Page 33 of By His Rule

Another message pops up. It’s as if she knows she’s got my attention.

Sasha: I can come to you. I’m already dressed for the occasion.

“Of course you are,” I mutter to myself.

“Home, sir?” Lewis asks, oblivious to my irritation.

I consider my options briefly, but really there is only one answer.

“Yes, please.”

Putting my cell back to sleep, I close my eyes as we make our way through the city.

There would have been a time not so long ago—hell, maybe even as recently as a week or two ago—when I would have jumped at her offer.

Sasha is…a lot. In every single way. But I’ve always focused on the fun side. Sadly, though, that’s also opened me up to her eager, slightly obsessive side.

I’m no stranger to stage-five clingers. My brothers and I have been dealing with them for years. But Sasha is…fuck. I drag my hand down my face. She’s…up there with the worst of them.

I’m sure there were probably signs before I hooked up with her that first time. But they were easy to ignore. She’s a model, and she’s not just beautiful on camera. She’s the kind of woman that every guy would give their left ball for a night with. And, lucky me, that night a few months ago, I was the one she decided to turn her charm on.

It was a great night. The problem came the next morning and the weeks that followed.

While I went into it thinking we were going to have a wild night and then go our separate ways—she’s busy with her career, and hell knows I’m run ragged with mine—that hasn’t been the case. Almost daily, she’s in my messages, trying her hand at another chance.

I’m ashamed to confess to caving a time or two.

What? I’m a red-blooded male with needs. And she’s…a fucking supermodel who can fold herself up like a pretzel. Would I even be considered a real man if I turned that down when it was offered up on a plate?

Fucking hell, Lorelei is right. I am an asshole.

As Lewis closes in on my building, the temptation to reply and accept her offer is strong. So strong that I actually open our message thread and have my thumb poised, but something about her profile photo stops me.

Something doesn’t feel right.

So instead of losing myself inside a more-than-willing woman, I stalk through my apartment alone, strip down, and step into my shower.

But as I stand there with bubbles sluicing down my body, it isn’t the image of a hot blonde supermodel that lingers in my mind. Instead, it’s vivid memories of a feisty brunette I can’t stop thinking about.

8

LORELEI

Isit on the couch, staring at the same job advertisements that I have for the last week, feeling even more hopeless as the minutes tick by.

“Everything happens for a reason, Lorelei. As one door closes, another opens. You just have to be ready to embrace the challenges.”

That jerk’s smooth voice rings out in my ears as if he’s right in front of me once again. The hairs on my arms rise and a shiver rips down my body.

He has no right to be inside my head, even if it is with annoyingly good advice.

Although, it’s not that good, because I don’t see any doors opening for me right now. Unfortunately, all of them seem firmly fucking closed.

A waitressing job at a local restaurant stares back at me. It’s only a couple of blocks away. I could walk. I might even save a bit of cash on meals if my experience of working in the food industry is anything to go by. It might go a little way toward helping with the significant pay cut.

I’m good with people…sometimes.

I wince as I think about someone complaining about their perfectly good meal.

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