Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 23544 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 118(@200wpm)___ 94(@250wpm)___ 78(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23544 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 118(@200wpm)___ 94(@250wpm)___ 78(@300wpm)
“Fine,” I reply, releasing her. I take the tablet and hold it out. “The place is yours.”
Smirking, as though she just defeated me in the world’s greatest battle of wills, Erika scrolls to the bottom of the lease and extends her finger to sign. “On one condition,” I add.
She pauses, and her eyes snap up to mine.
“Oh? And what’s that?”
“I’m changing the rent,” I say with a Machiavellian smile that causes her shoulders to drop and her face to begin to turn to stone.
“Malcom,” she says slowly. “I can’t afford any more…I can barely afford this as it is–”
“I’m lowering it,” I reply. “In fact, I’m removing the rent completely.”
“Oh, fuck off–” Erika’s no dummy. She sees where this is headed.
“If–”
“Get fucked, Malcom.”
“If you have sex with me every single night.” I grin, grabbing the bulge already forming in my pants. “And two mornings a week.”
10
Erika
What is Chris doing right now? Right at this moment? I wonder. It’s been a month since he and I broke up, and I doubt he’s still with Jamie (at least in a serious fashion anyway), so I wonder what he’s doing. It’s not like he’s hurting for prospects. Does he feel sorry about what he did to me? Does he think about me at all, or is he just a sociopathic dickhead who still feels defeated about the fact that he wasn’t the first one to put his dick inside me?
Because apparently, that’s all men care about—getting their dicks inside women. I really thought Malcom was more than that after we hooked up, but I guess not. Him not calling me back was step one of proving that, but this little stunt now of offering me free rent to fuck him on a regular basis is step two.
* * *
“You really are a piece of shit, aren’t you?” I ask, feeling my heart start to break. I lift up the tablet, ready to hurl it at him. I honestly couldn’t care less at this point. All I’m thinking about now is my aim and whether or not I can shatter his skull with a frisbee-like throw. “You know I really thought you were a decent human being–”
I pull my arm back, envisioning this virginity-stealing, heart-crushing, soul-poisoning prick’s head bursting open like a watermelon when you wrap it up with too many rubber bands—but just before I can, Malcom raises both hands in something resembling surrender.
“Wait, wait, wait, wait, Erika! I was joking! It was a joke, okay!?” He actually looks sincere, so I hold back. “Christ, I never thought I’d have to say this, but okay, I’ll actually charge you the full rent price.”
He smiles, and I can tell by the way his lips curl that he was actually joking. Slowly—very slowly—I lower the tablet and take a deep breath.
“You should really stop renting properties and go into stand-up comedy, Malcom. You could dethrone everybody.”
Malcom grins. “You think so?”
“No.” I show him the signature area at the bottom of the lease. “So this is where I sign?”
He nods. “Yes.”
I write my name quickly before he can pull any more bullshit on me. “Just don’t expect daily sex, okay? Or any sex, for that matter.”
“You took the words right out of my mouth,” he says as I hand him the tablet.
“Excuse me?”
“Well, we both know how well I fuck you,” he snorts. “I wouldn’t want you getting all attached to me and driving over to my house at all hours of the night—waking me up from a dead sleep and things like that.”
I’ve never been a girl with anger issues before. I’ve always been very level-headed. I guess that’s a result of being raised with a dad who has a tendency to snap at basically everything and get red-faced at things that would tend to simply annoy most people. But right now, it feels as though every organ in my body is ready to boil over and come shooting out my mouth like an erupting volcano.
I want to rip his stupid, gorgeous fucking face off, kick him in the balls, and hit him hard over the head with something. I want to scream my brains out. But I also don’t want to let him know just how angry he’s made (and is making) me. So instead, I step forward and look up at him with a smug look on my face.
“You know why I think you couldn’t call me in the last thirty days, Malcom?” I ask.
He wasn’t expecting that one, I can tell, but he quickly hides the reaction.
“No, but I bet you’re going to tell me.”
“Because this”—I slowly drag my hand up the space between my thighs like a stripper putting on a show for one of her clients—“was just too damn good for you to handle, and you knew if you got another taste, you’d be addicted.”