Page 93 of Bleed

“What kind of addendum?” I ask tentatively, my mind instantly flashing back to last night.

Did I fuck things up somehow? Because I’m pretty sure Elliott was a hundred percent on board with what was happening while he was fucking my throat and making me come until I blacked out.

“Please take some time to review it,” Fran replies curtly. “If you have any questions, I’d be happy to discuss them with you.”

“Sure thing,” I mumble, my thoughts churning a mile a minute.

“Excellent. Talk soon.”

She hangs up, and I immediately open the Bite app, navigating to the secure message portal with trembling fingers.

Just like she said, there’s a new message waiting for me. I tap it open, my heart stuttering a beat when it loads and I see the title of the document in bold lettering at the top of the page.

Secondary Services Addendum

I recognize the wording immediately. ‘Secondary services’ is Bite’s polished, corporate way of saying sexual intimacy. Which means…

My pulse hammers harder as I scroll down the page, eager eyes skimming over the words.

Part of me can’t help but be excited, because receiving this addendum means that more hookups with Elliott are officially on the table. Last night wasn’t an accident, it wasn’t a one-time anomaly. It’s something we’re both expected to discuss and agree to moving forward.

My stomach does an embarrassing little flip. Then, almost immediately, another feeling muscles its way in. That maybe I should find this offensive, because it’s a formal contract; legal paperwork with terms and conditions.

Just a few minutes ago, I was standing here wondering whether the blanket, the breakfast, and the bath products meant Elliott cared about me. Now, Bite’s reminding me that every part of this arrangement– even sexual contact– is something to negotiate, document, and sign.

The excitement doesn’t disappear. It just gets tangled up with everything else until my brain becomes a war zone of conflicting emotions.

The addendum goes on for pages, buried beneath enough legal jargon to make my eyes glaze over before finally getting to the sections that actually matter. Soft limits. Hard limits. Kinks. Safe words. Communication protocols. It’s… a lot.

I don’t even know where to begin processing all of it.

So naturally, I do the only logical thing.

I close the Bite app, scroll to my contacts, and call for backup.

“Well?” I ask, arching a brow expectantly as Taylor pauses midway through scrolling the contract on my phone to take a long sip of her margarita.

We’re posted up at our usual high-top booth in the back corner of Cabo Cantina, the city’s most underrated dive. The tables are permanently sticky, the booths have duct tape holding the vinyl together in places, and the décor is so tacky it almost circles back around to tasteful. It’s been our favorite spot for years, mostly because the margaritas are strong, delicious, and dangerously cheap.

We’re already on our third round, and the tequila has finally started loosening the knot that’s been sitting in my chest all day.

Taylor swirls the ice around in her glass, watching me over the rim with an expression that’s been steadily growing more smug the longer I’ve talked. I filled her in on everything– the disaster with Albert, Elliott losing his mind and going all scary possessive, last night’s kinda-sorta-threesome with his ex, and finally, the Secondary Services Addendum currently open on my phone. She’s been skimming the contract for the last five minutes, and instead of launching into the lecture I’ve been expecting about being more careful, less reckless, blah blah blah… she’s just smiling.

No, not smiling. Smirking.

“What?” I ask impatiently.

“Oh, nothing,” she sing-songs in a tone that absolutely implies otherwise.

I narrow my eyes. “You’re obviously judging me hard right now, so just spit it out.”

“Not judging, I’m just…” She laughs into her drink, taking another small sip before continuing. “Honestly, I’m kinda loving this for you. No offense, but every guy you’ve dated has been some flavor of emotionally stunted asshole.”

I roll my eyes, though she’s not wrong. “Your point being?”

She laughs again, flipping her glossy brown hair over a shoulder. “My point is, I never would’ve pictured you with the stable, scholarly type. It’s a refreshing change of pace.”

I scrunch my nose, shaking my head. “I’m not with him, Tay.”