Page 6 of The Pact

I’m not one to put much effort into the men I meet on nights like this.

“Mind if I sit?”

I motion to the seat in approval. Grabbing my drink, I guide the thin cocktail straw into my mouth and take a long pull. My eyes flick from the brown liquid to meet his gaze. I know exactly what he’s imagining—my lips on his cock. That’s always what they picture when I do this. I can tell in the way their eyes widen a little and their pupils dilate.

Pulling away from my near empty glass, I give him an innocent smile and hold out my hand. “Noelle. What’s your name?”

He takes it in both of his. “Liam.” He doesn’t let go right away, so I turn his hand over in mine.

“You have nice hands,” I comment. Something about that compliment always catches them off guard.

I pull out of his grip. “You have nice…” I watch as he looks at my cleavage for half a second. “Smile. A nice smile,” he finishes, not so subtly.

Liam flags the bartender down and orders us more drinks. This one I’ll nurse, while ordering him a few more. He’s not sloppy yet, and that’s where I need him to be. In the meantime, I’ll soak up all the attention he wants to give me.

Over the next hour, Liam gets tipsier. His guard comes down while he touches on my thigh and waist. It makes heat build between my legs. I even entertain the thought of letting him fuck me. My body is so hungry for a man to make me come it clouds my judgment momentarily.

Three drinks in, I need to make my exit. I lean in and kiss him, letting my tongue slip into his mouth. Little does he know, this is the closest he’ll get to being inside of me. “I’m going to the restroom,” I whisper into his ear, letting him squeeze my ass before I step away.

I really need to pee and thankfully there isn’t a line. Stepping inside, my fingers go to turn the lock, but someone’s pushing against the door. “Occupied,” I call out and shove my shoulder into it.

The person doesn’t listen—they ram into it forcefully and I’m stumbling backwards as the door opens.

Standing in the doorway is Liam’s large frame.

“Is jus me,” he slurs.

Jesus, did he think I wanted him to meet me in here? My heart races as he closes and locks the door behind him. Fuck. There’s no other exit, not even a window. I try to calm myself before speaking. I don’t want him to know that I’m terrified and I don’t want to anger him.

“Baby, I just need to pee and then I’ll be back out,” I giggle as if I’m as drunk as him.

Liam ignores what I’ve said and advances on me. I’m so fucking stupid. I should have just left. My hands push out to keep him at a distance, but he’s a good foot taller than me and much wider. I don’t have a chance against him.

He stumbles forward, his balance barely hanging on. His whole body slumps against me, pushing me into the corner of the bathroom. Liam’s hands lazily grab at my dress, trying to pull it upwards. What does this jackass think he’s going to do? He probably can’t even get his dick up when he’s this wasted.

The taste of liquor invades my mouth as he forces his lips on mine. Using all of my strength, I shove him in the chest. As he backs up, his legs buckle when he hits the toilet. His ass lands on it perfectly, while his head flies back, smacking into the concrete wall.

I don’t wait to see if he’s okay. I run to the door, unlocking it and swinging it open. My legs don’t stop running until I reach my car and I’m safely inside.

Speeding away from the bar, I make a mental note to cross this place off my list for next time.

3

THEA

I aimlessly flip through the movie options. The same titles I’ve seen a hundred times slide across the screen. Resigned to not being satisfied with the current selection, I turn the TV off and grab my laptop.

My calendar comes to the front of the screen and I look over my bookings. Only three green lines, only three clients this week. I sigh and rub my temples, trying to think of a way to bring in more business.

Three thousand dollars a month. That’s how much Cassie wants each of us to put away. There’s a pit in my stomach with each passing day, knowing I’m going to disappoint her. If I fail at this, I’ll have to go back home to my parents. The possibility makes me sick. Failure isn’t an option.

Determined to put those thoughts out of my mind, I work on Cassie’s list. Clicking open the email, I see she’s replicated the notepad items line by line, this time with little hollow bubbles to check off as they’re done.

Half an hour later and I’ve ordered everything needed—organizers, accessories, pens, and copy paper. I feel productive for all of about five minutes before I realize that was probably the easiest part.

My client won’t be showing up for a few hours—it’s too early to go to the studio. Clean, nap, flip through the movies again, eat. None of it sounds appealing, although I decide on lunch, then cleaning.

As tiny as my apartment is, I still seem to leave a trail of clutter everywhere I go. There’s a sweater thrown over the back of a dining room chair. A basket of clean laundry is next to my bed. My camera and satchel are on the kitchen counter.

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