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“We do fall into bed together pretty often,” I remind him—strategically, just as the bartender pours me another glass.
I can see the poor schmuck’s Adam’s apple bob up and down as he hangs onto every word of this conversation he can eavesdrop in on.
“Yeah, but with the world’s hottest woman between us, man! I’d argue that’s the straightest thing a man can possibly do for himself, tapping that ass. And pussy,” Chase adds, giving the bartender a cagey look. “All about that tight, wet pussy.”
The bartender gives me a questioning look, and I simply shrug. Is it nice to mess with his head like this? No, probably not.
But I’m not a nice man—and with Kara away at pageant rehearsals, I’m getting fucking bored. Never bodes well for those around me when I’m bored—why else do you think I’m fucking working all the time?
Poor fucking Chase, though. He’s not from the same world I am, where people are constantly looking to kiss your ass—or woo you into fucking theirs. Where Chase comes from, there’s no such thing as a free drink—every action has a very enforceable price attached.
“Speaking of Kara,” I say, checking the time on my phone, “When she gets back, we need to have this Protein Plus conversation once and for all. Even if she comes at us begging to ride our faces—”
“Christ, we are lucky men,” Chase says, licking his lips.
“Only if this is real,” I remind him. “If it’s just the protein shakes fucking with her head, this is over—it has to end. You know that as well as I do.”
“Yeah, I fuckin’ do,” Chase says, tearing a paper bar napkin to shreds as he considers the worst. “But man, I don’t want it to end like that. What we’ve got with Kara—she’s changed me, that fuckin’ girl. She makes me a better man. Every damn day.”
I hate to admit it…but that’s true for me as well, come to think. Before Kara, I would have fucked with this bartender’s head all night until he was sure I was going to take him back to my room and have my wicked way with him…
Then I would have picked up the hottest woman in this bar and fucked her right here on the bar top, just to see the look on the poor bastard’s face.
After Kara…no. There is no after Kara.
Kara fucking Gilmore is a be-all, end-all kind of woman. After having her, no other bitch is going to be able to satisfy me.
Which is a very fucking real concern if it turns out that this whole time, it’s been some kind of cum-based brainwashing that’s drawn Kara to Chase and me rather than the very real, visceral connection that we’ve developed for her.
That’s why we need to put this thing to bed once and for all tonight. Either we figure out that her love for us is genuine, consenting, and completely fucking real—or we figure out how we’re going to live our lives knowing that as far as women go, Kara Gilmore was the only one we’ll ever have.
I’ve been called a sociopath more fucking times than I would like in this lifetime, but I know that can’t be true—because even the thought of losing Kara’s love rips my fucking heart out.
Just then, my phone rings—it’s work, surprise, surprise.
“Eric Hale speaking,” I say into the receiver. “Talk to me.”
“ERIC!” a breathy female voice exclaims victoriously on the other end of the line. “Oh, my god, it’s you! It’s really fucking you. This is Becka—remember me? I’m the taste-test girl from the Protein Plus labs—but of course you remember, you guys fucked me so fucking good last time! I haven’t been able to get it out of my head since—is Chase there? Do you miss me? Come fuck me again, guys, I fucking need you, I’ll do like—I’ll do anything you want, just—”
There’s the sound of a brief, ugly struggle. I give Chase a concerned look.
This can’t be fucking good.
“Mr. Hale?” a new female voice says into the phone. “It’s Linda—I’m so sorry, but things have been insane over here lately, and—”
I sigh. “Women are going insane over the protein shakes?”
“Yes. Exactly.” Linda laughs with a hint of hysteria attached to her voice, and I can’t help but feel like this is my fault.
I’m the CEO of an important, life-changing company—not some average asshole who can afford to make such dire fucking mistakes.
My employees depend on me to make good decisions—and the public depends on me to not turn them into cum-obsessed horny fuck-bimbos who can’t think straight unless they’re guzzling my seed like the bitches they are.
This is on my shoulders—and I need to fix it. Stat.
“Stop production immediately,” I inform Linda. “I want our test subjects like Becka weaned off the stuff and properly compensated for their ordeal—and then I want you to get with legal and marketing. Let the public know that if they’re feeling strange or addictive behaviors, we’ll offer free resources to alleviate the strain the shakes have put on them—and pull everything from our distributors, too, if you haven’t already.”
“We can’t,” Linda reminds me. “Everywhere is already sold out. There was a fist fight in Reno just this morning over the last case of Two Girls One Cupcake—women are seriously losing their minds over this stuff.”
