Darien
I’VE NEVER BEEN the type to stalk a woman, but I need to see Alana. I pull up into the tiny parking space at the Gentlemen’s Club and leave the engine on. It’s too fucking cold outside to sit with the heat off. Grabbing my iPhone from my pocket, I tap the envelope icon, emailing my CFO, to send an e-mail to American Banking to strike a deal so Gunner and I can buy it out.
Finally, Alana’s sexy ass strolls out of the building. She’s wearing a black jacket over her slutty outfit and her red hair is in a high ponytail, swaying back and forth as she walks. I watch her like a predator stalking his prey. She speaks to a girl with short, purple hair wearing the exact same outfit. Shoving my phone into my pocket, I rush out of the car and walk in her direction as the windy air hits my face.
“Alana?” I shove my hands in my coat pocket.
“Darien? What are you doing here?” she asks in a soft voice.
“Gunner asked me to take you home,” I lie. Gunner wouldn’t appreciate me lying, but who gives a fuck about what he thinks?
“I’m fine. Gonna catch a ride with my roommate.”
Her friend with the cute haircut waves at me and says, “Catch a ride with Darien. I’m going to Clarence tonight.” She winks, urging her friend. Alana’s eyes grow the size of saucers, and her round cheeks turn tomato-red. Not sure if it’s from me or the cold. Don’t know her friend, but I like her already.
“Fine,” she says, and we walk to my black Porsche. I open the door on the passenger side. She slides in like she is scared to dirty up the seat and straps her seatbelt over her small body. Once I’m inside, I hit the start button and put the car in gear and drive off into the traffic. She leans on the brown leather seat, looking out the window.
“You hungry?”
She doesn’t know it yet, but I’m going to fuck her. If she sees the erection that she is giving me, her whole face will turn red like the red-nosed reindeer. Thank fuck, it’s buried in my Burberry black coat. Stalker me had one of the IT guys from my job check out her social media accounts. The girl lives on Pinterest—different boards on everything a woman can think of. Nails, hairstyles, food, clothes, hot guys. But what I found unique is she has boards for anime, video games, cosplay, which made me question her age.
“I don’t think a restaurant is open this late.”
“IHOP is,” I say, tapping my finger on the steering wheel.
She studies my face for a few seconds, scrunching up her nose, and says, “Are you gay?”
“What?” I frown.
“It’s okay if you are. I don’t discriminate against it. Actually, I support it.”
“Why would you think that?” I stop at a traffic light next to a Starbucks on Broad Street, and a few people walk across the road. The light turns green as I hit the gas. The car accelerates.
“My brother asked you to take me home. He never introduces me to any of his friends, not even if his life depends on it.”
“You want to find out if I’m gay?” I say with a straight face.
And my dick swells, throbs against my zipper, ready to be free. Her eyes shift to my dark jeans. She stares for too long, and her pink tongue darts out to lick her lips. So she can’t hide her attraction from me. Quickly, she turns to look out the window, leaving my question hanging in the air.
The teenage host seats us in a booth next to the kitchen. My large body dwarfs Alana’s in the booth. Her head comes up to my shoulder, so I rest my arm on the back of the black leather seat. The waitress takes our order and leaves. I order a white omelet, toast, and orange juice. Alana orders the whole goddamn menu. She plays on her phone, not even bothering to acknowledge my existence. I like how she pretends that she doesn’t want me.
“All that food is not good for you,” I say, resting my arms on the brown table.
“I figured since you are paying, might as well order the whole menu.” The waitress sets our drinks on the table, and Alana sips her grapefruit juice and says, “Don’t tell me, you’re one of those health freaks.” She looks up from her phone.
“Not a health freak. I like having a healthy lifestyle.”
“Do you always speak your mind?” Those mismatched eyes are beautiful as the deep ocean. The waitress sets the food in front of us and tells us to enjoy.
“Maybe. Is that a problem?”
She shakes her head as her top front teeth catch her pouty bottom lip. She pours maple syrup on the pancakes and cuts them into small pieces. “So how do you know my brother?” she asks, before placing the food into her mouth.
I cut into the omelet and take a bite. “Business. I am one of his investors at his bank.”
“So you’re my boss?”
“Technically, I own twenty percent of his business.”
Gunner’s bank is one of the biggest banks as well. I met him at a country club for networking with business people.
Alana unbuttons her jacket and wiggles it off her shoulders, setting it next to her. I can see the outline of her pink bra. Her tits are pushed up, ready to bust out of her white cotton cheap shirt. She catches me looking at her tits and mumbles, “Pervert,” under her breath. I’ll show you how much of a pervert I am.
If we weren’t in a room full of people, I’d shove my hands down her shirt and cup her tits. The restaurant is rowdy as fuck, and these drunk folks are pissing me off. Her phone plays a weird tune. She picks it up and taps the screen with her pink nails.
