There’s only been one other time in my adult life that I’ve lost control, and that was in the bathroom, with Toxic.
And here he’s made me lose it again.
My heart slows from its gallop, and I feel my soul reattach itself to me.
Toxic pulls away, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.
Strange feelings course through me, but as I come to my senses, I push them aside.
He pulls on his clothes and collects mine for me. I feel my cheeks redden when he hands them over, which is not like me at all.
Toxic winks. “See what I said about insatiable urges.”
Jesus Christ, when he’s not on his knees, this man is intolerable.
SEVEN
Toxic
Armando grabshis shoulder and moves it in exaggerated circles, grimacing every time he brings it back around.
Good. He needs to learn this lesson, so he doesn’t break his goddamn neck.
Grumbling in annoyance, he storms off and I return my thoughts to the raven-haired beauty that my every waking thought now belongs to.
Samantha Weston.
As God is my witness—she will be mine.
She makes me see the world in shades of color I hadn’t yet discovered. She’s not like the sweet, excitable girls that come to our show. She’s defiant, bratty, and clever. Her qualities are so unlike mine that it makes us perfectly compatible.
In Samantha’s haste to return to her car, she left her leather portfolio behind, and even though it might be a breach of privacy, I can’t stop myself from peeking inside.
It opens to what looks like a formal job application, asking for my full name, date of birth, height, weight, mother’s maiden name, and a slew of other questions, many of which are invasive.
Everything I’ve learned about Samantha so far indicates that she is a very structured woman. This questionnaire must mean a lot to her, and I’d ignored it because I was too excited to talk to her about my RV idea.
Which was admittedly stupid. By the looks of it, she grew up in a wealthy home. Why would she want to live in an RV with me, a man she barely knows, and a baby?
All the ways I’ve come up with to help her are wrong. She doesn’t need money or help raising our child, not that I won’t give her both.
What she needs is right in my hand. I’ll fill out the questionnaire and return it so that she sees I’m reliable.
While writing my family’s medical history, going back three generations, I hear Natasha giggling.
She knows Samantha and could be a valuable resource in helping me find out what makes her tick.
The moment she sees me, she smiles. “Hey, Tox!”
I dangle the Cunnilingus Corolla keys in front of her. “Here ya go.”
Natasha bats them away. “It’s not my car anymore.”
“Hey, ah, remember that friend that had the bachelorette party? The blonde?”
Her lips thin. “You mean the party that nearly cost me Slay and everything I hold dear in this life?”
Shit…
