“You weren’t trying to get pregnant so I would become your ATM machine for the next eighteen years?” My tone is as sharp as a serrated blade.
“No.” The insincerity in that one word is nauseating.
Evelyn and I met last year at a late summer wedding in Carmel-by-the-Sea. She was a friend of the bride. A buddy of mine was getting hitched.
In a crowd of stunning women, Evelyn was hard to miss. She’s statuesque, gorgeous, smart, and charming. She’s also a great manipulator. As an assistant casting director, she didn’t come across as a woman who was waiting for a man to save her.
What was supposed to be a few hours of carnal sex, turned into a lot more. We didn’t leave her hotel room until the next day. I fucked that woman’s ass so hard, and so many times, I thought my cock was going to break. She never asked for a respite. On the contrary, she kept begging for more. She’s one dirty girl. I also fucked her pussy, but Evelyn needs a big cock pumping her ass to come undone. I was happy to oblige.
There was no hiding my identity, so she knew who I was, but she didn’t seem fazed, which is why I didn’t expect her to pull that sneaky move.
“Are the rumors true?” Evelyn changes the subject.
“Which rumors?”
“Did you get her pregnant? Is that why you’re forced to marry that Michelle… or is it Miley… Marielle, maybe?” Evelyn waves her glass in front of her face in a dismissive gesture. “What’s the name of the girl you’re marrying?”
“You mean,woman?”
“Girl. Woman. Same thing.”
Right.“Her name is Michaela.”
“Is Michaela pregnant?”
None of your fucking business.
I face her to give her a piece of my mind, but I’m interrupted by a pair of lasers beaming at me. A man I recognize stares in our direction, annoyance and anger written all over his face.
I’m willing to bet everything to my name, Evelyn hooked up with the newly appointed Mayor of Los Angeles’s brother.I’ve met him at numerous charity functions. He’s an arrogant motherfucker. His ego is bigger than my brothers’, my father’s, and mine, combined.
I answer Evelyn’s question with one of my own. “Is that your date?” I jerk my chin.
She doesn’t even bother turning around. “We’re together,” she says with nonchalance. “He thinks I look good on his arm and therefore, it’s good for his public image. He has lofty political aspirations.”
“You’re aiming high,” I say.
“He’s okay, but”—she looks left to right before leaning in—“you’re a much better lover. Andmuchbigger, too… and what you do with your tongue. Oh, fuck… no one’s ever done that to me before.”
I’m sure she meant it as a compliment, but she comes across like the two-timing bitch she is.
I come to the guy’s defense. “That’s a low blow to a man’s ego.”
“I make him think he’s a stallion, when he’s anything but. He’s happy, and he rewards me with a monthly allowance. Everyone wins.”
“Great relationship goal.” Sarcasm drips from my words.
“It works for me.” She lifts a defiant chin.
“Good for you.”
“So, you still haven’t answered my question. You made it pretty clear you weren’t the dating or marrying type. This is quite the turnabout.”
I laugh. A day of fucking and she thinks she knows me. How presumptuous of her. “You have no?—”
In my peripheral vision, I catch a flash of legs and a pair of heels that pull my eyes to the door. I do a double take.
Jesus.
