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I gave her another deep kiss, resisted the urge to do more, and then walked out of the hotel room. Her laughter followed me all the way to the door and out into the hall.
13
Heather
This guy.
This fucking guy.
He thought he was so clever. Throwing on his clothes and walking away. Usually, I was the one who got the last word. But he had given me one final kiss and then left me sitting there on the bed, gawking after him.
I didn’t really mind. Not after the fun we’d had. I fell back on the soft sheets and sighed happily, clutching the pillow to my chest and inhaling the remnants of Rogan’s scent.
My sex life was fine. Just fine. Los Angeles was filled with gorgeous guys, maybe more than any other city on the planet. But here’s the thing about guys who were sexy andknewthey were sexy: they were usually bad in bed. They had skated through life on their good looks and ostensible charm, never having to actually work for the women they took home. I’d been with enough ofthoseguys to know how boring it could be. You’d get more excitement grinding against a cardboard cutout of Ryan Gosling.
But Rogan? Oh boy, Rogan wasnothinglike that. He was sexy to be sure, every bit as gorgeous as some of the actors and model guys I’d been with. But his charm was real. His intensity was palpable. The way he held me down on the bed, licking up the chocolate and then fucking me like he wanted to break his cock off inside me…
I shivered from the memory, still fresh and real in my head.
The only downside of our act was that I still had the sticky remnants of chocolate sauce on my skin. Rogan’s tongue was good, but it was no substitute for a shower. I took a quick one just to get myself clean, then got back into bed.
“Damnit, now I don’t smell like him anymore,” I said out loud. I hugged the pillow closer and breathed deeply, like a pothead trying to get one final drag off a joint.
As I drifted off to sleep, I realized I now had a bunch of reasons to take the nannying job. First there was the money. To put it bluntly: more money was better than less money. And the amount of money they were offering me looked like a typo on the contract. Yeah, that’s how much it was. I would do filthy, depraved things forthatkind of money. Nannying was easy by comparison.
The second reason, obviously, was to help my career. Rogan’s company rubbed elbows with some big Hollywood names. In a lot of industries, it was all aboutwhoyou knew, and Hollywood was definitely that kind of industry. There were plenty of young, talented actors in this town: the ones who got ahead usually had an in.
Oh, and helping Maurice’s career. It would be rude not to give him a ticket on this bullet train to stardom.
But now I had a third reason, more primal than the others: Rogan. Specifically Rogan’s big cock and the chiseled, muscular body attached to it. Maybe it was the sex endorphins talking, but I was more excited about seeing him again than I was about the other benefits.
Okay, maybe not as much as the money. But Rogan was a close second.
I slept like a baby in my big hotel bed. It helped that I didn’t have a roommate snoring five feet from me. I ordered breakfast from room service, but the guy who brought it wasn’t Timmy. It was a grumpy middle-aged guy. I still gave him a big tip. I knew how much the service industry sucked.
At least, Iusedto know. I had traded in my server job for a cushy nanny position!
I needed a change of clothes, so I took an Uber back to my apartment. It made me feel like Cinderella leaving the ball and returning home to the servant quarters. I climbed the stairs to our third floor apartment and wrinkled my nose. Had our building always smelled like this?
“One night of luxury and I’m too bougie for my own home,” I muttered.
Maurice was snoring softly as I slipped into the studio apartment. There was a larger shape under the covers spooning him. I smiled. The datehadgone well.
I grabbed a change of clothes, went into the bathroom to get dressed, and then quietly put away my old clothes. When I softly closed the dresser drawer, Maurice bolted upright in bed.
“What, who is—oh. It’s just you.” Next to Maurice, his date rolled over.
“You can sleep through the chainsaw snoring noises you make,” I said, “but a drawer closing wakes you up instantly?”
Maurice rubbed an eye with his fist. “The manager is pissed at you for not showing up for your shift last night. What happened?”
“He can suck it. I’m quitting. But not until I’ve dragged him along for a few more no-shows. He deserves it after screwing around with my hours for the past month.”
Maurice’s jaw hung open. “You’re quitting? To do what?”
“I’m going to be a nanny.”
“Excuse me? Did they reboot that Fran Drescher show and not tell me?”
