The Baddest Bad Boy

“Troy?” I demand again. “What’s going on?”

Finally, he turns towards me, his expression agonized.

“Cammie, I can explain,” he begins, but that’s all I need to hear. Oh my god, the woman really is his fiancée. I’ve been floating on Cloud Nine this whole time, while he’s actually been in a relationship with another woman. To make things worse, the woman sniggers as tears begin to stream down my face.

“Oh god, now she’s crying. You made her cry, Troy. I really don’t do well with babies, so can you take care of this? I don’t know who she is, but I’d prefer we have a chance to catch up in private. I have a few moves that I’d like to show off, and they’re for your eyes only.”

But clearly, they’re not for his eyes only because right in front of me, the woman slithers her jacket off, and then unzips the top of her dress too. Two huge breasts fall out, large and round. Too round, if you ask me, like overfilled bouncy balls. They’re likely the work of a skilled plastic surgeon.

But Troy’s fiancée doesn’t care because I’m the help, and therefore invisible. She literally begins jiggling her breasts at him, pulling at the nipples while doing a seductive shimmy with her hips.

“You missed this, didn’t you, Troy-boy? You want a suck? You want a taste of Mommy’s tits?”

I’m so horrified now that I can’t speak. Is this how Troy likes his women? Does he call them “Mommy” when they’re in bed together?

With a tiny shriek, I turn and bolt out of the apartment. My hair’s a mess, I don’t have shoes on, and I’m wearing nothing but Troy’s big t-shirt and some raggedy sweatpants. But I don’t care because I can’t stay here any longer. My boyfriend’s been lying to me the entire time. He’s actually engaged, and I’m the side piece. All my dreams of a happily ever after evaporate as I stumble out to the street, heartsick and utterly devastated.

8

Troy

* * *

My head is spinning because last person I expected to see in my apartment today is standing right here in front of me. She’s kissed me twice, despite the fact that we haven’t seen each other in months.

The last time I was face-to-face with Mikayla was in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. That must have been months ago, and yes, we had sex as we usually do. But what the fuck is she doing in Minnesota right now?

“Mikayla, what the hell? What are you doing here?”

She feigns innocence.

“What do you mean? How can you not remember? We planned this months ago, Troy-boy.”

I shake my head with confusion. I definitely remember hooking up with Mikayla because every time I’m in Malaysia, I look her up. But still, that doesn’t explain her presence here, now, in my hometown.

“What the hell?” I growl. “Explain yourself!”

She looks genuinely hurt, pulling her dress back up.

“You don’t remember?”

By now, I want to wring her neck, but I manage to keep myself in check.

“Explain, damn you!”

She sniffles a bit now, pulling the wounded-woman act.

“You love me, remember? You got me a 90-day fiancé visa. Have you forgotten? OMG, I can’t believe you don’t remember, Troy. I’m your betrothed.”

I stare at Mikayla as it suddenly comes rushing back to me. Yes, we spent a drunken night together fueled by alcohol and good times. She made me come so hard, and so often, that I was ready to give her anything she wanted. Mikayla sprung the trap then. It was some sob story about how she wanted to come to the United States, but a tourist visa was impossible. Instead, she begged me to get her a fiancé visa, available only to engaged couples.

Honestly, I thought it was a joke. But then she pulled out some paperwork that was already pre-filled, and literally begged me to sign on the line. I only did it because she was stroking my dick at the time, and I didn’t think I could hold it in any longer. So I took pen to paper, obviously thinking with my cock and not my head, and now look where we are. Oh shit.

But that was months ago. No maybe, even a year. So the visa actually came through? Goddamn. I’ve basically committed immigration fraud.

Still, I have no intention of actually getting married to Mikayla. Hell no. She’s one of the women who fall into my sleep-with-but-nothing-more category. Yes, she’s beautiful but conversation between us isn’t just stilted – it’s non-existent. We can’t talk about anything because there’s simply nothing upstairs. It’s as if there’s a lightbulb in her brain, but it won’t turn on no matter how you try.

I sigh. Besides, what’s all this about getting married? I specifically remember that Mikayla was supposed to use the 90 days as a fun vacation in the United States. Hell, she said something about going to California and enjoying the beaches there, not coming to my home in Minnesota. Ugh.