Page 15 of Interception

Z: You wish.

Me: And yet you’re messaging me.

Z: Only because of your woeful photoshop skills.

Me: I really had to size up Mr. Hankey to cover my junk. I’m blessed in that department. I don’t need to tell you that. You’ve seen the goods up close and personal.

Z: The only thing bigger than your cock is your ego.

Me: You know it, beautiful.

Those pesky dots keep disappearing, but after five minutes of staring at my phone, I force myself to shove it back in my pocket. I’m not letting myself get in knots over this girl. We had some fun, but Christ, it shouldn’t be this difficult to have a conversation.

I last an hour and half a bottle of scotch before I’m ready to call it a night. The sexy bartender reappears as I stand to leave.

“Leaving so soon?” I reach for my wallet and grab a hundred-dollar bill.

“Yeah. Thanks for the glass.”

“Keep your money. Your friend Anders has an open tab and a healthy tip for all the staff. I get off at midnight if you want to… hang out?” The desire in her eyes would normally be a red rag to a bull for me, and she’s just my type—tall, leggy, and blonde—but I can’t seem to shake the last girl I spent the night with.

“If it were any other time, I’d be totally up for hanging out with you.”

“Say no more. Nice meeting you, Cooper Danford.”

“You, too.” She scurries back behind the bar, and I watch in disbelief. What the fuck is wrong with me?

Anders’ voice pulls me back to the moment. “Did you just blow her off? Bro, what’s up with you tonight?”

“Hey, man. I’m heading out. Thanks for the invite. Call me when you’re back in town, and we’ll grab dinner.”

“Sounds good. Later, Coop.”

“Later, Beck.”

As I make my way through the crowd, the thought of going back to my place and listening to Hunter and Faith getting freaky is wildly unappealing. Instead, I call my favorite hotel in town and reserve a suite for the night. By the time I take a cab over there, I’m starting to feel the effects of the scotch.

I’ve always enjoyed staying at hotels. It’s part of the job. You travel to play, and some players hate it, but that has never been me. The moment I get in the room, I strip off and slide under the crisp sheets. My phone vibrates on the floor, still in my jeans pocket, but I’m too tired to answer it. Just one night without everyone else’s issues. It’s not too much to ask.

* * *

My head is pounding when I wake up, disorientated that I’m not in my own bed. I look to the standard alarm clock you find in most of the hotels across America. It’s ten thirty? The last time I slept that late, I think I was in college. I’m an early riser by nature.

There’s a stale stench of last night’s liquor on me, so I head straight for the shower. I’m not looking forward to putting on the same clothes, but at least I’m only thirty minutes from home.

I should be sated and relaxed this morning, but instead, I’m cracking one out in a hotel shower. The moment I get home, I’m dragging Hunter out, kicking and screaming. I need to get my mojo back up and running, and I don’t have time to vet a new wingman. Faith will need to do without him for a few hours tonight.

My fresh, clean feeling is short-lived when I grab my jeans off the floor. I can’t put the same underwear on, it’s just gross. I throw them in the trash and figure going commando is marginally better. After carefully zipping my fly—you don’t want to risk catching the General when you’re sans boxer shorts—I instinctively reach for my phone.

Hunter has been calling me. What’s up now? I quickly call him back.

“Hey, Vaughn. Everything okay?”

“Where you at?”

“The Hermitage.”

“Are you alone?”

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