The Stopover (The Miles High Club 1)

Although, I should have you know

I’m already sweet enough.

I hit send and wait. A reply bounces back.

I have no doubt. Can I take you out to dinner tonight?

I sit back in my chair, surprised by his request. This is a no-win situation. He wants a fuck buddy to join his harem, and I want him all to myself. I write back.

I think we both said all we needed to on Sunday morning.

God . . . why can’t he just be normal? A reply bounces back.

I have a proposal for you.

I stare at the message but don’t reply. A proposal? What, does he want me to be his new masseuse?

I feel my anger bubble at the mere thought of her. Ten minutes later, another text comes in.

Hear me out, please.

Please. He said please. Ugh, okay. I reply.

Fine.

I wait.

I’ll pick you up at seven.

“Here you go,” Aaron says as he passes me a plate with the biggest slice of cheesecake I’ve ever seen. He passes Molly hers and then takes a seat with his.

“This is fucking delicious,” Molly mumbles with her mouth full.

Aaron moans in appreciation. “Oh my fuck, foodgasm.”

I take a bite as I concentrate hard on not smiling too hard—just in case he’s watching.

Well played, Mr. Miles . . . well played.

Sometimes you just know in your gut that you shouldn’t be doing something. The outcome is already written in the stars, and sometimes you should just be stronger and say no. But what if you can’t?

I can’t physically bring myself not to go tonight. The masochist in me wants to see him. The same masochist wants him to take me and throw me onto his fancy bed and fuck me till I forget my own name. It’s been a long and lonely week. But I have to stay strong tonight. If I cave in now, the last week has been for nothing.

And I still stand by what I said on Sunday. I am too good for him with the way he is at the moment, and I won’t share, and money means nothing to me at all.

He needs to step up or step away.

The security buzzer sounds, and my stomach dances in excitement. “Hello.”

“Uber Eats.” I hear his velvety voice.

I smile broadly. “What have you got for me?”

“Italian sausage.”

“Hmm,” I tease. “Are you going to drug my sausage and take advantage of my body after I fall unconscious?”

“Undoubtedly.”