“Shit, um . . . I have to go home.”
I look at my Rolex and bring my focus back to her. “Why? It’s three in the morning,” I say, before finishing my omelet.
“I forgot that I told my friend that I will meet him tonight.”
“This late at night?” I raise my eyebrows. She doesn’t meet my eyes. Instead, she finishes her pancakes and moves on to the eggs. Then it dawns on me who she is speaking about. That really pisses me off.
“You’re meeting Tate.” I air-quote with my fingers. “Your non-boyfriend.”
“Not that that’s any of your business, but yeah,” she snaps, throwing her napkin on her empty plate. Little does she know the more she gets feisty with me, the more my dick gets hard.
“You ever talk to me like that again, I will bend you over and fuck the shit out of you,” I say, before taking a swig of my orange juice.
Her mouth drops open at my words, and she rubs her thigh. “You’re an asshole.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
“I bet you don’t get any play with that mouth.”
“You’d be surprised how much play my mouth gets.” I’d love to take out my stress on her pussy, but she’s got to get rid of her boytoy. What kind of dumbass name is Tate anyway?
“Aren’t you too old to speak like that?” She studies me for a second, frowning.
“I’m twenty-eight, not sixty.”
“You coulda fooled me,” she shoots back. “Are you gonna eat that toast?”
I shake my head and slide the plate over to her. She opens a packet, takes a knife and spreads jelly on the toast and bites into it. The woman can eat—she has an appetite the size of Texas. It turns me on, and I’d rather her not starve herself. Mia was always obsessing over her weight because she was a supermodel, and in that world, you had to be a certain size to get a gig. And it annoyed the shit out of me when she used to put her fingers down her throat and vomit her food. It turned me off so bad that I stopped fucking her.
After Alana finishes eating the toast, she wipes her mouth with a napkin and tosses it on the plate. Beautiful green and blue eyes narrow and she says, “What?”
“Just so we’re clear, consider me your new friend.” I smile.
As we approach the lobby, a knock-off version of Justin Bieber wraps his arms around Alana’s shoulders and kisses her on the lips, and that makes my blood boil ten times more.
“Oh, Tate, this is Darien, my brother’s friend.”
“And her friend too,” I blurt out. Tate glares at me, but I don’t care. Yeah, I’m going to be the motherfucker she dumps your sorry ass for.
So this is the loser she is fucking. He has to be the same age as her. The skinny jeans and two loose chains dangling from his belt loop and a long white t-shirt tell me that he is trouble. I know his type—I used to be that type before I married Mia. Not giving a fuck about anyone else and fucking any woman I wanted to. Too bad his time will be up when it comes to Red. When we step into the elevator, I stand on the opposite side of them, and my knuckles turn white as I grip the wall rail. The Justin Bieber wannabe shoves his tongue down her throat. I want to throw him out of the elevator and kiss the shit out of her. He pulls away, breathing hard, holding her hand and brushing his lips across her knuckles.
“We’re watching Death Note tonight, the Netflix version,” Tate says to her. I should beat his ass for suggesting that garbage. FYI, the Death Note Netflix version sucks. It’s better to stick to the anime.
The elevator whistles open and they step out.
“Thanks for breakfast,” Alana says, not looking in my direction. Instead, she has her hand on Tate’s chest.
And our eyes meet before the elevator closes.
Once I open the door to my new condo, I remove my gray long-sleeved shirt and toss it on the black suede couch. When I kick my expensive shoes off, they thud against a box of shit that I need to unpack. Didn’t know I had a lot of shit that I wouldn’t need when I downsized from my ten-thousand-square-foot mansion to a three-thousand-square-foot penthouse. Compared to a fifteen-bedroom and ten-bathroom mansion, this three bedroom, two bathroom is not bad. It’s cozy despite the fact that it is damn near empty. The only thing that I took the time to set up is my sleek black piano by the pure white wall and my office for work. There is a lot of shit I need to do.
Get rid of Mia.
Unpack.
Sell my mansion.
Buy American Banking.
Fuck Alana until she can’t walk.
Might move that last one to the top of the list. I go to my minibar located in my contemporary kitchen and pour ice and whiskey in a tall glass. The ice clinks together as I take a sip of the alcohol. The dark whiskey burns my throat. I take the remote from the bar and turn on some rock music and lie down on the custom-made couch. Red is consuming my thoughts more than ever, and now Tate is standing in my way to fuck her. Have to find a way to get rid of him. I whip out my phone from my pocket, tap the Facebook icon and click on her page. I click on her friends list and type in Tate. Bingo. Found his profile. His last name is Bush. I screenshot his profile and send it to Conner, my IT guy, with a message attached to it.
Give me a background check on him.
I toss my phone onto the coffee table.
Alana. Alana. Alana is my new obsession. My muse.