Addiction: Explicitly Yours, #2.5
Addiction: Explicitly Yours: Chapter 3

Brigitte grabbed Beau’s wrist , forcing his drink in the air. She raised hers with him. “To success,” she said. “You’ve earned it. You deserve it. And you’re going to own it.” She clinked their glasses before downing her shot.

Beau, on the other hand, held his Macallan Cask Strength under his nose, let the pungent aroma sink in. It was a top-tier single malt, and he’d been salivating over it since he’d learned of its existence. Tonight would be his first taste. He just hoped his credit card would go through when the bar closed out his tab.

He took a sip, savoring its caramel-vanilla smoothness, the liquor so rich, he had to close his eyes when he swallowed.

“How about that chick?” Brigitte asked.

Beau looked immediately. He’d been anticipating this Macallan a long time, but pussy was always king. Or queen. Brigitte aimed her freshly-filled shot glass at a redhead across the bar.

He hummed dubiously. “She reminds me of Karen.”

“The psycho stalker from a couple years ago?”

“She wasn’t a stalker. Just really enthusiastic.”

“Redheads are out,” Brigitte decided.

Beau scanned the crowd. Brigitte liked this game, because Beau was rarely satisfied with anyone. He found faults like he was paid to. Brigitte ate that up like candy, feeding her ever-thriving self-esteem. But tonight, Beau wasn’t going to be picky. He’d earned this, a nice, easy, no-strings fuck, and he’d take the first attractive girl who bit.

He spotted a blonde in an orange tank top that showed off a golden tan. “She’s pretty.”

Brigitte craned her neck. “But she’s so tall. You like short girls.”

He looked down at Brigitte, who, like him, was seated on a stool. She only came up to his shoulder. “No, I don’t.”

“Fine, fine.” She cupped her hand around her mouth. “Hey, you. Blondie.”

The girl glanced back. When she realized they were looking at her, she turned around.

“Over here,” Brigitte said, waving.

“Calm down,” Beau muttered. “This isn’t a rodeo.”

The girl clutched the strap of her purse and came a little closer. “Do I know you?”

“My brother needs to get laid.”

“Christ, Brigitte.” Beau glared at her a second before turning to the blonde. “I apologize. She was just kicked out of the circus.”

“I’m sorry to be forward,” Brigitte drawled, as if it took great effort to say. “What’s your name?”

“It’s…Hannah.”

“Hannah, the thing is, my brother’s celebrating. And he’s just looking for someone easy tonight.”

Beau sighed and held up his glass to the bartender. “I’ll take another.”

Hannah rolled her eyes and turned away. “I’m not drunk enough for this.”

“What if I told you he’s a millionaire?” Brigitte called after her.

She stopped. The music lulled between songs, but the bar remained loud with conversation.

“And in about five seconds,” Brigitte continued, “I’m going to move on to the next girl.”

Hannah turned sideways, eyeing Beau. Not many girls had walked away from him over the years. “Is that true?” she asked.

He didn’t respond at first. He was fascinated by the look she was giving him, her lips parted, an eyebrow arched high. So torn about whether to believe them. Hollywood had no shortage of wealthy men, but this was a dive bar he and Brigitte had grown fond of. Millionaires didn’t hang around here. Not that he technically was one yet—he had a few hours to go.

“What can I say?” He shrugged. “My sister moves fast.”

“No, not that…” Hannah turned fully around. “I mean the millionaire thing.”

Beau knew what she meant. “Can you give us a minute?” he asked.

She hesitated, looking between the two of them. “I mean, I believe you. Your suit’s expensive.”

He touched his tie. A couple years ago, when he’d started meeting with potential investors, he’d dropped a lot of money he didn’t have to get this suit custom made. It was part of his visualization, projecting a certain image.

Hannah came closer. “It fits you like weapon.”

He narrowed his eyes, pulling back a little. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know. It just came out. I guess, like, you could really hurt someone looking that good.”

“All right,” Brigitte said. “Time to move along. We’ve seen enough. We’ll call you.”

Hannah’s brows gathered as she looked at Brigitte. “What? Are you, like, auditioning girls to sleep with him?”

Brigitte knocked back another shot and slammed the glass on the bar. “No. I was k—”

“Wait.” Hannah’s eyes widened. “Is this an audition? Because I’m actually an actress—”

“Hannah.” Beau couldn’t tell if she was embarrassed, but he was embarrassed enough for all of them. “Excuse us. Please.”

