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Book: Julian: A Dark Angel Series Companion Novella (Dark Angel #3) by Kat T. Masen
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Authors: Kat T. Masen
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sucking dick.”
Ahh, the blissful memories of last night. “Not much to tell. Last night was the first time in a while. They were sexy…”
He cuts me off and raises his voice. “THEY?” His eyes are practically bulging out of their sockets.
I don’t respond. Instead, I remain quiet. I wasn’t one to talk openly about my sex life.
“Dude, fuck, did they eat each other out? Fuck, no wait, did they finger each other’s asses?”
I almost spit out my drink, because they did, I just didn’t think he would ask that.
“Let’s just say, whatever your imagination thinks, it was done.” Fuck, I was a cocky muthafucker when I was wasted.
He lets out the loudest “fuck” I have ever heard and then mentions something about needing to find his wife or a bathroom pronto. Either one, he vanishes and I am left alone once again.
It’s not for long, though. The conga line finds me and the night becomes one massive blur.
Chapter 9
“ What the hell is this?”
I stare at the drink that Tristan hands me. The color is dark green, the texture thick with something floating near the brim. I feel the bile rise in my throat and I struggle to swallow, wrestling with the vomit that is fast bubbling to the surface. I push the glass away but his strength overpowers me. I am weak.
Fucking Eric and that fucking conga line!
He pushes it back my way. “Drink it. I promise you won’t have a hangover if you drink this.”
I am short fused, my head is pounding like a jackhammer, and I want nothing more than to feel the coolness of the bathroom tiles caress my face. Oh, and pour that rancid-looking drink all over Tristan’s head.
“Kid, fuck off. I’m not drinking that.”
He continues to stand over me and doesn’t let up. For fucken fuck’s sakes . I grab the stupid drink off him and down it in one go.
Oh mother of fucking…
I run for the bathroom, certain the contents of my stomach will soon be saying hi-de-ho to the toilet bowl. I wait…but as minutes pass, the feeling subsides, the headache eases.
“ What the hell was in that?”
“It’s best you don’t know. You feel better though, don’t you?” He appears pleased with himself.
I nod, then motion for him to get the fuck out of the bathroom, and take the longest shower in the history of mankind.
The magical drink gets me out of bed and in the mood to write. Tristan goes out with Claudia, leaving me with the peace and quiet that I so desperately need to finish my manuscript. Mr. Grimmer sent me an email wanting to see an update, so I was hauling major ass trying to get it done. I’d had tighter deadlines than this before, to the point where I didn’t eat or sleep for seventy hours straight in the middle of a third-world country just so I could get a small section printed in the newspaper. It was part of the journalism game.
But this wasn’t the journalism game; this was my heart and soul turned into words and poured into this manuscript. It was a dream, my ambition, my future all riding on this publishing deal.
Come Monday, I was a ball of nerves again.
Sitting in my office, I’m finishing off a piece I’m doing for the newspaper when Nyree calls.
I switch on my suave voice. “Good morning, Nyree.”
“Hi, Mr…I mean Julian. I have a call for you on line two. A Mr. Grimmer.” Her voice is sweet, and I know I shouldn’t go there. So I don’t, for now .
Picking up line two, I take a deep breath and prepare myself for the worst.
“Mr. Baker, I hope I’m not interrupting anything important?” he politely asks.
“Not at all, Mr. Grimmer. I trust you received my email?”
There is a pause. I knew it—who was I fucking kidding?
“I’ll be frank. The quality of your work is mediocre. It lacks that certain element, that magic.”
I rub my face with my free hand. It fucking lacked being on coke . Is that what I need to follow my dream? A sweet line to seal the deal?
“Listen, son. Often we find a muse. Whatever it
Ahh, the blissful memories of last night. “Not much to tell. Last night was the first time in a while. They were sexy…”
He cuts me off and raises his voice. “THEY?” His eyes are practically bulging out of their sockets.
I don’t respond. Instead, I remain quiet. I wasn’t one to talk openly about my sex life.
“Dude, fuck, did they eat each other out? Fuck, no wait, did they finger each other’s asses?”
I almost spit out my drink, because they did, I just didn’t think he would ask that.
“Let’s just say, whatever your imagination thinks, it was done.” Fuck, I was a cocky muthafucker when I was wasted.
He lets out the loudest “fuck” I have ever heard and then mentions something about needing to find his wife or a bathroom pronto. Either one, he vanishes and I am left alone once again.
It’s not for long, though. The conga line finds me and the night becomes one massive blur.
Chapter 9
“ What the hell is this?”
I stare at the drink that Tristan hands me. The color is dark green, the texture thick with something floating near the brim. I feel the bile rise in my throat and I struggle to swallow, wrestling with the vomit that is fast bubbling to the surface. I push the glass away but his strength overpowers me. I am weak.
Fucking Eric and that fucking conga line!
He pushes it back my way. “Drink it. I promise you won’t have a hangover if you drink this.”
I am short fused, my head is pounding like a jackhammer, and I want nothing more than to feel the coolness of the bathroom tiles caress my face. Oh, and pour that rancid-looking drink all over Tristan’s head.
“Kid, fuck off. I’m not drinking that.”
He continues to stand over me and doesn’t let up. For fucken fuck’s sakes . I grab the stupid drink off him and down it in one go.
Oh mother of fucking…
I run for the bathroom, certain the contents of my stomach will soon be saying hi-de-ho to the toilet bowl. I wait…but as minutes pass, the feeling subsides, the headache eases.
“ What the hell was in that?”
“It’s best you don’t know. You feel better though, don’t you?” He appears pleased with himself.
I nod, then motion for him to get the fuck out of the bathroom, and take the longest shower in the history of mankind.
The magical drink gets me out of bed and in the mood to write. Tristan goes out with Claudia, leaving me with the peace and quiet that I so desperately need to finish my manuscript. Mr. Grimmer sent me an email wanting to see an update, so I was hauling major ass trying to get it done. I’d had tighter deadlines than this before, to the point where I didn’t eat or sleep for seventy hours straight in the middle of a third-world country just so I could get a small section printed in the newspaper. It was part of the journalism game.
But this wasn’t the journalism game; this was my heart and soul turned into words and poured into this manuscript. It was a dream, my ambition, my future all riding on this publishing deal.
Come Monday, I was a ball of nerves again.
Sitting in my office, I’m finishing off a piece I’m doing for the newspaper when Nyree calls.
I switch on my suave voice. “Good morning, Nyree.”
“Hi, Mr…I mean Julian. I have a call for you on line two. A Mr. Grimmer.” Her voice is sweet, and I know I shouldn’t go there. So I don’t, for now .
Picking up line two, I take a deep breath and prepare myself for the worst.
“Mr. Baker, I hope I’m not interrupting anything important?” he politely asks.
“Not at all, Mr. Grimmer. I trust you received my email?”
There is a pause. I knew it—who was I fucking kidding?
“I’ll be frank. The quality of your work is mediocre. It lacks that certain element, that magic.”
I rub my face with my free hand. It fucking lacked being on coke . Is that what I need to follow my dream? A sweet line to seal the deal?
“Listen, son. Often we find a muse. Whatever it
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