Amalia nods. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“It worked out for the best. Mimi was the shit. Why did you ask the question?”
“Well, this is nothing but amateur pop psychology, of course, but I think you prefer Regina in the movie, and also in your love life, because you feel abandoned by your mother. You prefer women who present a challenge to you, women who are hard to win over, because that way, when you finally do win them over, you experience the pleasure you never got to experience as a child. Namely, the joy of winning over a woman the same way you always wished you could have won over your mother.”
I’m speechless for a long moment. But, finally, I whisper, “And they call me Savage.”
Amalia winces. “Did I overstep?”
“Not at all. You just blew my mind! Tell me more, Abu Dabu. What else do you see in your magic crystal ball? Can you see my future?”
Amalia winks. “The only thing I see in your future, my dearest Adrian, is that you’ve got a big day tomorrow and you’re very drunk and you should probably get some sleep now.” She motions to my mug. “Finish your tea, dear, and let’s get you to bed.”
I do as I’m told, drinking the rest of my tepid tea down in one long gulp, and stand. “It’s been amazing talking to you, Amalia. Thanks for the psychoanalysis.”
“You’re very welcome. Goodnight, dear. Best of luck to you.”
I stop walking. “Does that mean you’re not planning to see me again?”
She chuckles. “No, not at all. I’ll see you in the morning at breakfast.”
I exhale with relief. “Cool.”
I resume shuffling toward the exit of the kitchen, feeling worlds lighter than when I entered the room, but stop and turn around in the doorway. “Amalia? Sorry, but I just remembered why I came in here.” I grimace. “I have no idea which room is mine.”
Amalia bites back a smile. “No worries. It’s a big house. I’ll show you again.”
She leads me out of the kitchen toward a dramatic staircase with wrought iron railings, saying, “Do you get drunk like this often, dear?”
“No, not at all. The last time I was drunk was . . . Oh. Last night. But before that, it’d been well over a month.”
“Good. Let’s keep it that way.”
“Don’t worry about me. I have a rule I don’t drink to drown my sorrows. I wasn’t intending to break my rule tonight. Tonight was supposed to be a happy occasion. A ‘last hurrah’ before I’m not allowed to drink for the whole season.”
“Oh?”
“The producers made it part of my contract. They think I make ‘bad choices’ when I ‘drink to excess.’”
“Are they right about that?”
I snicker. “I’ll put it this way. My dick is still trending on Twitter, a full twenty-four hours after I got drunk at a birthday party last night.”
She can’t resist giggling. “Oh dear.”
“I wouldn’t normally drink two nights in a row, either. But, like I said, tonight was supposed to be my last hurrah, so . . . Fuck it.”
“Well, I’m glad you had fun tonight.”
“I didn’t. I hated tonight, actually. Except for talking to you. You’re the best part of my night.”
“Thank you. I enjoyed talking to you, too.” She stops in front of a doorway at the end of a long hallway and motions. “Here we are. Nighty night.”
I enter the room—a guest room decorated in elegant hues of white—and Amalia follows me inside, telling me where I can find additional blankets and towels. She points out this and that amenity, and, lastly, asks if I need anything further or have any questions.
“I have one question,” I reply.
Kendrick would tell me I’m an idiot for what I’m about to ask. But I don’t care. I can’t lie in bed under the same roof as Laila Fitzgerald and not at least try to finally get to eat that woman’s pussy.
I smile at Amalia. “Could you tell me which room is Laila’s? I think I’ll shower and get ready for bed, and then check in on her to make sure she got to her room, safe and sound.”
Thirty
Laila
I tiptoe out of my bedroom, wearing nothing but a midriff-baring T-shirt and undies, and creep down the dark, quiet hallway, headed to parts unknown. And that’s where the “brilliant strategy” portion of my quest ends and the “winging it” portion begins.
Crap! Why didn’t I ask Amalia which room Savage is staying in tonight? Stupid Laila! This house is as big as the hotel in The Shining, and I literally have no idea which door is hiding Mr. Smoldering Pouty Pants.
Unfortunately, I was stupid and/or naïve enough to think I could resist him. Not only tonight. But for the entire season of the show. What I didn’t count on, however, is how horny I get when I drink. And how freaking hot Savage is when he’s jealous. Good lord, put the two together, and the boy is like crack to me.
As Savage sat in that dark corner of Reed’s patio earlier tonight, watching me getting hit on by Colin, I felt so turned on, I could barely keep myself from sprinting over to Savage and launching myself at him like a missile. Despite all the reasons not to do it, I decided, right then and there, I’d invite Savage to my room whenever he finally approached me again. I imagined myself leaning in and whispering to him, “Come to my room later, so you can finally eat my pussy ‘from every angle.’” I imagined myself saying it to him in a sultry, breathy kind of whisper—the kind that would have made Savage pop a boner, right on the spot.
But then, the jerk never approached me again at the party! On the contrary, he got up and marched into Reed’s house, without even glancing at me! Which royally pissed me off, I must say. Savage is the one who screamed at me in that laundry room
