Playboy Billionaire

ANTONIO

Flashing lights and booming electronic beats engulf me like the heated bodies of the sexy women surrounding me. I’m fucked for sure— took a pill someone gave me, had a couple of shots, have been talking up this woman I can’t believe is real. She’s hot. Mega hot, like pretty sure she’s not a real person, hot. She’s tall, fucking amazing body, tight ass that I’ve been grinding against for the past half an hour, and the softest skin I’ve ever felt.

I kind of wanna bounce and just fuck her in a bathroom somewhere, but she’s determined to keep dancing, so I stay a bit longer. Vincenzo would be so pissed that I went to the club on a school night, let alone the night before an exam. Harvard doesn't put together a million— hell, a billion—dollar program for me to be lingering between drunk and hungover at their pristine institution, but I needed to blow off some steam.

This is the one place I feel myself. In a club, about to hook up with the hottest fucking girl I’ve ever seen, not stressed about making all A’s. No shits about being perfect. Fuck. I’m so far from perfect. And fuck–why am I thinking about my brother while grinding against this chick?

“Hey. Let’s get out of here.” I whisper in her ear, kiss her neck, and slide my hand under her skirt. She presses herself into me, daring me to go further than the hem of her lacy thong. Hot and crazy. The best combination.

I grab her wrist and pull her a bit, taking control that she submits to and follows me like a puppy dog to the exit. Here is where it begins to get blurry. I think I’m home—I think. I’m on the couch; we’re making out. I'm sure we have the best sex of my life, but I can only remember how she sounded when I fucked her. For a woman as hot as her, she sure made the most annoying sex sounds. Could have done without it— like a tea kettle needing to be taken off the heat or something.

I don’t set an alarm, don’t even know where my phone is or how I got to where I am, or even where I am in general. The last thing I know for sure is that I fell asleep thinking I’d wake up for my business analytics test at 7 am. The boiling feeling of heat surrounding me, my mouth dry, lips cracked, head aching so bad I think I’m dying, is what wakes me.

Strange that my apartment is so much like— my eyes open, and I’m greeted by the great outdoors. A lovely bench resting right at the end of the road before the docks is where I’m currently laying. The mystery woman is nowhere to be seen. My clothes from last night smell like pure ethanol, and I’m pretty sure I never actually made it home.

The immediate thought of home reminds me that I have a flight to catch back to LA at noon to make it for family dinner. I check the time. One pm.Hada flight to catch. So, this means I for sure have to come up with some excuse to tell Vince. Something about getting caught off guard with a big school assignment. The usual excuse for partying. But it’s never been this bad, and I almost feel guilty lying again.Almost.

I pull my phone out of my pocket, and I’m gearing up to call Vince when a fully black SUV pulls right in front of me, coming to a screeching stop. The door opens to reveal a very furious, very aggressive Vincenzo.

“Hey, bro—” My vocal cords are destroyed, and I’m still squinting my eyes from the intensity of the sun.

“Shut the fuck up, Tony.”

“Don’t fucking call me that.” I snap back as he grabs my arms and pulls me to the car. It’s honestly emasculating how fucking strong he is.

“Don’t fucking talk back.”

“I’m not your child.” I hiss back.

“You’re gonna wish you were when I tell Pops what you’re doing down here.” I bite my lip as he throws me into the car, feeling the copper taste on my tongue as he slams the door in my face. I could talk back, call him a tattle-tale loser, but I’d only be disproving my argument and feel like a fucking child in the process. One who’s about to have his ass beat into next week.

When he gets in on his side, the car takes off, turning around with squealing tires. A little dramatic, but it’s Vince. We speed through traffic, making me feel even more nauseated than I already do from whatever I took last night. I know we’re going to the airport, but I don’t dare ask questions for fear Vince wants to let his anger out on me by way of his rough hands.

I’m good with staying quiet and holding in my vomit, thanks.

We’re driving down the runway, headed straight for Vince’s private plane. I take a deep sigh, get a look from Vince that tells me any noise is unwelcome, and promptly hold my breath until we exit the car and walk straight up the steps of the plane.

Five hours of seething, angry silence is so uncomfortable that I can’t sleep. Instead, I close my eyes and attempt to recall the events of last night. By the time we’ve landed, it makes less and less sense in my head, so I stop thinking about it, feeling an even more aggressive headache come on as I persist.

“I just can’t believe you.” That is all Vince says to me on the drive home, shaking his head as he dials his wife, Jess. He talks to her for a while in a hushed voice for the remainder of the ride. Could be avoiding me, but he is most likely just being his annoying loved-up self. Ever since he realized he loved her, it’s like he forgets how to breathe without her next to him.

We arrive at Pops’ and head straight inside, security circling us until we make it through the doors, then they give us some space. Vince takes me right up to Pops’ office, sits me down in a chair outside the door, and knocks twice.

“Come in, Vincenzo.” Pops makes us knock for what number of children we are, age-wise. It’s a wonder Vince hasn’t gotten to take one knock as his new one. Though, I doubt he would even if Pops wanted him to. He at least has enough sense to not be a total dick. The jury's out on his other dick-like qualities.

Vince leaves the door cracked after stepping inside, so I have a listen.

“He missed his date with the Lombardi’s girl, and it’s on the cover of this magazine. So, I think texting and calling will get his attention, but all night he’s completely unresponsive. I fly to Harvard, think I’m picking him up for dinner, find out he never showed up to his test, and drive around for an hour tracking his cell.”

Dinner with the Lombardi girl? Fuck. This is news to me. I can’t even keep my assets straight, much less some date with a chick that is only going out with me because of some stupid deal our families are in on. Why can’t they just accept that I don’t want to settle down at twenty-four years young? I’ve got shit to do, things to manage, a life to live without the restraints of some girl clinging to me at all times.

God. Even the thought of that sounds awful. I prefer not to run everything by some woman who’s taking my money and giving me no other option but to solely sleep with her for the rest of my life. Are you joking?

And furthermore, if I were to marry someone, much, MUCH further down the line, I’d like to think my family would let me choose who the fuck I want to be with, just like Vince did. Double standard. That’s all I’m saying.

Now Vince is insisting like an innocent schoolgirl that he would like to trust me but knows my patterns all too well— whatever that means. I roll my eyes right before Pops calls me in. My body reacts before my mind, stands me up, and pushes me through the door.

“Sit.” He points to the chair next to Vince. I comply. He looks between us for a moment, then back to me, angrily running his tongue over the front of his teeth.