Ayla

“Ayla.” His voice severs our girl talk and causes Bostyn to scowl.

Spinning to face him, I try not to gloat because something about this feels like a victory. He’s coming to me. He’s chasing me. He wants me.

“Yes?” I ask.

He hooks his hand into my elbow and pulls me off the bar stool like some Neanderthal, leading me to a quiet corner of the bar between two empty tables with flickering candles.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“That was a pity fuck this morning, wasn’t it?” he asks.

I chuff. “I don’t screw people out of pity, so no. It wasn’t a pity fuck.”

He studies my face. I think my answer pleases him.

“Is that all this is about?” I ask.

Rhett exhales. Apparently the cat’s got his tongue.

“I want to see you again,” he says after a bout of silence.

My eyes move to the mousy girl sitting across the bar nursing a lemon drop martini, and my jaw hinges.

“Seriously?” I ask, arms folding. “You just left your date over there by herself so you could march over here and tell me you want to fuck me again ... and you expect me to say yes to that?”

His full mouth turns up at one side and he laughs through his nose. “I’m not on a date.”

Rolling my eyes, I say, “Sure. Whatever you say. But I’m not going to hook up with you again, so don’t waste your time.”

“She’s my assistant,” he says, his words colored in frustration. “She just got dumped. I’m taking her out for drinks, getting her wasted, and giving her the next couple of days off.”

“Oh.” I glance her way again. I’ve yet to see her face since I’ve been here, but I vaguely recall bumping into a girl similar in size this morning when I was dropping off his phone charger.

“Right.” He blows a firm breath through his nostrils. “Anyway, like I was saying, I want to see you again.”

“Why?”

He laughs. “You’re asking why?”

“Yes. Why?”

“What the hell am I supposed to say to that?”

“I’m not looking for a boyfriend,” I blurt.

“I’m not looking to be anybody’s boyfriend.”

“Then what do you want from me?”

He moves closer, closing the space between us and just barely cupping his hand to my cheek.

“I had fun with you this morning,” he says, letting his hand fall. “I’m just looking for a little more of ... that.”

“So you want a fuck buddy.”

“Something like that. Yes,” he says. “No strings. No labels. No commitment. Just sex.”

“You sound like every other red-blooded American man,” I say, sighing.

He rolls his eyes.

“Okay, so why do you want that with me? I’m just some girl, that twenty-four hours ago, you’d never met in your life,” I say.

He rubs his palm against his grainy five o’clock shadow and exhales. “You remind me of myself.”

My jaw hangs. “No offense, but I’m nothing like you.”

Rhett laughs. “You’re exactly like me, and that’s why this needs to happen. Now give me your phone.”

* * *

“I don’t know how you do it.” I crawl out of his bed Wednesday morning, all of last night feeling like a hazy blur. All I remember is going to The Prescott Club with Bostyn, getting cornered by Rhett, then letting him program his number into my phone as a sort of nonverbal agreement to be his fuck buddy.

I texted him when I got home so he’d have my number, and he texted back within minutes, asking me to come over.

And I did.

Like a fool.

“Do what?” he asks as he stirs awake, the blankets pulled up around his waist.

I bet we got three, maybe four hours of sleep at most, and I’m plagued with a sweet soreness between my thighs today, but I don’t mind because it was well worth it. Rhett fucked me in positions I never even knew existed last night, and I kind of feel like a brand new woman because of it.

“Reel me in,” I say, standing in front of his bathroom sink. The door is open, and I’m brushing my teeth. Like a dork, I brought an overnight bag, but I figure since we’re not dating and this will never turn into anything more, I don’t have to do the thing where you gradually move your stuff in and let things happen naturally, at their own pace. “I’ve never had a fuck buddy in my life, though I’ve been propositioned a few times. It’s never been my thing.”

“Are you trying to say I’m lucky?”

“Yeah. Basically.” I spit the toothpaste in the sink and turn to him, soaking in how beautiful he looks in the warm morning light. “I’m also telling you not to fuck it up.”

I can’t believe I’m doing this, but I’d be lying if I said this entire situation didn’t flatter the hell out of me. This man was engaged to a Victoria’s Secret Angel slash supermodel slash beauty and fashion mogul. He’s wealthy and handsome. A professional athlete. He could literally fuck any woman on the face of the earth ... and yet he wants me.

And the clincher? He’s good in bed. So good.

I leave the bathroom and gather my clothes off the floor of his room, shoving them into my bag in exchange for some clean ones.

“What are you looking at?” I ask, slipping my legs into my jeans. He’s staring at me, I feel it.

“Just admiring the view.” He props a pillow behind his back, then interlaces his fingers behind his neck as he wears a sleepy, satisfied smirk. I roll my eyes and pretend it annoys me, when I know damn well it doesn’t.

My bra is hanging from the chrome knob on his nightstand drawer, but when I try to retrieve it, he reaches for my arm, pulling me into bed. I’m straddling him now, shirtless, and his hands are trailing up my sides, making their way to my breasts before pulling my nipples between his fingers. I flash a half-smile, grinding my hips against his hardness, which is separated by my jeans and his sheets.

“You want this again?” I tease, lowering myself enough so that our lips graze.

He kisses me, his hands cupping my face and his fingers at the nape of my neck. It’s a soft, tender kiss, a harsh contrast from the multitude of ways he fucked me last night.

I’d never been fucked so hard before, literally and figuratively. I caught a glimpse of something when our eyes met earlier this morning, and it made me wonder if he was trying to fuck the hurt out of him, which sounds insane and a little bizarre, but it’s kind of the only thing that makes sense right now.

And maybe I owe it to him. I’ll let him use me. I’ll do this willingly.

My brother fucked him over, so now he gets to fuck me.

“I have to go.” I pull myself off him. “You have my number.”

He sits up as I fasten my bra a moment later, and he scratches at his temple. His hair is mussed and sexy, and this room smells like us.

“You can get a hold of me too, you know,” he says. “This agreement of ours, it goes both ways.”

“Good to know.” I pull my shirt over my head and straighten the hem. I’ve got a meeting today with that lawyer Coach Harris connected me with. He’s going to help me set up this foundation for Bryce. “Think I’ll still let you do the calling.”

“Of course you will.”

I flash him a wink and a smart-mouthed smirk, and I show myself out.

By the time I’m outside, he sends me a text.

Thanks For That

Smart ass.