Maybe I just passed out in the room while those two went at it?
I debate what I should do for all the time it takes me to blink, and quickly retrieve my clothes, which are lying by the side of the bed, near where Brian stirs. I slide into my boxers and jeans, and pull the shirt over my head, trying desperately not to awaken either of them.
I steady myself on the bedside table as I pull my socks on, and push my feet into my boots just as Brian stretches and opens his eyes.
“Well, that was a great way to wrap a shoot,” he says, grinning.
Brian shuffles himself toward the edge of the bed as I look at Laura. A light snore comes from her nose.
“Oh, don’t worry about her. She could sleep through a heavy metal concert.”
My attention is drawn back to Brian as he lifts the duvet to reveal his naked torso, and I catch sight of his long, erect cock. I can see even more, now, why he’s got such a reputation in Hollywood. I catch myself staring for a beat too long and return my focus to his face.
“What happened?”
“You really don’t remember?” He swings his legs around and leans down to grab his boxers.
I pause while he pulls them up and tucks his erection inside. The head protrudes well above the Calvin Klein band and to the left. The fabric is barely able to contain the cobra he’s got smuggled down there. My mind jumps to all kinds of conclusions, none of them quelling the racing beat of my heart.
“No,” I say, wanting to shake the answer out of him.
A slightly louder snore breaks the silence between us as he grabs his phone and checks the screen.
“I’ve got to head out to catch my flight. But I’m sure I could stay a little longer, if you want me to remind you?” He drops his phone on the bed and places a thumb on either side of his boxers.
“We didn’t? I didn’t? But you’re…” The words tumble out of my mouth. My gaze drifts from him to Laura and then down to his boxers again, which he starts to push down with his thumb.
His erection bobs up and down, like a snake trying to put me under its spell.
Surely, I must be dreaming this? There’s no way this can be happening, can it?
I fight the primal urge within me and turn, rushing to the door and running down the hotel hallway to the elevator, leavingBrian in my wake. I frantically press the call button, willing the elevator to arrive before he can catch me, and almost jump inside when the doors open.
I lean back on the wall once it starts heading up toward my floor and let out a deep exhale. Sliding my hands into my pockets, I encounter a foreign object, and pull it out.
The MDMA.
Fuck.
That’s why I don’t remember what happened.
4.Christopher
Monday
The car honking behind me does nothing but cause my blood to boil and my shoulders to tense while Waze attempts to recalculate the route to my office in Culver City. Every option shows the usual five-minute drive will take at least twenty minutes. A message from Kelly pops up on my phone screen.
Kelly
Just got home. Thank you for such an amazing weekend. Will keep you posted with the insurance. K x
I force my shoulders to relax back into the seat and loosen my grip on the steering wheel. It’s a timely reminder that I need to put things into context. The traffic will pass. Kelly is okay. And I am going to be an uncle to a baby boy. I just wish Kelly and I had had longer than the two and a half days we got to spend with each other.
I fire off a quick response, keeping one eye on the traffic jam in front of me. My car creeps forward with everyone else, and I finally pass the source of all this frustration: Two smashed-upcars are pulled over to the side of the freeway, the drivers standing over to the side talking to a couple of cops.Ugh. What a way to start your week.
The parking lot seems busier than usual this morning and I struggle to find a spot, finally locating a single compact space on the third floor that I squeeze my Jeep into. More stress I don’t need when I’m already on a tight timeline.
A chill races across my skin the instant the indoor air conditioning meets it. It’s a welcome relief from the morning heat outside. It shouldn’t be this hot before 9 a.m. Small sweat circles are already forming under my beige polo shirt. I really should look into Botox for my armpits, the way Alexander’s stylist suggested.
