Chapter 8

“And wait for it,” Jamie says, pointing to the door.

I see a second guy making his exit. He can pass for Chris Hemworth’s twin brother. Beautiful from head to toe. Hollywood-sexy-perfect. He, too, walks down Isle Street, vanishing.

“Thor might be beautiful to look at, but he can’t keep a boner. Poor thing was practically useless for me last night. Such a pity. But he makes a pretty bottom.”

Again, he’s nasty. Always so nasty.

“And one more,” Jamie adds, finishing off my orange juice.

Some guy with black hair and a matching beard exits the building, using the purple door. He has to be six-four or -five. The guy is huge, all around. Not fat. Just big, and delicious-looking with his muscles and masculine frame. I can swear that I’ve seen him play professional football for the NFL, but I can’t remember his name.

“You had a threesome?” I ask Jamie, no longer hungry. Never have I had a threesome. Shit.