AVERY.
Three years.
I've been casually hooking up with Luke for nearly three years.
At that point, it's practically a fucking commitment.
It's been over a thousand days since I'd met the blonde devil himself, since the very first night he lured me in outside of that dodgy club I wasn't even old enough to get into.
That's a story for another time.
I can't say what exactly keeps me coming back- it seems like my life is on an endless loop of trying to make something of myself, or find a boyfriend, but like clockwork I'm back in Luke's orbit like he's the fucking sun.
It's some sort of...fuck, I have no clue. I don't have an excuse. I don't have to respond to his texts, or tell him where I am- hell, I don't have to fuck him either but I can't put into words the absolute obedience I have towards that tall, lanky man.
Like now, even after I've shyly waved at the doorman of Luke's fancy north side apartment, the blonde's ring-clad fingers grasping at my delicate wrist and leading me towards the elevator with grumbles falling from his lips.
I can't bring myself to say no. Not that I want to- it's all very confusing.
"Fuckin' Randy," Luke says the moment the elevator doors shut behind us, releasing his grip on my wrist, "Always so fuckin' cheery, n'for what? He's a fuckin' doorman."
My lips curve into a frown. "I quite like him, he doesn't slut-shame me like Darryl used to."
"Because half the time, Darryl was fucking the girls that left my apartment. You must've been one of the only few who said no."
"Oh."
It feels like hours before we reach the top floor, the shiny metal doors revealing Luke's coveted Penthouse suite. The man's got so much money it's not even funny. Fuck, that rhymed.
"I'll grab us drinks," Luke tells me, shrugging of his coat and tossing it absentmindedly on the rack beside the elevator door. He's quick to walk away, not bothering to offer with my own jacket. I shrug the thin material from my shoulders, fixing Luke's before hanging my own up.
I don't follow him to the kitchen, instead heading the other way towards his bedroom, my Docs clacking on the marbled floor tiles. Despite the rest of his luxury apartment being stuffed to the brim with expensive fixtures and decor, his room was void of that. Solid grey walls, sleek black furniture- though minimal, two side tables and a dresser was all he'd needed aside from his bed.
Oh, and I can't forget the signature Luke decor- mirrors lined perfectly mounted above his king sized bed.
I waste no time, knowing Luke's neediness for a wrestle in the sheets. I pluck my boots from my feet, placing them neatly in front of his bedside table. As I'm grasping the hem of my shirt to remove it, Luke enters, two glasses in his hands nearly full to the brim of an unknown substance, the small bits of ice inside clinking as he walks.
"Here," he hands me one, the contents nearly spilling over the lip of the glass. Stifling a grimace at the strong smell wafting through my nose, I offer a tight-lipped grin to him.
Without hesitation, Luke's tongue darts out between his lips, pressing against the heel of the glass before dragging it up to the rim, tilting his head back and swallowing the liquid in one go- ice bits and all.
"Someone's thirsty," I quip, hesitantly taking a sip of my own drink. The bite of bourbon nips at my tongue, my wince becoming more apparent.
"Liquid courage, baby," he says, clicking his tongue contently, placing down his empty glass on the dresser. "What? Not a bourbon fan?"
YOU ARE READING
somebody else. // lrh
Fanfiction"i'm looking through you while you're looking through your phone, and then leaving with somebody else." It didn't matter what time it was. Every time his name appeared on my phone, accompanied by that annoying little ping, I'd hang my head in shame...
