The rate for his services was high. His quality was high. His acting skills were good enough that he could be a completely different person, and you'd never know.
However, the role he was least comfortable playing was Oliver.
Oliver Addams was a b...
For a week now, I've been going to Cal's study and lying down on the couch in my underwear why Cal sketches a picture of me. I have no idea whether or not he's been working on the same portrait all week or if he starts a new one every day.
Tonight is no different. I'm draped on the couch. The only difference before we started Cal's little sketching project, I asked him to pour me a glass of the bourbon.
So now I'm laying here feeling like a goddamn queen with my glass of bourbon as I lie on the couch being drawn. This is some Titanic shit. I just how we don't hit an iceberg and sink.
I'm on my third glass of bourbon and am starting to feel the effects of the alcohol.
"All done, you may leave now, Oliver," Cal says, his eyes piercing into my very soul as I watch him take a long sip from his glass.
"It's always you draw and drink, I leave. Where's the fun?" I slur, downing the rest of my glass.
"What do you mean, Oliver?" Cal asks.
I stand, stumbling very minimally. I walk over to Cal, leaning against the desk brushing the sketchbook aside so I can be there without smudging anything.
"I mean, it's been more than a month, and you haven't fucked me yet." I grab the collar of Cal's shirt, pulling him close to me. "I'm starting to get anxious," I slur.
"I think you're a little drunk, love." Cal says, patting my cheek condescendingly.
"While I may be a bit drunk, I've been thinking about what it would feel like to have you touching me."
"Oliver," Cal says as I get even closer to him. If I move forward even a little bit, our lips will touch.
"Cal, I've been thinking about what you would look like naked all week. Can't you just do what you pay me for."
"You said so yourself. You're not a prostitute," Cal says. I can smell the bourbon on his breath, and I'm sure that he can smell it on mine.
"I'm willing to make an exception," I say, leaning forward to press my lips to his.
Cal swipes everything off his desk while continuing to kiss me. I don't know how he manages to do it, but somehow he finds a way to hoist me up onto the desk. I have my legs wrapped around his waist as Cal kisses me hungrily. He tastes like coffee and bourbon, and I love it.
Cal moves to start leaving hickeys on my neck. He bites down on the space where my neck meets my shoulder. I let out a quiet moan.
Then, I hear a loud ring of a phone call.
Cal groans against my neck before he pulls away. Cal rests his forehead against my chest as he answers his phone.
"This better be good," Cal mumbles.
I start to play with Cal's hair as he listens intently to what better be an important phone call.
"You really make things fucking difficult for me, mate." Cal pulls away from me, and I give him a frown. "I'll be there in forty minutes." I watch as Cal hangs the phone up.
"What is that?" I ask, knowing full well it's something sketchy.
"Just work stuff." Cal says, looking me up and down, obviously as pissed off as I am.
"Work stuff is really more important than me?" I ask, jokingly.
Cal grabs my chin, tilting it up, so I'm forced to look him in the eyes. "Well, you've waited this long. I'm sure you can wait a little more."
Cal leaves me on the desk all horny and frustrated. I watch as he walks out the door. I run a hand through my hair, letting out a disgruntled groan.
I'm not used to being stood up like this. Usually, I have to pry both men and women alike off of me.
I grab the bottle of bourbon off of the desk and stumble back to my room. I drink the rest of the bottle, drowning my horniness in my drink.
My head is spinning as I dial my agent Yolanda's number. It rings three times before she picks up.
"It's fucking three in the morning. What the hell are you doing calling me?"
"Yolanda! My favorite bisexual she/they. How are you?" I say like I've called them at a reasonable hour, instead of at three in the morning. I knew they'd be awake because she's taken to an immense life of partying in the city.
"Dios Mio, what kinda shit have you gotten yourself into?" Yo groans.
"Nothing, nothing. I just need a bit of advice from the word's best agent and friend." I slur.
"You're drunk!" Yolanda exclaims.
"And you're hot!" I yell, starting to giggle.
"Alright, what do you need, amor?" Yo asks.
"How do you seduce a man?" I drawl out.
"You need help seducing a man? God help me. It better be your client and not another butler. I'm not going through the hassle of cleaning up your mess."
"Yes, it is my client," I grumble. I've never needed help on a job before, and Yo knows that.
"You, the ever-coveted dark chocolate bar of the powerful ring of borderline sex workers, needs help seducing a lonely billionaire? You're usually calling me asking for advice to soothe the pain of your ass after-" I cut Yolanda off.
"First of all, I'm pretty sure you call me a dark chocolate bar is some form of racism."
"I'm literally mexican," Yo argues.
"Second of all, I just need advice, okay? It's been over a month, and I'm the only one making moves." I swipe a hand over my face trying to rub the shame off of me.
"I can't believe it," Yo says, sounding shocked.
"You and me both, muchacho."
"Why don't you just play hard to get?" Yolanda suggests.
I overexaggerate my laugh. "You're funny. I've been playing hard to get the whole time! The only thing I've been getting is left high and dry."
"So, he's been getting you hard and what, just to fucking leave?"
"Yes!" I yell. "He's a monster."
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
