Page 21 of Intoxicated
I still think it’s funny, although nobody else did.
I’m closing the curtains to prepare for a night out enjoying my down time in a restaurant or bar – maybe catch a movie if I’m really frisky – when someone bangs on my door.
“What was that?” my grandma asks on the other end. “You got the cops at your house?”
A bad feeling creeps into my gut. As much as I hate to say it with my grandma on the phone, agoodfeeling creeps into my cock. Because before I peer through the peephole of my front door, I have a pretty good idea I know who it is.
“Sorry, Gram.” I behold the burning visage of a woman known as Cher Lieberman. She’s staring right back at me. Is she doing it on purpose? Because she knows I’m meeting her gaze through my peephole? Ooh. Fiery. I’m definitely into this. “Looks like someone’s come for a social call. I’ll get back to you later about when I can visit.”
“Don’t tell me it’s a girl…” That’s the last thing I hear before I hang up on my own grandmother. I toss my phone onto the chair a few feet away. I don’t wantanydistractions when I open this door.
To my credit, I pretend to be shocked that Cher is on my doorstep. Let alone a Cher who looks angrier than the wasp who crawled through your open window and never figured how to fly back out again. The apple red of her cheeks is a lovely complement to the red swirling in her black skirt. A baggy black blouse is sheer enough for me to catch the outline of her pushup bra. Why, yes, I’m looking right at her rack instead of her eyes of swirling agony. Can I help it? This woman is only more gorgeous with rage radiating from her. She’s playing right into my romance novel fantasies, and I can’t wait to break out the whips and collars to tame the mighty beast.
“My, my.” I coolly lean against my doorframe, my whole body blocking her from entering. “To what do I owe this pleasure? I didn’t think our date was until tomorrow. I would’ve dressed up if I knew you were coming over.”
Ah, she has caught me completely off guard. Fashion wise, that is. You see, I’m currently in my complete element. Fitted T-shirt. Old jeans. A belt buckle that is more country boy than city slicker. My mom thought I was a dire sight with that borrowed trucker hat? She should see me now! Because poor Cher is in for a real treat with my faded, ratty, yet oh-so-comfortable hat I bought the last time I drove through Oklahoma. Hey, those Okies make somenicehats.
It’s the perfect outfit for treating myself to dinner and a movie in a town that doesn’t give a shit about how you dress. (Lots has changed in Portland, but that hasn’t.) Not so much for wowing a woman who likes her men finely dressed and smelling like a sandalwood supermarket.
Hey, at least we’ve established that I bathed today…
“Don’t fucking play dumb with me.” Ooooh, boy. That tone is a new one. Is this the real Cher? Or has she been possessed by a demon? Maybe that fantasy about her prowling through the streets at night isn’t too far off. She’s got the fangs for it. “You fucking piece ofshit.”
Uh. What did I do?
No, seriously. What is with the 180? This woman was ready to help herself to my wallet the other day. Hell, we were practically boning on the wine bar. Now she’s out for my blood? I’m on the verge of death? I’m not entirely sure why I’m speaking in all questions right now?
Oh, fuck, I know why. I’m full of all questions and no answers!
“Is there something we need to clear up?” I ask, feigning innocence. “Hey, if you’ve got a friend who says I screwed her over or something, I honestly don’t…”
There are only two things that can shut me up when I’m enacting damage control. Either she’s kissed me…
Oooooor she’s slapped me.
I reel against the doorframe the moment I feel the impact of her hand on my cheek. The growl of impertinence that erupts from her lily-white throat has me both excited and scared out of my mind. What thefuck,Cher?
Ow! That stings! Did she put some of those claws into it?
“I know who you are, Drew Benton. Or should I say I know about yourcompany,Benton Leveraging?”
Ooooh shit.
Oooohshit.
Look, this is not something I anticipate. Ever. My company may have my name in it, but unless you do someseriousdigging you 1) have no idea it’s actually my company, because Benton could be anybody, let alone inmyfamily, and 2) you’re not going to find out what it’s about unless you have a key to my online kingdom. I function entirely off word of mouth. I don’t go by my real name to most of my marks. I’m as likely to be Harry Potter as I am Ron Jeremy, depending on who you ask. So it’s not like a bunch of my ex-marks are blabbering to each other, as far as I know.
Even if they were, how could Cher find out so quickly? Unless she’s got friends in really high places. Which, if she’s been playing this game long enough… she probably does.
“Who hired you, huh?” she snaps, ready to smack me again. “Was it Jason? Jason Rothchild? I bet it was Jason Rothchild.”
I’m fucked. I’ve been made. All the way down to who the sack of shit who hired me was.
“So, uh…” Think fast, dude. She’s got you by the balls, and it’snotto blow them. Although, she’s pretty enough for me to keep thinking about her crawling on her hands and knees to get to my cock, her body so famished for mine that I’m as hard as the rod always erecting tents in my pants. Seriously, can you imagine this modelesque beauty in her baggy-in-all-the-right-places clothes? Coming for me? Like that?
I caaaaaan. Heaven help us both.
“I think I better explain,” I say.
