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CHAPTER TEN
CARMEN
Two weeks. Two entire, long, boring weeks since I’ve seen Stallion.
I’ve been trying not to count the days, but it seems useless. Bernard is sweet and fun, but he isn’t the same as Stallion. I want more from him. I want the wild, animalistic need most men exude. I want the chase, but B just isn’t like that.
I thought what he offered was enough—that my tastes were changing—but I was mistaken. Now I dread going to see him. All I can picture is ripping his clothes off and nothing else.
Sure, he tells me I’m beautiful or makes comments about wanting to roll around in the sheets, but that’s all they are. Words. Words with no action, and I’m getting crabby. This whole thing was meant to serve as a distraction, and it’s done that, but now I find myself obsessing over other shit. And by other shit, I mean sex.
I’ve always had a healthy sexual appetite, but it’s seemed to have grown since being with Stallion. Sometimes I think it’s more than that though, and the only reason I was so okay with B is because he was giving me what Stallion wouldn’t. Now I realize how much I depend on sex though.
The feeling of being wanted. The feeling of flickering lust. It’s not like anything else. It’s a high I can’t seem to find anywhere else, no matter how much I drink or smoke.
I just hope since we’re finally moving to a room for one of our meetups, though, that I can finally get what I’ve been craving.
As I park at the Annalee, my phone pings. I pull it from my bag and see it’s my reminder I set to meet B, along with the room number on the third floor. I’ve been seeing him almost every day now, and every time we meet up, the conversations get a little more personal. He’s moved from asking about me to asking about my friends. He’s seemed to take an interest in Carter and Lydia. I’m not sure why, but I don’t really think too much into it either. Clearly, he’s just wanting to get to know the person I am because you can tell a lot about someone by the company they keep. And he did say he needs more of a connection before fucking. I thought I understood that before, but I was clearly lying to myself.
I can hardly contain my want for him to fuck me.
I step out of my car, pushing my thoughts to the back of my mind, then hit Lock on my fob. The sun is already dipping low in the sky, which means most of the staff will be clearing out and less chance I’ll run into someone I know, or even worse, someone who knows my dad.
As I walk across the parking lot, I feel different. Like as soon as I step into the room with B, everything is going to be different, and I’m going to come out a new person. A person who doesn’t obsess over a fucking ghost online. He’s finally going to give me what I want—at least hopefully—but what kind of lover will he be? Slow and sweet? Hard and rough? Will he be different than Stallion, or even better, will he make my memory of Stallion completely fade away?
I just want the itch I’ve had for fourteen fucking days to finally be scratched.
When I make it to the front, I avoid the valet like I always do, then glide through the open doors. I scan the counter, so thankful no one seems to be occupying it, and hurry across the lobby to the elevator. Punching the Up arrow, I wait less than ten seconds before the doors open.
When I look up, my heart sinks to the pit of my stomach. And not in a good way. I cross my arms over my chest and step to the side, waiting for him to exit, and do my best to maintain my composure.
I want to ask him what the fuck, but I don’t have the right. We were just a hookup. A quick fuck with no strings, so I can’t be mad. But when I see the red staining the collar of his white shirt, all the questions I want to ask or obscenities I want to yell leave my brain, and the only thing left is… hurt? Or maybe jealousy? I don’t even know.
I swallow my pride and lift my chin high. If he wants to fuck someone else, fine. I mean, I’m about to do the same thing, right? Right! I reply to my own thoughts like that will help how I’m fucking feeling.
When his head lifts, his amber eyes that normally scream predator are filled with panic. I want to ask if he’s okay, but before I can even open my mouth, he shoots his eyes away from me and barrels out of the elevator.
I’m stunned. How can he see me and not feel all the shit I was feeling? How can he rush past me without a single word? Suddenly, all the hurt is washed away, and the anger returns. “Fuck you,” I mumble to myself.
I’m going to forget about him like I said I would and go let B fuck my brains out. At least he acts like he likes me and actually wants to be around me. I step inside the lift and push the number three a little too aggressively. As it starts moving, I take deep breath after deep breath and shake away all my feelings. I’ve never been the type of bitch to get hung up on some guy, and I won’t be starting now.
When the elevator dings and the doors open, I release my last breath and step out. My shoes pad against the carpeted hallway quietly, and with every step, my confidence grows. I think about how hot I am, how many men want me, and how I can have whatever this world has to offer with the simple snap of my fingers. I don’t need some self-absorbed, coldhearted, distant fuck buddy.
If I wanted to be reminded of how I’m not wanted, all I have to do is call up my dad. Fuck Stallion.
When I stop in front of the room I know B is in, I slip the key card from my purse and insert it. When the small light flashes green, I push open the door. At first, everything is dark, but the further I slide the door open, the more I see, thanks to the light spilling inside from the hallway.
My mind goes completely blank, and my hands start to tremble. I blink a few times, knowing what I’m seeing can’t be real, but every time I open my eyes, there it is. My chest rises and falls in rapid succession as I step inside slowly, turn on the light, and close the door behind me. Blood. So much blood.
“What have I gotten myself into?” I whisper out loud to the empty room and the dead body at my feet. Every thought and feeling I had before I opened the door vanishes, and all that’s left is those surrounding B’s dead body.
I try to focus on anything other than him. And the blood. And the queasy feeling in my stomach. I peer around the room. I’m not sure why, but I can’t stare at him. I can’t think of him. A suitcase is lying a few feet away from him, opened and spilling with cash.
Okay. Money. I can focus on that.
Blood splatters across some of the bills, and it just brings me right back to him. Bernard. Sweet, sweet Bernard, dead at my feet.
I drop my purse and press my back against the door and try to process whatever the fuck is in front of me. I should check on him, right? What if he isn’t dead—but with this much blood and the gaping slit in his throat, it’s doubtful.
