Page 1 of Broken Deal

Dizzy from the three orgasms I just had, I rest my head against the cold wall, its chill seeping into my skin. My chest heaves as I try to catch my breath, and my heart’s rhythmic pounding starts to gradually slow as the post-orgasm high wears off.

I’m pretty sure I just had the best sex of my life.

No. I’mabsolutelysure I did.

The only sound breaking our silence is the thumping music from outside this small cleaning closet. For most people, the after-sex haze is awkward, and while I’m not too fond of silence typically, I prefer it in this case. Small talk isn’t what I’m after. All I’m looking for is release and the adrenaline that rushes through my body every time I do something thrilling. Like having sex in a cleaning closet at one of the most famous and busiest nightclubs in Downtown Chicago, for example.

Running my fingers through my hair, I do my best to smooth it out. There’s no saving it at this point with how sweaty I am, but I’m not about to look like I’m doing the walk of shame. Holding onto one of the shelves where thecleaning supplies are kept, I adjust the spaghetti straps of my red double-slit minidress and look around for my black leather clutch. I know I had it when we came in here. But between the intense make out session and mind-blowing orgasms, I lost it.

I flip on the light switch, but the yellow glow barely illuminates the room. There are way too many things in this closet; I have no idea how I’m going to find it. I knew I should have brought a bigger bag. Or no bag at all.

Always no bag at all, Sophia. Seriously, have you learned nothing?

“Do you see my clutch anywhere?” I ask, squinting as I keep looking around.

“Your what?” he asks as he adjusts his belt.

I groan. “My small purse. I know I had it when we came in here.”

He frowns, looking around, then crouches and picks it up. “Here.”

“Thanks.”

As I’m grabbing it, our fingers graze, and the same electric charge I felt when he placed his hands on my hips before we started dancing passes between us again, making my body shiver.

“Listen,” he starts.

I raise my hand to stop him from speaking. “Save it. I don’t want your number, and you certainly don’t want mine.”

He takes a step back in this ridiculously small room, hitting the shelf with his back and knocking down most of the cleaning supplies.

“What makes you think I want your number?” he asks, amusement seeping into his voice as he raises an eyebrow.

I roll my eyes and pull out the small mirror I carry withme everywhere along with my favorite lip gloss and quickly apply a fresh coat. “Unless you were about to ask for a high five for what we did, I don’t see what else you have to say to me.”

My eyes lift from the mirror, and I make the terrible mistake of locking onto his gaze. His eyes are the most beautiful shade of light brown. Dangerous and thrilling, with a hint of mystery. He’s the epitome of a bad boy if I’ve ever seen one. He looks like the type of guy you try to find for a good time, not to settle. High cheekbones, a chiseled jawline. A nose so defined you’d think Michelangelo himself took his sweet time sculpting this perfection of a man.

There. I said it. The man truly is perfect. It doesn’t mean anything, though.

He raises his hands in defeat with a small smirk playing at the corner of his perfectly shaped lips. “Okay, you got me.”

I sigh, opening my clutch and dropping the mirror and the lip gloss inside. I should’ve left my bag behind. But I paid a ridiculous amount of money for it, and damn it all if I was going to walk away without it.

I turn around to open the door, but before I do, I look over my shoulder. “You were a solid 7 out of 10.” I’m lying through my teeth, but I’m not about to stroke a man’s ego. “But I don’t do repeats, so it’s going to be a hard pass for me.” With that, I open the door and walk away.

The fact I had the best sex of my life means nothing to me. Iknowmen like him. They’re the type who love to play with women every chance they get.

But I’m no ordinary woman.

In my world,Iplaythem.

As I enter through the revolving door of my best friend’s apartment building, the concierge greets me and grants me access to the elevator since he recognizes me. I practically live here and even have my own key. I’m surprised Aria hasn’t taken it away from me, considering I barge in most of the time.

Glancing at my watch, I cross my fingers, hoping I’m not too late. I may have forgotten the time I was supposed to be here because I didn’t write it on my calendar. Every time, I tell myself I’ll remember and jot it down later—and Ialwaysforget. The endless cycle continues. Will I ever be on time for anything in my life? Probably not. But by now, my friends know this about me.

“Open up!” I pound on the door, opting not to use the key this time, because if my speculations are correct, I have a pretty good idea who will be opening it.

Isabella opens the door and blocks the entrance, crossing her arms. “Do you have any idea how late you are?”

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