King of Masters by Brynn Ford

CHAPTER 7

Stella

CORA PUTS A mug of coffee in my hand as soon as I round the counter at the shop. I bend, leaning down on my elbows as I grip the ceramic cup with both hands and tip it to my lips. I’m still wearing my oversized sunglasses, but not because it’s sunny outside in mid-January. No, my head is pounding from one too many drinks last night and I’m being a little dramatic about it.

“Good morning, sunshine,” she sings with a small laugh.

I set my mug down on the counter and straighten, turning to face her at my side, placing a hand on my hip.

“Don’t give me that chipper bullshit today. I am not in the mood.”

“Okay, sassy pants. What happened to you last night?”

“You know what happened. You sent me the Irish guy’s phone number after two glasses of wine. Obviously, I drunk-texted him.”

She chuckles. “Oh, shit. What did you say?”

“I don’t know,” I groan. “But then he called.”

Her eyes pop wide, feigning horror. “You texted him and he called you? The nerve of this guy.”

“I know, right?” I push my sunglasses up on top of my head and take another sip of coffee. “He said I was the most fun he’s had in a long time. I told him I liked him,” I lean forward for emphasis, “and then he hung up on me.”

“Rude.”

“That’s what I said…when I texted him several hours later.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did. Shit, Cora, I was wasted.”

“What did you say?”

“Well, I told him how rude he was, and he told me to leave Serendipity and go home.” I pause. “He called me sweetheart.”

She laughs. “Seriously?”

I tilt my head. “I didn’t hate that, actually.”

She stares at me, an odd beat passing between us. “Stella. You hate when guys give you nicknames.”

I squint as I think about it. “Yeah, I know. Usually, I do. I don’t know…” I wave it off. “Maybe it just sounded okay through text.”

Cora’s head turns slightly to the side, and she looks at me out of the corner of her eye. “You okay, Stell?”

“Yeah. I just…he said he’d call me today and I think I kind of want him to.” I rest my hip against the edge of the counter, leaning against it as I cross my arms. “I don’t know why I want him to.”

She shakes her head with a look of concern. “Maybe I shouldn’t have given you his number…maybe I should have pretended that he didn’t call.”

“No, then I would’ve been pissed at you for not giving me the message.”

“You wouldn’t have known about the message if I hadn’t given it.”

“Do you think I shouldn’t be talking to him or something?”

“I just don’t want you to go down this road again with an unavailable man. You’re gonna end up hurt in the end. It was supposed to be a night of fun, Stell…a night to get you back on your feet after your break-up with Nathan.”

“I know.” I lift one arm, absently chewing on the side of my thumb. “I know, but—”

“But nothing. Stella, come on. There’s an entire ocean between you. It’s not like he’s ever coming back. Don’t go getting all emotionally invested like you do.”

“But it’s kind of my signature style of toxic, self-defeating behavior.” I smile.

“Funny.” She grins but tilts her head disapprovingly. “Seriously, this makes me nervous for you. I just don’t want to see you get hurt again.”

My lips part to speak, but the ping of my phone draws my attention away. I dig through my purse and pull out my cell phone. My heart skips a beat when I see his name flash across the screen.

Shit, Cora’s right.

Talking to a guy right now feels new and exciting, but there’s literally no potential here. We can’t date. We can’t touch. We can’t kiss. We can’t fuck…

Damnit, the sex with him was amazing.

I open his message.

MURPHY: Are you free? Let’s video chat.

My heart drops into my gut and the heavy fall makes me feel weak in my knees. I turn my screen to show Cora.

“He wants to video chat with me. What do I do?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. Talk to him or don’t. But you know you’re walking a thin line if you talk to him.”

I stare at the screen, thinking it through. I know I should ignore him, delete his messages, and block his number. I should because I hardly know him, and he was kind of a prick. I fucked him once a month ago and that was that.

He left and I moved on.

But I didn’t.

I didn’t really move on because I still think about it. I don’t know. Maybe that’s normal to keep replaying the best sex of your life over and over in your head until you find a real relationship with a real person who isn’t a walking, talking sex-god with the world’s most arousing accent.

The way he made me feel was just so…

“I’m gonna talk to him,” I tell Cora. “Maybe he won’t look as hot as he did that night, and then I can put him out of my head for good.”

She bobs her head, eyeing me skeptically. “Okay.”

“Be right back,” I tell her, then head for the private bathroom at the back of the shop.

I shut the door and lock it, taking a moment to comb my fingers through my wavy hair and pinch my cheeks to brighten them up a bit. I respond to his text, telling him to call me on video, and take deep breaths until his call comes through.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I mutter to myself, then plaster a smile to my face and tap to answer.

The black screen blinks and suddenly, his face appears.

Oh, my fucking wet panties.

He’s every bit as hot as I remember. And when he sees me and smiles—he fucking smiles with those damn sexy crow’s feet wrinkling the corners of his eyes—I know I’m done for.

This was a bad idea.

A bad, bad idea, and Cora should’ve tried harder to warn me.

“Hey,” I say, taking a step backward to lean against the far wall.

“Stella,” he says, his eyes scanning the screen from bottom to top. “Well, it looks like you’re standing upright on your own two feet. Slept it off, did you?”

“Yep. Wicked hangover, but nothing I can’t manage.”

“You shouldn’t be out drinking alone.”

I flinch. “I can do whatever I want.”

