New York Nights
Page 19

His date was now leaning over the table—purposely putting more of her cleavage on display, and whispering words that were hard to read. As she playfully licked her lips and stroked his chin with her fingertips, I realized I couldn’t take it anymore.
Subject: SERIOUSLY?!
Are you really on a date right now with someone who isn’t your wife?! It’s bad enough that you’re a cheating and lying philanderer, but are you really that much of a sex addict?
—Aubrey
 
His response came within seconds.
Subject: Re: SERIOUSLY?!
I’m really on a date right now with someone who’s not going to leave third degree burns on my dick. And I’m not a sex addict, I’m a pussy addict. There’s a difference.
—Andrew
 
Subject: Re: Re: SERIOUSLY?!
You are a disgusting and vile asshole, and I honestly regret ever sleeping with you.
—Aubrey
 
No response.
I watched as he looked down at his phone and raised his eyebrow. He turned around in his chair—slowly scanning the room until he found me.
His eyes widened the second they met mine, and his lips slowly parted. His gaze traveled up and down my body, and I could feel him undressing me.
There was suddenly no one else in the room but the two of us and I could tell that he wanted me to come to him—right here, right now. I felt my body responding to his stares, felt my nipples hardening as he dragged his tongue against his lips.
I swallowed as I looked him over, realizing that I’d pictured his hair entirely wrong in my dreams this week. I’d finger fucked myself for hours on end last night—using his face and the memories of his voice for inspiration, and seeing him in person only made me want to feel his cock inside of me again.
I leaned forward, wanting to go to him, but my tunnel vision quickly cleared and I saw that we weren’t alone in this room.
Far from it.
His date’s perfectly manicured hand found its way to his chin, and turned his head away.
I followed suit and asked for two more drinks. I downed them both and when I looked over my shoulder, I saw that Andrew was staring in my direction with undeniable want in his eyes.
I forced a smile and opened my mouth very slowly, mouthing, “Fuck. You.” before leaving. I snatched a handful of mints from a random waiter’s tray and rushed back toward the gallery.
I was halfway there when I felt my phone vibrating. An email.
Subject: Meet me in the bathroom.
NOW.
—Andrew
 
I turned off my phone and continued walking toward the gallery doors—damn near running. I reached the lobby, but someone grabbed my arm and pulled me across the room.
Andrew.
I tried to jerk away, but he tightened his hold and looked back at me—giving me a ‘Don’t Fuck with Me’ look as the people around us whispered.
He pulled me into a bathroom and locked the door, narrowing his eyes at me. “You think I’m disgusting?”
“Extremely.” I stepped back. “I’ve lost what little respect I had for you and if you even try to put your hands on me, I’ll scream.”
“I don’t doubt that.” A trace of a smile grazed his lips, but it didn’t stay. “You haven’t shown up to work for four straight days. You think just because I fucked you that I won’t fire you?”
“I don’t give a fuck whether you fire me or not! Have you ever thought about why I haven’t shown up to work?”
“Incompetence?”
“You’re fucking married! Married! How could you—” I shook my head as he closed the gap between us. “How could you leave that part out?”
“I didn’t,” he said. “And for the record...I’m not technically married, Aubrey.”
“I’m not technically stupid, Andrew.”
“You’re making it very difficult to talk to you right now...” His lips were brushing against mine.
“That’s because you’re not making any fucking sense.” I freed myself from his grasp and headed for the door, but he grabbed me and slammed me against the wall.
“It’s a contested divorce,” he hissed. “If you were a real lawyer I’m sure I wouldn’t have to explain what the hell that term means, but since you’re not—”
“It means that you’re still legally married. It means that if you die before the papers go through, that your wife—which is what she is, will still be entitled to everything you ever owned. It means that you’re a LIAR! A fucking liar, who is apparently exempt from his own stupid and ineffectual rules!”
“I filed.” He gritted through his teeth. “She refused to sign, and there’s a lot of complicated shit that I’ll never feel like discussing, but we’ve been separated and out of touch for over six years. Six. Years.”
I shrugged and tried to put on my best poker face, ignoring the fact that my heart was skipping every other beat as he wiped my tears away with his thumb.
“I’ve never lied to you, Aubrey,” he said sternly. “You asked me before if I’d ever lied to you and that answer is still the same. I don’t talk about my life before Durham with anyone, but yes, I did once have a wife and she showed up to my office on her own. I didn’t call her, I never will, and I haven’t called her since I left New York. Our case is extremely complicated and I prefer not to think about it.”
“I don’t care,” I said. “You’re still wrong. You still neglected to tell me about her for six months. Six. Months!”
“At what point was I supposed to bring that shit up?” His face turned red. “In between fucking you over the phone? When I was begging your lying ass to meet me in person? When I was unknowingly helping you with your fucking homework?”
“How about before you fucked me?” I hated that being around him pulled emotions out of me. I couldn’t pretend to act unaffected if I tried. “How about then?”
He clenched his jaw, but he didn’t say a word.
“That’s what I thought,” I said, knowing that I’d won this. “Now, I’m sure you and your lovely D-cup date have a room reserved across the street, so if you don’t mind—”
“There’s nothing going on between me and my soon to be ex-wife,” he said harshly. “Nothing. And I do have a room reserved across the street. I’ve had the same one reserved for the past four nights with four different women, but I’ve been unable to fuck any of them because I can’t seem to stop thinking about my incompetent-ass-intern and how I only want to fuck her.”
Silence.
“Do you...” I shook my head. “Do you honestly think saying shit like that is a turn-on?”
“Yes...” He trailed his fingers underneath my dress, slightly brushing his thumb against the crotch of my soaked panties. “And apparently you do, too...”
“Me being wet just means that I can’t control my body’s reaction to you. It doesn’t mean that I want to have sex with you. I hate you.”
“I’m pretty sure that you don’t.” He slipped his hand around my waist and pulled me close—making my breathing slow.
“Get your hands off me...”