One Big Little Secret: A Secret Baby Romance (The Rory Brothers Book 2)
One Big Little Secret: Chapter 1

Six Years Ago

The water glimmers from the riverboat’s lights, spinning reflections into streaks of gold.

It’s pretty in a distant way, but with how I’m hanging over the side, I’m feeling lucky I haven’t fallen in.

The worn wooden railing feels warm under my arms on this balmy night and the water looks delightfully cool.

Oh, I’m tempted.

But a night of pure torture will make you consider the craziest ways to escape.

Of course, splunking down in the Missouri River would ruin my makeup and my best dress. Not good when Kayla Persephone, my so-called friend whose father rented the boat, spent at least twenty minutes bringing me oh-so-close to matching her rich-girl friends, so I’d feel a little bad.

I just wish I knew why she bothered inviting me.

I twist around, leaving the water to its shimmering silence, and face the rest of the riverboat scene.

The sunset stains the sky blood orange.

The music pounds away in the main cabin, so loud I’m pretty sure I’ll have Adele’s voice burned into my brain for life.

Kayla’s giddy little hamster friends talk and gamble. I see them through the windows, exploring the many rooms of this boat, throwing away play money I can’t even dream of.

To distract myself from the fact that I’m the only one here who isn’t a high-class daddy’s girl, I swipe a glass from a nearby waiter and turn back to the water. Against the backdrop of big money, the river looks more inviting by the second.

God, why are we still friends?

Sure, so back in ninth grade I shared my umbrella with Kayla once, saving her perfect makeup and designer outfit, but we’re adults now.

We’re total opposites socially and—well, every other way.

She left high school and went to Old Mizzou, partying it up like everyone else here. She had the time of her life husband hunting between chasing a degree in whatever her heart desired.

She’s glamorous and successful and beautiful.

And I’m—I’m me.

The girl who turned down debt and her parents’ pleas to go to a real university.

The clown who ditched the conventional college-first advice to work on my business plans back in Kansas City.

I take a long sip of my mimosa and try to savor it, but it just tastes like privilege.

I’ve had loads of businesses by now. Gobs of big ideas.

They’ve just never quite worked out.

The vending machines selling mints seemed like a winner, but I didn’t have the charm to win any amazing locations and the turnover sucked. Apparently, Kansas City isn’t too worried about bad breath.

My eco-friendly cleaning business would’ve been lucrative enough if the market wasn’t jam-packed. It’s amazing how many folks are willing to clean toilets for a living and brandish their green chemical-free credentials, even here in flyover country.

And in this town, good luck charging premium prices for dog walking when there are ten new doggy start-ups every month.

But it’s fine.

I’m fine.

My next big idea is out there, I just know it.

And maybe I’ll even have a chance at replaceing it if I can get off this casino riverboat with Kayla and her rich friends.

“Salem!” Kayla’s scream splits the air. Everyone turns to stare as she throws herself at me like an overdone kitten, her white-blonde hair curling around her ears. She’s gone for a Marilyn Monroe look tonight and I kinda hate that she’s nailed it.

Beside her, I look like I just clocked off a long night shift at the loser factory.

“Hey, Kay.” I summon a smile from the tips of my toes. “Having a good time? Are you winning anything in there?”

“Lady, we’re just getting started! But why aren’t you playing with us? And why aren’t you drunk yet?” She scoffs at my half glass of mimosa, jerking my arm until I follow her inside to the velvet interior and the longest bar ever.

A cute bartender glances at me for a second. He has a piercing in one ear and a dark tattoo curling up his forearm.

“Lemmy, loosen up! You could be having fun for once,” Kayla croons in my ear.

I try not to shudder.

“I didn’t want to go too crazy tonight. Long week ahead, y’know,” I start, but she’s already leaning over the bar, pushing her ample cleavage half out of her dress.

The cute bartender coughs and spills a big scoop of ice all over the floor, trying not to stare.

Presto boobo, I’m forgotten.

“Shots!” Kayla demands, banging her fists on the counter.

“Huh?” I look at her.

“Tequila. You’re slamming it with me. Right the fuck now.”

Wow. So this evening can get worse.

“…I dunno. I really do have an early morning and—”

“No, Lemmy. No. We have a double date with a top-shelf hottie made of glass and a lime and we’re not standing him up.” She leans back and laughs at her own joke. “You’re gonna have fun here, babe. I promise.”

Inside isn’t much better than outside.

