He’s supposed to be mine, right? We’ve only had one official date, but who the fuck has time to date anymore? I don’t need to get dressed up and go to an expensive dinner for someone to prove they like me. I just need quality time with them, and we’ve done that. Every chance we’ve gotten. I feel comfortable around him and can be myself. He’s saved me. He’s saved my dream. That means more than lobster and steak. The way his lips kiss mine make me melt. The way he touches me sets me on fire. And I know I do the same to him. He can’t stop because he keeps coming back for more.
Is it just sex for him? I can’t answer that. Only he can. But he did say he was staying around as long as I wanted him to.
I look at myself in the mirror and take a deep breath. I don’t want to share him. I want to be selfish.
Making up my mind, I pull my eyeliner out of my makeup bag and put on a couple more layers top and bottom before grabbing my hair and teasing the crown to give it a little more volume.
“How’s this look?”
I turn to see Jasmine wearing a black crop top, hanging off one shoulder, revealing a black lace bra strap in a pair of denim shorts and fishnet tights. “Dammmmnn.” I approve. The woman is hot.
“You think?”
My eyes drop to her legs. “What happened to your knees?” I ask.
She growls. “I gave head last night. Fucked my knees all up.”
“On what? Gravel?”
She lets out a sigh. “That’s why I wore the fishnets. To try to hide them better. Are they that bad?”
I shake my head. “No. I just noticed the right one …” The left isn’t as bad. But you can see they’re bruised, and one has a pretty good cut. “I hope you got yours too,” I add.
She gives me a smile. “Oh, he delivered.” The smile drops off her face. “Then he went and fucked it all up.”
_______________
She drives us about thirty minutes outside of Vegas. All I see is desert for most of it, but then sure enough, there’s an airport in the middle of nowhere. It looks like McCarran on Thanksgiving break. Cars and trucks fill a large parking lot on the side. She pulls into a parking garage and takes us up to the sixth level. People walk around, getting on and off the elevators.
She finds a spot and pulls into it, shutting off the car. “Stay close to me,” she says.
“Is this place dangerous?” I suppose that’s a question I should have asked before we came. I would have packed Mace in my bag.
“It can get rowdy.” She nods, reaching in front of me and pops open her glove box. She grabs a knife, before slamming it shut. Then reaches into the back seat and grabs her purse, shoving the knife inside of it.
“Hey, ladies.” A guy whistles at us as we walk by his truck. He has the tailgate down and sits on it with two of his friends. You can smell the weed they’re smoking. “Wanna ride?” He grabs his crotch.
“Sorry, boys.” She reaches out, throwing her arm over my shoulders, pulling me into her side. “The only thing she’ll be riding is my face later.”
His eyes widen and one of his friends spits out his drink. “Can we watch?” he asks, hopeful.
I laugh at the fact he thought she was being serious.
“They’re all the same,” she whispers, shaking her head.
We walk across a sky bridge and enter the building. It looks exactly like an airport would. There are conveyor belts where luggage would ride, waiting for passengers to pick them up, but they look like they haven’t been used in years.
We step onto a moving sidewalk and come up to the terminals. I stop and walk over to one, looking out the floor-to-ceiling windows to the runway. People crowd around while cars are lined up at the end. A woman stands before them with a green flag in her hands. “What are they doing?” I ask as Jasmine comes to stand next to me.
“Racing. They do it every night.” She turns and walks off, and I follow her.
We go down an escalator and walk through the building, passing more gates until we come up to what appears to have once been a food court. Looking down over a railing, I see an arena-like structure. A makeshift bar sits off to the right, and people are crowded around it.
Two men stand in the middle of the arena, fighting. It’s not like a UFC fight. This is more of a backyard kind of fight. One guy wears a hoodie and jeans while the other is in shorts and a wifebeater. No gloves or mouth guards.
We make our way downstairs and to the bar, ordering some drinks.
“Jasmine?”
She stiffens beside me as someone from behind us calls out her name. Turning around, she leans her back against the bar. “What are you doing here?” she asks.
I look over my shoulder to see a guy walk up to her with a smile covering his handsome face. Brown eyes look her up and down while he licks his lips, like he’s thinking of the past. “Oh, my God, babe.” He reaches out to hug her.
She places her hands up, stopping him. “Go away, Trenton.” She dismisses him and turns back to the bar just as the bartender sets two drinks down in front of us.
I reach into my purse to grab a twenty, but she sets a card down. “I want to start a tab,” she tells the guy.
He nods and takes it.
“Babe?” The guy behind us continues. “I’ve been calling you.”
“Yeah? How’s your wife feel about that?” she asks, not looking back at him.
My brows rise.
He makes his way next to her, placing his forearm on the bar. “I told you we’re getting a divorce.”
She laughs. “You always were a liar.”
He looks at me. Nodding his head, he winks. What the fuck, dude? “Hey, baby …”
“She’s dating Grave,” she informs him.
His eyes widen for a split second and then go back at her. “Jas, come on …”
“Go away, Trenton!” she snaps at him. “Or I’ll send screenshots of those pics of your cock that you keep sending me to your wife with the time stamp and dates.”
His jaw tightens, but that’s enough to make him storm off back into the crowd. “Divorcing his wife, my ass,” she hisses, then lifts her hand for the bartender.
“I’m guessing that wasn’t the guy from last night?” I ask.
She snorts. “No. The guy from last night isn’t married, but I’m not sure he’s any better.” She slaps the bar. “Fuck this drink. We need shots.”
APRIL
An hour and countless shots later, we remain close to the bar when I look to the right and see Grave standing about twenty feet away talking to a man who is with a woman. He’s shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of black basketball shorts and tennis shoes, and his hair is wet like he just showered. My eyes run over his tatted and muscular body. My thighs tighten. Grave is by far the sexiest man I’ve ever seen. He has that unobtainable air about him. Like he’s the type of guy you want but know you can’t keep. The one who would give you a night of endless orgasms and never call you back. An absolute fuckboy. Yet he keeps coming back. And I keep letting him in. I’m going to ride that train until it runs off the tracks.
“Who is Grave talking to?” I ask, placing my attention on someone else. I’m drunk and horny. “That woman looks familiar.” She has dark brown hair pulled up in a high ponytail. She wears a simple white sundress with black Superstars. She looks cute yet comfortable but totally out of place here with this crowd.