Page 49 of Keep Vegas

“There’s my good girl.”

“Oh, Tony. I like being your good girl more than a bad girl with anyone else.” She purrs, and my dick threatens to throb again.

“Jesus, how you talk.”

“So hot. Oh my GOD!” She screams.

I turn on the shower but stay on the phone. “You ok, sweet witch?”

“Fuck, yeah I am.”

“You’re not weirded out?” I wipe my stomach and dick off.

“Hell no. That was awesome, you’re better on the phone than the last few guys I was with in person. This is a hot new era for us.”

Thank God. I lick my lips and wish I was there to hold her. “That it is. But there’s one thing missing,” I say.

“Toys?”

I laugh.

“You in my arms.”

She quietly sighs. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Well, think about it and call me later.” I go to hang up, and I hear her again.

“Tony.”

“What?”

“Never mind. It’s just I have to tell you about some things at some point.”

“Vague much? Whatever it is, I’ll listen. And I should probably tell you some shit too. I have to get to a meeting with my lawyer.”

“I wish you were divorced.”

“Me too.”

“What the fuck is up with you?” My lawyer motions to his assistant to grab me more coffee. My goofy grin hasn’t left my face.

I glance out over his offices through the glass walls of the conference room. Fucking my hand has never been that satisfying. Everyone should get themselves a Makenzie on the other end of the phone.

“Hey, why are all law offices beige and brown? Who decided that wood makes you appear trustworthy and like an expert?”

“No one smiles this much at a divorce proceeding. And if you tell me you got laid, I will fucking kill you.”

“Chill it out. No. Did not get laid. I’m playing by all the rules of the many people who laid them out for me. Didn’t break the fidelity clause, didn’t lose the bet, and didn’t disobey the fucking legal document you and my father cooked up for me to be a good boy.” I’m the king of the loophole. I came, she came, and later we’ll eat dinner, watch TV or something together with 3000 miles between us. I’m dating but not dating.

Just saying good boy sends a spark to my dick as I remember what she said about being my good girl. I will most assuredly lose this bet at some point, but the rules of my father’s document and the bet says I can sleep with her one night. We won’t sleep for twenty-four hours, just fucking and more fucking. It will have to sustain me through the rest of my indentured sexual servitude. Seven months is a long-ass time to jack off to her voice. I’ll have to time our one night exactly right.

Laura breezes in, and her hair matches her curated Chanel suit, which is probably new and sitting on some credit account I pay for.

I greet her and she bristles and puts her cheek out. I air kiss it, and she pastes on a strained grin. Her lawyer follows behind her, as does her friend Teddy. I like her. They’ve always been close, and I got to know her well on her visits. She’s funny, driven, and in the PR department for NBC out of New York. Not sure why she’s here now.

“Teddy! What the hell are you doing here? Gathering material so you can win the divorce for her in the court of public opinion?”

“Tony. You were always a good time. Now pay her.”