Page 24 of Whiskey Splash

But nothing works.

I even placed gemstones throughout the house to help ward off the crazy energy of the last twenty-four hours—but alcohol seems to be the onlysanesolution.

I’m three martinis in when Naomi arrives at my house with pizza and wine. “Wow,” Naomi says, after giving me a hug and taking in my aroma. “Girl, you smell flammable!”

I shrug, taking the pizza box from her and putting it on the bar top that separates my teacup of a kitchen from the main living room area. The open layout is one of my favorite things about this place, the fact that you can be chopping vegetables in the kitchen and still talking to someone on the couch is architectural genius in my opinion.

“Exactly how many pre-pizza beverages have you already had?” Naomi asks, exchanging my martini glass for some sparkling soda, then pouring herself a glass of red wine.

“Not enough to completely erase the last day of my life!” I groan, snagging a piece of pizza from the box, and—because I know she has my best interest at heart—I grab Naomi’s sober-me-up sparkling water concoction. “Must have carbs!” I grumble, a tiny ping of a headache blooming at the front of my skull.

I’m more than a little buzzed, and some booze-soaked carbs to curb my intoxication are definitely welcome. I gobble down a couple bites of pizza on my way back into my cozy living room, plopping down on a beanbag on the floor near the macramé planters that hang in the window.

“Mrs. Rose has it out for me,” I start, giving Naomi the low-down on my run-in with the Wicked Witch of the Mandara. “She’s totally going to fire me!”

“No, she isn’t,” Naomi says, putting the pizza box, plates, and napkins on my hand-painted coffee table. “Trust me, Desmond was a complete gentleman when he left. He’s not going to create any sort of fuss.”

“Except he left me a three-hundred-dollar tip! Fuss or not, the chaos has begun,” I complain. “He should’ve walked out and tossed pennies at me like he was insulted. At least then Mrs. Rose wouldn’t be on her catch-the-whore rampage!”

“Ok, let’s take a few steps back,” Naomi says, loading her plate with slices of pizza. “I still don’t know the whole story.” She reaches into her leather purse and pulls out her phone. “However, what I do know is that after spending my free time today binging YouTube videos featuring one hotter-than-sin television star—”

Naomi flashes me a picture of Desmond on her phone. In the picture he’s shirtless—or more accurately, he’s probably naked, since the photo cuts off right at the V-of his hips, implying no pants, no shorts, no nothing. It’s an artsy black and white photo and the smolder of those amber eyes (even in black and white) are smoking hot as he looks coyly at the camera, inviting the viewer to explore his exquisite body.

My skin mists and I know this is exactlywhy I’ve avoided all-things-internet! I won’t be able to avoid typing in his name and seeing every sexy, larger-than-life photo shoot he’s ever been in.

“And might I say,” Naomi continues, thumbing through several images of Desmond looking absolutely edible, “that it only takes a few internet highlight reels ofBillionaire Heatto know that your little friend Mr. Clarke—” she wiggles her eyebrows at me like it’s an inside joke. “Um, how do I say this politely?” She puts the phone down and thinks for a second. “Yeah—he’s not so little. In fact, he’s one hella-endowed, girlfriend! Yum! Yum!”

“Billionaire Heatis not porn!” I exclaim. “You don’t actually see his—? Do you?”

“Unfortunately not.” Naomi pouts. “But if you pause the video when he’s wearing those tight boxer shorts …” Naomi’s eyes glaze over for a second and the back of my neck feels damp, remembering him on my massage table. “This whole Mrs. Rose drama aside,” she continues. “What I really want to know is … Is that a body double inBillionaire Heat? Or is he really showing off the full un-photoshopped mouth-watering Mon-ty!?”

I blush, the image of him on my table and that tented sheet shooting right through me. “Naomi, I haven't seen his show, or said highlight reel, so …”

“No, girl, you've seen the real thing!” She pinches my side in delight and I squirm away.

“Hello! Itwas under a sheet!”

“Yeah, we both know those sheets don't hide squat,” Naomi giggles. “Especially when chubby logs are thickening against legs.”

“Actually,” I put my drink down, “that’s the thing; he wasn't slightly aroused. He was…”

Naomi's eyes widen. “No way! Full mast? Oh, fuck-me sailor!” She takes a drink from her wine glass and moans for a moment, then indulgently takes another gulp.

“Now you see why I had to stop the session,” I explain, nibbling the edge of my pizza. “And no, he isn't … small.”

“Girl, you’re a saint!”

I shake my head, rolling back my shoulders defiantly. “No, I was being a professional.”

“Um, you were inhuman, that’s what you were. That was Desmond-F-ing-Pike! I would have been drooling and offering him special services.” Naomi fans herself, pretending to overheat. “In all seriousness though, did he ask?” I frown, to which she nudges me, prying. “Earth to Esme, you promised details, now spill!”

“You think he wanted a happy ending?”

Naomi nods furiously, her eyes eager for an answer. “He's a hot-blooded male whose cock was definitely asking, even if his mouth wasn't.”

“Oh my gosh, Naomi! You're a beast.” I slap her ankle, which is the closest thing to me, and she laughs raucously.

“On the contrary,” she defends. “I would’ve happily tamed his beast if he asked!”

---