Page 81 of The Weekend Getaway

“Hey, instead, how about one of those cigars you told me your dad bought,” Alex suggested, hoping Phil would take the bait, and relish the opportunity to expose Alex to a luxury item he could never afford. From his time tutoring Phil, and writing his essays, Alex knew the guy liked to brag. Phil was sloppy, chubby, and had a forgettable, nondescript face. The only way he could garner interest was to show off his wealth.

“The Cubans!” Phil said, his eyes bleary as he nodded his head.

“Right!” Alex said. “He’s got that guy who brings them from Havana, right?”

Phil shrugged. “Why the fuck not?”

Several minutes, and a hike through a maze of hallways later, they arrived at a large library. The place was massive, filled with dark furniture, antiques, heavy drapes over the windows, and had the air of domination and debauchery.

Instantly enamored with the room, Alex imagined himself bending Mia over the desk and screwing her into oblivion, while Sarah watched, desperately waiting for her turn. Sick with envy, Grace, the fat ass, would kneel before him, eager to give him the only pleasure he’d accept from her.

“I’ll pour us a shot,” Alex said, heading to the bar cart.

Phil dropped down into the chair behind the large mahogany wood desk. “I’ll get the cigars in a minute.”

“No rush …” Alex slipped a hand into his front jeans pocket and pulled out a small vial. The Grover he’d gotten from Chris. He’d sent Jason to find Chris and when the three of them met up again, Alex demanded the GHB. Jason balked.

“Why do you need that?” Jason asked.

Alex stared at him. “This is how I’m going to fix your fuck-up and make it work for us.”

Opening a bottle of aged malt scotch, Alex poured the liquor into a tumbler.

“Hey, what’s the deal with your girlfriend’s friend?” Phil asked, rubbing his eyes, slouching in the chair.

“My girlfriend’s friend?”

“The good-looking one,” Phil said. “What’s her name?”

Alex paused, glancing at a painting on the wall above the bar cart—a picture of dogs playing poker. “Sarah.”

“Yeah, Sarah …” Phil said. “What’s up with her?”

Alex unscrewed the top from the vial of GHB. “What do you mean?”

“She got a boyfriend?”

A strange jolt passed through Alex. Something in Phil’s tone—doubt, suspicion, amusement—bothered Alex. Made him wary. Apprehensive.

Steadying his hands, Alex held the small vial over the tumbler of malt scotch. “I don’t think so. But I don’t know. Why?”

“Just thinking about asking her out,” Phil said.

Wondering if Phil was serious, or fucking with him for some reason, Alex allowed a drop of the GHB to fall into the malt scotch. “Go for it …”

“You certainly did, right?”

Alex froze.

Chuckling, Phil asked, “Your girlfriend know?”

Letting out a slow breath, suppressing the anger churning within him, Alex asked, “What do you mean?”

“What I mean, Alex, is … does your girlfriend know you screwed her best friend?”

Alex let another drop fall into the scotch. And then another. “Mia and I aren’t that serious.”

“Mia know that?”

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