I throw my suit in the locker, not caring if it gets crumpled. I don’t care about much of anything lately.

It’s been five days since I was an asshole and threw Taylor out of my house, and I regret every last second I was a dick to her.

I guess I wasn’t ready to answer the questions she had that came with me telling her what I am—was. I clammed up because I was scared she was judging me when it was the other way around. I was judging her.

I’ve never welcomed people into my life easily, not needing or wanting anybody around. I’m fine doing me, I always have been. Sure I have Kai, but me and Kai have an understanding with each other. He knows I need my space and I respect his in return. We don’t talk about the hard stuff anymore, choosing to keep it in the past. Until the other night.

We haven’t really talked since unless it’s been absolutely necessary. I know he wants to talk to me but I’m not ready. He fucked up big-time.

I walk out of the locker room, greeting a few people as I walk over to the mats to stretch out. The gym always helps me calm my mind.

An hour later after a hard, heavy arm and back session, I’m dripping with sweat but the only thing I’ve exhausted is my physical self, not the feelings raging on inside me. I’ve been on the verge of calling Reg a dozen times every day, but I’m determined to not rely on him for a release.

A fucking release. Something I’ve become dependent on. Seven years ago I was a blank canvas, and now I’m nearly covered.

I flex my hand with the rose curling over my knuckles. It’s perfectly crafted; a beautiful addition to my addiction. And that’s exactly what the tattoos are; an addiction. I’ve traded one for another, but at least this addiction is healthy—kinda.

“Mr. Reed?” I lift my head from the weight bench, greeted by Tiffany. She hands me a towel from the shelves beside her and I take it.

“Thanks.”

After a tense second, I raise a brow. “Was there something you came down here for?” The gym is in the lower part of our office and I come here every chance I get.

She clears her throat with a silly giggle that grates on my nerves. “Oh, of course. Mr. Haynes is wondering if you’re going to make it to the one o’clock meeting with ProteinPowr?”

Those vultures have been trying to get us to shift their products in our gyms for months but no matter how many times we say no, they always bring us their latest and greatest—or so they say—product.

I stand, wiping down the bench after myself and sling the towel over my shoulder. “And Mr. Haynes couldn’t come and ask me himself?”

She frowns. “He’s in a conference call.”

Sighing, I say, “Tell Mr. Haynes that ProteinPowr can—” I stop myself from saying they can suck my left nut because that would be majorly unprofessional. I take a deep breath grinding out, “Tell him I’ll be there.”

She smiles wide. “Perfect.”

I expect her to leave but when she stands there all doe-eyed, her gaze raking over the tattoos on my arms, I cock my head to the side. “Is there something else you needed?”

Her focus moves to my face at the same time her tongue pokes out to wet her lip. “No.” She gives me one last look before turning and walking away, but as she does I hear her mumble, “Apart from a big slice of that. Damn.”

I laugh, not expecting it and she turns quickly, her face flushing red as she realizes I heard her before scuttling off again. I shake my head as I throw the towel in the towel bin and go to take a shower.

I’m used to remarks like that. I guess women see the tattoos and immediately think “bad boy,” making them gravitate toward me.

Everyone wants a bad boy that’ll only be good for them, until they get them and realize—shock horror—they have real problems like everyone else does. Once the fantasy wears away they’re left with a man who can’t commit and a broken heart. And I’ve been more than happy to play that part for them over the last few years—until Taylor.

I turn on the shower in my private room before stripping off and staring at myself in the mirror. I wonder what Taylor saw when she looked at me. Did she see past the tattoos and piercings? Or was I just another fantasy to her?

If I’m honest with myself, I’d be any damn thing she wanted me to be right now. Thinking about her has me rock-fucking-hard. I’ve had blue balls for the last five days, wishing Kai never turned up when he did.

I step into the shower, closing my eyes against the warmth of the water. I’d do fucking anything to have Taylor with me right now. If I wasn’t such a screwup then maybe I could.

