Page 136 of The Comedown

“After Holter complained about not having anything to do at the last hotel.”

I remember. The one from a couple days ago. It didn’t have a basketball court inside—it didn’t even have a gym—and it was raining so hard we couldn’t get outside for a walk, or a bike ride, or anything physical really. We went to an art museum instead, and Holter sulked the whole time. Now that he’s getting older, he prefers to stay active, and being cooped up on a tour bus or in hotels all the time makes that difficult.

My lifestyle makes his difficult.

I sit up, studying Julian. “You bought my son a hoverboard?”

He shakes his head. “I bought three so we could all… I didn’t want him to be alone.”

It’s not just that Julian bought Holter something, it’s that he listened, he paid attention, he cared.

“How fast can we get out of here?” I ask.

Collette

Aside from several strange looks at my trashed appearance, nobody says anything to me as I slip out the back and into a waiting stretch limo. Julian offered to create a scene inside so people wouldn’t notice us leaving together, and thankfully, it’s only a short while later when he comes stumbling out the same door I just exited.

A part of me stumbles too, watching him stagger around clumsily, and I clench the seat beneath me, wondering if he accepted any of those pills being offered downstairs.

The second the door closes though, Julian straightens, climbing into the back of the limo fully coherent again, and I breathe a sigh of relief. It’s not realistic to expect Julian to be entirely sober, especially not all the time, but tonight I want him as sober as possible. After what he just told me, I just want him.

His thigh planted firmly against mine, he tells the driver which hotel to drive to—a different one than the one our teams are staying at—before pushing the button to roll the blackout privacy partition up.

“Pants to your ankles,” I say, removing my leather jacket. The Jell-O wiped right off all my leather, but any skin exposed is red like Julian’s now-stained shirt. The limo’s interior is strawberry-scented as are we. It smells like lube actually.

Julian props one arm on the back of the seat, smirking, but doesn’t move otherwise. “You got one more gift for me?”

I shrug, then fold my leather jacket in half to toss it on the seat perpendicular to us.

“In case that wasn’t obvious, yeah. Birthday head is the best head.”

When I look back at him, he’s still just as relaxed. And clothed.

“Are you really turning down head right now?”

“Your pussy can suck my cock…”

“Actually, the offer was—”

“…after I’m done fucking you with my tongue.”

His half-lidded gaze traces every visible inch of my body before he leans forward to grab a bottle of water off the sideboard, cracking the lid to take a long drink. Lowering his ass to the floor of the limo, he screws the lid on the bottle again, then reclines back until only his head is resting on the seat beside my thigh. Pointing at his face, he utters one of the most romantic words in history, telling me simply, “Sit.”

I take in his position as well as our surroundings.

“Pull your pants down first.”

“Collette, I’m not fucking around. This is the last gift I’ll let you give me. I want your pussy to be my first meal for my twenty-eighth year.”

I groan, my thighs already jittery. “It will be, just in a different position,” I promise him, removing my thong from under my skirt and tucking it safely into my purse. You never know. Once someone sold my used, sweat-stained sports bra online after I forgot it in a hotel room. The guy that bought it would send me pictures with it in different places. Actual touristy places. The Grand Canyon? My bra’s been there. The Space Needle? Check. It’s insane. Irelynn blocked him on every social media platform, and eventually we had to threaten him with a restraining order when he created different accounts just to send me more travel updates.

I nod at Julian’s lap. “Drop ’em.”

While he’s unbuttoning his jeans and pushing them down over his hips, he complains about me being a pain in his ass.

“You want me to pay special attention to your ass?”

“Don’t fucking touch my ass.”