Page 61 of Restrictions

“He’s a fucking ginger.”

“I don’t discriminate.”

I point at the screen. “Fucker has a serial killer vibe. His smile is way too big.”

“He looks nice.”

“You really want nice for a casual hookup?” I shake my head, feigning disappointment. “You have so much to learn.”

She giggles at that and swipes left. “I guess you’re right.” The next guy pops up. Fuck! I knew that picture was too damn good. “Oh, cute. Looks kind of muscular.”

I look at the picture at the scrawny fucker with long brown hair pulled up on top of his head. “He has a manbun.”

She shrugs. “I’m not in it for his hair.”

“That guy will be weeping into your arms after he comes. And you will be laying there unsatisfied and wondering when the fuck you can leave.”

She sighs and swipes left, bringing up another candidate. “Oh wow. He’s really good-looking.”

I study the picture. Perfectly styled hair. Button-down shirt in a fucking Tinder photo. Cheesy ass smile. “He might as well be wearing a suit.”

“He has it all together. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

I turn to look at her as she accesses this guy. “Colt really was your fucking type, huh?”

She looks slightly surprised as she turns away from her phone to look at me. Probably because I rarely voluntarily bring up Colt, but then she smirks. Her face is so fucking beautiful I swear it makes me ache just looking at her. “Oh please, it’s no secret that all of the Sterlings are gorgeous and everyone’s type. Even Lola.” She laughs and shrugs her small shoulders. “Hell, especially Lola.”

“You wanna switch to vag? That I’m all for. Although, not my fucking sister, please.”

She giggles and turns back to her phone, shaking her head, herperfectly styled hair moving as her head moves. “Nah. Although I’ve only experienced it once, I’m all about the D.”

I laugh, unable to stop the sound coming from me. She really is a twenty-one–year-old. She’s right, it’s easy to forget that about her. She has it so together. “Wow. Okay.” I nod to her phone. “But next.”

“What? Why? He’s totally my type.”

“You’re not looking for your type, Viv. You’re looking for a dirty fuck, right?”

I watch her think it over, and then she nods. “You’re right. He’s the type I would want to date. I don’t want that.” She squeezes my shoulder. “See, this is why you’re so helpful.”

“What if the guy you choose is a serial killer?”

“Asher, people do this all of the time. They almost never get murdered.”

“Oh, that’s nice.”

I’m not used to this, being the one who overthinks. I don’t fucking like it, but I can’t help going over all of the things that can go wrong with her plan. “Just help me, Asher.”

What if they hurt her? What if they make her feel like shit? What if they’re bad in bed and she never wants to fuck again? What if they’re actually really good and she wants to fuck them again? It’s all too fucking much.

I take her phone and lock the screen, tossing it to the middle of my bed and turn to face her. “You seriously want this? Just a hookup? Just. Sex?”

She nods, looking at her phone and then turning her body to look at me. “That’s what I’ve been saying. Just sex. That’s what I need.”

“You really think you can handle casual?”

Her head tilts to the side as she analyzes me with caution. “Yes. I can.”

I swallow my own self-hatred and my right hand cups the back of her head, my fingers tangling in her silky locks. My face coming dangerously close to hers. “You know that part in the horror movie, where the audience is screaming at the screen saying, ‘Don’t fucking do it’? Her head nods, her forehead brushing against my own. “This is that part, Viv.”

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