Taking pity on the man, I throw my arms around him. “Heisan expert. I know from personal experience.”
“That’s not helping,” he mumbles.
“I thought you weren’t his girlfriend,” says the feral blonde.
“I’m not. But we fuck like bunnies. Right, sugar duckling?”
Asher coughs. I smile, set my hand over his heart and rest my head on his shoulder.
Rolling their eyes, they go back to whispering among themselves, probably about how I’m a bitch or a whore or some other equally misogynist thing.
Women really hate women sometimes. It’s a damn shame.
“You’re the worst,” Asher says.
“I saved you.” I release him, reaching for my water.
“Hmm.” His lips quirk, and he puts on the Olive Oyl voice I always use. “My hero.”
He has the best smile. I wish I could bottle it. Keep it in my pocket for a rainy day. It fizzles in my blood like Pop Rocks, dazzling and sunny and just so Asher.
The doubts and tension are gone. He’s happy again, and I’m satisfied. Winning at life.
The chef arrives as sake bombs are placed in front of us. The free drinks perk the girls right up, and we’re all best friends again. At some point, Yayoi returns to her seat beside me, still bright-eyed from the fit of laughter she likely succumbed to in the bathroom.
The chef raises his hands. “You ready?”
The eight of us nod and chant,“Sukisake!Sukisake! Oi! Oi! Oi!”slamming our fists on the table three times. The shots of sake fall into the beer, and we chug.
It’s disgusting. It always is. But it’s part of the experience, so I do it anyway.
As usual, Asher and I race to finish.
As usual, he wins.
We trade smiles, and he leans close to my ear. “Are you done making trouble tonight, angelfish?”
“I’ll be making trouble for you for the rest of your life.” I tap his nose.“Pussy expert.”
“I hate you.”
After a quick glance in my purse to ensure my pepper spray and kitty keychain are still where they’re supposed to be, I knock on the door to Sebastian’s fancy apartment. He lives in the luxury apartments near the ocean, and I definitely don’t hate it. Even the hallway boasts the evidence of wealth—lighted classy prints on the walls, faux colonnade lining the length of the hall. The plush blue carpet squishes beneath my feet.
Despite the grandeur, I came equipped.
EverX has a decent verification process, but even professionals can be murderers. I’m reckless, yes, but I’m a prepared sort of reckless.
My rules for these stranger hookups are few and unbreakable:
Do not accept food or drinks.
Never go inside without two weapons and two condoms.
Always have phone fully charged.
The door swings open seconds later to reveal a man with a kind face, a bright smile and brown eyes with the merest hint of green.
My stomach hits the floor.
