Page 6 of Catfish

It literally takes everything in me not to chuck it at him.

Instead, being the amazing best friend that I am, I leave it on his nightstand and get out of his room before I get another request.

Sauntering through the spacious living area of the penthouse, I remove my white button-up shirt and toss it on the beige sectional. The sky blue walls give away an ocean vibe, the kitchen is done in all white everything; cabinets, marble countertops, and even the light fixtures that hang over the kitchen island.

The best part of this room is the balcony, leading out to look over the ocean. I haven’t been able to fully enjoy it since Chase was so adamant about hitting up the bar first thing. His job as a lawyer was taking its toll. He’d never admit that he was beyond tired and stressed, so this was what we needed more than anything.

A few days away from everyone.

We never ventured too far from the lobby after arriving. We brought our things up but quickly went back down. Then I spent the rest of the night watching Chase toss pennies into the water fountain, blurt out all his wishes about marrying a woman with huge tits, retiring at forty-five, and looking “baller” at seventy.

While he was making all his dreams come true, I nursed my whiskey and batted off half the female population. Which led to Chase getting on his high horse of wisdom with how beneficial it would be for me to use this allotted time away and fuck someone.

While it’s reassuring and creepy that my best friend is concerned about getting my dick wet, I’m not in the mindset to get off.

The only thing I fuck with is my campaign as of late. I’m fully committed to it. I breathe it in twenty-four seven and think about it all the time.

Opening the sliding glass door to the terrance, I walk out, soaking in the moonlight reflecting off the, now, dark blue water of the ocean. A warm breeze brushes off my naked chest and arms, as well as the palm trees below, while I lean over the metal railing.

I could live here if I wasn’t so determined to do other things with my life. I’ve thought about it, especially when my assistant, Emmy Lou, keeps placing brochures on my desk every so often with a brief speech about life being too short. She even bought me a coffee mug with the saying on it, which I graciously dropped in the trash bin at her desk.

I am wasting the best years of my life in a deceitful world when I could be living a happy, full life. I’m not in denial. Maybe if my life wasn’t mapped out and shoved down my throat at such a young age, I’d possibly feel different.

Perhaps, I’d just drop everything and take a few unplanned chances.

Thing is, as it stands right now, I won’t.

I feel as though I owe it to myself to see my career make it to the end game. That as politicians, we really are servants of the people, and I’ve already given up many years of my life to serve their purpose.

It’s through my dream that I work with the shadiest and corrupt men and women known to man. That if their secrets leaked out, it would not only fuck me over with my ambitions but their votes and support that I need to further myself.

I’m not losing that.

A slight vibration buzzes through my shorts, and I forget that I’m still holding Chase’s crap in my back pocket.

Keeping my focus on the horizon, I yank it out to turn it off when the screen lights up again with a notification from Bumblebee. Underneath the notification reads “new messages from Reagan.”

What the fuck is Bumblebee?

And Reagan…

My brows descend, is he dating someone?

By the way he was eye-fucking half the staff and visitors tonight, I’m going to say no, but I guess it’d make sense since he never has time to go out. We both have Mexican carry-out on speed dial, and Uber Eats at the ready. I’m just surprised I don’t know about it.

Curious, I click on it, and it opens up an app with the header declaring not to “buzz around the next love of your life.”

I scoff, glancing down at numerous messages from girls he’s already had from the last week. It’s not surprising, Chase is the all-American, blue-eyed boy who has women flock to him like flies to shit.

Hell, I spent half the night shooing several away and slapping him on the back of the head to remind him that he’s not bringing a woman up to our suite so I can hear them fucking all night.

So, this app is a little odd to me. I didn’t think he had time to be dating, let alone be bored.

Since I’ve already breached my best friend’s personal shit, nor do we really give a fuck about each others’ personal shit, I click on Reagan’s message.

Reagan: Hey, yourself.

Above it is Chase’s message of “hey beautiful.”

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