The Bet (Winslow Brothers 1)

It’s not a big deal.

It’s not a big deal.

Holy aching vageen, this is kind of a big deal.

Let’s be real here. This isn’t something I typically do. I’m not a casual dater, and I’m sure as hell not the woman who brings an exotic dancer to her house and sleeps with him.

Cripes. And now I have to get this guy out of here. Plus, he knows where I live!

When the sweep of my arm is unsuccessful in making contact, I squeeze my eyes shut tight one last time before releasing them. The light of my room is stagnant, the sun clearly having made its ascent into the sky a while ago. Tentatively, I turn my gaze from the window to the bed, but instead of hard, muscled flesh and the smell of man, all I find are the slightly rumpled remnants of his sleep spot.

My eyebrows draw together, and I shove up to sitting. My heart starts to pound involuntarily in my chest.

Did he leave? Or is he just, like, in the bathroom or something?

The door to my en suite bath is partially shut, so I lean almost comically in that direction and redirect all my focus to my ears. They ring with the effort to catch any sort of minuscule noises, effectively blocking out the possibility of actually hearing them.

Frustrated, I sigh and climb from the bed, stumbling a little when I realize just how raw I feel. My legs are fucking bowed, I think.

I rub at the top of my full feeling vagina, and my stomach flips over on itself with misspent excitement. I don’t know how she can even be considering taking another ride on the freaking baton-sized schlong from last night, but evidently, she’s got her own set of priorities.

Carefully, I waddle-walk over to the bathroom door, leaning into the jamb with my hand and listening intently. When twenty seconds go by without any noise, I push the door open.

Nothing. Only an empty bathroom and a sex-shower that now mocks me.

I turn immediately, stalking down the hallway as much as my aching kitty will let me, slamming the bedroom door behind me as I go.

Even the hall mocks me with her memories of the dirty things that occurred there, and I wrinkle my face into an expression of disgust.

“Shut up,” I tell the slutty hallway as I set foot into the living room.

I wish I could say I don’t jump out of my skin when the hallway answers, “I didn’t say anything.” But I do.

“Cripes!” I yell on a shriek, noticing my sister Belle sitting at my kitchen table like she belongs here. “What are you doing here?”

Belle glances up from the newspaper, shrugs, and then scoops up a bite of cereal—my cereal—and shoves it into her mouth. “Eating,” she says then, the word garbled slightly around Frosted Flakes.

“Yes, I can see that. But why are you doing it in my apartment?”

She shrugs again. “What’s that supposed to mean? I’ve lived here for years.”

“No. You used to live here, and then you married a guy named John—not sure if you remember him—and you moved out.”

“Trust me, I know. But living with a boy is weird sometimes. Like, he’s got a penis, you know?”

I snort. “Seeing as you’re a straight woman, I kind of thought that was a selling point.”

It sure as hell sold my soul to the one-night-stand devil last night.

“Yeah. I don’t know how to explain it.”

She goes back to reading and eating cereal like our conversation is done, and I’m so flabbergasted—and likely volatile thanks to having been snuck out on by Sir Sex-a-Lot—I smack her spoon right out of her hand, and it goes clanking to the floor.

“Hey!” she shrieks. “What did you do that for?”

“Where does John even think you are? Does he know you’re delusional?”

Belle rolls her eyes. “He thinks I’m running.”

“Has he even met you?”

My sister Belle may be skinny, but in her case, it’s entirely genetic. I swear she’s allergic to exercise.

“I told him I was on a new kick. It’s no big deal, geez.”

I let out an annoyed groan and head straight for the coffeepot. I don’t have the energy to get into all the things wrong with this. I mean, I know she and John have their own relationship and shit, but does she really think lying to him right out of the gate is a good idea?

Dr. Winters would have a field day with this.

Actually, she’d probably tell you to stay in your own lane and ask yourself why you’re so bothered this morning, of all mornings.

Almost as if she can read my mind, Belle fires back with twin-style mirror attitude. “What’s your deal this morning anyway? You seem super crabby.”

I stick out my tongue as I sit down at the table across from her with my coffee cup and sigh.