Page 9 of Courting Clemson

“Are you kidding? She has an Only Fans account with more members than employees of this company. She loves showing her tits to anyone who wants to look.”

I shook my head. “Yeah, not my scene.” I turned toward my computer. Hopefully, when I looked up next, he’d have his phone back in his pocket.

“All right, I’m out of here. I’ll send you the address. I hope you actually tear yourself away from your houseplants or whatever the hell you do in that fancy penthouse of yours and come out among the living.” Liam walked toward my door, stuffing his phone in the breast pocket of his suit jacket.

“Yeah, we’ll see,” I answered, not sure why I couldn’t just commit. Something about hanging out with girls that young felt sleazy to me. I didn’t need the ridiculous drama that came with that age group or having to worry about some ambitious young thing getting starry-eyed hopes up about chaining me down, either.

Two years ago, my parents passed away within months of each other. My father was a wealthy man when he died, and I was the estate’s sole beneficiary. Even though I didn’t have to work as hard as I did, I always wanted him to be proud of my accomplishments. Plus, I had something to prove to myself.

I was more than my father’s money, and I wouldn’t put on the brakes until I felt established as my own man. It was important to me. Whether my peers could understand my needs or not, that was who I was at my core.

About an hour later, as I made my way through the rows of cars in the parking structure connected to our building, my phone buzzed in my pocket. As promised, Liam sent me the map location of where everyone was meeting. I grinned when I read the accompanying message.

Don’t be a loser. See you around 9!

I couldn’t come up with anything clever to text back, so I shoved my phone back into my slacks and unlocked my car. The ride home was miserable, of course. Traffic going north on the 5 freeway where it merged with the 805 was a damn nightmare at almost every hour of the day. At quitting time on a Friday afternoon? Words couldn’t describe the fresh hell created when so many cars tried to cram into the same space at the same time.

The last thing I wanted to do when I got inside my home was even think about leaving again. Many nights went the same way. I ended up ordering food to be delivered and sat on my sofa in my boxers with a plate on my lap.

Alone.

I flipped on the local news while I waited for tonight’s takeout to arrive. Before long, I was dozing on the couch just to be woken by the doorman from the building waiting in my vestibule with dinner.

I sprang to my feet, which had both fallen asleep from the odd position I napped in. When I took the first few steps, I instantly stumbled forward. Pins and needles tortured my legs from the knees down, and I broke my fall with outstretched arms.

“Fuck!” I shouted and rolled onto my back on the gleaming tile floor.

“Mr. Allen? Are you okay, sir?” came through the door.

Hustling to my feet, I gave a little whimper after taking a careful step.

Shit, that didn’t feel so good. Plus, how embarrassing.

As I pulled the one side of the double door open, Bobby, the kind doorman from downstairs, raised his fist to knock again.

“Oh, good. I heard a clatter and was worried I’d be giving CPR again tonight,” the man joked. Under his breath he muttered, “I gotta stop taking the night shifts.”

“Just clumsy. Sorry about that,” I apologized and reached for the white plastic bag he extended.

He was quick to accept the tip I offered and disappeared into the elevator before I could explain the cause of the commotion he just heard.

I set a place at my breakfast bar and unpacked the Thai food I’d ordered. I wasn’t very hungry but knew if I didn’t eat now, I’d be raiding the refrigerator in the middle of the night. Plus, there was still a chance—however small it may be—that I would be going out later, and drinking on an empty stomach was never a good idea.

Scrolling through social media while I ate, I was convinced I needed a cat. How sweet would it be to come home to a little fluffy ball of energy every night? The next few screens flipped by, and I stopped on an ad with a tagline that caught my eye.

Tired of being lonely?

“Why yes, yes I am,” I answered into the cavernous space of my kitchen.

There was a link beneath a picture of a successful-looking couple dressed to the nines for a night on the town. And nothing else. No other explanation or images, just the link at the bottom in familiar blue text that told me it was a live link. If I clicked on that combination of letters and symbols, I’d rocket through cyberspace and land on the company’s website.

I shoveled a forkful of sticky rice into my mouth and threw caution to the wind. With a quick click, my screen went dark and instantly refilled with an image of the same sexy couple and the company’s logo. Immediately I thought it was a cover for some sort of multi-level marketing scam and that I had just committed myself to months of spam email and unwanted solicitations.

A woman filled my screen next with sultry green eyes and the poutiest red lips I’d ever seen. What the hell was this?

“Are you lonely?” she purred.

I was transfixed.

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