Page 193 of By His Play

I have no idea how I’m meant to eradicate her.

I don’t fucking want to eradicate her.

But what the fuck am I supposed to do now?

Twice…she’s told me to leave twice now. Is there any coming back from that?

Does she hate me because of the article?

Does she regret our weekend together so much that she can barely look at me now?

Funny how two people can see things so differently.

That weekend was hands down the best weekend of my life.

For the first time in…well, ever, I was able to be myself. Authentically myself.

Effie didn’t look at me like I was weird when I showed her what I liked, the things I wanted to do to her. She didn’t expect anything from me. She embraced everything; she trusted me to look after her. And she was so fucking beautiful and addictive at the same time.

And yet…it seems that it might have been one of her worst weekends.

Lost in my depressing thoughts, I forget that my buzzer went off until it rings again, the irritating sound cutting through the silence I’ve been drowning in.

“FUCK OFF,” I bellow.

It’s pointless. No one can hear me. I live in the penthouse, just like Effie. But mine is the entire top floor of the building with balconies on three sides.

It’s my haven. Or at least it was until some motherfucker interrupted my peace.

But despite my lack of response, they clearly don’t want to give up because it buzzes again.

Sucking in a deep breath, I finally push myself from the couch and stomp over like a petulant child who doesn’t want to do what he’s told.

“What?” I snap as I jam my finger against the button. I cringe. Gavin, our long-suffering doorman, deserves better than my shitty attitude.

I’m relieved when a different voice answers.

“Now, now. That’s no way to respond to one of the guys who stopped you from sleeping on a dirty bar floor last night.”

My mouth opens and closes, but no words come out.

“Let me the fuck up, Callahan. I’ve got food.”

My stomach growls on cue.

“What food?” I enquire, making him laugh.

“Knew that would get you. Tacos.”

Fuck.

“What are the chances of you sending the food up alone?”

“None. Now let me the fuck up.”

“I hate you,” I seethe.

“Fine by me, asshole.”

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