Worse, in here, I can’t just mope around in a corner and imagine swimming home.

But maybe she’s right.

Maybe I need to stop worrying and relax a little.

“Okay, okay,” I tell her. There’s not much else to say to Kayla.

She’s got the rich girlboss vibe down pat with her big brown eyes and full lips and carefully accented face. Tomorrow, she’ll be back to impersonating another celebrity, and doing it so well everyone around her will pretend to be impressed.

“Stop being so awkward. You look gorgeous.” She runs a hand down my arm, laughing again. “Look at your dress. The red really suits you. I bet you never get to dress up like this much, huh?”

“I mean… you picked it out. And no, I don’t get out enough,” I say dryly.

“You’re welcome, Lemmy. Didn’t I tell you I’m a genius? Look at your butt.” To emphasize her point, she slaps my ass. “Babe, you’re going to pull tonight.”

Holy mother of cringe.

I wonder if the security guy in the corner carries so he can shoot me right now.

“Hang on, I don’t know about that. I don’t know if I want to mess around like—”

Too late.

Kayla squeals as the tall tequila shots land in front of us with the usual salt and lime.

I knock mine back, trying not to grimace as a fireball goes down my throat.

“Remember Christmas?” she asks, reminding me of the last time we hung out. Although that’s a pretty strong exaggeration for ‘existing at the same party.’

Just like now, Kayla was completely smashed.

I was barely any better, and at the end of the evening, we wound up sitting together and ranking the guys in the room while I tried not to barf. Until I joked too much and Kayla threw up her drinks all over my shoes while she was laughing.

“C’mon. What’s the score tonight? Just look at that stallion stable. Every dude here is hot and rich.” She glances at the bartender again, biting her bottom lip.

Sigh.

“The guy by the door, he’s pretty cute,” I say. “I give him a seven.”

“Security guy? Lemmy, he must be like forty. Do better.” Kayla doesn’t even spare him a glance. “What about him? Over there by the roulette table?”

She whistles obnoxiously.

The guy she nods at stands alone, this tall, dark silhouette who becomes the center of attention purely by existing.

Okay, yes.

He’s hot, in a forbidden kind of way—the kind of sexy you see in moody ads for expensive colognes and watches. Those ads are always photoshopped, I think.

Only, unless he’s a figment of my imagination, there are no edits happening here, not in the flesh. Just Hercules in a white button-down shirt, curled open a little at the neck, looking good enough to eat.

“Him? Jeez, Kay, he’s a solid twelve out of ten.”

She giggles and elbows me in the side. “You gotta go for it now. Don’t make me drag you over.”

My heart almost stops.

“Um, right. How many drinks have you had?” I ask her. “Remember that time in high school when you told me to ask the quarterback to prom?”

“And he made a huge-ass mistake by turning you down,” she says, waving a server down for another drink.

“He didn’t just ‘turn me down.’ He humiliated me in front of half our class. Then he asked you out for putting me up to such a dumb prank.”

“Yeah, well…” She looks me up and down, wrinkling her nose. “You’re prettier now, right? That dress, you’re rocking it tonight.”

I can’t tell if that’s an insult or a compliment.

You never can tell with Kayla.

Like any young Missouri woman from an affluent family, she’s skilled in the art of insulting you with a sunny smile on her face.

But this doesn’t sound like an insult.

“Thanks,” I mutter. “But I don’t think I’m enough for that guy.”

Smiling, she jabs her fingers in her ears. “Nope, not hearing it! Stop putting yourself down. You could get whoever you wanted if you just smiled more, Lemmy. And if you dressed aggressively, like now.”

“You dressed me,” I remind her.

“I know, but you have boobs. Use them.”

“My boobs are not aggressive,” I hiss.

Man, I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.

“Well, not if you aren’t using them right!” She pulls the front of my dress to show more cleavage. “There, look at that. One little adjustment and you’re on fire.”

She’s shifted the dress so low it’s a miracle my breasts are defying gravity. “Definitely more aggressive. Do I need to start howling?”

“Kayla, no!”

“And hey, even if you don’t get the guy in the corner, you can still do better than the old nerds who haven’t stopped eye-fucking us ever since we walked in.” She nods at a group of older men on the other side of the bar. “I don’t even know who they are—dudes my dad works with, I think. Daddy paid for casino night, so of course a few of his buds are here too.”

That explains the odd mix of people scattered around this boat.

