The woman she set me up with this evening is an actress on a daytime soap.
I shudder at the thought of her roaming hands. From the moment we met in the wine bar and posed for photos, the bitch couldn’t keep her hands to herself. If the tables were turned, she’d have been fucking arrested for sexual assault in a public place, but when a hot woman is all over a guy like me, people smirk and wink and call me lucky.
I suck harder on my joint as my anxiety spirals. Eventually the weed does its thing, and by the time I toss the roach aside, I’m relaxed again.
Then my phone buzzes, and with my mind now untethered from the evening’s events, I fumble for it.
Nolene: Photos look good.
Of course they do. I’m photogenic as fuck.
Nolene: Angelina asked for a second date. Says she’ll get you in with her casting director.
Nothing in that message makes me happy, so I switch my phone off.
I’m tempted to toss the damned thing into the swimming pool. Who needs a phone, anyway? Not me.
Maybe I should do a digital detox for a month. I snort. Knowing Nolene, she’d try to monetize it if I did. Turn me into a wellness influencer.
She’s been hinting lately that I need to look to the future. Being pretty isn’t enough for career longevity, apparently. But my looks are all I have.
“What are you doing?”
Chiara’s voice startles me, and my phone tumbles from my fingers, hitting the stone paving with a crack. I stare down at it in surprise before a burst of laughter unfurls in my chest and escapes.
“You’re stoned,” Chiara remarks with an eye roll before dropping onto an adjacent recliner. She’s wearing a loose tee and some cute little panties. My mouth waters at the sight of all that exposed skin. “And horny,” she adds with a smirk while admiring the outline of my semi in my jeans.
“Always horny, cute stuff,” I grin. That’s not strictly true. She’s the only person my dick wants these days. As the actress discovered tonight when she shoved her hand down my pants.
“Got any more weed?”
I pass her my half-smoked joint, and she takes a drag. “Damn. This is good stuff.”
“Damn right.”
She takes a final toke and hands the joint back to me. “I shouldn’t,” she giggles. “Angelo might drug test me.”
“He’s watching,” I point out, gesturing at the camera to our left. “Kane too, probably.”
“He watches me a lot.” She smiles serenely, relaxed about my brother’s stalker tendencies now she’s half-stoned.
“They both do.”
“Do you like to watch me?” The husky note in her voice has me turning toward her. Her gaze slides across my chest, lingering on my abs. I’m still wearing a shirt from my ‘date’ but it’s hanging open.
“Always,” I smirk. She smirks back before her brow wrinkles.
“Why is there lipstick on your collar?”
31
Chiara
Luka is a curious mix of confidence and vulnerability. When I first met him that night in the kitchen, I figured he was just another fuck-boy with a silver tongue and a dick he knew how to use.
I still think that, but the cracks in his mask are showing. The shame in his eyes catches me by surprise before he winks and slips into his flirtatious persona. He’s hiding his true self, and it surprises me how much I hate knowing he’s not being honest. And also that another woman has had her hands on him.
“Jealous, cupcake?” He grins.
