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Fuck, I would’ve stroked myself if I’d been watching her in private.
It’s what she wanted. To make me hungry. It’s too bad nothingcan happen between us. Not now. Not ever.
She’s merely a job. And that’s all she’ll ever be. When I’m done, I’ll move on to the next one, and she’ll be long forgotten.
I follow her, speeding down the street as she turns right.
Once she ran off into her car, my anger boiled. But I have to catch up with her. She can’t get away.
If she were in front of me, the things I’d do. My palm itches to mark her round ass and turn it red on my lap.
Would she like it? Would she want my touch between her thighs? Perfect pink pussy. I bet she tastes good.
“Fuck!” I clutch the steering wheel so tight my knuckles turn white.
Honking at the yellow cab before me, I swerve around it, almost crashing into another vehicle.
This little troublemaker likes to start fires, and I’m gonna put them out for her. Or it will cost us both everything.
KAYLA
Somehow, I ended up at a random bar. Mostly college-aged kids, it appears.
I pass a glance at the young twentysomethings laughing with their friends, drinking, having a great time.
That should’ve been me. I should’ve had a life. A future. Now, I’m a twenty-eight-year-old college student. It’s laughable.
My only friend in school is Eriu Quinn, Patrick Quinn’s daughter. Her father is newly married to Michael’s mom, Fernanda, and her older sister is married to one of his brothers.
When I showed interest in going to college, Elsie suggested I apply to the same school Eriu goes to.
I never thought I’d get into an Ivy League school, but Michael made sure I did no matter what. So here I am, studying biology, hoping to become the oncologist I never got to be.
Those fuckers may have taken everything, but they didn’t take my determination. They can pry that out of my cold, dead hands.
“Can I buy you a drink?” a guy with pale blue eyes asks, his teeth bleach white, his black hair combed back like he’s from one of those Gucci ads. He’s gotta be twenty-one.
“I’m okay.”
“Oh, come on.” He pouts. “Just one. I promise I won’t bite.” He leans in. “Unless you want me to.”
His grin spreads, and I instantly roll my eyes internally.
Corny.
“Yeah, sure. One drink. Piña colada.”
He dons a victorious grin as he settles onto a swivel chair beside me. Calling over the bartender, he orders my drink.
A minute later, I’m sipping on it while he takes a shot of his vodka.
“So, what’s your name?” he calls out over the blaring rock music.
“Kayla. You?”
This is normal, right? Just talking to a guy at a bar. I can be normal. I can try at least. What if he’s actually a good guy? What if he’s my future husband and I’m standing in my own way?
“Prince.” He laughs.
