Immoral by Nicole Dykes
“You sure youdon’t want to go another round?” I look over at the gorgeous stranger in my bed, running her painted red fingernail over the tattoos on my ribcage.
“Sorry, sweetie. I have shit to do.”
“Right. Super Bowl or some shit.” She sits up showing off an amazing pair of tits and making me regret not going for round two. But I actually do have to get going.
I laugh at that. She’s funny. “World Series.”
“Baseball?” Okay, maybe she’s not funny . . .
“Yes.” I nod, and she shrugs, finding a shirt from the floor—my shirt—and putting it on. Damn, that was one of my favorites.
I already know I’m not getting it back though. “Well, I’ll cheer for you. I’m not really a sports person.”
Clearly.
“Well thanks, sweetheart. You want me to call you an Uber?”
She finds her skirt from last night, tugging it up and then swinging her bag over her shoulder. “Nah, I can handle it.” She leans over the bed, her lips brushing mine. “Call me.”
I don’t have her number. I don’t need it.
“Sure thing.”
She winks and walks out of the hotel just as my manager walks in, carrying coffee in both of his hands and wearing a stern expression. The girl giggles as she exits, and Waylon walks toward the king-sized bed in my hotel room. “Really?”
I roll my eyes and hold my hand out for my coffee. “What? I’m not allowed to have fun?”
“You’re dating Victoria Bishop, remember?”
He hands me my coffee. I bring it to my lips and take a much-needed drink, sighing when I do. “Yeah, except that I’m fucking not, and you know that.”
“Why must you make my life harder than it needs to be?” He flops his 120-pound body onto my bed in his totally dramatic, Waylon way.
“You love the challenge.”
He rolls to his side, careful with his own coffee. “That girl has party girl written all over her. She probably took a dick pic.”
I shrug. “It’s a good dick. I’m not worried.”
He scoffs, smiling because Waylon always puts up with my shit. We get along well. He’s a good ole southern boy named after an actual country singing legend. But he’s barely over a hundred pounds with bright blue eyes and stylish blonde hair, and he loves dick. So, his Bible-thumping parents aren’t exactly fans.
Something I can relate to and which made us fast friends as well as client and agent.
“Do I have to spank you?” he teases.
I wiggle my eyebrows. “Careful, you might turn me.”
He laughs at that as if it’s beyond ridiculous. “You really think that one is going to keep her mouth shut about whatever it is you two did in here last night?”
He looks at the sheets with comical disgust. “What the fuck do I care? Three orgasms and a big dick is all she can relay. I don’t think it will hurt my reputation much.”
“Except you’re dating Victoria.”
“Yeah, I don’t think that’s going to last much longer.”
He groans, “What did you do?”
“Didn’t check your social media today, huh? Seems my ex was seen and photographed kissing a girl.” I lean in closer as if it’s a scandal. “And I think she liked it.”
He actually laughs at that. Victoria is a lesbian. She has no interest in dick whatsoever. But the family-friendly show she’s been on for five years wasn’t having that. So, our agents got together and formed a plan.
One we’ve both grown sick of over the past couple of months. The show is ending next week. Vicky wants to live her truth, and I’m all for it.
“So, that’s it? You’re back to bad boy?”
“Wasn’t I always?”
Waylon nods, sitting up and taking a drink of his own coffee. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
“Seriously, what the hell could that chick say that’s going to make your life any harder?”
I don’t give away anything. I fuck and run. That’s it. He knows it. He takes another sip of his coffee and shrugs his small shoulders. “Maybe that you can sometimes be a little . . .” I wait. “Cold?”
“Ouch.” I put a hand over my heart, acting wounded. “Fuck you too.”
He laughs and then pouts playfully. “Oh, don’t be like that. You know what I mean. You have to admit you’re a little . . . disconnected. You get what you want, and that’s all you worry about.”
“I’m not like that with everyone.” I know he’s mostly joking, but there’s a hint of truth there too. I try to shrug it off. “Well, maybe I am, but hey, I care about you. Where’s that boyfriend of yours?”
He raises an eyebrow coyly. “Boyfriend?”
“Yeah. Kevin . . . Ken . . . It started with a K.”
“Steven?”
I shrug and stand up, not worrying that I’m still naked. He’s seen it all before. Probably more than he wants to. He’s been responsible for cleaning my drunk ass up way too many times. “Yeah. I was close.”
“We broke up months ago.”
Well, fuck.
“Sorry,” I offer. Maybe I am a little disconnected.
He laughs and climbs off the bed. “No worries. You don’t mean to be an asshole. You just are.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“You ready for tonight?”
To see my ex-best friend? The guy who disappeared and ignored all my attempts to figure out what his fucking problem was?
No.
I’ll never be ready for that.
“Singing is what I do. It’s no problem.”
He eyes me suspiciously even though he doesn’t know about Ryan. No one does. I was pretty adamant that I didn’t want to do this tonight. But in the end, my record label has me by the balls.
I do what they say when they say it, still paying the price for fame. I sold my soul seven years ago.
“I’ll be ready.”
“Alright. I suppose I have a shit storm to go clean up.”
I chuckle, heading into the bathroom. “Thanks for the coffee, Waylon.”
He waves me off as he leaves, and I’m left alone to my thoughts. It’s a dangerous place for me—my own head.
Will I even get a chance to see Ry tonight?
Do I even want to?
