“Hey now, back off. I’m 48-years-old, its not like the cream of the crop are all knocking at my door. I get the castoffs the 23-year-olds don’t want.”
Sensing it was time to change the subject, Lauren redirected. “So, what do you want to do today?”
The younger Miller scrunched her face in thought. “Well, seeing as there’s a snowstorm back home, I was hoping to get to some of those fabulous beached you have here.”
“Oh, that we can do. We’re filthy with beaches. Did you bring a suit?”
“Just an old one-piece I had. Going to the pool isn’t high on the list of people in mile-high cities.”
Lauren shook her head. “One-piece? Um…no. This is Miami. Looks we’re going shopping.”
+++++
Corey shook off the cold as he set his lunchbox and laptop bag on the kitchen counter. The construction site had shut down early ahead of the New Year’s holiday, leading him to pack it in himself. As he shrugged off his coat, he looked around the old house despondently. It was just as big and lonely as when he’d left it that morning. As it would be tomorrow, and the next day, and the next. Nothing ever changed now that Lauren was gone.
Make no mistake. For the past 72 hours, his life had been hell. Between catching up at work and fretting over their argument, he hadn’t had time to do anything else. Even the resignation letter sat unopened in the truck’s glove compartment with his boss’ name on it. The motivation to turn it in just wasn’t there.
Selecting a nearly full bottle of bourbon from the pantry, the forlorn project manager plopped into his favorite recliner and kicked off his dusty boots. He swung his feet up onto the coffee table where they landed with a thud. He snickered out loud. Lauren would have torn him a new one for being so careless.
Lauren. God, what the fuck had happened there?
How did things blow up so quickly? SHE was the one fucking half of Miami, not him. And although he had to admit the whole thing was pretty hot, the prostitution fantasy was all hers. All he did was lead her to the water that he thought would quench her thirst. After all, she fucked guys to satiate his thing, right? How was letting her live out her fantasy any different? It was like…a favor…right?
Another shot and a bigger sigh.
Probably should’ve kept that damn recording to himself, though. It certainly hadn’t helped matters any. Yet, it had proven a point. Lauren wasn’t raped or forced into anything at that pool hall. And from the sounds on the other side of that door, she had thoroughly enjoyed her time as a paid whore.
He slammed the shot glass down on a side table.
And I’M the bad guy? FUCK THAT.
Sadly, they hadn’t spoken to each other since she’d shut the door in his face Christmas night. Not even so much as a text to see if he’d gotten home safely. It had been days now and all calls and messages from him had gone unanswered. That was not like her at all. Am I that much of an asshole? If it hadn’t been for Amelia mentioning that she’d talked to her mother yesterday, he would have been deeply concerned for Lauren’s welfare.
Two more pours.
Well, at least the trip hadn’t been a total loss. He’d gotten to see her in the wild. And how. Blowing that kid on the beach and her antics in the adult bookstore were off-the-chain. Obviously no longer the shy girl in bed who was reluctant to have sex anywhere but a dark bedroom, she had blossomed well beyond Corey’s expectations. Her unabashed love for sex now — and kinky sex to boot – seemed to be a chief motivator in her new life. Something she actively sought out. The caterpillar had turned into a butterfly. A nymphet butterfly, to be sure.