Chapter 16

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

LAYLA

Waking up, I feel across the cold sheets on the other side of the bed and quickly realize I am alone. I rub the sleep from my eyes and look around the room to find that nearly every trace of Tristan is gone. Everything except a note on the nightstand.

Had a family emergency and didn't want to wake you. Breakfast is on me. Indulge in room service. After last night, you're probably starving. See you soon, darling.

-Tristan

"Probably not," I huff as I toss the note onto the empty side of the bed. I'm not new at this this.

Hit it and quit it .

Like most one-night stands, I'm never going to hear from him again. That's generally how it goes. Although, usually, it doesn't involve a five-star hotel and what I can only assume is a gourmet breakfast from a Michelin-starred restaurant.

After taking a brief glance at the breakfast menu, I pick up the phone, call room service, and place an order for raspberry crème crepes and an iced coffee. Then, a second iced coffee to go.

Climbing from the bed, I find my clothes neatly folded on the chaise beneath the window. Even my panties. This man folded my fucking panties? My clutch and heels are arranged beside them.

Opening the clutch and swiping open my phone, I find I missed a few texts from Jorge.

Haven't heard from you.

Did you get home safe?

Or are you dead in an alley?

Do I need to call Stabler and Benson?

"Jesus," I cackle as read though his messages. Nothing like a little dark SVU humor to start the morning.

Not dead.

So he only murdered your pussy then.

Oh my God!

You know you're going to tell me every last scandalous detail.

So just spill it already.

It was incredible.

Like nothing I've ever experienced.

That bad?

Not even close.

I've never even made myself come that much before.

Details, bitch.

Give me every sordid detail so I can live vicariously through you.

After getting dressed, I call Jorge and give him the play-by-play of last night while I eat my ungodly delicious room service.

"Does he have a brother?" Jorge asks, only semi in jest as I finish my recount of the evening.

I answer around my mouthful of crepes, "Four of them."

Jorge's swoons carry through the phone, and I chuckle as I imagine the overly theatrical look on his face. I wash down my food with a huge sip of my perfectly brewed iced coffee before sharing, "It's too bad I'm never going to see him again."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Jorge sounds flabbergasted.

"He left for a family emergency in the middle of the night. Probably to head back to the suburbs where his wife and two and a half kids are waiting. He's never going to reach out."

"But what if he does? "

"He won't."

Having stopped at the local market for groceries after leaving the hotel, it is nearly noon when I finally reach my apartment. I juggle the grocery bags in my hands and fumble to get the keys in the lock. My phone buzzes and dings in the clutch squeezed tightly under my arm.

Ignoring it for a moment, I drop everything on the counter and kick off my heels. After putting away the groceries, it buzzes again.

TRISTAN

Sorry about last night.

How was your breakfast?

His message truly shocks me. I really didn't expect to ever hear from him again.

Good.

How are your wife and kids?

My what?

I assume a wife and kids are what pulled you away from a naked woman in bed beside you in the middle of the night.

Do I strike you as a family man?

With a wife and kids at home?

I mean, no. Not in the slightest.

One of my brothers got hurt.

He needed me.

It was downright painful leaving, knowing how I planned to wake you for breakfast.

And how is that?

With my face buried between your thighs, feasting on your delicious cunt, so I could go home with the sweet taste of you on my tongue.

Fuck…The things this man says.

I type and delete a reply. And another, not knowing how to respond to him.

He's incredible. Sex with him is other-worldly. But something about this— about him —has me second-guessing seeing him again, even if I can't put my finger on it.

I want to see you again.

Do you always get what you want?

Eventually, yes.

I'm a very persistent man.

A smile pulls at my lips as I type my response.

Prove it.