The Last Guy

Suck it up, Killer. Move on.

Right.

That ship has sailed.

Trent pops into the room, his nose wrinkling. “Damn, this place reeks.” He shudders. “I hate public restrooms. Can’t use them.”

“What do you want then?” I bark.

He smirks and takes my arm. “Simmer down, princess, I’m rescuing you and getting you out of this dump.”

I let him lead me out. “Where we going?”

He pats my arm. “I’m taking you home and tucking you in.”

“I don’t want to go home.”

“If you don’t want to be alone, I’ll sleep over.”

I don’t say it, but it’s scary how he reads me.

We weave through the dancers, and I wonder how we must look, me the six, four bulky guy being lead around by the lean and much younger Trent.

I reach over to ruffle his hair and my words are a bit slurred. I focus on enunciating. “I might be drunk, so disregard anything I might say, but you’re my favorite brother.”

“You are definitely drunk, and I’m your only brother.”

“Thank God.”

He beams. “I love you, too.”

Chas is on the dance floor and waves us air kisses as we pass her and head to the exit. “Come by the apartment,” she calls. “I have a crystal ball . . .” The rest fades out as we exit and Trent calls us an Uber. The ride home is a nightmare, and I find myself staring out the window, fighting with my roiling stomach.

When I finally get inside my apartment and get into bed, I can’t sleep, which is the whole reason I drank. The room spins, and I close my eyes, digging for solace. All I see is a spunky blonde.

Stone. She’s got me tied up in a knot and the only way out is to—fuck, I don’t see a way out.

The rest of the weekend passes excruciatingly slow. I wake up with a pounding headache and an uneasy stomach. Ditching my run, I spend Saturday morning in bed with Killer watching pregame football shows. More times than I care to admit, I find myself studying the lines on my hand. I am a fighter, I keep telling myself, but when the car commercial with Stone comes on, I turn it off. I don’t even want to see her face.

If she’s leaving . . . then that’s the end of it.

By the afternoon, Trent calls about our Sunday get-together at the movies. I drag myself out of bed, shower, and head to meet my family at the local cinema to see Guardians of the Galaxy 2. Star-Lord . . . I’m not him. I’m right here on this planet wanting her.

That night, I toss and turn, my body wired and on edge. I finally sleep when I flick on the TV and the monotonic drone lulls me under.

By Monday, I’m still feeling dark though, mulling over the weekend as I dress in a Tom Ford suit and head to work. I arrive earlier than usual, and the lobby is empty except for a page dropping off some mail. I mumble out a greeting and stalk to the sports den. My grouchiness is heightened when I can’t even find a pen that works on my desk. With a growl of frustration, I stomp to the supply closet.

It’s the low throaty moan that gives me the first clue something isn’t as it should be, and it’s confirmed when I fling the door open. I don’t know what I expect to see—maybe the cleaning lady had gotten locked inside overnight—but it sure isn’t the sight of Savannah on her knees with Marv’s skinny dick in her mouth.

With the backdrop of copy paper, toner, and boxes of pens, she’s deep throating him and he’s pumping between her lips, a blissed-out expression on his thin face. He eeks out his orgasm, and she swallows it down. I steel myself not to barf. They haven’t even seen me yet.

I open the door wider and clear my throat. “Morning, party people!”

She chokes.

He screams like a girl.

His expression is part horror, part ecstasy.

I shake my head and say, “Well, well, well, this explains a lot.”

Marv shoves a disoriented Savannah off him, and she falls down and screeches. Her shirt is off, and her tits flop around. Ignoring her calls of protest, he quickly zips his pants and tries to buckle them.

“This isn’t what it looks like, Cade, not at all. What about you and Rebecca? I heard there was some heat there. You know the game.”

I bark out a harsh laugh. “Fuck you, Marv. You don’t know shit. Stone’s my co-worker. Savannah is your employee. Big fucking difference.”

I open the door a bit wider when I hear the familiar female voice that seems to be talking to someone on the phone.

Marv starts, his eyes darting past me into the hallway. “Let’s just forget about this, okay? We don’t need anymore disruptions at the station.”

“Oh, I have to disagree.” My smile is tight.

One part of me is pissed as hell, knowing I’ve just exposed the entire reason Savannah got the anchor job in the first place. The other side of me is fucking thrilled.

Blocking the exit in case he decides to run, I call over my shoulder. “Vicky? That you?”

“Yeah?” Her voice is questioning. I assume she’s staring at my back and wondering why I won’t turn around. “What’s going on? You find a big hairy spider?”

I shrug. “You could say that.”

Her steps increase. “Let me have a look. I might need to go get my flyswatter . . .” Her voice stops as she reaches me and gasps. With wide eyes, she sputters, obviously struggling to find words.

Marv flounders around, still trying to get his belt latched, and Savannah is scrambling to tuck her boobs in her bra. But it’s too late. It’s plain as day what’s happening here.

Disbelief combined with a dawning realization settles on her face. “You and Savannah? At work?” Her voice rises, shock morphing into anger. “Do you have any idea what the board will say?”

I chuckle and look at Vicky. “Oh, I have a really good idea what the board will say, and I’m heading up there right now to hear it.” I salute Marv and smirk. “Good riddance, Marv.”

I turn and do a little dance as I head toward the elevators.

Rebecca

I’M CURLED UP on the couch with all our soft pillows around me when my phone starts buzzing and vibrating on the end table. It’s so obnoxious, it’s impossible to ignore, and I vaguely recall it’s intentional so I won’t miss important calls.

Pushing out of my cozy nest, I try to think who would be calling me at this hour. My mind skitters over the last few days. Chas and I went out Friday night . . . I’d seen Cade and proceeded to drink all the alcohol in Houston before crying myself to sleep . . . Saturday morning, I’d looked like death warmed over and sent a text to Tommy saying I had the stomach flu . . . I’d stayed curled up right here all day yesterday while Chas fed me tacos and made me watch Co-ed Call Girl with her (another classic!) . . .

This morning I’d gotten up determined to shake off the past and be the strong, independent woman I am. I’d spent the day dodging balloons and singing the praises of five-point safety inspections and certified used cars, before coming back here to collapse on the couch. Without even looking, I grab my phone.

“Hello?” I say, trying to hide the fact I just woke up.

“Are you asleep?” The rich male voice vibrates through the line, and every nerve in my body simmers to life.

“Cade,” I stammer. “Why are you calling me?”

“Are you sick?” The touch of sternness in his voice has my panties hot.