One Night Stand with My Stepdad

na

w I managed to get in

sed to go home. I was supposed to run back to the safety of my own apartment, lock the door, and bury myself under a mountain of blankets. But the thought of goin

o back there

with the low murmur of jazz music and the clinking of expensive crystal. I slid onto a leather barstool in the far corner,

shed mahogany bar in front of me. He was a middle-aged man with kind, tired

y voice sounding completely hollow, like it belonge

from the top shelf, popped the cork, and poured a generous amount

I drank away my pains, letting the rich, heavy alcohol flood my system, despe

ced. The words tumbled out of me in a slurred, hysterical rush. I told him about the five years of feeling undesirable, the two-minute bedroom routines, the

another glass every time I finished. "You deserve better than a cow

for another swallow, my phone began to

ace flashed o

the flashing screen, my heart hammering against my ribs. I never wanted to pick it up. If I answered, she

ve years. If I told her the truth-that the golden boy she hand-picked for me was gay, that he had been using me as a cover-up, and that

coordination slurred by the wine. I finally swiped the screen

ed. I'm just calling to let you know there's a change of plans. The board meetings in

glass in my throat, forc

ently adopted. "Marcus is flying back early to oversee some real estate acquisition. You know how he is-absolutely relentless when he wants s

s shut, holding b

g, I had never actually seen him. I didn't even know what he looked like; all I had to go on was my mother's voice on the phone over the last few weeks, constantly b

I whispered,

, darling. Love you,

ne wen

ng home. This mysterious stepfather-the man she couldn't stop boasting a

bartender with a crumpled hundred-dollar bill, ignoring his concerned gaze as I dragg

ront desk, my vision slig

l with a neat bun. "A cheap one. Just... give me your

e said politely, tappi

expensive suit, looking like a personal assistant who had been running errands all day. He loo

house suite," the assistant said, rubbing

suite," the rece

two heavy, gold-embossed keycards. On th

ey card n

as key card

same when flipped upside down. The tired assistant, without looking closely,

sudden movement, slid the remaining key toward

I had actually been handed the VIP keycard, while the bil

as it climbed higher and higher. When the doors opened, I stumbled down a lav

hogany door

ndard room with a twin bed and a tiny wind

ve rugs. A massive king-sized bed sat in the center of the room, draped in heavy, dark silk sheets. A bottle of expensive champagne sat i

old the receptionist. Giv

ake, or maybe the universe was finally throwing me a bone

hausted, too drunk, and too emotionally shattere

massive king-sized bed. The silk sheets felt cool and soothing against my burning skin. I buried my face

how much tim

system had kept me in a deep, heavy slumber, but

d.

t, rhythmic sou

tsteps were just part of a dream, or perhaps the wind rattling against the high glass windows of the penthou

ey were heavy, deliberate, and mo

nt arri

t made my entire body go completely rigid, a biological alarm ringing loudly in my chest. It was the scent

e sleep evaporated instantly, rep

fyingly, I op

lver glow of the moon shining through the glass. An

rk hair was dripping wet, sending small droplets of water cascading down his broad, tanned chest and his scu

, dark gray towel wrapped precariously around

as sure he could hear it. I stared up at him in absol

mmanding physical presence radiating off him made me completely breathless. He looked like a go

th cold, piercing gray eyes that