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Did I just say the word ‘penises’? I did. Why? I’m not seventy. Or a prude. Though I can see why he’d think that.
“Wrong. So wrong. Probably the wrongest thing you’ve ever said. How many?”
“Excuse me?”
He stopped by the restroom door, which was only a few feet from the VIP ring. The scent of cigarettes, beer, and hot dogs crept into my nostrils and settled there, and I wondered how he must feel, smelling liquor and not being able to take a sip.
Crap. He probably feels like crap. And you’re only making it worse.
“How many cocks have you seen in your life?” His neutral gaze swept over my body. “I mean, you’re, what? Eighteen? Nineteen? And you also look like a lot of work, so I’m guessing between two to four.”
“Firstly”—I lifted my thumb—“I’m twenty-one, old enough to drink in every country in the world that serves alcohol, which is good, because working with you, I’ll surely need it. Secondly”—I lifted my index finger, even though I’d lied through my teeth—I wasn’t gonna drink. Not tonight and not ever—“it’s none of your business how many penises I’ve seen, or how many men I’ve slept with. If I like to be hung by my nipples from the ceiling or spooned by a gentle lover while cuddling a teddy bear, it’s not for you to know. Last but not least”—I offered him my middle finger on a sweet smile—“I really can’t stress this enough, but I’ll try—your little mind games are not going to work. I’m keeping this job. Get used to me.”
We stared at each other for a long moment before Alex slammed his balled fist to the door behind me. The door swung open with a bang, and we slipped in. I pressed my back against it, staying as far away from him as I physically could, while he coolly unzipped his low-hanging jeans and took his cock out over the toilet seat. My eyes were hard on the wall. The sound of his urine pouring into the water filled my ears and my throat bobbed with a swallow.
Nat’s words came back and haunted me like a bad haircut from the eighties. An irrational need to check the goods took over me. It wasn’t like he minded. According to the rumors, his dick had seen more cameras than Kendall Jenner. Slowly—so painfully slowly—my eyes drifted down his sinewy body. I just wanted to see what all the fuss was about. Whatever I had in mind, though, didn’t come close to the real thing. Thick, long but not atrocious. With thin veins running through its length.
“Nice view?” he groaned, tucking his junk back into his briefs. His profile was glorious. Strong jaw, pouty lips, eyes like sex…
My eyes snapped up when I realized he was talking to me. “I wasn’t…”
“Looking? Yes, you were. Next time take a picture. It lasts longer.” He rolled his zipper upward and flushed the toilet with the toe of his boot. He turned around and squirted soap into his palm, washing his hands almost violently—rubbing between each finger and scratching his knuckles like he wanted to shed his own skin. When he was done, he looked around for a towel.
I cleared my throat, scrambling to regain my wits. “Longer than the glimpse or longer than your performance?”
Casually—so unbearably casually—he wiped his wet hands over my purple dress. I gasped, moving sideways. It looked like he was about to open the door and get out, but before I had the chance to yell at him for using me as a human towel, he slammed me against the wall, bracing both his arms above my head and pinning me to my spot. I let out a shriek of surprise at the sudden proximity.
Alex Winslow is touching me. Willingly, my surprisingly pitiful brain squealed.
Heat rolled off his body, making my back arch and my breath catch in my throat.
“Let’s make one thing clear—I could fuck you to a point of numbness without even breaking a sweat if I wanted to. Now, careful, New Girl. If you don’t keep your distance from me, I think I just might.”
I looked up and smiled, ignoring how pale I must’ve been. Inside, my heart thrust against my ribcage, wounded but defiant. It’d never been this way before. So…wild. Like an entity of its own. My heart wanted to rebel, and I wanted to fight back, which could only result in trouble.
Slow down, heart.
Relax, heart.
Take a deep breath, heart.
“Are you done?” I hissed.
“Are you?”
Why did he want me gone so badly? The idea of asking him had occurred to me more than once, but I always came to the same conclusion. No one would want someone shadowing their every step and watching them take a piss before a show.
“No,” I said.
“Then neither am I.” He pushed off the wall, giving me his back while lacing his fingers through his hair. And it was true, what they wrote in all the romance novels Nat read in dangerous quantities. Because when he walked away, I felt the loss of him everywhere.
