At No Time || