Page 15 of Bitter Beats

I wince at my salty thoughts. It’s stupid to be jealous of Mav and his hot sex life. It’s dumb to compare myself to the beautiful woman he was just with. Sure, she’s got shampoo-commercial-worthy hair and a tiny waist. Good for her.

I close my empty cannoli box and tug at the hem of my sweater.

The front door closes, and Mav turns. Spotting me in the kitchen, he smirks.

His eyes are sharp as they drink me in, and mortification over last night—how Ibehavedlast night—rolls through me.

I can’t believe I lost my cool like that in front of Mav.

But today, I’ve got my shit together. I may even have a job.

I sit up straighter and stare back at him.

He strides toward the kitchen, his eyes locked on mine. His expression is unreadable, but his body is drawn tight, as if my sitting here pisses him off. Maybe it does.

Does he want to talk? God, I hope he doesn’t bring up last night. Didn’t we agree to forget it happened?

I press my lips together and sit on my fingertips to wait Mav out.

He leans against the kitchen wall, one hand gripping the doorframe. The tattoos on the back of his hand ripple.

I suck in an inhale, waiting for him to say something. Anything.

Mav studies me, tilting his head to the side. “Don’t wait up for me; I won’t be home tonight.”

Then, he turns and climbs the stairs.

That’s it? Seriously!

I sit in silence, listening to his receding footsteps.

That’s all he’s going to say about last night? About today?

I should be relieved. Instead, a hollowness fills my chest. Narrowing my eyes, I open my mouth and holler, “Yeah? Well, I won’t be home tonight either.”

Mav slows on the steps but doesn’t turn around.

Instead, his disbelieving chuckle echoes in my eardrums.

SIX

MAV

“I’ll take another,”I agree as my buddy Flip passes me a bottle. “Thanks, man.” I take a long pull of the cold beer, smacking my lips together.

“When’d you get back?” Flip asks, taking the seat beside mine.

“About a week ago.” Even though it feels a hell of a lot longer. I don’t say that, though. I lean back in my seat and watch the throngs of sexy women who pass by my table in the VIP booth.

“Costa Rica was good to you?”

“Pura vida,” I reply, squinting at a brunette. She looks vaguely familiar. At my attention, she arches her back and gives me a little wave.

Flip catches it and snorts into his beer bottle, taking a swig. “Man, you are a machine.”

I shrug. My sexual appetite is well known, and since I never make promises, unlike my poor excuse for a sperm donor, my casual hookups don’t draw much resentment. At this point, the girls know what’s up, and my reputation—it’s a good time only, no strings, no expectations beyond the night—is respected. “Just down for a good time.”

“Or a good fuck,” Flip chuckles. Then, his attention is snagged by a beautiful, petite woman with jet-black hair and sexy kitten glasses. “Be right back, bro.”

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