Page 25 of Wicked Player
Chapter Nine
We go on with the usual routine, meatloaf and scalloped potatoes, no dessert. A bath, some perusing of Christian’s favorite book,Ripley’s Believe it or Not, and a bedtime story. And of course, a kiss and a hug goodnight.
But all the while, I’m thinking about Colton. I can’t help it. I hate to say it, but that night was incredible. I'm not talking about the great food and drinks, the laughs and the new friendships. I’m talking about the night in the white room, the special time I spent with him. I bet he makes a lucky woman feel like this every time he throws one of these parties. The chosen one.
He made me feel special. I need to stop thinking about it right now. I check my email before bed, and yes! I can't believe my eyes. I have received a deposit of eleven thousand dollars in my PayPal account. I want to thank him again. This is unbelievable. He has no idea how much this means.
I did nothing to earn this. I really didn’t. I fell asleep in his arms. Ten grand for falling asleep in a beautiful man's arms… that is the gig of the century. I definitely wouldn’t mind doing that again. But no. Absolutely not. It was a one-time thing. It’s over, and now I need to stop thinking about him. The man is nothing but bad news. I must remember that.
* * *
I’m back at work on Tuesday, not quite thinking straight, my mind still fuzzy with thoughts of Colton Rossi and the party.
I text Cassie.
Damn, you. I can't stop thinking about him.
She replies right back.
Yes, he has that effect on women. Or that is what I hear anyway. Btw, you still have to tell me all about it.
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I will. Tonight?
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Cannot… remember… my date?
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Oh crap.
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Stupid date. Probably not even worth it. I would rather be with you.
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Good to know. Rain check? Wednesday night?
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Yes!!!
* * *
It’s Wednesday night, and the chosen film isPretty in Pink, a movie we've seen a thousand times already. We won't really be watching it. It will just play in the background in the unlikely event that we don't have anything to say to each other. That never happens.
As soon as we’re settled on my sofa, drinks in hand, Cassie tells me she wants to know everything… every single detail.
I describe every woman there, every item of food, and every single inch I observed of the beautiful mansion. I tell her all about the contemporary decor; shades of blue light and grey, chrome accents and pops of color on the walls, and the extensive collection of string instruments.
I don’t forget to mention the cats. I forget their names now. The Three Musketeers. She watches me intently with wide eyes the whole time. She’s inhaling my every word.
“It certainly was a fun night,” I tell her in closing.
“I wanna do it too,” she shrieks. “I'm doing it. I'm applying.”
