Page 6 of Conflict
Knox’s heavy sigh fills my ear. “He’s drinking—heavily,” he says, surprising me.
Since before we even turned twenty-one, Branson’s never been more than a casual drinker. He’s a control freak, unwilling to give up a clear mind in exchange for a good time.
“I don’t think he’s sad about the divorce. I just think he’s…exhausted. Drained. And for the first time in my life, I’m getting a glimpse of the future I’m so glad I escaped.”
“Well, I guess you can now say your big bro took a bullet for you,” I tell him.
He chuckles. “In the form of Megan Caldwell, he absolutely did. Not that it makes me feel any better about the situation. I’m trying, man, but after he tried to hit on my girl, it’s hard not to want to punch him in the face every time I see him. If it weren’t for the fact that she had him in an armbar, I probably would have.”
“Yeah, pretty sure Cohen’s going to be telling that story for years,” I say. Then I switch gears. “I’ll keep trying him, and if I don’t get in touch, I’ll be up there by the end of the week. Maybe I can talk some sense into him. Or maybe we’ll just throw him in the ring with Charlie and let her knock him around a couple of times.”
“I know you’re not supposed to beat a guy when he’s already down, but I’d pay money to see that. Let me know when you’re on your way up. It’ll be good to see ya.”
I promise to do so, and we make our goodbyes. One more time, I try Branson, and once again, I get his voicemail.
I’m exhausted from a long day’s work and right now, all I want are a beer, a shower to wash the sweat of the day off, and a warm bed. I settle for the beer and the hot tub, two sweet primers for when I fall into my bed later on. Spending my days working at the resort and my nights crunching numbers leaves me exhausted. It’s hard work, though rewarding, and there’s nothing like slipping into a Jacuzzi with an ice-cold brew.
My solitude, however, is quickly interrupted, and oh, what an interruption it is.
The girl is gorgeous. Simply put, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a more beautiful woman. I take that back. On closer look, I see she’s the woman I’d spotted at the check-in desk earlier, and as she approaches, I can’t take my eyes off her. Long, dark hair hangs in a loose knot at the nape of her slender neck, and her eyes are nearly as dark as her hair. When she removes her clothes, I see a tight, little body with tits just big enough to be called a handful. I rake my eyes over her as she sinks into the water until only a hint of those breasts is above the water. I’m staring, I know it, and I can’t fucking help it.
I want to fuck her even though I know I shouldn’t. There’s a devil on one shoulder, telling me that, since I don’t always work here, fucking a guest is just fine. The angel on my other shoulder is a hell of a lot quieter, insisting that shitting where you eat is a terrible fucking idea.
The devil—and my cock—wins the argument. Instead of leaving, I stay, unable to take my eyes off her. When I finally get her attention, we make small talk, and I hope to charm the bikini bottoms right off her.
And by the interest I see in her eyes, I’m pretty sure it’s not going to be such a difficult feat.
