I had hoped time would ease the fear of betrayal embedded deep in my bones. But it hasn’t. It lingers, a constant presence. I want to trust her, I do. She holds my heart, my body, my soul. Yet, that niggling doubt that sits in my gut like a tapeworm, burrowing deeper, refuses to let me have what I want:her. Rebuilding trust isn’t as simple as I thought. Despite confronting the pain in my past, I’m unable to move forward. I have no idea if I’ll ever trust Hailee, or any woman, again.
It wouldn’t be fair to keep her hanging, clinging to false hope. She deserves the chance to move forward too. Even though I walked out on her at Le Jardin, she hasn’t let go—Cora keeps me informed. It’s time for both of us to move on.
Hailee glides into the lounge, effortlessly commanding attention as she steps onto the stage to begin the introductions. Her black gown does little to hide the swell of her tits and the faint outline of her nipples. I down the last of my whiskey, swishing it around my mouth and swallowing it in one smooth gulp.
“Good evening, gentlemen…” I let her familiar introduction fade into the background, focusing instead on absorbing every detail. This will be my last visit to Eden, and I’m determined to imprint her image on my memory. Her lips, naturally pouty and soft; her long white-blonde hair, glittering like snow under the subdued lighting; and those radiant emerald eyes, sparkling brightly.
“It’s time to commence your selection.” Hailee’s soft voice pulls me from my thoughts. The token in my hand is marked with the number eight—almost last in line. One by one, men walk onto the stage, each choosing a goddess.
When it’s my turn, I stroll to the front of the room with a hand in my pocket, in no rush for this moment to end. Each step brings us closer, yet it’s also a step closer to the expiration ofus. When our eyes meet, what shines back at me nearly brings me to my knees: understanding, compassion, regret. She knew I’d be in Le Jardin tonight; my name would’ve been on the register. I smile, hoping to convey how I wished things were different. Her expression, filled with love, only makes this moment that much harder.
I tear my eyes away and gesture to the nearest goddess—it doesn’t matter who I choose, they’re all the same if it’s not my kitten. Without looking back, I lead the goddess to suite eight.It’s time to move on.
Shutting the door behind us, I lean against it and blow out a deep breath. In front of me is a beautiful brunette, naked and kneeling in the middle of the bed, waiting for me. But she’s not the one I want. Not even my dick is on board. I stare at her, ready and willing to serve me, but there’s no movement whatsoever. Zilch. My cock knows it’s not Hailee and it’s punishing me. It only wants that leggy blonde, my bubbly ball of sunshine.I get it dude, I get it.
Closing my eyes, I sigh and tilt my head to the ceiling.What the fuck am I doing?
The words tumble out before I can stop them. “Listen,” I hear myself say, “this isn’t going to work. Sorry.”
Chapter thirty-eight
Hailee
Whatareyoudoing?I type.
I need a distraction. After seeing Dameon choose another goddess and leave with her, I’m desperate to drown my sorrows. Thoughts of him kissing her, touching her, loop through my mind, making my stomach churn. I get why he did it; I’m not angry, just really fucking sad. When did love stop being enough? It’s utter bullshit.
Even though he shattered me last month when he chose me and walked away, my stupid little heart still clung to hope. Living in this perpetual state of limbo can’t be healthy for me. I’m driving myself crazy. It’s time to let go.
My phone dings.
Cora
What do you think I’m doing? It’s 11 p.m. I’ve got a kid attached to my tit.
Me
Give him a kiss for me. Do you think you could meet me at my place?
Cora
Yep, give me thirty minutes. James can handle the next feed.
I “heart” her message and toss my phone into the locker, strip off my dress and pull on a pair of shorts and a tank top, along with my trusty flip-flops. Clients would be shocked to see the state we arrive and leave in—usually in our most comfortable, ugliest sweats, hair bundled up in a messy bun. Grabbing my handbag, I head home, ready to wallow in misery for the last time.
***
A gentle knock sounds at the front door, and I open it to see Cora holding a bottle of Fireball and two tubs of my favorite cookie dough ice cream.
“Did I wake Beth?” she whispers.
“Nah, you’re good. Come in.”
We cozy up on the couch with a blanket, the whiskey, two glasses, and spoons, the familiar comfort ofSeinfeldreruns playing in the background.
“So. What happened?” Cora asks, forcing the lid off her ice cream tub.
“Dameon was in Le Jardin tonight. And he picked Michelle,” I say in one breath, and shove a spoonful of cookie goodness into my mouth, followed by a shot of Fireball. Mixing cinnamon whiskey with dairy might not be the wisest idea, but I honestly don’t give a shit right now. That’s tomorrow’s problem.
