A Perfect Ten (Forbidden Men 5)

She’d written another message by the time I’d driven home and parked in front of my apartment building. Since I wasn’t the patient type, I opened it before heading up to my apartment.

I’m just asking you not to fuck anyone else while you’re still fucking me. She sounded much more humble this time around, which made me smug. If that’s acceptable with you, then…Tuesday night. Midnight. Your room. Keep the lights off. I’m doing a sniff test, and if your cock smells like anything but Ivory soap, I’m leaving, and you’re never touching me again.

Okay, that second part wasn’t quite as meek. My scowl returned, but then I realized something else and pulled back in surprise. “Holy fuck.” How did she know I used that brand of body soap? I could’ve sworn I’d never had her before last night, but this chick had been in my apartment, in my very bathroom. Fuck, she’d figured out my passcode on my phone. She knew my buddies had dubbed her Midnight Visitor. And not only that, she knew my work schedule because Tuesday was the next night I had off.

Damn, I had a freaking stalker.

I grinned, because having a stalker was kind of hot. Crazy chicks were so much more interesting than the sane ones.

See you then, I said.

To which she immediately responded, No, you won’t. You better not see shit. I said no lights.

I shook my head and chuckled under my breath. This woman really did have a mouth on her. That was so awesome. Fine. Touch you then? Lick you then? Fuck you then? Which term do you prefer, princess?

Any of those will do. Thank you.

Okay, fine. Lick you later then, baby.

Looking forward to it. Goodnight, Oren.

A bit of sadness and regret gnawed at my stomach. I stared at her smart-ass, kinky comments and realized I’d actually had fun sparring with her. I didn’t particularly want to have fun doing anything but fucking this woman. My heart already belonged somewhere else. I didn’t want the stupid organ straying on me.

But it felt wrong not to respond, so I typed, Night, Midnight Visitor.

I was stress drawing on Monday in the campus’s main courtyard between classes when Gamble and Ham found me. I’d been doing that more and more lately, absently drawing when my mind wouldn’t stop thinking shit it shouldn’t be thinking. And I knew exactly what it was about, but I was in serious denial.

Four years ago, a part of me had died. The biggest part. The fucking best part. To combat the pain that was left, I’d closed off other parts because I could never picture myself loving any girl, in any capacity, ever again. Hell, I’d never really even planned on making friends with dudes, either. But Noel Gamble had obliterated that plan the day I met him.

We’d been two complete strangers forced together as freshman dormitory roommates, and he’d just kind of swept me in. After he’d realized I’d played some ball in high school, he’d coaxed me outside for a game of catch, then he’d told me how impressed he was by my skill, and before I knew it, I was a walk-on for the team and we were starting in games by the end of our freshman year.

/> It never felt as if I’d had a choice in becoming his friend. It just happened without me even noticing. He’d dragged me along with him to my first party, and after I realized how easily I could immerse myself in this place, in this life, that I could forget about all the pain in a much funnier, way more pleasurable way, I was a goner. From that point on, we’d become a team. When he needed work and found a job at Forbidden, he’d told me they were looking for another bartender too, so I shrugged, thinking why the hell not. From there, my friendships with guys spiraled out of control. I’d gotten close to Pick, and Hamilton, even Lowe, and kind-of-sort-of Hart. But I’d always been careful not to get close to the feminine persuasion. Use them for booty calls and move on, that was my motto.

Women gutted you. They either said shit that tore out your self-confidence, or they got hurt when you should’ve been able to protect them, which left you so broken you wished you were dead. I tried to stay away from all of that “feelings” shit when it came to women. Sometimes I was downright rude to them.

Okay, fine. Most of the time I was rude...and offensive...and overall annoying. But a guy had to protect himself somehow, because women fucking gutted you.

I wasn’t expecting what happened to me to happen when Gamble carried Caroline into my life. I didn’t welcome it either. And I wasn’t very happy about the fact that Hamilton’s woman managed to crawl under my defenses and make me feel things, either. But Midnight Visitor? No. No fucking way. This shit had to stop. Except it was already happening. Texting my hot little bed companion had been fun. And that made me damn nervous.

I was getting too happy and sappy around too many women.

I’d seen Caroline earlier today, walking with Lowe and Lowe’s woman toward the science department. I’d been heading toward them, but I’d ducked out of sight before they could see me. I’d worked with Lowe just last night, and I always loved to say something to piss off his woman—whom I’d dubbed Buttercup. But I couldn’t go anywhere near them just then. Not with Caroline around.

After making my plans with Midnight Visitor two nights ago, I’d been worried about seeing Caroline again. It was as if I was too guilty to face her or something, which was whack. I’d had numerous women since meeting her almost a year ago. I’d never had a problem facing her after a night of debauchery before. But this just felt...different, which is probably what prompted another session of stress drawing.

I was trying to scribble my stupid feelings away when someone jumped me from behind, grabbing my shoulders and shaking me.

“What up, loser,” Gamble called, making me leap out of my fucking skin. “Doodling again, as usual?”

I looked up and tried to cover my drawing pad before he could see what I was making, because I honestly wasn’t all that sure what I’d been drawing; I hoped to God it wasn’t another picture of Caroline. But his eyes were already widening.

I gritted my teeth and hesitantly glanced down. It wasn’t a perfect depiction of his sister’s face, however. Thank God. But to me, it was something so much worse. A sick dread pitched in my stomach as I stared at the four letters I’d drawn and decorated with flames.

Gamble glanced at Ham, who was with him and seeing my notepad, too. Then he turned back to me. “Why are you drawing the name Zoey?”

All warmth and sensation drained from my face. I didn’t know what to tell him. I glanced at Ham, but instead of anger or confusion, a sad kind of sympathy filled his face. I gritted my teeth. “I...I’m designing a tattoo for Ham here.”

There. Yeah. Shit, that actually sounded good.