Page 63 of Whiskey Splash

What the hell did the laundry person think when he handed them my dress and—oh man!—I notice the thong is torn. Of course it is, because he fucking tore it off me when I was grinding against him.

The hanger slips from my sweating fingers, crashing onto the floor and clattering like a damn siren. I think I’m going to die. Desmond Pike laundered my bra and panties and just handed them back to me. This must be a special ring of hell, one where I’m hot enough to spontaneously combust, but the universe is cruel and not gracious enough to grant me such a mercy.

Desmond scoops up the dress and undergarments and resets them on the chair for me like a bloody gentleman.

“Hey, no worries,” he says quickly, catching my eye. “If it makes you feel better—”

“Nothing you say right now will make me feel better!”

“Well,” his eyes glimmer, “I seriously thought about keeping your bra and panties like a real creeper.”

“Desmond!” I yelp, falling back on my bed and throwing my hands over my face. He laughs, full throated, filling the room with his amusement.

“I’m kidding!”

“I know you’re kidding, Desmond. But this couldn’t be more embarrassing!”

“Are you sure?” He flops down next to me, flanking me on the bed, his shoulder pressed against mine as he snuggles up. “I’m sure I could make this more awkward if I tried.”

“Please stop!” I say into my muffled hands, vowing to never remove them from my face again. But then, I hear pages shuffling next to me and Desmond coughs like he’s trying to get my attention.

“You wanted a pirate accent, right?” he says playfully.

“What?”

“Aaaahhhrrg maaeety,” he croaks, donning a pirate snarl. “Theee young veeerile Duke tossed Rosalind onto the bed, his throbbing mem-ber thick and erect, eager to sheath itself in Rosalind’s quivering—”

“Oh my god! You are not!” I sit up and look at him nose-deep in one of my romance novels. He tosses me a devious smile as he continues reading in a roguish accent.

“Rrrrrrosalind gaaaah-r-sped in excitement.” He rolls his R’s, making a show of it. “Herrr ample bosom heeeaving!” He laughs and turns to look at me, his shoulders in line with my own. “You like this stuff?”

I glare at him, my mouth dry and my skin roasted purple as a beet. I swallow, realizing it’s not like there’s anything I can do right now to make this any worse than it already is.

“What can I say.” I shrug like it’s no big deal. “One has to spice up her life somehow.”

Desmond’s eyes narrow at me, his eyebrows raising in accusation. “Really? Your life isn’t that spicy? Interesting.”

I was wrong.

Desmond referencing our naked time together and implying I didn’t think it was scorching hot enough is definitely worse.

“Thatis not normal for me!” I say quickly, but he’s already shaking his head.

“I see. Clearly, I’m not that memorable.”

“That’s not what I meant!”

“Oh, no no…” He turns back to the book and starts leafing through the pages. “Obviously, I need to get some new tricks.” I smack him and he laughs, picking up several other novels. “Which one of these is your favorite? Can I borrow it?” He smiles as I glare at him. “For research of course. You know, I do play this hot-shit gigolo on TV. I wouldn’t want anyone to think I was disappointing.”

“I’m going to kill you.”

“Or you can just tell me which onesyou’re into, that way I’m ready if there’s some role-playing you’d like to do. I bet the costume department has some fancy dresses like the ones on these covers.”

“Desmond!”

“Oh yes, just like that!” he teases. “I love it when you yell out my name when you’re excited.”

I turn to look at him, inches away from me in my bed. I’m furious, embarrassed, overwhelmed! I shoot daggers of desperation at him, forcing myself to keep my mouth shut because I seriously don’t trust it not to say something even more incriminating.

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