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First published September 10, 2019




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My time is my own, and my body, a free agent.
I nearly laugh, but my dick stirs in my pants before I get the chance. This. This is what I love about being a single guy with no obligations. Pussy calls, and I get to answer. It doesn’t matter that Yvette wasn’t on my radar five minutes ago. Now she is, and I’m free to do what I like.
But I’ve never been one to put all my eggs in one beautiful basket. I’m more of a connoisseur of all women than a committer to one woman.
I wave a hand at the bartender, Sally, a woman who knows both my drink order and my cock,
Females are, by and large, related to bloodhounds
“It’s a classic structure,” Milo says. “Owning up to your shit, explaining it, and then complimenting her in a way she can’t refuse.”
I somehow manage to leave Billionaire Book Club with something to consider. Always know how to apologize.
“What page is this Wu-Tang shit you’re talking about, Kline?” He laughs. “Wooing. Not Wu-Tang.” I shrug. “Whatever. What page?”
Has it really been that long? Like, over a month since I did anything besides flirt with a woman?
I’m not a one-woman kind of guy. No matter the woman. It’s just not in the cards for me. Then why does it feel like it could be with Ruby? Gah. No.
“I think maybe it’s time we part ways.”
It’s like all he did was use my literary preferences to get me into bed, and now that he got what he wanted, he’s fucking done with a capital D. God, I’m such a fool.
Shame on me for letting myself think he would.