Knox

Stella: What the hell, Knox? You ditched me and left with another girl?

I toss my phone back onto the nightstand after reading her text. She sent it at three this morning, which means she was probably wasted off her ass, feeling jealous, or wanting to fuck.

Or all of the above.

She has plenty of guys to do the job for her, so why is she suddenly all over my dick? Before last night, I hadn’t seen her in months. Sure, she texted me a few times after my arrest, but we aren’t necessarily on speaking terms. Nor do I want to be. She did a long ass interview with some magazine and told them she was done talking about me and wanted to move on with her life and be happy.

That’s what I’m letting her do.

I grab my phone again at the sound of another text.

Nate: Dude, is there something you want to tell me?

There’s a link to a web page attached to his text. A photo of me leaving the club with a blonde woman pops up when I click on it. I squint, looking at it closely.

It’s Libby.

Fuck.

This isn’t good.

The person that’s supposed to cover up shit like this is the one that’s involved. I wonder if she’s seen the picture, and if she has, does she have a statement ready?

I hop out of bed, shower, and pull on a pair of workout shorts and a t-shirt before heading downstairs. I look at the clock when I make it into the kitchen. Seven fifty in the morning. I don’t remember the last time I was up this early, but Libby threatened to soak my ass in cold water if I wasn’t up when she got here. I make myself a drink, snag a banana, and start to peel it when my phone rings.

“Hello sunshine,” I answer.

“Hey,” Libby says on the other line. Her voice is sweet, almost angelic-like this morning – definitely better than her snippy ass attitude yesterday. “I’m outside. Can you let me in?”

“On my way.”

I jump off my stool and meet her at the front door. She’s in another one of her maxi dresses – this one tighter than yesterday’s, but not as revealing as what she was wearing at the club last night. Her honey blonde hair with hints of pink is hanging down in loose curls, pink gloss covers her lips and nearly a dozen bracelets dangle from her wrist. In one hand is a planner. In the other is a clear cup filled with a green drink.

“Remind me to get you a key made,” I say, moving aside to let her in.

She walks towards the kitchen. “I’ll make a note of it.”

“Just don’t start sniffing my boxers or go hiding in my closet to get a peek at my goods.”

“Trust me, that won’t be happening. Your goods are safe around me.”

I plop back down on my stool and take a long swig of my drink as I watch her stand in the doorway. Her arms are folded across her breasts, the cup and planner dangling from each hand, and she looks uncomfortable as hell.

I nod towards her cup. “What’cha drinking?” I ask, in an attempt to break the silence.

She looks down at it. “A spinach and kale smoothie.”

I curl my upper lip before holding up my stainless steel bottle. “My trainer makes me drink that shit sometimes, but I can guarantee you it’s not as delicious as what I have.”

“And what exactly do you have?”

I give her a careless shrug. “Just some whiskey and coke.”

“You’re kidding, right?” I shake my head in response. “Throw it away,” she demands, her voice turning harsh. “You have a shoot today, and I’m not dealing with any drunken bullshit.”

“No can do, sunshine. I’m not wasting good whiskey.”

She scoffs. “I’m sure you have the money to replace it.”

“I’m not dumping it out.”

She throws her planner down on the counter and sets her drink next to it before stomping my way. She stops in front of me, a snarl on her upper lip. “Oh, yes you are.” She holds her hand out like I’m a child who has something he shouldn’t.

“How about this, you drink the rest of it for me.”

“I’m not drinking whiskey for breakfast. I don’t drink whiskey … ever.”

I hold back my laughter and press the lid of the cup to my lips, testing her. It’s working. Perfect. “Either you drink it or I chug this thing right now and show up drunk at my shoot.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

She snatches the drink out of my hand. “I haven’t had this much peer pressure since high school.” She plugs her nose before taking a gulp. I wait for it, watching her face as it dawns on her. “You’re an asshole.” She shoves the bottle into my chest, and I catch it before it falls in my lap.

I give her my best innocent look. “What?”

“It’s chocolate milk.”

I can’t hold back my grin any longer. “Nesquik, to be exact.”

“What are you, twelve?”

“Chocolate milk is the drink of real men.” I lean back in my chair and take another drink while she gives me a dirty look. “So what’s on the agenda today, boss?”

She takes a few steps back and rests her elbows on the island. “You have to stop by the office and okay a few tour ads, and then we’re going straight to the shoot, so make sure you have everything you need now because we’re not going to have time to come back.”

Damn, this chick sounds like my mother, only she does a better job than her.