Page 22 of The Worst Pucking Deal

As I turn, I come face-to-face with none other than my soon to be fake girlfriend, according to Tom. “Get your hands off him,” she seethes, meeting the blonde’s icy stare with one of her own. “Sawyer isn’t yours to touch.”

What the actual fuck? Our fake as fuck relationship doesn’t begin until Monday, so she has no right to stir up unnecessary drama. “Watch yourself,” I growl.

The blonde laughs and tosses her long strands over her bare shoulder. “He isn’t yours, either. So why don’t you scurry along and let the pretty people talk?”

Lucia doesn’t seem fazed at all as she combs her fingers through her deep red hair and plasters herself to my other side. “You’re wrong about that,” she says matter-of-factly. “Sawyer’s mine. So get your filthy paws off him.”

The blonde takes a few steps back, then she thinks better of it and looks at me. “Is that true?”

Fuck Lucia Carter. Fuck Tom Redding. Fuck the fucking deal I already hate. Just… fuck it all. It’s not like I can say no and then publicly claim her as my girlfriend on Monday. Judging by the canary-like smile on Lucia’s plump lips, she’s all too aware of the wall she’s backed me up against. And that shit pisses me off.

Despite wanting to push her away, I throw my arm around Lucia’s shoulder and pull her closer. “Yeah. This is Lucia.” I swallow. “My girlfriend.”

The blonde rears back, looking like I called her a dirty name. “Oh.” That’s all she says. Then she tilts her head to the side. “I guess congratulations are in order.” With those words, she turns on her heel and walks away.

I give her a tight smile and watch her walk off. Now that Lucia’s here, the crowd around me backs off, giving us some space. I place my lips against Lucia’s ear and whisper, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

She shivers, looking up at me through hazy eyes. “I need you to pick me.” She says it like it’s a normal fucking request or response. “I know Tom is the one making the official decision, but I need it to be me.”

I arch an eyebrow. “What do you mean, it has to be you?” I ask brusquely. As she sways on her heels and narrows her eyes like she’s having a hard time focusing, I realize that she’s beyond fucking drunk, but is she drunk enough to forget Tom already picked her? That makes no sense.

Lucia licks her lips. “I’m not fucking stuttering, Sawyer. We both know Tom’s giving you a fake girlfriend, and I’m saying I need that to be me.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. This chick is batshit crazy. “I’m not discussing it here,” I bark. I turn to look at the table she was sitting at with her friend, but it’s empty now. “Come on.” Still with my arm around her, I drag her out of the pub.

“Where are we going?” she slurs, nearly stumbling for the fifth time.

As much as I want to just take off, I can’t leave her here alone. She’s too drunk for her own good, and I just publicly claimed her. So at the very least, I have to make sure she gets home safely. “Taking you home,” I answer curtly. She doesn’t protest when I help her into the passenger seat in my car, or when I secure the seat belt.

“I like my home,” she breathes. “It’s nice and I don’t want to lose it.”

Slamming the door closed, I walk around and get into the driver’s seat. It can’t take more than a few minutes at most before I have the car started, but Lucia’s fast asleep. I nudge her. “Hey,” I say. “Wake up. I need your address.”

She sits up straighter, looking at me from beneath her long, dark eyelashes. “I live at home.” She frowns, like my question is strange. “That’s where I live.” Her words are so slurred there’s a good chance she said something else, but I’m pretty sure none of her words included an address.

“Oh, yeah?” I ask. “Where is that?”

“Where’s what? Oh, can we get a taco? I like tacos. And cheese. And…” Her head thuds against the window and her snores start up again.

Fuck me. What am I supposed to do with her now? I can’t just fucking leave her here. And I can’t call Tom for her address. With a growl, I pull out of the parking spot and head home. She can sleep it off in one of my guest rooms, and then I can grill her tomorrow.

Carrying a sleeping, drunk woman into my home isn’t something I’ve ever done before, and I’m not happy about doing it now. Especially not when I know the entire building is covered with security cameras. Maybe I should try to get them to erase the footage so it doesn’t look like… who cares? I’m sick of fucking caring.

After getting us inside, I carry Lucia to my guest room and place her so she’s lying on her side. She doesn’t stir once; not when I remove her shoes, or when I throw the cover over her. Maybe a better person would wake her up and offer her a shirt to sleep in. But that’s not me. I don’t care about her comfort.

That’s what I keep telling myself as I leave her and head toward my bedroom and get ready for bed. As I lie down, images of her choking in her sleep spring to mind. With a curse, I get back out of bed and go to join her in the guest room. I’m only wearing my boxer briefs, but it’s all I need because I do care about my comfort.

I groan, winding my fingers into the hair of the puck bunny, swallowing my cock. Her mouth is fucking incredible. “Fuuuck.”

“That’s it,” she mumbles around my length. “Let me make this easy for you.”

Throwing my arm across my eyes, I let her suck me. It feels fucking good. Who did I bring home last night? Wait a second… I went to Jackie’s, where I only had one beer. I didn’t hook up with anyone and definitely didn’t bring anyone home with me… “Lucia!”

Pulling on her hair until her mouth pops off my dick. “Why did you stop me?” she whines.

I reach for the light on the nightstand and switch it on. Lucia’s on all fours between my legs, her head tilted awkwardly to the side due to the way I’m pulling on her hair. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I seethe.

“Showing you how good it’ll be if you pick me,” she purrs. “I won’t deny you anything, Sawyer.”

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