I wave to my granddaughter from the other side of the hotel bar. When she smiles and sends me a flurry of fingers in return, I’m swamped by guilt. She has no idea I just dry f****d her best friend up on the tenth floor. Hell, I could barely bring myself to wipe her come off my chin and I have the nerve to wave at Sasha? I should be locked up. Behind bars.
Especially because I want to do it again.
And again.
The bartender slides a glass in front of me, accompanied by a bottle of scotch. I must look like I need a stiff drink—and I do. I slosh two fingers of liquor into the glass and toss it back, immediately regretting the action because it washes away some of her taste.
I shove the glass aside and rake my hands down my face. Of course, Terrence’s room had to be joined with mine. The tem
