“Ohmygod,” I mutter unintelligibly.
“Hey, don’t fucking talk about her like that,” Dillon tries to defend my honor.
What is going on?!
Lo raises his brows. “So now you’re suddenly chivalrous, coming to her defense? Youbangedher in the bathroom. Don’t act like you’re the good guy in this situation.”
“Stop, Lo.” I shoot him a warning look that may be lost beneath my flushed cheeks. If he starts a fight, I’ll be barred from the club.
“Yeah, Lo…stop,” Dillon says in challenge. My face is so hot I think my skin might have second degree burns. Lo stares at Dillon for a long moment, unblinking.
“I’m not drunk enough for this shit,” Lo announces. He rises from the stool and closes out his bar tab quickly. While I wait, Dillon clasps my wrist and I try to peel away.
“Can I have your number?” he asks.
Lo tucks his wallet in his back pocket. “She doesn’t know how to sayno.So I’m going to do it for her.”Thank you.But instead of actually saying anything, Lo flips him off.
I don’t look at Dillon. Lo. Or any other person in The Blue Room. I speed out of the club, wanting nothing more than to evaporate from the moment and flutter into the air.
After sliding into my sporty BMW, Lo silently joins me. The car ride home stays that way except for the sound of Lo unscrewing his flask and chugging it like he’s been trapped in the Sahara desert for a week. We avoid talking or mentioning the bad night until we enter the apartment.
I throw my keys in the basket by the door, and Lo bolts for the locked liquor cabinets. My hand shakes, and I tuck a flyaway hair behind my ear. I need a release.
The familiar sounds of clinking bottles fill the kitchen. “Do you want something to drink?” Lo asks, concentrating on his concoction.
“No. I’m going to call someone to come over. If they’re still here in the morning, can you do the usual?”
He hesitates, and the bottle of bourbon freezes above his glass. “I may be passed out. I’ve been drinking shitty beer all night.” Oh. He’s about to get wasted.
“We have the luncheon in the morning,” I say, my voice strained. Few things instigate a true fight between us, but I sense one brewing.
“I know. I’ll be awake for it, but maybe not to help you. That’s all I’m saying.”
My chest heaves. “You’re the one who ruined my night. You didn’t have to come to the club with me and start anargument,” I vent. “Now I’m the one who has to suffer because you didn’t want to drink blue fucking vodka.”
“Fine, go back to the club and be annoyed by that prick all night. I did you a favor, Lily.”
Irrational anger surges through me and I push one of the stools hard. It knocks over and breaks a rung. I crawl back inside myself, instantly feeling bad about hurting a piece of furniture.
“Whoa,” Lo snaps. “Don’t Hulk Smash the apartment.”
His addiction is screwing with my addiction. Alcohol trumps sex is this place, and that kills me. Or at least the part of me thatneedsa good lay, preferably one that lasts longer than five minutes.
I stare at the broken stool and feel so dumb. I squat and right it up. Mood swings. Lo understands what it’s like to turn into a needy freak, but I still can’t look him in the eyes.
“You’re a big girl, Lil,” he says after a moment of silence. I hear him stir ice into his drink. “If you want to hook up with someone then you should be the one to kick them out. I’m not stopping you from having sex.”
I don’t know why it feels like that or why his words upset me so much. I don’t move until I feel Lo stealing my newly bought phone from my pocket. I frown as he scrolls through my contacts and lands on a number for a male escort service. He dials and presses the receiver to my ear while he sips his drink.
I take the phone from him and mouth,thanks.
He shrugs noncommittally, but the muscles around his shoulders tense. Without another word, he leaves for his bedroom. My nerves settle and the anticipation begins to build.
The line clicks. “Hello, how may we be of service?”
The alarm on my phone blares for the third time, an annoying harp melody that I seriously reconsider. I wiggle from my covers, careful not to hit the male body splayed out on theother side. I shouldn’t have let him spend the night, but I lost track of time. Even though these…well,gigolosare on the clock, excitement fills their eyes at the sight of a young client who isn’t middle-aged and obese. So sometimestheyprompt the overtime, but this instance, it was my doing.
Will he want to stay for breakfast? I don’t know gigolo protocol that well or what to say or do afterwards. Usually I have Lo bang on my door and tell the guy to beat it. Much easier. The digital clock on my white nightstand glows red. Ten in the morning. I have an hour to primp and shower for lunch at the Villanova mansion.