“Just replace yourself an actual seven. Please,” she advises, pushing a fresh shot toward me.

Watching her drink is a little mesmerizing, the odd way she licks the salt and tosses the drink back like it’s water. Her expression only changes when she sucks on the lime.

“Will do,” I say sarcastically, snapping off a salute.

“Okay, sweet. I’m gonna play roulette. You interested?” She slides off her seat.

“Nah, you go on. I’ve got this.” I motion to the next shot. She raises her eyebrows, rightly assuming there’s no way I’ll keep standing if I finish this next shot. But then she shrugs.

“Okay, Lemmykins. Enjoy yourself!”

Do I really look that miserable?

I glance back to catch the cute bartender’s eye, but he’s busy serving someone else. An old guy with creases in his neck below his ears.

It only takes a second to regret looking that way. Old Guy glances over at me, moving his head like a hungry bird.

Oof. I jerk my head away before he thinks I’m interested.

Right, I can do this.

So maybe this isn’t how I planned to spend a sticky summer night off, but I’m here. I can make my own fun, whatever Kayla thinks.

I order a cocktail as I wait for the buzz to kick me in the face, scanning the large room. It’s basically a giant bar with tables and corner booths flanking table games. Optimal for getting drunk and losing a metric ton of money.

Not my kind of fun. I wonder if I can replace a man without spending a fortune—

“Hey, gorgeous.” A loud, drunken voice interrupts my thoughts.

Oh, boy, here we go.

I turn around to replace a guy in his forties sliding onto the stool beside me. There’s a bead of liquid on his collar and I look at it, preferring not to pay too much attention to his greying hair or the way he flashes his gold watch. Three times, like I’m part magpie, drawn to shiny things.

He wields it like a secret swipe card that opens my legs.

Come on, dude.

“Hello,” I say coldly.

“What’s a pretty young thing like you doing at the bar like this?”

“Um.” Is this what it’s like to be chatted up? I already want to pass. “Drinking, I guess. Nothing like enjoying your own company.”

I hope he takes the hint.

But he doesn’t.

He laughs, throwing his large head back until he resembles a horse. His Adam’s apple bobs and I try to catch the cute bartender’s eye in case he’s willing to rescue me, but he doesn’t even see me.

All because Kayla’s gone, probably.

“Are you here because you’re a friend of what’s her face? Kylie?” he asks. “The one from Old Mizzou? Surprised you ain’t trying your luck with her. Good times for a college girl.”

“Actually, I didn’t go to college.” And it’s my turn to laugh as my drink—a toxic cocktail that’s the same fading orange as the sunset—gets delivered. “I’m not here to gamble because I’m basically broke.”

He cocks his head and stares. My liquid courage has gotten me this far, and now it’s time to finish the job.

“My last three businesses almost bankrupted me. I lost money on a job walking a hyperactive rottweiler. The kids with lemonade stands have turned a better profit this summer than I will. I even tried to sell fresh-made Italian freezes. That went up in flames when the secondhand ice cream cart I bought off the internet started on fire. Literally, I mean. That was a bad day, but it’s hardly the worst. Want to hear about them?”

“Hell no,” he mutters, but his body language has changed. His shoulders hunch and he turns away.

Thank God. All this dude wanted was a young, fun college bimbo.

They’re all the same and I’m so not his type.

“So are you married? Or just divorced?” I ask, playing it up as I nod at the white line on his finger where his wedding band usually sits, surrounding the tan.

“Enjoy the party, doll.” Grumbling, he pushes himself up and staggers away.

He throws a look back like he’s afraid I’ll chase him.

Hey, at least we’re having fun. Isn’t that the whole point?

I take a triumphant sip from my cocktail and wait for my next victim.

Surprise, surprise.

It turns out being single at a floating casino bar attracts the grossest, most arrogant men on this side of the Mississippi. The adjustments Kayla made to my dress are only partly to blame.

Most of the guys who drop by offering free drinks don’t bother hiding the fact that they’re drooling at my cleavage.

Normally, I’d be happy I don’t have to buy drinks.

The downside is Kayla has my drinks covered.

But the real losers here are the gobs of leering old bachelors and obvious cheaters looking to poach a girl half their age.

“Yep, I just turned eighteen! One more year of high school,” I lie to the latest guy, who’s nudged his chair close enough so his knee bumps mine.

I shuffle back again and giggle.

“No foolin’? You look mature for your age.”

I almost flinch. Huge ick that my fake age just encourages the pig.

