Page 8 of One Wild Ride

Of course, he wanted to go out on a date with me, a hired date.

I stood from the table but turned to him before I left. “And here I was about to apologize for assuming you were some spoiled brat. You know what?” His eyes grew wide as I took a step closer. “You aren’t spoiled. I made that mistake and I am sorry for that. But you are a sleazy asshole. Did you think just because I’m an artist that I’d be willing to have sex with you for money? For someone who appreciates art I’d rather hang out with shallow art groupies than you. Goodbye, Mr. Hawthorne. It was nice almost getting to know you.”

What a disgusting excuse of a man. I can’t believe I used my vibrator last night imagining him on top of me. Or this past Monday when I imagined us in the middle of the National Portrait Gallery. Or that weird dream about us on a giant pizza.

I craved pizza after that one.

Instead of heading back to the SWIM Meet booth, I made my way to the bathroom. I needed some quiet time. My head was pounding from the highs and lows of the night.

A part of me was angry at myself for being attracted to such a loser. I should have known better and remembered those rumors about him.

As I made my way down the narrow hall behind the bar toward the bathrooms, a hand grabbed my arm. I turned to find Alexander towering over me. His steel eyes bore into mine and my heart began to race.

He pulled me back until he found a door with a brick propping it open to a broom closet and pushed me inside. I stumbled over a bucket but righted myself just as he pushed the brick out of the way. He turned on the light switch by the door before closing it. Alex stood in front of it and blocked my escape.

With his arms folded over his chest he became an impassable wall.

Heat traveled up my neck as I broke out into a sweat. Maybe Alex wasn’t used to anyone telling him no. Maybe those rumors of prostitutes aren’t really about prostitutes at all, but women he forced to be paid sex slaves.

Morgana had tried to warn me that no good would come of trying to see what the famous art recluse looked like, but I didn’t listen. I may not have bills anymore, but it seemed like I may not live to enjoy my new debt free lifestyle either.

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