Addicted to You (Addicted #1)(12)

“I know. I’ll be awake for it, but maybe not to help you. That’s all I’m saying.”

My chest heaves. “You’re the one who ruined my night. You didn’t have to come to the club with me and start an argument,” I vent. “Now I’m the one who has to suffer because you didn’t want to drink blue fucking vodka.”

“Fine, go back to the club and be annoyed by that prick all night. I did you a favor, Lily.”

Irrational anger surges through me and I push one of the stools hard. It knocks over and breaks a rung. I crawl back inside myself, instantly feeling bad about hurting a piece of furniture.

“Whoa,” Lo snaps. “Don’t Hulk Smash the apartment.”

His addiction is screwing with my addiction. Alcohol trumps sex is this place, and that kills me. Or at least the part of me that needs a good lay, preferably one that lasts longer than five minutes.

I stare at the broken stool and feel so dumb. I squat and right it up. Mood swings. Lo understands what it’s like to turn into a needy freak, but I still can’t look him in the eyes.

“You’re a big girl, Lil,” he says after a moment of silence. I hear him stir ice into his drink. “If you want to hook up with someone then you should be the one to kick them out. I’m not stopping you from having sex.”

I don’t know why it feels like that or why his words upset me so much. I don’t move until I feel Lo stealing my newly bought phone from my pocket. I frown as he scrolls through my contacts and lands on a number for a male escort service. He dials and presses the receiver to my ear while he sips his drink.

I take the phone from him and mouth, thanks.

He shrugs noncommittally, but the muscles around his shoulders tense. Without another word, he leaves for his bedroom. My nerves settle and the anticipation begins to build.

The line clicks. “Hello, how may we be of service?”





*


The alarm on my phone blares for the third time, an annoying harp melody that I seriously reconsider. I wiggle from my covers, careful not to hit the male body splayed out on the other side. I shouldn’t have let him spend the night, but I lost track of time. Even though these…well, gigolos are on the clock, excitement fills their eyes at the sight of a young client who isn’t middle-aged and obese. So sometimes they prompt the overtime, but this instance, it was my doing.

Will he want to stay for breakfast? I don’t know gigolo protocol that well or what to say or do afterwards. Usually I have Lo bang on my door and tell the guy to beat it. Much easier. The digital clock on my white nightstand glows red. Ten in the morning. I have an hour to primp and shower for lunch at the Villanova mansion.

Quickly, I toss on a T-shirt that stops at my thighs and stare at my roadblock: a well-built, thirty-something male with tattoos sprawling along his torso. His limbs are tangled in my purple sheets, passed out from all the sex. Shouldn’t he be used to it by now? You don’t see me acting like I downed a bottle of sleeping pills.

“Hey,” I say, timid. He barely stirs. Okay, Lily, get it together. If Lo believes I can do this, I surely can. Right?

I take a deep breath, battling the intense blush and nerves that threaten to rise. Please don’t start a conversation with me.

“Hey!” I shake his legs and he lets out a long, bear-like groan. Yes! The gigolo rubs his eyes and props himself on his elbow.

“Whattimeisit?” he slurs.

“Late. I need you to leave.”

He plops back on the mattress with a long whining noise. What was that? Did he just die? “Let me wake up, will you?”

“I have to be somewhere soon. You have to go.”

He squints at me, the light too penetrating for his lethargic eyes. “While you get dressed, I’ll make us some coffee. How’s that?”

“I didn’t pay you to hang around,” I say, finding some confidence. Why is this so difficult? Are my requests that unreasonable?

He shoots me an annoyed look, and I instantly feel like a bitch. I shrink back.

“Noted.” He stands to collect his jeans and button-down. Yes, he’s leaving. But then, he stops and eyes the length of my body. I go rigid. “For someone who was anything but reserved last night, you look incredibly uncomfortable right now.” He waits for me to explain.

I open my mouth and shut it, not sure what to say.

“Was the sex not up to your standards?”

I turn my head. “Can you just leave?”

“You’re embarrassed? I don’t understand…” Of course I’m embarrassed. I called a gigolo out of desperation, because it sounded nice, because I knew it would relieve something in me that ached for it. I wish I could be one of those girls who has the guts to do it because they’re exploring their sexuality, but with me, I needed him to fulfill a desire, one that does nothing but torment me. And he’s reminding me of everything I hate about myself. That I let my downstairs brain control my night. That I can’t be a normal girl and just forget about sex for one second. Just one.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks, sounding concerned now.

“No,” I say quickly. “It was great. I’m just…” lost. “…thank you.”

My words spin his features into sadness. “If I leave, you aren’t going to do anything…” He thinks I’m suicidal?