” “Thousands of dollars. They’ll come back for the money in a week.” His face crumpled with fear.

I brought my hand to my mouth to muffle my gasp. We both knew what would happen upon their return. I didn’t want to increase Jake’s fear. “What about the money Mr. Bakosi sends?” “It vaporizes as quickly as the crack in Mom’s pipe.” “Oh, boy.” I drummed my fingers on my thigh. “What about the money she gets fro m social security?” “Take a look around, Luna, the electricity’s been shut off for the last three weeks, the phone is disconnected, and what was the last meal we ate in this house? Do you think the money she gets for you would be enough to cover our expenses and sustain her drug habit?” On cue, my stomach grumbled. The only meal we usually ate was at school. I didn’t answer; the wheels in my mind were turning. I had five grand tucked in the blue birdhouse. I had promised Dad I would only use the money for an emergency. This constituted an emergency. “How much does she owe?” “Six grand.” “Come with me,” I said, tugging him behind me. I opened the door and turned. “Promise me you can keep a secret.” “What are you talking about?” “Promise me.” “Okay, okay. I promise.” I climbed on my bed and retrieved the blue birdhouse hanging from the ceiling. “Sit down.” I sat with my legs crossed. With an intrigued expression, Jake sat facing me. I removed the sky painted roof and slid my hand inside, disassembling the false floor. My fingers trembled when I pulled out the small board and clasped the wad of money. “Wow.” Jake eyes widened like saucers. “Where did you get all this money?” “Part of Dad’s savings.” Jake stood and paced to the window, his back to me. “You can’t. We can’t.” His knuckles turned white as he gripped the windowsill. “Of course we can. In fact, Dad would’ve done the same. What are we supposed to do, let them kill Auntie Lace?” A shudder shook Jake’s shoulders. “No. Hell, no. But I have a solution. I’m gonna fix this.” Silence followed. “Well . . .” I raised my brows. I had a feeling I knew where that conversation was headed. Facing me, he leaned against the windowsill and crossed his skinny arms. “I’m gonna ask to sell some of his shit.” “Drugs?” I gaped. “No, just pot,” he said with a shrug.

“You’re kidding. Please tell me this is a joke. You can’t do this. You could go to jail, Jake.” “No shit, Luna. Thanks for the support.” “This is serious, Jake. We can just use my money. I’ll call Mr. Bakosi and ask for . . . I don’t know, some advance, or I’ll find a job. We’ll find a way.” “Yeah, and then what? The money will gone and we’ll be back to the same shithole.” He had a point. I bit the inside my cheek raw. A web of ideas started to form in my mind. In hindsight, I could say I was noble, acting to protect Auntie Lace. Little did I know that the decision I made that day would be one that I paid with bitter blood. “I’ll do it,” I blurted out. “I’ll sell the drugs.” “No fucking way.” Jake shook his head. “Language, Jake. Please.” Yeah, it does sound unrealistic, but even a badass like me had to have some kind of standard. “Fuck me for my language. Come on, you can’t stand me cussing, yet you want to be a pusher?” he said with a bitter laugh. “Fuck you, Jake.” I planted my hand on my hips. “There! Are you fucking happy? I happen to choose not to use foul language. But you, better than anyone, know what I’m capable of.” Jake paled. It was a low blow to remind him, but I needed to get my point across. “Okay, let’s plan this right. You’re in middle school, which makes it ridiculously risky to sell drugs,” I said. “Pot, Luna. Pot!” “Whatever. So, here is what we’re gonna do. Since I’m in high school, I’ll sell it for now, and when you reach ninth grade, if we still need the money, you can sell too.” I dared dreamed our situation would miraculously have changed by then. “I don’t see why I can’t sell it,” Jake said with a pout. “Because, middle schoolers are a bunch of babies. They’ll tell on you.” I put the money back and hung the birdhouse. “Thank you for doing this for Mom.” “I’m not doing it for her. I’m just tired of being hungry.” I dropped to my bed. “But here’s the deal. After expenses, we save the rest, and when I turn eighteen, we’ll hit the road.” “And go where?” “Far away from this hellhole.” “What about Mom?” “She won’t mind, Jake. She’ll be thrilled to be relieved of the burden of having us around.” Sorrow clouded Jake’s eyes. He sighed, a sigh so sad it made me want to wrap my arms around him.

Table of Contents Table of Contents Dedication Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two Chapter Twenty-Three Chapter Twenty-Four Chapter Twenty-Five

Fall Out Girl Chapter One Chapter Two

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