I’ve never felt bad about spending my money before, and I’ve spent it on lots of fucking stupid shit over the years. Not for me, but for the men I spoiled.
Cars, villas, art. I never blinked an eye at dropping thousands on what I felt my boys deserved, but signing that check for Jacob felt wrong. Because I wanted to give him more than a check. Clearly, I’m more fucked up than I give myself credit for.
No one actually falls in love with the stripper or the escort. That’s Hollywood romance shit, not real life. Not that Jacob is a stripper, but his dance moves last night on the floor, the way heground his ass against my hard cock, leaned his head back—fuck, I would sign my life away for a lap dance from Jacob. A private one. Maybe on a boat or on a balcony in Greece or—
No. Not happening, Aaron.
My phone rings, pulling me from my stupor. It’s Chris.
“Hey,” I say, trying to brush off my morning blues.
“Hows it going?” Chris asks with excitement.
“Good.” I collapse on the couch. “Well, aside from the champagne hangover, I mean.”
Among other depressing things. Like catching feelings for a man I hired to pretend to love me.
And pretend he did, too fucking well, because I thought for a moment, maybe…
Maybe he actually could.
God, I’m such a fucking idiot.
“Date go well? Jacob treat you okay?”
I purse my lips.Oh, Jake treated me just peachy.
“Yeah, no complaints,” I say as naturally as I can. I swear I can still smell the hint of vanilla and musk in the air, and it’s depressing because it shoves the fact it wasn’t real and that he’s not here in my face.
“You busy this afternoon?” Chris presses.
I hear the sounds of the city around him.
“Not particularly, why? You want to grab lunch?” I ask.
Chris chortles out a huff. “Yea, well… me and the fam.”
I sit up straighter. “Your mom and dad, too?”
“And Lola. And your parents, of course.”
I tense at his words. I knew this would happen eventually, since the Everett Family Luncheon is alwaysimportanton the agenda when we’re all in town. Well, mostly me. It’s another reason I’ve avoided coming home so much, because my mother and father guilt me into going, but I stomach it because I get to see Chris, and it’s nice to see Uncle Travis and Aunt Shannon,and Lola too. She’s getting so big, it’s ridiculous. I swear she’s going to be tall like her dad, considering she’s only thirteen and already five-seven.
“Yeah, I guess. Where and when?”
Chris’s voice is muffled as he talks to someone. He must be out on his morning errands. Chris, the lucky bastard. He’s a tech guy, so he gets to work from home and set his own schedule. While I technically work on my own time, I don’t get to sit at home in front of a computer. I own six rental properties in the heart of LA, and we’re constantly booked, especially now that it’s spring. Wedding season is upon us and in just a few short weeks, I’ll be up to my eyeballs in bachelor and bachelorette weekends.
Kill me now.
“Callahan’s. One-thirty.”
Callahan’s. Of course, what are the fucking odd they want to dine at the scene of my proverbial crime?
It’s just a restaurant, you can handle it. Don’t be so dramatic, Aaron.
I look at my watch, noting that it's in four hours at this point. Which is just enough time for me to shower, get some breakfast, and get out for some fresh air myself. I feel like I could use it after the day—and night—I’ve had.
When lunch rolls around, I’m feeling slightly better, if only for the fact the caffeine seems to have kicked my headache. I barely get two feet in the door before I’m nearly knocked over by a hurricane that smells like cucumber melon.