My dick twitches and my hand automatically moves to grasp it, squeezing the end before running my hand up the shaft. I think of all the things I’d do to her if she were here; all the ways I’d have her.

I’d trail my fingers over her soft skin, soaping her up before pinning her against the tiles and fucking her until she was satisfied. I’d be able to forget about everything going on in my head and enjoy myself.

I groan and rest my forearm against the tiles in front of me as I pump at my cock, Taylor’s face as she orgasms in the forefront of my mind. It’s the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen, and it doesn’t take me more than a few more strokes before I’m coming like a teenage boy all over my own hand.

I clean myself up and wash off the rest of my body, a soft hum starting to form behind my eyes again.

Fuck off! I don’t have time for this shit right now. Not at work.

Fuck... I’ve just jacked off at work. I’m losing my goddamn mind over her.

* * *

“Barkeep! Barkeep!”

I cover my face with my hands in embarrassment but I’m still giggling at D leaning over the bar, trying to get the bartender's attention. She’s using a strange English accent for her efforts that has me in stitches.

He comes over, a smirk on his handsome face. “What can I do for you?”

She runs a hand over his tie. “I could think of a few—”

“D!”

She turns her head my way. “What? I got laid off today, I’m allowed to indulge.” She hasn’t been into work since last week so they had to call her to make it “official” which just so happened to be today.

The bartender smiles but steps out of reach, making her pout. “Don’t want to play? Too bad. Get me two tequilas instead then.” He lays out two shot glasses, salt, and a wedge of lime before pouring out the alcohol. “And keep ’em coming. It’s going to be a looong night.”

I’m already cringing thinking about the hangover tomorrow, but I’ll do this for D. She holds out the salt and I wet the back of my hand with my tongue, letting her shake the salt onto it.

I take the lime and shot glass off the bar and hold it up toward her. “Here’s to you going onto do bigger and better things.”

A cheeky smile crosses her features as she stares at the bartender. “Oh, I’m planning on it.”

We laugh before downing our shots and while she’s ordering another round, Davey turns up with someone I’ve never seen before on his arm.

“Davey!” we both shout in unison.

“There’s my girls!” he calls back, pushing through the growing crowd, dragging a guy who looks barely legal behind him. He envelops us both in a big bear hug and pulls back, motioning to the guy. “D, Tay, this is Marc.”

He gives us a nervous wave and I can’t help but feel sorry for him. Davey’s going to eat him for breakfast. “Hey.”

“You’re going to have to lighten up, Marc. As of today, I’m no longer employed so we’re celebrating.”

He eyes the shot glass she passes him. “You’re celebrating not having a job?”

D takes his question in her stride and clinks her glass against his. “When one door shuts, you lock that bitch up tight and have one hell of a party.”

“I don’t think that’s how the expression goes,” he mumbles but takes the shot like a champ.

Another five shots later and a bar crawl across the city to one of our favorite clubs, I’m grinding on D like a stripper in heat.

I wasn’t up for coming out tonight. “One drink and I’m out,” I had said, but look at me now. My mama would be proud.

It feels amazing to let off some steam, I’ve been bent out of shape all week, tight like a freshly coiled spring. I know it’s only a matter of time before my A-hole boss asks me for a presentation on the designs for NutriLift. I can feel it every time he stares at me with his beady eyes. They burn holes into the back of my head as I sit at my desk.

And what can I say to him when he does ask? “Sorry, sir, I actually didn’t have a chance to talk about the designs with Mr. Reed because I was too busy spreading my legs for him!”

And just like that, my high starts to wane. I tap D on the arm. “I’m going to pee.”

She cups her hand around her ear while still bopping around to the music. “Whaaat?”

“I said…” I roll my eyes and move in next to her ear. “I’m going to pee!”

