The Do-Over (The Miles High Club #4)(14)

What is her name?

“Cab?” I ask.

“No, I live just around the corner.”

“Okay.” We continue walking hand in hand.

“You know, the moment I saw you tonight, I knew I had to have you,” she purrs.

I smile at her delusion. “Really?” I play along.

We turn the corner into a street. It’s cobblestone and dark. Uneasiness falls over me. This is fucking sketchy.

Stop it.

I stay silent as she chatters on and on. Not that I’m complaining; her accent is fucking luscious. We arrive at a door, and she unlocks it while I feel her up from behind. I pull her hair to the side of her neck and lick her there. I bite her earlobe and feel the goose bumps scatter up her neck.

My cock throbs in my pants, and I feel a little more like myself.

The door opens, revealing a winding timber staircase, and I peer up.

Huh?

“This way,” she purrs as she begins to take the stairs. I run my hand over her behind as she walks in front of me, and then I slide her dress up over her ass so I can get a full view.

The muscles contract as she takes each step. We fall to the top floor, and our lips lock.

We kiss. Her eyes are closed, and mine flutter open as I try to focus in the room lit only by a lamp.

What in the world?

There are weird pictures all over the walls, a million things hanging from the roof. Baskets and fake animal heads.

Wait . . . are they real?

I pull out of the kiss and step back as my eyes wander all over the apartment. I put my wallet down on the table by the door as I try to get my bearings.

The walls are black. There are flags and animal skeletons, skateboards, surfboards, a wall that’s covered in graffiti. A huge bong pipe thing sits front and center on the coffee table.

Dear god.

Alarm bells begin to ring in the distance.

There’s purple shag pile carpet and in the corner a freaky-looking giant rocking horse that stands taller than me.

I swallow the lump in my throat . . . as I look around.

It’s so cramped in here; there’s enough furniture to furnish ten apartments. What is this godforsaken place?

I’ve stepped into the house of horrors.

“You like my house?” She smiles.

“Yes,” I lie.

Focus.

Just get to the business, I tell myself. It doesn’t matter what her house is like.

Fucking focus.

Right . . . I bend and lift her dress over her head in one fell swoop, and as she lifts her arms up, I’m greeted with patches of thick black hair under her arms. Long and stringy, sticking to her arms with perspiration.

What?

I look down, and her pubic hair is hanging out of her G-string. It’s growing halfway to her knees.

No . . .

I begin to sweat . . . what the actual fuck is that?

“I’ve got a surprise for you.” She giggles.

“I’m already surprised,” I mutter, distracted.

She pulls her panties down. The hair is thick, black, and long . . . I open my mouth to say something, but no words will come out.

Abort mission.

Abort fucking mission.

She pulls me into the bedroom. A mattress is on the floor, and she lies down and spreads her legs.

My eyes widen in horror as my dick instantly shrivels. “Do you have a bathroom?” I splutter.

She sucks her finger and then slowly slides it through the lips of her sex. “Come here,” she purrs.

This should be so hot right now . . . my dick is like jelly?

Focus.

“Bathroom?” I squeak.

“Up the stairs to the left.”

I take the stairs two at a time and rush into the bathroom and lock the door. I stare at my reflection in the mirror. What the fuck is happening right now?

I splash water on my face. Get ahold of yourself, man.

You can do this!

I open the vanity cupboard behind the mirror and peer in. There’s a heap of tubes of cream. I pick one up and read the label.

LAMISIL.

I go through all the tubes. They are all the same. My eyes widen. Oh no. What the fuck is this?

Does she have something?

I frantically take out my phone and type into Google.

What is Lamisil used for?

It’s taking forever . . . come on.

I hit refresh.

“Come the fuck on,” I whisper.

Bad reception.

What’s this fucking shit used for?

I dial Elliot’s number.

“Hey,” he answers happily. “Miss me already?”

“Help me,” I whisper in a panic. “I have an emergency.”

“What’s wrong?” he stammers.

“I’m at this chick’s house and I took her pants off and it’s gorillas in the mist down there and her house is Rocky Horror Picture Show and now I found fifty tubes of Lamisil in her bathroom cabinet,” I blurt out in a rush.

“Gorillas in the mist?” he repeats. “What do you mean?”

“Fucking full bush, man. You’ve never seen pubic hair like this. I need a fucking machete to chop my way in.”

“Fucking hell.” He gasps.

“Search Lamisil. I have bad internet.”

“Okay.”

I wait on. My heart is hammering hard in my chest.