Page 28 of A Lucky Shot

He had a few things to put in his storage locker to make room for the renter he’d lined up for his condo. One of Stephen’s cousins had just broken up with her boyfriend and needed a place. Easy enough to help her out. Moving on after a breakup was a shitshow at the best of times. Plus, the cousin was far more responsible than Stephen was, and the roommate she’d brought with her was cute. Maybe he’d get her number when he got back. If the bedroom eyes the roommate had been giving him were any indication, that number would be in his phone the day he got back.

It was always nice to have a welcome home committee.

He sent a mass text to a group of friends to arrange a few get-togethers before he bounced from town. Then, a separate series of texts over the next few weeks, copied and pasted—no group text here—all saying a version of

Hey beautiful. Heading out of town for a while

Want to make sure I don’t forget you while I’m away?

His incoming messages folder gushed with declarations of how much he’d be missed, followed by invitations to see him that night. Or the next. Or the week following. He had a busy month in more ways than one, ending with the woman whose bed he was currently trying to extract himself from.

“You’re not going already, are you?” Emily cooed as he swung his legs off her bed. She stretched out, letting the sheet slide down and display her tits. “I’m going to miss you.”

“I’ll miss you, too, beautiful,” he mumbled, scanning the floor for his pants. The sheets clung to the sweat on the back of his knees, and he pulled himself free of the cheap satin. He stood, pulling up his boxer briefs and eyeing the time on her phone propped up on her nightstand.

Just enough light from the streetlamps filtered through the rain-splashed windows to give him the impression of where his clothes lay in piles on the floor. The vanilla-scented candle she always insisted on lighting had burned to halfway, its cloying perfume threatening to drop a headache on him. Her shiny pink lipstick pristine and foundation were flawless. How her makeup remained perfect after everything was a mystery. But it’s not like he’d kissed her mouth, and she didn’t give head. Or move around enough to get sweaty.

Maybe it wasn’t a mystery. The night was already slipping from his memory.

Frankly, none of the last several nights had been memorable, but he couldn’t muster up more than the barest enthusiasm for any of them.

His mind kept wandering back to Cass. Her smooth skin was like silk under his hand, the thick flesh of her thighs jiggling with his every thrust. How she bucked underneath him, her hair wild and her lipstick smeared across his face and dick. Her laugh that rang out when he teased her, letting her take his hand to pull him down the street to the next movie.

If half his thoughts were full of being with her, the other half was wrapped in why she’d stopped replying to his texts.

“I’m not gone forever. I’ll call you when I’m back in town.” He leaned back over to brush his mouth over her jaw, thought better of it, and ran his hands through his dishevelled hair. Emily didn’t love it when he left right away, but his flight was booked early the next morning, and he still needed to pack a carry-on. The majority of his stuff had been shipped ahead to the long-term rental waiting for him, but that didn’t mean he wanted to go eighteen hours without a toothbrush.

“Maybe I can come out and visit you for a weekend,” she said, walking her fingers up the plane of his hip to sneak under the hem of the shirt he’d pulled over his head.

“Probably not a good idea. I’ll be too busy, Em,” he said, wiggling out of reach and peering at the mess on the floor in a futile search for his pants.

Her hand froze mid-air. “Em?” she said, her voice turning icy.

Fuck. He mentally scrolled through the texts he sent that afternoon. “Sorry, beautiful, I know that,” he lied smoothly. Who was it? Madelyn? No, Vanya! Almost a hundred percent sure it was Vanya. He scanned the room for a trinket or embossed photo frame with a name, or even an initial to tip him off. Ninety per cent sure it was Vanya.

Eighty percent sure.

“I’m just thinking about a note I need to send to a woman named Emily I work with before tomorrow morning. So rude of me to be thinking about that right now. But that’s what I mean. I’m not going to have the attention to lavish on you that you deserve.”

She apparently bought the line, and he breathed a sigh of relief as he spotted a notebook with a stylized “V” on the cover. Ninety-nine percent sure it was Vanya.

“You’re right, I deserve all of you,” probably Vanya pouted playfully, before turning more serious. “I’ve been thinking. I want to see more of you when you get back, not less. Promise to call me when you’re in town?”

And that would be that. One more contact out of his list.

He’d been clear he was only looking for something casual. No time, no interest, and no appetite for anything serious. Vanya had been on board when they started hooking up last year after meeting at her friend’s gallery opening—or was it hers?—and she’d invited him into her bed after the second drink. They’d met up five, maybe six times since, and always at her place.

Too bad she wanted to change the rules. He wouldn’t lead her on, but he sure as hell wasn’t breaking things off right after leaving her bed. Even he wasn’t that much of a piece of shit. Usually.

He swiped his thumb along her jaw and let her press a kiss to his thumb tip. “I’ll send you a text.”

The parched air attacked his skins as soon as he stepped out of the arrivals gate. Back home the wind had heft, humidity. Here, every drop of moisture had evaporated the second he exited the plane.

“Why didn’t anyone tell me we were shooting in a fucking desert?” he grumbled, stripping his jacket the moment he closed the door of the town car the studio sent.

Stephen ignored him, reciting the address to the driver with a series of preferred directions, and tugged at the wrinkles in his shirt. “We should get there with plenty of time. I promised Westy I’d call her and Brynne in when everyone arrived.”

They still wanted to make an entrance, even if they weren’t in the room. “We literally booked the call at their convenience. Westy’s the one who wanted to start filming a winter movie in the summer.”

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