Page 37 of Pucking Billionaire

No reply.

“Sophia, are you okay?” I loudly demand.

“I’m peachy,” she shouts over the sounds of running water. “The mattress just slipped.”

Yeah, right. She must still be drunk.

I wait for her to finish, pacing the hallway as I do.

As I approach the bookshelf, one of the trophies I have displayed at the top tumbles toward my head.

Thanks to my hockey-honed reflexes, I catch the thing and glare up.

As expected, it’s the cat.

“That’s not funny,” I growl.

He looks like he disagrees. I sigh. No matter how many times I chastise him for such pranks, he still seems to think that pushing shit onto my head is fun. And so is dropping insects he kills into my food.

Spike’s retort is a look that seems to say, “I could’ve woken you up in the middle of the night again, but I was merciful.”

Then again, maybe he did try to wake me. I was so drunk I wouldn’t have noticed.

“Do that again, and there will be no salmon for a month,” I threaten, putting on my best poker face to make sure he can’t tell that I’m bluffing. Not giving him salmon is like not letting me on the ice—a form of cruel and unusual punishment that I obviously would only do for a day or two.

Spike swishes his tail, leaps down from the bookshelf, and rubs against my leg.

Yeah. That’s better. Too bad the threat only works for a very short while.

Done sucking up, Spike walks over to one corner of the room, where he takes great pleasure in shredding a lacy piece of fabric with his claws.

Wait a fucking second. “Bad cat,” I say to him sternly. “Those were Sophia’s panties.”

Speaking of Sophia, the water in the bathroom has stopped. I sprint back and wait for her to open the door—which feels like it takes another ten hours.

Finally, the door swings open, letting out a bunch of steam. Ignoring it, I scan Sophia for signs of injury. I find none, thankfully. To my disappointment, she’s completely dressed. And to my envy, she doesn’t look nearly as hungover as I feel.

“Are you stalking me by the bathroom now?” she asks curtly.

“What?” My headache intensifies as though the trophy did smash into my head.

“Forget it.” She takes in a deep breath, and her breasts bob up and down, making my cock stir. “I’d better go.”

“Wait.” I gesture in the direction of the fallen mattress. “Are you positive that you’re okay?”

Also, I recall she’s not wearing any panties, and the stirring in my cock turns into a monster hard-on.

She narrows her eyes. “Of course, I’m not okay. I never should’ve slept with you, that’s for starters. I also shouldn’t have let you convince me to drink all that tequila.”

I stagger back. “I convinced you?”

“Whatever.” She passes by me so closely I can smell the familiar notes of mango and watermelon. “I’m leaving now. Don’t you dare follow me.”

And before I can so much as offer another rebuttal—or the electrolyte drink—she rushes out of my apartment.

I exchange a confused glance with Spike, whose gaze seems to say, “May I suggest getting yourself neutered? It might make your life a lot easier.”

Chapter 14

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