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“Will you have dinner with me tomorrow?” he asked, and I bit my lower lip before responding.
“Are you sure?”
“Wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t sure,” he said matter-of-factly.
“Alright, then, yes. I would love to have dinner with you.”
“Good. I look forward to that.”
“It will have to be a little later. You see, I’ve, um, recently lost some of my working time,” I teased.
“I see, and is business booming, then?”
“Oh yeah. It’s great,” I told him honestly.
“That’s good. Delani, I have a favor to ask. I need you to stay closed on the 14th. I have some people coming for a tasting and I can’t have the bar smelling like a candy store—”
“I’m sorry, what?” I asked, stopping his gentle swaying.
I must have heard him wrong, at least, that was what I had thought. But no. Sonny repeated himself and it was worse the second time around. He spoke with such certainty that I would follow his instructions in this as easily as I had when it came to sex. The nerve of that man!
Sonny Delgado, bar owner, was asking me, Delani Whitman, to close my shop on the busiest day of the year because of some little whiskey tasting with potential investors. And I was pretty sure he’d just fucked me to get his way!
“Let me get this straight. You think the smell of chocolate and candy might impede this tasting, did you call it?”
“Yes,” he said, and gritted his teeth. Clearly, I struck a nerve.
Good.
“Delani, look,” he grumbled, cupping the back of his neck as he spoke. “Chocolate is all fine and good, but I am trying to get my whiskey label off the ground, and I need these investors and their connections. A successful tasting hinges on my ability to produce the right atmosphere, striking the right atmospheric notes so they can really enjoy the complex flavors and true quality of the liquor.”
“And you think my chocolate will ruin the quality of your bar?”
“No. I am not saying that. It’s just one day—”
“Get out.”
“What?” he asked, clearly aghast.
“Delani, when I said I need you to not be here on Valentine’s Day, I didn’t mean because of another woman—”
As if that was the only reason I had to be pissed.
“Get. Out.” I repeated firmly.
I waited until he shrugged into his pants, ignoring his efforts to speak to me again before I locked the door after him. Only then did I slide to the floor and lean against the door, letting the emotional rollercoaster that was my day wash through me.
First, Pete’s betrayal. Then Sonny’s unexpected ardor. The man broke my pussy with how good he made me feel, but of course, he couldn’t just let me enjoy that. Oh no. The most astounding orgasm of my life was followed up by the ugly truth.
He’d used me. And not just to sate his physical needs, but to coerce me into closing my shop for his cockamamy whiskey tasting. Which was gross, by the way.
So gross.
But what did I expect? My experience with the opposite sex, while few, was enough for me to know I had the absolute worst luck when it came to men. That my sexy neighbor had suddenly developed feelings for me was preposterous. That I thought for one single moment our sizzling encounter was more than just a meeting of bodies was plain dumb.
Yeah, right, Delani. Men don’t take chubby chicks who make candy for a living seriously.
Bullshit. I didn’t really believe that, but really, could this day get any worse? A slip of paper was pushed beneath the front door, and I got up, dragging my legging on as I meandered over to it. I felt dirty and sad and just plain tired.
