Page 3 of Wardrobe Malfunction

Cain gets to his feet, facing me. “I’m sorry,” he says.

Sorry?

“You’re sorry?” I laugh without a trace of humor.

Then, I punch him.

Hard. In the face.

Three Months Later

Vaughn

“Up and out!”

The sound of hands clapping and Jack, my manager’s, voice split through my head like an ax on wood.

Groaning, I mumble, “Fuck off, Jack. I’m sleeping.” My voice is muffled by the pillow my face is buried in.

Sunlight and warmth hit my back a second later as the curtains are pulled open.

“For fuck’s sake,” I grumble.

“Ladies, get dressed, and be on your way. A car is waiting for you downstairs to take you home,” Jack says with that no-nonsense tone of his.

I feel movement on the bed. Limbs and bodies climb over me and off the bed.

Last night…

Oh, yeah.

A party.

Alcohol. Lots of alcohol.

A redhead who could deep-throat like a champ and a brunette with legs that went on for miles.

Sex.

Lots of it.

At the party. In the limo on the way back to the hotel suite I’ve been living in these last few months. The sofa. The bed.

The usual.

Well, the usual for me now.

Stretching my aching body, I lift my head. The sunlight blinds me. Rubbing a hand over my face, I blink through the haze. My eyes meet with Jack’s.

He’s standing there, his arms folded over his chest, a disapproving frown on his face.

He wears that look a lot when looking at me nowadays.

The girls are moving around the room, picking up the debris of their clothes from last night’s activities.

“What?” I bite at him.

He says nothing. Just shakes his head.