Page 18 of Total Abandon

“Black Sambuca is life,” she asserts, pressing a sticky glass into my hand.

“Who says I’m even going to be engaged?” I sniff tentatively and wrinkle my nose as I’m instantly transported back to that night—Jimmy Wakeman’s sweaty hands groping at the hem of my skirt as his glasses slid down his nose and hit mine while we kissed. Yeesh. Can’t believe I was ever into that kid.

“Oh honey, you’re up shit’s creek without a paddle and McSteamy just offered you a life raft—you’re taking the deal.” She giggles, throwing back her shot and smacking her lips in appreciation.

Plugging my nose, I shoot my own. It threatens to come straight back up again and I have to take a few steadying breaths as the burn subsides. “How dare you blight the good name of Mark Sloane with the likes of Zeke Guarra,” I rasp. “He’s less McSteamy and more McConfusing…McQuarrelsome!” I brandish my finger to the sky with a flourish as I cackle at my own joke.

“He’s McHot and you’re a fool to think anything otherwise. Even Grandma said she would bang him.” Tilly grins and I groan, sinking my head to the cool bar. “Text him and tell him,” she demands, hooking my purse off the back of my chair and beginning to rifle through it. Tampons, lipsticks, a pack of tissues, and my keys all clatter onto the bar without ceremony. “Werther's Originals, really?” She brandishes a wrapped sweet in my face. “What are you, an eighty-year-old man?”

“They’re sugar free, and I like them,” I grumble, watching her dump more stuff out. “I wonder where Jimmy Wakeman is these days.” I sigh, blowing a strand of hair out of my face.

“Jesus fucking Christ, woman. Don’t you ever clear out your purse? It’s like a fucking ticker-tape para— Why the fuck do you have a potato in here?” She stares at the large potato in her hand with a frown.

I frown too, lifting my head from the bar, wincing as I audibly hear my skin peel away from the sticky surface. “Huh, I don’t know. Maybe I meant to zap it in the microwave at work for lunch one day.” She’s looking at me like I’ve lost my mind. “What! A little sour cream, a little cheese, it’s an elite meal.”

“Dude, it's been in here so long it’s sprouted,” she deadpans.

“My phone is in my pocket, by the way.” I dig into the back of my jeans and pull it out. “What am I saying?” I hesitate as I click on the right chat.

“That you accept.” Tilly shrugs as she starts to fling items haphazardly back into my purse, potato included.

I stare at the screen, and the blinking cursor awaits my instruction. “If I’m going to do this”—oh god, am I really going to do this—“then I need to take control and lay out some ground rules.” Tilly nods as I type.

Chapter 10

Chloe:Will you fire me if I punch Smith in the face?

Zeke:Yes.

Chloe:What if I make it look like an accident?

Zeke:How do you plan on doing that?

Chloe:I don’t know…say there was a wasp on his nose?

Zeke:Still yes.

Chloe:So what I’m hearing is, you won’t fire me if I can think of a good enough cover?

Zeke:Also yes.

ZEKE

I grimace as I stare at my phone, my elbows braced on my bare legs. Perspiration slides down my neck as I try to catch my breath.

“Did you finish?” The breathy voice from behind me does nothing but grate.

After an hour of itching for a release of some kind, and the weights in my gym offering no such relief, I called Lucinda, against my better judgement. Having met at a charity function three months ago, I’ve seen her a couple of times. She knows the score. I get sex and she gets me for a couple of hours. She’s one of a handful I keep around. All of whom I’m brutally honest with before we sleep together about what I can and can’t offer. If they’re not on board with that, then there are no hard feelings—but I’m out. Chloe wasn’t wrong about me sleeping around, just that I’m more selective with where I put my dick than she might think.

Speaking of… I tear my eyes away from Chloe’s message and eye my wilted dick. The condom is woefully empty and so am I, apparently, because I’ve never not finished. Talk about going through the motions. The only thing that got me hard in the first place was the thought of pillowy pink lips and a flash of red hair.

“I’ve got to go.” My voice is steely as I discard the condom in the bin and stand to start throwing on clothes as quickly as possible.

“Won’t you stay, baby?” she whines, leaning back onto the pillow and arching her back in what I’m sure she thinks is an inviting manner. And five weeks ago, it might have been. Objectively, Lucinda is a knockout. The daughter of an oil tycoon, she’s all polished brunette hair and big, surgically enhanced tits. Which is how we ended up in bed the first time. But now? Dead between the legs.

No. My sex life has been distinctly lacking since Miss Devlin charged into my life and upended it. Best I get these days is fucking my fist in the shower with the thought of her raspy voice in my ears and the feel of her silky skin under my fingertips. Embarrassing, considering I’ve barely laid hands on her.

“Can’t, have something important to do.” I offer her a smile I hope is apologetic as I scoop up my car keys, flipping them around one finger before they land in my palm.