Page 35 of His Wasted Heart (Damaged Hearts 2)

“Mornin’,” I mumble as I shuffle my way over to the coffeemaker. I’m exhausted. My head is pounding from lack of sleep and I’m desperate for a shot of caffeine straight to the bloodstream.

“Good morning, you lucky motherfucker.” He chuckles, and it’s too early to deal with his shit, so I ignore him and pour myself a cup of coffee instead. I sit next to him at the kitchen counter and start scrolling through my phone, hoping he won’t talk to me.

“Where’s your waitress?” he asks nonchalantly.

My hopes evaporate just like that.

“Why do you care?” She’s currently still asleep in my bed, looking like a goddess. Seeing her naked body when I first crack open my eyes in the morning is how I want to wake up all the time, if I had my choice. I wanted to wake her up with my morning erection, but she was out, completely unresponsive to my insistent whispers. But at least she was breathing, so that’s a positive.

“Maybe I want to give you two shit for keeping me awake with your constant moaning and groaning and your headboard banging against the wall.” Chad starts laughing and holds out his hand like he wants me to high-five him.

I scowl at him instead, and he drops his hand, his laughter dying. “Come on, bro. I’m just giving you a hard time.”

“It’s not funny,” I mutter as I sip from my cup. I stare straight ahead, silently willing him to remain quiet.

But he can’t. Chad’s biggest problem is that he never knows when to shut up.

“How did you two hook up again anyway? Have you been sneaking her into the house when I’m not around?”

Yes.

“I kept hearing her moan your name,” he continues. “She must really like your dick.”

I ignore his crude remarks. “Are you spying on us, Chad?”

“I can’t help but hear everything when the house is quiet and our walls are thin. You two really went at it.” Chad shakes his head, that goofy smile still on his face. “Props to you, brother. She must have a magic pussy.”

“Don’t talk about her like that,” I snap.

“Aw, why? You actually like the topless waitress?”

I smack the back of his head, making him yelp. “Don’t disrespect her.”

Chad sends me an incredulous look. “Come on, are you serious? Don’t tell me you actually care about the waitress.”

“She has a name,” I say through clenched teeth.

He raises his brows. “What is it then?”

“Jensen.”

“Huh. Fancy rich name for a girl who works at a strip club. Bet you twenty bucks it’s made up.” Chad slides off his stool before I get a chance to grab him by the collar and sock him in the mouth. “I gotta go. Class starts in less than fifteen minutes and I’m gonna be late. Catch ya later.”

I say nothing as he exits the kitchen and heads outside. My mind is too busy contemplating the idea that maybe…

No. Her name is not made up. Why would she do that?

Strippers make up names all the time. So do prostitutes. They don’t want anyone to know their true identity.

Jensen has told me enough to clue me in on her identity. She’s made some admissions.

Casual ones.

Ones that, if I’m being honest with myself, don’t amount to much.

My phone buzzes with a notification. A text from Park. Shit.

Meet me for lunch today at one.

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