Page 19 of Tempted

“What are you looking for?” The man was speaking straight to my tits like they were going to answer him.

“My boyfriend just got out of prison. He likes the expensive stuff. You know how it is.” I gave a loud laugh.

The cashier immediately looked away and turned towards the liquor.

“We have Macallan, but the highest we go is 12 years, you could also do Blanton’s which, frankly, we shouldn’t even have,” he said, pulling two bottles down for me to see.

“Macallan I’ve heard of but Blanton’s?” I asked, eyeing both bottles.

“Super high quality. Single barrel. It’s what the enthusiasts drink.”

“Perfect. I’m sold. I’ll take it. Oh, and a water too,” I said, snagging water from the display.

Popping open the box, I nudged the pill out of the foil and downed it.

The cashier had gone from interested to slightly terrified, and I just smiled at him.

I bopped my card on the machine before he could read off the total and smiled sweetly.

“Do you have a trash can?” I asked, handing him the box.

He took it as I grabbed the bottle and walked back to my Uber. I drank a bit more water watching the city go by, and I smiled, feeling my sore pussy twinge underneath me.

By the time Monday morning rolled around, I was a nervous, hot mess.

I’d spent an abnormally long time in my closet that morning, sifting through every outfit until I found the perfect one. And the whiskey? That was starting to feel desperate and not like a funny joke.

As I stood on BART, I was second-guessing everything. I was so in my head that I’d nearly missed my stop.

Stepping off the train just as the doors closed shut, I knew this needed to stop. I needed to get it together. It was a regular day, just like any other, and I couldn’t walk into the office like this.

I pulled out my cell phone and rolled through my contacts and pressed ‘Cleo’.

All it took was two rings. Cleo never let me down.

“It’s seven in the morning. You better be dead or dying.” Cleo was always one for the dramatics, but I knew the phrase that would get her attention.

“I have tea,” I said, sitting down on a bench, staring at the escalators meant to take me to my doom.

I’d known Cleo since I was ten. Her parents moved to the city from bumfuck Utah.

“What did you do?” Cleo asked, her voice an octave lower than normal.

“You mean who?” I whispered, looking around like the morning commuters could see the giant scarlet A on my chest.

“You dirty bitch!” Cleo shrieked. I gave her a moment to calm down and after a second she cleared her throat and said, “Continue.”

“We had our party on Friday – “

“Nah, nah, nah, we ain’t starting at the beginning. Start at the end and go backward.”

“Hugh,” I said.

“Hugh? I thought – hold up, I’m putting you on speaker.” I heard a little rustling and already knew she was internet stalking him. She gasped. “You never told me Hugh was fine! Den, you made him sound like some hip sixty-year-old who just happened to have some melanin. You’re telling me you’ve been working beside this venti iced mocha latte for years and you only just now let him get in your guts? Tell me everything.”

“First, gross. Second, it just kind of happened and then happened again. We made a deal that it’s only for two nights–“

“God dammit!”

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