Page 126 of Mexico Can Choke On It
The room goes dead silent except for the distant trickle of water over stones and my own thundering heartbeat.
She pulls the towel off my body. A whipof air. Then—
CRACK!
White-hot shock detonates across my left butt cheek.
“Fuck!” I shoot off the massage table from the painful towel snap. One hand clutching the surface, the other protecting my balls.
She’s already halfway to the door, her spa slippers slapping against polished stone as she unleashes a stream of pure Petra fury.
“Rich pervert! Dickweasel! Pig!”
“Pip—stop. Please!” I secure the towel around my waist.
She goes statue-still, then pivots slowly, her hazel-green eyes igniting with the force of a controlled explosion.
“You knew?”
“Yes. From the moment you said ‘wery important glutes. No real Russian says ‘wery.’”
For the first time since she started this ridiculous performance, I can see her face. And damn, it hits me. I’ve always been drawn to her bad-girl aesthetic—that bold red lipstick, sharp eyeliner, and clothes that saydon’t mess with me. But this unguarded, natural version? It’s a new kind of allure.
Her lips are bare and pink. Her cheeks are flushed. Her lashes accentuate eyes that are more vulnerable without the war paint. No act. No armor. Just her.
Two sides of the same remarkable woman, and this one is even more captivating.
I don’t stand a chance.
“You are… astonishingly gorgeous,” I manage to say.
Something flickers across her features—surprise, possibly pleasure—before she catches herself and lifts a hand to her face, suddenly aware of her natural state. The vulnerability vanishes, replaced by rage.
“You don’t get to play with me like some fuck toy then ghost me,” she snaps.
“You’re absolutely right.”
“Great. Glad we agree. Have a nice life, Moneybags.”
She spins toward the door, and every trained instinct screams at me to let her go. She is chaos; I am the epitome of order. She acts on impulse; I act on careful consideration.
We do not make sense.
“I can’t comprehend what’s happening to me,” I say, feeling as though I’m stepping off a ledge. “I’ve never… I’m not usually…Christ!”I drag a hand through my hair. “You’ve completely unsettled me, turned me into someone I hardly recognize, and I’m terrified.”
I edge closer. She’s facing away, but she’s listening.
“I tried to treat last night as though it meant nothing. I convinced myself that I could neatly file it away and move on. But it’s impossible. You’re in my mind, Pip. Under my skin. And I am unsure what to do about that.”
I reach out, gently guiding her to meet my gaze. The anguish in her eyes is my undoing—my silence and cowardice are to blame.
“Tell me how to fix this,” I murmur. “Whatever it takes. Just don’t leave.”
“No fixing needed.” She shrugs coolly. “We had one incredible night. Now it’s finished. That’s how flings work.”
“Give me these next three days,” I say. “I want to wake up with you and pretend that our lives fit together. I want to be selfish and reckless until reality separates us.”
I touch the sleeve of her robe, fingers trailing down to brush hers. She sucks in a sharp breath and holds it.
