Page 22 of Alfie: Part One
Why on earth had I agreed to this?
He wasn’t my type. He was too…plain. I’d forget his face the minute I left.
He was the same age as Alfie, but he carried himself differently. Like he was older and trying to come off as more experienced.
Alfie, Alfie, Alfie—for fuck’s sake!
“Now I just have to find the time for a hobby or two,” Lance said. “You play golf, right? I played when I was younger.”
I inclined my head and scanned the establishment subtly for the nearest waiter. “I do. It’s my meditation. Not that it doesn’t infuriate me from time to time.”
He grinned. “I remember that part. I’m a horrible putter. What’s your handicap?”
I squinted, trying to give a fuck. “Four.”
He let out a low whistle. “Damn. I won’t try to impress you, then. Before I quit, I think I was at, like, twenty.”
Twenty wasn’t exactly horrible.
This date, for instance, was much worse.
It made me feel guilty, because this guy had done nothing wrong whatsoever. He had social skills, a good balance between sharing things about himself and showing interest in me, no excessive flirting, he wasn’t too eager or too aloof, and he was… Fuck if I knew. I just had this feeling that he probably didn’t struggle to find partners.
But I wasn’t going to be one of them.
“You’re young—you’ll have plenty of time for hobbies,” I said, right as my phone dinged in my pocket. “Sorry. I thought I put it on silent.”
“It’s okay.” He smiled as I pulled out my phone, and the preview on the screen caused me to cough.
Still on your date? You fucked him yet?
A liquid, rage-filled heat pressed closer to the surface, and I managed to flag down a waiter as he was about to leave the table next to ours.
“Yes, sir?”
“A vodka soda, thank you,” I said, glancing at Lance. “Would you like anything else?”
“I’ll have a beer, thanks,” he said. “Whatever you recommend with the steak.”
“Comin’ right up.”
Mother of Christ, I didn’t know how to react. Truth be told, I wanted to scream or?—
Another message popped up as I switched to silent mode.
Remember how hard you fucked me after our first date? In the alley?
I clenched my jaw and pocketed my phone again. My ears felt hot, and a low, rushing sound drowned out some of the background noise in the restaurant. For a dizzying moment, I stopped hearing soft laughter and glasses clinking, and instead, I was in Los Angeles. Behind a fucking dumpster, drilling my cock into Alfie’s tight ass. He’d met every goddamn thrust, and he’d begged me for more.
“Harder, papi. Fuck, that’s it. Oh my fucking God, you feel good. Please don’t stop.”
Anger and desire weren’t the best combination.
I swallowed hard and stared unseeingly at the steak.
He had to be drunk in order to text me something like that.
“Are you okay, West?”