She frowned, her bottom lip out. She walked a few steps away, still close enough that he could call her back without raising his voice too much.

Brigitte grinned at him. “I knew you were bluffing. You never like them easy.”

“And you know everything I like?”

“I do. I could replace you the right thing for tonight, but I won’t. You know why?”

He invited her to keep going with a nod of his head.

“Because the right thing is to hang with me. You have the rest of your life to get laid.”

He shook his head in disbelief, glancing at Hannah as she idled near by. “I knew it would be easy, Brigitte, but that? That was nothing. I literally made no effort.”

She nodded sympathetically, like this was a huge problem. “A lot of things are going to be like that for you now. You have to be careful who you tell. Look, why don’t we head home for the night? Blockbuster’s still open. We can grab a movie.”

He set his elbows on the bar. “You go ahead. I’ll come home soon. I just want to sit and enjoy this feeling a little longer.”

She rubbed his shoulder. “It’s huge, Beau. This might be the best day of your life. Although, I think you have a lot of those ahead of you.”

He smiled gently at her. He really had no one else to share this with, so he was glad she was there. But he’d had a couple drinks, and he was feeling pensive. “I hope so.”

She didn’t move right away. “I can sit with you,” she suggested.

“I think I want to be alone a little bit.”

“What’s wrong, am I—what’s that word again?” Her accent thickened when she asked him for expressions—on purpose, he was sure. She requested this one frequently. Also on purpose, he was sure, just to hear him say it.

“Cockblocking. And no. You were right—I have the rest of my life for that. Tonight will be known as the night I became a millionaire and tasted the best liquor of my life.”

“All right,” she said, somewhat reluctantly. She offered her cheeks, and he kissed them each. “Come home soon, all right? I’ll wait up.”

When he was alone, he ordered his third Macallan of the night, third Macallan of his life. This time last year, he’d been neck-high in code for the website he’d just sold. He’d spent four straight weeks on it, looked up and thought—where did August go?

Beau still had to quit his two part-time jobs. Since the deal that’d fallen through last year, he’d been trigger shy. He worked construction in the valley on the weekends, because otherwise, he’d never get outside. Not with the manic way he worked. The second was as a temp developer for a software company. He’d worked temporary jobs for years, jumping around companies in Los Angeles, soaking up anything he could. He’d learned a lot about management and corporate structure that way, and now that he was capable of creating his own company, he was going to put it to use.

Beau got up and paid for his drinks. His card went through, and he still had another hundred-and-fifty dollars in his wallet. Hannah had been lingering, making eye contact with him, but he went for the door instead. He still had the urge to get off—he had it bad, actually—but not with someone who’d practically gotten on her knees right there in the middle of a bar. Despite what he’d thought about making tonight easy, that’d never do it for him. He’d rather go home alone.

Beau walked along Sunset Boulevard, half-assing his attempts to grab a cab. It was a nice night, and the Strip was busy, even though it was Tuesday. Some of the bars had live music and he’d catch a few seconds of it as he walked by.

He checked his watch and did a double take. It was 11:58 P.M., later than he’d thought. And two minutes until his new life began. Beau stared at it, swallowing dryly, the alcohol making his head swim. He kept walking, glancing at the time every few seconds. This was a moment he’d never experience again, no matter how much money he made in his lifetime. And he knew this was only the start.

The clock ticked and ticked and ticked—and suddenly, it was midnight. Beau took a deep breath and looked directly up at the stars. He’d done it. All those sleepless nights, the hours upon hours of coding and reading and applying—he’d fucking earned all that money, and nobody could have a single dollar of it unless he deemed them worthy enough.

Neon flashed in the corner of his eye. He looked down at the building he stood in front of. On the brick wall was an LED sign, pulsing hot pink, the word Girls taunting him. Don’t you want a girl tonight? The sign could’ve been a figment of his imagination, a hallucination his body had dreamed up. Cat Shoppe was real, though, a small but somewhat famous strip club on Sunset Boulevard.

Twenty-seven years old, and he’d never even been inside one. Didn’t see the point. He liked to touch the things he paid for—he liked to flirt with girls who blushed, smiled and flirted back because they wanted to, not because they were paid to. But it was midnight on the dot, and the most thrilling moment of his life yet, so walking into that club seemed like the logical next step. So Beau paid the cover charge, and the bouncer pulled aside the red rope, gesturing him inside.