“I can look like a lot of things. But, um, aren’t you a little old? No offense.”

“Age is a hell of a number. Say, you’ve got pretty eyes.” His hand drifts to my thigh and I swipe it away roughly. “Such long legs, too. Don’t be a tease, little lady.”

I shrug.

“Thanks. I grew them myself, but they also have an age limit. Sorry.”

Undaunted, he licks his lips and leans closer.

Disgusting.

If I had to guess, he thinks he’s a young stud here when he’s probably in his late thirties. But I don’t have to guess.

His strong cologne nearly knocks me out, and his dark hair is slicked back and tapered like a skunk.

“Quit fucking around. You’re the hottest girl in this bar,” he breathes, the beer heavy on his breath. No clue how many he’s had, but it’s five too many.

“I’m the only girl at this bar right now,” I say. The only pathetically single one, anyway, judging by a couple older women with men in the corner. “But look, I’m not interested. Wanna take a hint?”

That wandering hand grips my arm, tightening.

“Sounds like you don’t date much,” he growls. “I’m paying your tab.”

“Which is totally illegal. I’m underage.”

“Bullshit. How old are you really?”

“Old enough to know a few drinks don’t entitle your touchy ass to anything.” I’ve had it. I try to shake him off, but he won’t budge. “Seriously. Let go, dude.”

I don’t get worried until he laughs.

“Like hell. I can show you a good time, missy. I’m staying the night below deck.”

Sweet Jesus.

If I hadn’t finished my drink, it would be dripping off his face right now.

At least I’m wearing heels. I know from personal experience they can do some damage when they slam into a man’s—

“Excuse me,” a deep voice rumbles smoothly from the side.

I turn to see coppery-brown hair, sharp blue eyes, and a jawline worthy of the Himalayas. It’s Mr. Twelve from earlier, and he’s younger up close, maybe mid-twenties.

He’s also standing close enough to touch, looking mighty pissed.

Then he does touch me, placing a hand on my shoulder and stroking his way down to my hand.

This is it.

My end.

I’m going to die right here on this riverboat by spontaneous combustion. Or maybe I’m already dead from too many drinks and this is a weird kind of afterlife.

Touchy-Feely narrows his eyes at Mr. Twelve.

“Who the hell are you?”

“Her fiancé—and you must be the clown asking stupid questions,” Twelve lies—and so convincingly I believe him for a split second. “The question is, how long do I give you?”

“What? What the hell are you saying, man?” He fumbles for a second and finally releases me.

“That’s what I thought.” Twelve pulls me off the chair and into his arms. “You okay, baby?”

With you? I’m okay personified.

He’s dreamy. Positively sinful up close, which rarely ever happens, and he has the shoulders of an angry god, tensed like steel as he holds me.

“I’ll live,” I whisper, a little too breathlessly.

“Get your legs working,” he growls at Touchy-Feely, who tries to slam down the rest of his beer. Twelve grabs it out of his hand and thunks it on the counter. “I meant right now, genius. I’m giving you a very generous ten-second head start. If you’re not gone by the end of my countdown, I’ll see you in the river.”

Holy. Crap.

The other man lets out a startled grunt, stares for two seconds, and then runs out of the room.

I turn back to my hero and smile.

And when he smiles back, clearly proud of thinking quick on his feet, it makes my knees wobble.

“Please tell me you’re not actually eighteen,” he says.

“Oh, jeez. You heard that?” I straighten my dress and step back. “Before you accuse me of underage drinking, I promise I’m twenty-one. Got my ID in here somewhere to prove it…”

He puts his hand gently on mine as I fumble for my purse.

“Don’t bother. I don’t need it.”

“Oh, um, okay.”

“Just couldn’t help noticing you were alone and stuck with that greasy fuck. Cruel of your friends to leave you marooned with these piranhas. You with Kayla?”

So he knows her. Not a shock, I guess.

He doesn’t know my name, of course. I’m not sure we should even bother introducing ourselves, but maybe I can forge a new identity for tonight. He’ll never know.

“Are you another piranha man?” I ask.

“Not tonight,” he says with another smile that slays. “Just a handsome stranger.”

“Did I say you were handsome?” I raise an eyebrow.

“Nah. I can hear your thoughts.”

Oh my God, I’m laughing.

There’s no way this guy doesn’t know how freakishly gorgeous he is, but there’s also no chance I’m about to play into his ego.

