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“Hopefully, very demanding,” I say, smiling.
My father shakes his head and waves us goodbye, but when I turn to face Whiskey anger swims all over his face.
“Demanding?” He leans in. “Do you want me to be demanding?” Whiskey’s car pulls up in front of us and the door is opened for me. I slide in without replying to him.
He walks around to his side, jumps in, and then takes off like an idiot. Whiskey hits the gas hard, so much so that I have to hold on to the side of the door. He doesn’t head in the direction of his house where I’m living, instead he drives like a lunatic toward the city, pulling into an underground parking garage. Whiskey gets out and walks around to my side, opening the door and holding it for me.
“Come now, Bunny.”
“This isn’t where I’m staying.” He drops his hand, his shirt slightly open revealing tanned, taut skin.
“It is tonight. Seems when you make me mad, I want you even more.”
“You can’t have me,” I argue back staying in the car.
“That’s the thing, though, isn’t it? We want what we can’t have.” Then he offers me his hand, and I take it but I’m not sure why.
“I need to go. I’ll order an Uber.”
“No, you won’t. You will stay here.”
“In your whore house?” I say with a wave of my hand.
Whiskey laughs as he pushes the button for the elevator. “This is my private apartment. No one stays here.”
“So, where have you been fucking your whores then?”
We walk in and he shakes his head. “Do you want him?”
I know who he’s talking about, but I play dumb anyway. “Who?”
The elevator starts moving, and Whiskey pushes me against the wall, backing me into the corner. He touches a piece of hair, pushing it back from my face. “Shane. Do you want him?”
“Yes,” I breathe, my heart rate rising at the thought, and also from Whiskey touching me.
“You should have said no.”
“Why?”
“Because now I hate him, and Barry won’t like that.”
I shake my head. “You can get off of me now.”
“On you?” He pushes on me. “I’m sure I heard you correctly.”
“You like to play games with me, don’t you, Whiskey?”
He leans in so he’s near my ear. “Say it again.”
“What?”
“My name.”
“Asshole.” I try to push him back, but he doesn’t move. He chuckles, and the vibration runs through me. The elevator grinds to a halt, the door dings and opens. He pushes off me and reaches for my hand, pulling me through the door.
Penthouse. Of course, he has a penthouse.
Should I have really expected anything less from him?