She gives me a thumbs-up when I pull back and I push my way through all the sweaty bodies on the dance floor, seeing Davey sucking face with someone who definitely isn’t Marc.

I knew he wouldn’t last more than two minutes.

There’s a queue for the bathroom so I slot myself in the line and wait, giving myself some unwelcome time to think. Damia being laid off today has got me scared. If I don’t come up with a presentation, or at least a plausible excuse as to why I haven’t gotten things ready yet, I’m screwed.

I don’t even know if I’m still doing the designs. Zander hasn’t contacted me since I last saw him, so who the fuck knows.

Yup, I’m totally screwed… and not in the way I want to be right now.

I could just call him and then I’d know for sure, but I don’t want to. If he wants me, he should do the running, right?

I finally get to the front of the queue and into the next available stall, locking it behind me and sitting down on the toilet seat. I don’t actually need to pee, I just needed to breathe for a minute.

“Ergh!” I groan, slamming my hands against the side of the stall. Why do things have to be so complicated?

“Erm, like, is everything alright in there?” a timid voice asks.

My body tenses. “Yeah, everything’s fine, thanks.” I flush the toilet, pretending I’ve finished and open the door, not expecting the girl to be standing there.

She smiles at me. “You sure? You totally don’t sound okay.”

Washing my hands, I nod. “Fine, just a little drunk and unlucky in love.”

“Ahhh, boys, am I right?”

Well, men actually. She mustn’t be older than twenty-one by the looks of things. “Sure.”

“There’s this boy on campus I know is totally into me, but he keeps sleeping with anything that moves.”

“Move on,” I state dryly as I grab a paper towel and dry my hands.

She gawps at me for a minute before chuckling. “You’re funny.”

“A regular comedian,” I deadpan before hightailing it out of there. I’m no longer in the fun, bubbly mood I was earlier. I need a drink.

On the way to the bar I see D propped up in a corner. She looks to be in the same mood as I am, so I make my way over there, forgetting about my drink.

I lean against the wall with her.

“Why am I such a screwup? I don’t deserve this, I’m a good person.” I chuckle but wrap my arm around her shoulder, comforting her.

She falls into me. “Whoa! Let’s go and find a seat.”

I steer her toward a booth three guys just got up from and help her onto the bench. “First of all, Damia Campbell, you are not a screwup. It’s not your fault the gym went bankrupt. These things happen. And second of all, no more Slippery Nipples for you. They seem to put you on a Debbie Downer.”

She snorts out a laugh. “Slippery Nipples.”

“I’m serious, girl, no more.”

“Fine.” Her nose scrunches up like it always does when she doesn’t like something. “Do you think they’re hiring?”

I look around the room, taking stock of all the gyrating bodies dry humping each other on the dance floor. “I don’t think you’d like being on the other side of the bar.”

“You’re probably right.”

I don’t like the expression on her face right now. D finds the positive in anything, this isn’t good. “Hey.” I wait until she looks at me. “We’ll find you a new job.”

She smiles and stands up shakily. “I know. Now, to the barrr!”

She’s off like a rocket, weaving between people with more dexterity than I gave her credit for. I try to do the same but as I’m nearing the edge of the dance floor, I’m pulled into a hard chest, their hands clasped around my hips.

I freeze at first but when their thumb grazes the bare skin between my jeans and my tank top, I move my body to the music, grinding against them.

Damn, they can move!

I shut my eyes and feel the rhythm of the music flow through me, letting myself go as I run my hands through my long hair, letting it fan around my face.

My dance partner emits a low growl that sparks something in me, but when I turn around, his face isn’t the one I want to see. He’s a complete stranger, someone I may choose to go home with if it was another night—if it was before. But not now. Not after Zander.

I give him a small smile and lean in closer to his ear. “Thanks for the dance, but my friend needs me at the bar.”

He slowly brushes my hair to the side, leaning down and whispering, “Fucking tease,” before walking in the opposite direction.

What a fucking jerk!