DECEIT (B723) by Hazel Grace (ebook reader for surface pro .TXT) 📕

wears a big smile the size of a Cadillac. Her wide hazel eyes batting like she has something in them. “I hope you like tequila. I took a wild shot in the dark.”

I return my focus back to the bar to the dozens of bottles that are neatly stacked side by side.

“I was hoping—“

“Unless you’re going to use your chatty-ass mouth to suck my dick, I’m not your guy.”

I expect her to take off in a huff, but she remains rooted to her stool, still looking at me to probably decide if I’m worth the trouble of continuing a conversation.

I’m not.

“Will you pull my hair when I do it?” Her question has me craning my neck back to her. “If not, that’s a deal-breaker.”

You’re not leaving to do this. You love Emmy.

Fuck that. I’ll do whatever I want to do.

Swiping the shot that she bought me, I swing it back and slam the glass on the bartop to claim to the love-sick part of me that I sure am.

The liquid burns the pit of my stomach as she rises and waits for me to either take her up on the challenge I posed or tell her to fuck off.

For once, the latter doesn’t seem satisfying enough. The only relationship my dick has is with my palm and memories that are beginning to dissolve in my head from the amount of liquor and weed that I’ve been smoking.

I’ve been trying to test the theory if you can, in fact, smoke brain cells away.

Still waiting on the results.

I gesture with my hand for the blonde to lead the way to wherever she wants this to happen.

It’s no skin off my ass if she flakes out and changes her mind. It’s late and I need to be heading home anyway before Scarlett sends a search party for me.

A live rock band has been loudly playing for hours, keeping the patrons and customers occupied all night as we sift through the flock of people dancing and singing along to a rendition of Addicted to Love by Robert Palmer.

The woman in front of me sways along to the symbols from the drums, dodging around couples towards a dark hallway. I’ve had at least four beers and five shots that I remember but it doesn’t stop my instincts from going up.

A lot of dangerous things lie in the dark. Many I’ve met, killed, and even had nightmares about.

And while I can take the blonde easily, I’m not sure if she comes along with friends.

She leads me to the women’s bathroom, allowing me to walk in before locking the door behind her. I’m surprised it’s empty with the number of people outside but everyone seems to be enjoying the music too much.

“I’m Lucy,” the blonde says over the loudness of the song, erasing the space between us. “I’ve—“

“I don’t care,” I snap, leaning against one of the stalls. “The only thing I need your lips to do is suck. If you want a conversation get out.”

“Testy,” she tsks, finding the button to my jeans. She’s short, almost as compact as my Emmy. Her hair is a yellow-blonde but cascades in waves through my fuzzy vision. “Sounds like you really fucking need this.”

“I need a bullet in the head more.” I stare at the faded green paint on the walls and an outdated picture of a girl smelling flowers. I’d rather not look at a woman who has to have hair to remind me of the inevitable. That I gave myself until the end of the month to send Emmy back those divorce papers and that’s tomorrow.

“That’s a little morbid.” She tries to chuckle and blow it off but she falls short, not knowing if I’m serious or just have a dark sense of humor.

I’ll let her guess.

Lucy is quick with my pants, already fisting my semi-hard dick in her palm before going to her haunches and licking the head to get started.

Her lips wrap around my shaft as she begins to gradually bob, taking her time to get me harder. With the amount of liquor I’ve consumed, I have the patience to wait and a blunt to smoke while she does her thing.

Pulling said weed out of my back pocket, I light and take my first inhale, causing Lucy to become distracted.

“You’re going to get us kicked out,” she lightly jeers, stroking me while waiting for me to answer.

I don’t.

Instead, I glance down to find that she looks nothing like the second love of my life.

Good. 

This isn’t an all-time low for me.

When I was in Alabama two weeks ago to rid the Earth of some lowlife who began a sex ring for children, I made out with another blonde and accidentally called her baby.

I could blame the mixture of tequila and whiskey but my brain won’t fully shut off that Emmy exists. That months later feels like only days since she told me she was expecting.

This isn’t normal.

Men walk around and fuck to forget but I can’t even bring myself to do that. I’m not interested in seeing another woman naked or working her up so we can both enjoy a quickie. I don’t care about anyone else or have the urge to even try to reciprocate. This—a random chick on her knees while sucking me off—is the furthest I go.

It’s how I’ll spend my life on this path.

It’s ridiculous how I’m permitting time to go by without any recourse of releasing Emmy altogether. That at thirty-two, I can’t connect with many people and I don’t find the need to. I’m happy with how I am—for the most part—but Em is missing.

And she always will be.

I haven’t decided how to forever be able to cope with it because if I keep down this road, I’ll be a born-again virgin at forty.

Lucy apparently grows tired of waiting for me to give a shit about smoking in the girls’ bathroom when she hits a spot in her mouth that gets my balls to tighten.

It fires up my suppressed need to somewhat fuck