“Well, I suppose you’re not bad,” I say, following his lead as he strolls across the room. “Where are we going?”

“Roulette.”

“Big gambler, huh?”

He glances down at me. “I feel lucky tonight.”

We replace space at a roulette table. I cling to his arm as he trades a wad of cash for dark-blue chips.

This is wildly out of my comfort zone. I feel like people should be staring at me for being with someone like him, but for some reason no one questions it.

“What do you think?” he asks me. “Red or black? It’s an easy choice.”

“Red,” I decide. “It matches my dress.”

“Red it is. And what’s your favorite number?”

“Why? You’re already trying to steal my social?” Then I laugh, because there’s nothing as absurd as a guy who looks this hot and rich being interested in my social security number. “My favorite number’s eight, so go with that.”

He nods at the guy in charge of the table, who spins the wheel once everyone’s bets are in.

The tension thickens as the ball slowly loses momentum, tripping over the numbers until it settles on a red eight.

My heart lunges up my throat.

Mr. Twelve nods approvingly like he’s not the least bit surprised.

“Knew there was a reason I felt lucky tonight, Lady Luck. Or should it be Lady Bug?” He nods at my dress.

I almost forgot it was peppered with small black dots.

“Thanks, dude. Is comparing me to a bug supposed to be flattering?”

“Ladybugs are good luck in some cultures. They’re also damn cute,” he says gruffly.

Despite everything, I blush. Again.

“So you think I’m cute? Very funny.” My inner loser shakes her head violently in disbelief.

He lowers his head so it’s right beside my ear. His breath brushes my hair, tickling the delicate skin.

“Show me one man at this table who isn’t staring,” he whispers.

“Stop. Now you’re just being ridiculous.”

“Am I?” He raises his eyebrows at me and makes another bet.

Amazingly, he wins.

And wins.

And wins.

Doesn’t matter if I make the bet or he does, it just keeps coming.

We win several rounds and leave a lot of jaws hanging on the floor, at least for the people who don’t walk away in pure disgust. By the end of the game, he’s got a whole stack of chips.

“This calls for a victory drink, Lady Bug.” He takes my hand and pulls me back to the bar. “What’s your poison?”

“Oh God, I don’t know. I’ve had a lot of poison tonight, that’s for sure.” No joke. The world has devolved into random shapes and colors and him. “Whatever you’re having.”

He orders a neat whiskey that slips down as easily as melted butter, and before I can stop him, he’s pulling me onto the dance floor.

Oh, I’m a hot mess.

Putty in his hands.

And those big, warm hands are on my back now. My chest is pressed against his, and I’m gazing up at him like those blue eyes are offering me the secrets of the universe.

“I’m not a lucky person so this is really weird,” I whisper. “Like, it’s bad. I’m a human black cat.”

“You feel lucky to me.” He slides a hand down to my ass and squeezes. “And I can feel you pretty well.”

“Oh my God.”

Did I say that out loud? No, I moaned it instead.

I am so, so screwed.

The crazy part is, I’m not even bothered by it.

“Too far?” He dips his head closer, his gaze firmly on my mouth. “Tell me and I’ll stop right now.”

I am going, going, gone.

Tomorrow, odds are I’ll regret every second of this. Hell, I definitely feel pretty nuts right now. But it also feels good, and so does he.

“Lady Bug?” he urges.

“If you’re going to kiss me, hurry up. Before I have second thoughts.”

No need to ask twice. His mouth eclipses mine in a delicious rush that makes my nerves glow like string lights.

My blood ignites.

His tongue claims mine and takes us to cloud flipping nine.

I can barely remember the way to the guest cabin where Kayla said I could crash for the night.

He’s still holding my hand, keeping me steady, following my confused turns until I replace the right door and lead him inside.

As soon as the door shuts behind us, he detonates me again.

Another kiss.

Hard. Hungry. Rough.

Holy hell, I’ve never been kissed like this in my life.

My only serious boyfriend was a passive guy with awkward lips and a weak libido that had me leading everything. We never went past the make out stage, and I wasn’t sorry about it.

Call it shallow, but he never made me feel wanted.

In a single instant, this man does what five months of dates never could.

And God, he probably knows how to do everything else, too.

I have no earthly idea what I’m doing in that department, but judging by the confidence of his roaming hands, I don’t need to worry.

All I need to do is be ready.

I shouldn’t, I shouldn’t, but I don’t want to stop.

So, I don’t.

