Never.

Not in all my twenty-eight years had I ever turned down a blow job. Admitting that probably made me a dick. But being a dick was kind of a given. Now I had bigger things to worry about.

Like, “Will this become a pattern?” or “What the actual fuck is wrong with me?” or “Please don’t step on the hem of my dress,” because, apparently, I’d turned into a woman.

That probably happened about the time I’d refused the blow job from the willing blonde with the nice rack. And the pillow soft lips. At least they looked soft. I hadn’t actually kissed her.

And why was that exactly?

Because you’re a woman.

Since the whole exchange sounded logical in my inebriated condition, I started thinking about lesbians. Because, if I were a woman, I’d most definitely be a lesbian.

The random thoughts continued to ping around in my brain as I stumbled toward my suite.

Tori’s body guard du jour cocked his head when he saw me coming.

What the hell was his name? Didn’t matter.

“S-stand down a-asshole. D-don’t make me hurt you,” I slurred, glaring at him with narrowed eyes. “D-o you w-want me to hurt you?”

It was my standard phrase. And it always, always, worked. I was a scary guy. Scary. Only, he didn’t seem scared. He just stood there, flicking his toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other. And then he laughed.

“Yeah, okay. Don’t hurt me.”

Taking a step, I tripped over my own feet, and bounced off the wall.

He rushed forward. “Do you need some help?”

“N-no, but you will.” I waved my key at him, but it slipped out of my hand and fell onto the floor. It seemed like a good idea to reach down and pick it up. Until the ground came up and met the side of my face. “The f-fuck?”

The bodyguard lifted me off the ground by my collar. “Up you go.”

Out of the corner of my eye, the door swung open.

Who the fuck is in my room?

But it wasn’t my door. It was Toris’. Plural. Because there were two of her.

They both stepped into the hallway. “What the hell is going on?”

I pointed at the bodyguard because, maybe she was talking to him.

She wasn’t.

“Jesus, you drunk-ass,” she growled. The bodyguard offered to help, but Tori slipped her arm around my shoulder, muttering a refusal.

“I-I can walk, princess,” I said as she dragged me through the door.

“Shut up,” she hissed, maneuvering me to the couch.

I really thought I was standing on my own until Tori wiggled free and I fell onto the cushions like a sack of potatoes.

She backed up to survey me, crossing her arms over her chest. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

As she looked me over, I did my best to puff out my chest. That’s right, princess, this is the real me. I party All. Night. Long. And drink. And turn down blow jobs.

Wait …

Scratching my head, I tried to rework my thoughts into something clever I could force past my thick tongue.

Exasperated, Tori tipped forward. “Eight thirty! Why the hell are you so fucked-up at eight thirty at night?”

Surely, she meant morning? I’d been out forever. It seemed like forever. Maybe not forever. But a long damn time. I shifted my gaze to the window. It was dark.

I was still trying to figure it all out when Tori spun on her heel and stalked toward the television. No, the mini-bar.

“I’ll t-take a Jack,” I said, tilting my head so I could get a better look at her ass when she bent over. “No Coke.”

When the room started to spin, I closed my eyes.

“Drink this,” I heard Tori say, a second before she pressed something plastic into my hand.

I cracked open one heavy lid. And she was there, kneeling in front of me.

Somewhat dismayed when my first thought glided right past blow jobs, again, I reached out and touched her hair. “F-fuck. You’re …”

Some of the irritation fled from her gaze, and she dipped her chin. “I’m what?” Her voice was soft. Hesitant.

She was so many things. But as I took her in, only one word pushed its way past all the sludge in my head. “Beautiful.” I ran my finger over her jaw and down to the hollow of her neck. To the scar. And that was beautiful too. “And you smell like cookies.”

She laughed. It was light, like soft rain against the glass. “Cookies?”

“S-snickerdoodles.”

My heavy lids fluttered closed. But I knew she was still there. I could feel her. And smell her. And if I tried real hard, I could almost taste the sugar on my tongue.