Fall Into You (Morally Gray, #2)
J.T. Geissinger
To all the girls I’ve been and the dark roads we traveled alone.
Mostly it is loss which teaches us about the worth of things.
~ Arthur Schopenhauer
Shay
The dark-haired man in the booth is gorgeous, but I can tell with one glance that he’s also trouble. A wolf dressed in sheep’s clothing. In a conservative black suit and white dress shirt, he could be any other businessman enjoying a drink with friends after work.
Except he’s alone.
And he’s not enjoying himself.
He looks how I feel: miserable.
“Now listen, Shay. You have to promise me. No more moping, okay? It’s my birthday. The least you can do is act as if you’re having a good time.”
Chelsea propels me through the entrance of the swanky hotel bar in Beverly Hills, her hand on my elbow, her head bent toward mine. Jen and Angel are ahead of us. The three of them are dressed to the nines in stilettos, colorful outfits, and hair out to there. They look fantastic. A flock of flamingos on the hunt for single men.
I’m the raven of the group, all in black with a mood to match.
I’m only here because we’re celebrating Chelsea’s birthday. If it were up to me, I’d be home in bed with the covers pulled over my head.
The things we do for our friends.
“I am having a good time,” I lie brightly. “That dance club we just left was so fun.”
She squeezes my elbow. “Maybe you should tell that to your face. That smile is tragic. Stop thinking about the twatwaffle.”
Hearing her nickname for my ex, I wince. “Please don’t call him that.”
“He deserves to be called a lot worse. Stop defending him. And every time you miss him, just remember there are plenty of fish in the sea.”
“You know what else there’s plenty of in the sea? Trash.”
“Listen, the only way to get over a man is to get under a new one. That’ll fix things.”
“I need a new man like I need a roach infestation.”
She clucks in disapproval. “Don’t let one bad apple turn you off to the whole apple tree. You’ll find Mr. Right eventually. In the meantime, let’s find you Mr. Well Endowed so you can let off some steam.”
We follow Jen and Angel, making our way into the lounge. Outside, it’s a typical summer evening in LA, the air balmy, the palm trees swaying, and the stars shining bright, but in here, it’s cool and dim.
All the upscale hotel bars around the city have this same intimate, candle-lit ambiance. It’s as perfect for a deal-making meeting between studio executives as it is for a pair of lovers who are married to other people to sneak in a cocktail before heading up to their room.
The difference with this place—and the reason Chelsea chose it—is that it has a reputation for being the spot frequented by the wealthiest men in town.
If I’ve heard it from her once, I’ve heard it a thousand times: “It’s just as easy to fall in love with a rich man as a poor one.”
She might be looking for love, but I’m looking for peace of mind. My ex was hell on my sanity.
I glance over at the dark-haired man in the booth against the wall again. He’s still staring at me. The hunger in his gaze makes my heart skip a beat.
When he licks his full lips, a little shiver of desire courses through me. But I look away and toss my hair over my shoulder.
The last thing I need right now is the attention of a hot stranger who looks like he’s the cause of many a woman’s therapy bill.
I’ve already got my own demons to deal with.
I don’t need another one.
Cole
The brunette is interesting.
Not because she’s pretty, though she is. But there are a million pretty girls in this city. Los Angeles is known for its beautiful women.
What makes her interesting is the way she carries herself. It’s like watching a champion boxer walk into a room. She’s confident, almost cocky, but there’s also a wariness that suggests she’s used to taking punches.
Beneath the tough exterior, she’s got bruises all over her soul.
Riveted by the contradiction, I can’t look away.
Dressed in a black skirt, black blouse, and black heels, she struts through the entrance of the bar with three other women. Her companions are in brightly colored dresses, laughing and chatting with each other as they make their way inside, but the brunette is silent. She scans the room, sizing up the place and the people in it.
Her smile is small and cool, as if she’s bored already.
She catches me looking at her but quickly glances away. When she glances back again, I stare straight at her and lick my lips.
She raises her brows. Then she tosses her hair over her shoulder, lifts her chin, and looks away, dismissing me.
Smart girl. She knows a monster when she sees one.
Shay
“Wouldn’t it be amazing if that existed in real life? An eight-foot tall blue alien with two huge cocks who’s totally obsessed with me? Yes, please!” Angel laughs and takes another sip of her margarita.
“Only if he’s also a billionaire,” says Chelsea, giggling into her martini.
Jen shakes her head in disbelief. “You guys and your monster smut books. I just don’t get the appeal.”
Angel snorts. “Excuse me, Judgy McJudgerson, but you’re not in a position to be snobbish about other people’s choices in literature. May I remind you that your favorite TV show is a cartoon?”
Jen rolls her eyes. “First of all, monster smut isn’t literature. Secondly, BoJack Horseman is one of the most brilliant—”
“Dark comedies ever written, blah, blah, blah, yes you’ve told us a thousand times,”
Angel cuts in. “It’s still a cartoon.”
The argument continues, but I’ve already tuned out.
The four of us are sitting at a round table in the middle of the room. We’re surrounded by beautiful people on every side. The couple at the table behind me bickers over Tahoe or Tulum for their next vacation spot. A pair of young female models prowls past, taking selfies as they walk. Patrons jostle for position at the bar, trying to get the attention of the handsome bartender who I recognize as an extra from the television series Succession.
And sitting in the lone booth beside the bar, the dark-haired stranger is still staring at me.
It’s strange how such a good-looking man can give off such an unpleasant vibe. He’s a black hole over there, extinguishing all the light around him. He looks like he’d refuse to smile even if someone put a loaded gun to his head and ordered him to.
He’s probably thinking the same thing about me.
Chelsea sighs. “Shay, seriously! Stop scowling. It’s scaring all the hot guys away.”
“Not all of them,” notes Angel, glancing in the direction of Mr. Dark and Stormy.
Chelsea turns around in her chair and squints. “Who, that guy in the booth?”
“Yeah. He’s been eye fucking Shay since we got here.”
I scold, “Chelsea, for God’s sake, don’t look at him.”
“Why the hell not? He’s fine.” She sends him a broad smile.
The glare he sends her in return is so freezing, it could crack stone.
With a low whistle, she turns back to us. “Wow. Ten for the face, zero for the personality.”
“Maybe his dog died,” Angel says.
Chelsea looks at me and suggests playfully, “Maybe you should go over there and cheer him up.”
“Very funny.”
“It wasn’t a joke.”
“Give me one good reason why I’d want to talk to that man.”
“Because it’s my birthday, and I want you to.” She smiles and takes another sip of her drink.
My heart sinks. She always smiles like that when she’s about to dig in her heels. The last thing I want right now is to be on the wrong side of her stubborn streak.
“He doesn’t want to talk to me.”
“I bet his dick does.”
“If his dick has the same personality as its owner, I’m not interested.”
“Give me a break, girl. Nobody’s asking you to marry him. Just go over there and chat him up!”