Not when he unzips my dress and shoves it to my feet in a scarlet puddle.

Not when he picks me up and hauls me over to the plush bed.

Not when he unhooks my bra.

It’s not fancy lingerie. It’s supportive and comfortable, basic with no wire and wide straps. But he doesn’t even care as he flings it aside and runs his tongue down my body.

“You’re too goddamned beautiful to waste in the casino, playing arm candy,” he rasps against my skin. “I want you all to myself.”

“Liar.” I grin, pushing at his chest.

I think he sees it as a challenge.

He laughs darkly and flicks his tongue against my nipple.

The sudden heat sends waves of pleasure bolting through me.

“Does this look like a lie?” he asks, motioning to the bulge in his pants.

Of course, he’s huge.

The thick ridge pulsing his trousers honestly scares me a little.

“Oh, wow,” I whisper. He slides a hand along my thigh and pulls off my panties, and my brain stutters. “Oh my God.”

So, this is what I’ve been missing out on when I bowed out of the whole college hookup scene.

“You want this, Lady Bug? Tell me,” he demands against my mouth.

He tastes like man mingled with a hint of whiskey. His fingers draw circles at the top of my thighs, tickling the delicate skin, but never going where I truly need them.

If I were sober, I might worry about this as my first time.

Rationally, I know it’s dumb and dangerous to be drunk and on the verge of having sex with a complete stranger.

I might consider the fact that I don’t know his name and he doesn’t know mine.

But I’m not sober or rational or cautious tonight.

I’m not boring old Salem Hopper.

For now, I’m Lady Bug, and the heat pooling in my core has more control over my mouth than my brain.

“Touch me. Wherever you want,” I whisper.

He grins with devilish delight as he shoves my legs apart and slides a finger inside me.

A noise falls out of me that’s so shrill I throw a hand over my mouth.

Oh my fuck.

He catches my wrist then, moving it away from my face as he slips another finger inside me, stretching me, short-circuiting my senses.

“Can you take it, good girl? Can you take all of me?”

I bite my lip until it hurts.

“Don’t hold back,” he growls. “Be as fucking loud as you like.”

“What about…” I can’t even string together a sentence as he strokes my inner wall. “W-won’t people hear?”

“Do we care?”

For a second, we lock eyes.

And I fall into the heat, the humor, the dare twinkling in his gaze.

No, I decide. No, we flipping don’t.

He reads my mind as I give myself over to his clever hands and wicked mouth.

Soon, I know I was right about one thing—I don’t need to worry about my role.

He’s in total control, and when he fingers me until I’m drenched and aching and so, so close, I think I’d give him my life.

When he pulls out, unzips his pants, and pushes into me, I tell myself I’m ready.

Wrong.

So wrong.

Nothing could ever prepare me for the world imploding into searing hot stars.

Everything condenses into fire with every thrust, slow and intense and soul-shaking.

Every breath becomes his.

Every moan becomes music.

And the only thing that remains is this bright, demanding pleasure he cuts through me with every slash of his hips.

It builds with every thrust, every gasping kiss.

His tongue mirrors the movement of his hips, claiming my mouth.

His hands tease my nipples, pushing me closer to the edge of no return.

“Fucking come for me, woman. Come like you never have in your life.”

Like I even have an option.

When I shatter, he swallows my scream, grinding hot encouragement against my lips.

Muscles I didn’t know I had tense as I go off.

Somewhere in the beautiful mess, his rhythm fractures, and his breathing deepens into growls.

He slams into me, his pubic bone stroking my clit.

I dig my nails into his back for dear life and hold on—hold the hell on while ecstasy consumes me.

Sex this good feels like flying, I think.

Because the aftermath is definitely falling.

When I’m able to breathe again, we’re sticky and still sliding together as he pulls away with a rough curse.

“Shit. Guess my luck improved after leaving the casino tonight,” he tells me, right before crashing down on his back beside me, staring at the ceiling. “Fuck me, that was good. I could go for a smoke and I don’t even do cigarettes.”

I giggle, slurring my laugh as I roll into his arms.

My cheek rests against his shoulder, which feels way too natural, too good at putting me to sleep.

Oh, this is bad.

But it’s wonderful when he wraps an arm around me, and even though I want to savor this moment, the exhaustion takes me. I fall asleep to the steady beat of his heart while he runs his hand slowly through my hair.

When I wake up, I’m alone.

I already know I’ll never see Mr. Twelve and his black magic moves again.