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It was almost 9 by the time I got the call, and I drove back to the restaurant. Oliver was waiting for me, and I could tell by the look on his face he was already drunk - tipsy at least. He was laughing with another man. Logan. In the world Oliver inhabited, a real friend was hard to find, but he had that in Logan Graves - no matter how irritating I found him.
The two of them piled into the backseat, and Logan wrapped his arm around Oliver’s shoulders as soon as they settled in, leaning in far too close.
“Mirror House,” Oliver ordered.
I just nodded and started driving. Mirror House had become a hot spot as of late, and the two of them had spent the last few weekends there. It was still too early for the club to have come alive, but it had an entire bar section where Manhattan’s rich and famous mingled until the later hours.
We arrived close to 10, and there was already a line snaking around the outside of the building. My passengers left without a goodbye and were let in without having to wait.
There were a few alleys around the club where I could park, but they would inevitably fill up with people having sex or doing drugs, and I wasn’t willing to risk my paint job.
I found a spot in a garage and settled into my seat. It wasn’t unusual for them to stay out until 2 or 3, and there had been more than one night when dawn had risen before I took him home.
I turned my ringer up as high as it would go and shut my eyes. He would call eventually, and I would go, as always.
***
My grip on the steering wheel was the only thing keeping me focused. We were almost back to Oliver’s apartment, and then I would be free of this.
Logan was nowhere to be found when I picked up Oliver, but that wasn’t surprising. The two often split up, each with his own conquest. Now, Oliver’s was in the backseat, sitting in his lap as she sucked on his neck.
When the privacy screen was rolled up it was supposed to be soundproof and opaque, and it was - for the most part. It didn’t block out the noises from the backseat, just as it didn’t block my view. It was cloudy, but when I flicked my eyes into the rearview mirror, I could see everything.
And Oliver knew it.
I kept my eyes forward, though the streets were mostly empty. I had been his driver for the last five years - and had known him since we were children - but he rarely showed any interest in me. Except for Friday nights.
I pulled up to a red light, and my self-control slipped. My eyes glanced up to the mirror and met his.
Electricity coursed through my veins as our eyes locked. He grinned and whispered something to the girl. I couldn’t hear what he said, but she started grinding against him. Her moans filtered through the screen, but I hardly noticed. All I saw were his eyes and the flush of his skin.
I shouldn’t have looked.
His hands moved across her body, touching, caressing,squeezing. The girl had her lips pressed against his neck, completely enraptured by him; but his eyes were on me.
Always on me.
I knew them like I knew myself. They were green, with a hint of grey. Striking. Confident. Unwavering.
I drove the rest of the way focused on the road ahead, but I could feel him watching me. His gaze was hot, demanding. It never left me.
It wasn’t until the two of them stumbled out of the car that I could breathe again. As soon as the door shut I drove away, desperate to be free of him.
I finally pulled into the garage at my apartment, breathing heavier than I realized. I shut off the engine, but I couldn’t go in yet. I was hard.
Desire ate away at me until I gave in. I unzipped my pants and wrapped my fingers around my length. My eyes closed as I stroked myself, but there was only one face I saw. I imagined Oliver pressed against me, the moans he would make as I took him. How would it feel to have his lips against mine? How would it feel to be inside him?
I had hoped my romp with David would have been enough to keep me satiated for the night, but I had been wrong.
I groaned as I came into one of the napkins from Machiavelli’s. I didn’t want David or any other man.
I wanted Oliver.
Chapter Two
I picked up Oliver at 7:30 A.M. on Monday. No matter how he spent his weekend, or with who, he was always on time.
“Morning,” I greeted him as he slid into the backseat.
