Sharon and Justin's own Cruella Deville has busted their little cocoon with a bomb of her own. And the emotional shrapnel has nipped in the bud their newly formed bond. How will Justin fix the damage?

Justin couldn't believe his luck tonight. It'd been a long time since he talked with a woman. Really talk. Disconcerting as it was, he enjoyed Sharon's company more than he wanted to. But if the way to a man's heart was through his stomach than for a woman it's to merely listen. Both his mothers taught him that.

So that was what he did. He listened to the words that came out of her pretty mouth. He also listened to what her body was saying. And he knew, that said she was enjoying herself as much as he. That she desired him as much as he for her. It boiled underneath. Unabated and waiting. More likely for him to make the first move because for whatever reason she couldn't. It just depended on the right timing.

It was in that moment, Sharon leaned towards him, her pink tongue darting across her lips. She looked as if she wanted to tell him something. Justin sent a silent prayer the words 'let's go to my place' would spill from her mouth. Her mouth, he couldn't stop staring at those full lips. The bottom slightly plumper than the top. His mind had often strayed to the thought of tasting them again and imagining them around his cock. But that will come later. First he had to taste her. First, he thought as he met her halfway, he had to give her what she wanted but couldn't say. He had to get them out of there and to the nearest bed or a wall.

"Unfuckingbelievable. Justin Boyd. It's really you!"

What the fuck? What now?

Annoyed at the interruption, Justin looked up at the woman hovering behind Sharon and was floored. What was she wearing? Some fishnet stocking outfit over her undies?!

He had no idea who she was and how she knew his name. But one thing he knew was that he'd never sleep with her. She wasn't his type. The type that tries too hard to be sexy and end up crossing over to prostitute territory. If he didn't know better Justin swore she was auditioning for Rupaul's Drag Race. Maybe he/she never made it onto the show. Never know who or what you'll pick up in a club. Especially, if it's D.C.

"Sorry," said Justin. He grabbed Sharon's hand and almost flinched to how ice cold they felt in his hands. "Me and my girl leaving."

His eyes narrowed on the emotions racing across her face. Shock, dread and anger. Whoever the woman was, she rubbed his woman the wrong way. Something primeval woke inside Justin. He wanted to protect her from whatever that'll upset and hurt her. And this woman staring at him like a starving succubus had hurt her. He'd never hit a woman but he had no problem putting her in her place.

He stood up, gently grabbed her elbow and tucked her into his side. He turned back to the woman and nodded his goodbye but before his head tipped back up, she'd latched on to his free right arm like mold to bread.

"Oh come on Justin," she slurred, batting her fake eyelashes up at him. "Stop playing. You remember me. We went to Saint Francis. You were dating my friend before you transferred."

Justin still had no clue who she was. She could've been related to the Kardashians and he still wouldn't know. He was too busy trying to detach his arm. The girl was part leach, part arm wrestling champion. It wasn't until she sneered when she said friend he'd stopped.

A memory of a skinny girl following his girlfriend at the time shimmered into his mind. He couldn't remember her name. But he did remember how he'd never liked her. She was a follower. A Pettigrew. That's what his daught- Angelisa- would call her.

"Come on. Don't go." She pincered his arm so tight it almost went numb. "We can make it a special reunion just the two of us. Or three if you want. I don't mind."

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