The wrappers in my pocket made a soft crinkling noise as I headed up the short hill and down to the client cabins.
Fucking condoms.
Who asks for that?
Someone with obviously no shame and a whole lot of self-confidence.
Sneaking a handful into my pocket while Kaylee was rattling off my ear on the group of four who came in earlier demanding their own personal first aid box was a testament to how good my poker face could be if the stakes were high enough.
How many condoms did the typical threesome use in a night?
Four?
Five?
A whole sleeve?
Honestly, I was shocked when I found the box after some digging. Tucked back behind the supplies of tissues and Band-Aids, still new and completely untouched.
Even more surprising?
They were still good. Which had me mentally tallying up my entire staff roster on who the culprit was that not only put them on the supplies list to order, but hid the box behind a bunch of shit so no one else knew we had any.
Clearly, I needed to be more diligent in looking over our order list before sending it off to the supplier.
Though, maybe Marlow had a point.
Wasn’t it kind of irresponsible on my partnotto have some kind of protection for people to take when needed?
Like he said, adults were going to fuck regardless.
Who was I to hamper them from doing so by holding any sort of contraceptive hostage?
Ugh, I wouldn’t even have to worry about this if he never asked. I could’ve lived in blissful ignorance to what he was getting up to on his second night here.
Two nights in and he’d already found someone to sleep with.
That had to be a record, right?
Established couples didn’t count.
I shouldn’t have been thinking about any of this, anyway. I should’ve been holed up in my office outlining next week’s event. Not walking to Marlow’s cabin well after the sun set.
Coming up onto it, I pulled in a deep breath and climbed the few steps onto his porch, the condoms crinkling once more, mocking me.
I shouldn’t even be here, let alone raising my hand to knock on his fucking door. This was the job of my staff, to run and fetch things for our guests—within reason—, not the director’s. Sincehe’d arrived on my property, I’d taken it as a personal mission to handle all things Marlow Knight.
And for what?
I raised a hand, poising it over the door to knock. And froze.
The lights were on inside, though there was no movement that I could hear. The curtains were drawn, so that made it hard to tell if anyone was home. I prayed he was alone and wasn’t about to show up half naked, sweaty, and with a blissed out smile on his face when he answered the door.
In fact, it’d be best if he didn’t answer at all. Or I got a fucking clue and turned right around before knocking to begin with.
I’d already made a fool out of myself today, why add to it?
Clearly, Marlow was kidding about the swinging—he had to be. He was all jokes and hardly any bite. Nothing he said should be taken seriously, let alone by me.