“Sure you can, but you know better, don’t you? You know what could happen to a beautiful woman like you, out by herself, drunk and vulnerable.”

My eyes narrow. “Yeah, I’m well aware, asshat. I know all the things I’m supposed to do to protect myself from men. Walk with my keys between my fingers, don’t wear a long ponytail someone can grab, never walk alone at night.” I roll my eyes. “Men know they’re the reason women are unsafe, right? Not because I chose to go out and drink. You’re the problem.”

Christ, he really flipped my feminist switch and it’s not even ten o’clock.

“I’m the problem? Was I out watching you dance around drunk last night, trying to get under your skirt?”

“Okay, first of all, I wasn’t dancing around drunk. Second, no one was watching me. Third, it’s commanding, alpha assholes like you who make it unsafe for women like me to go on living their lives. Christ,” I huff. “This was a mistake, I’m hanging up.”

“Wait,” he says.

My finger hovers over the “end call” button, but the way he runs his tongue across his bottom lip gives me pause.

“Tell me more about how much you hate men like me. It’s really doing something for me.” He smiles and it shoots lightning straight through the screen, striking my stupid pussy and making her throb.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I smile, goddammit. “Shut up.”

“The size of your attitude is massive, did you know that, sweetheart?”

“Don’t call me sweetheart. I have a name.”

“Oh, I know your name, sweetheart.”

I hold up my middle finger and put it right in front of the camera, making sure he can’t miss it.

He sighs heavily. “If you were here, I’d bite your fucking finger and make you put it to better use between your legs.”

Oh, my god.

My stomach tingles, drawing tension low and making me shiver. I have never reacted like that to anyone before—least of all to someone I’m watching through a screen.

Someone who lives on the other side of the world.

Someone who doesn’t even have their hands on me.

It feels exciting and new and so, so good. But rationally, I know that physical feeling is fleeting. It will only last as long as we’re on opposite sides of the screen, as long as it’s all talk and no reality.

Reality is a fickle bitch and I hate her.

I blink, leaning my head back against the wall, just to steady myself. “I can’t believe you. Is this just a sex call?”

“A sex call? You think I just called to toy with you?” He cocks his head to the side, licks his lips, and smirks.

I glance at the small square on my screen that shows me how I look on camera. I realize I look hot and bothered leaning against the wall this way. I am hot and bothered, but he doesn’t need to know that.

I kind of want him to know that.

“I’m at work, okay? I have a client coming in ten minutes. So, what did you call for?”

“Ten minutes? Too bad I’m not there with you. I could make you come twice in ten minutes.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” the words slip out a little breathier than I intended, “you can’t…I’m…Listen, you and me? This isn’t a thing, okay? We’re too far away from each other for this to be a thing. One-night stand. Over. Done.”

“Do you want me to stop calling you, then?”

My lips part as I suck in a shaky breath.

Why isn’t the word yesslipping easily and clearly from my mouth?

“I don’t…I have a problem with jumping into things I shouldn’t, you know? I invest too much of myself and get caught up in my feels, and it always ends badly for me. I’m not interested in getting hurt like that again.”

He watches me carefully as I speak, his cheeky expression shifting into something softer, more serious. “It’s actually not my intention to hurt you, Stella.” He sounds as surprised by his own words as I am, and I know I should read into that—I know it should worry me that he’s surprised he doesn’t want to hurt me.

“There is no way for you and me to communicate without it leading to hurt, for one or both of us. That night with you was so good…so good. I don’t think I can just have a friendship with you, and that’s all this could ever be with us being so far apart.”

“And if distance weren’t an issue?”

“If distance weren’t an issue?” I sigh. “I don’t know. You’re kind of an asshole. I feel like you’re the kind of guy who could rip my heart out. I’m not really interested in going through that again.”

He nods and I’m thankful, thinking he understands. “I understand what you’re saying, but I’m not interested in stepping back. I think it’s best if you come to terms with the fact that you and I have crossed paths, and there is no uncrossing me.” He smiles a charming, devilish smile that twists my insides. “I also think it’s best if you shove your mouthy middle finger inside your perfect cunt and make yourself come before your first client. I wouldn’t want someone giving me a tattoo with that much pent-up tension, would you? You need to relax, sweetheart.”

My mouth gapes open in shock and he ends the call.

I exhale, slumping back against the wall. “Shit.”

I bring my phone to my chest, holding it over my pounding heart.

He’s a cocky, arrogant, entitled prick if I ever met one. But damn, he’s pricked me like a needle and injected me with infatuation. I have to wonder what he wants with me, why he’s contacted me now after a full month has passed.

Has he thought about me so much that he just had to reach out?

Tiny, stupid wings flutter around my heart and I have no rational explanation for it. He’s probably the most attractive man I’ve ever seen in real life, so there’s that, but aside from his looks, I can’t see there being more.

He puts me on edge. He makes me grind my teeth. He sets a fire inside me that makes me want to yell and fight against every misogynistic comment he makes. I shouldn’t want a man who makes me feel that way.

He makes me feel…passionate.

Passionate with rage and passionate with need.

I know from my past that passion leads to heartache and overwhelming hurt when it all comes crashing down. I know I should be smart and block his number, vow to never speak to him again. Yet some of the fluttering wings around my heart escape, floating down through my stomach, triggering a wave of good feelings that make me ache to be desired by him—feelings that make me ache with desire for him.

I already know that if he calls or texts again, I’ll be running to my phone to answer.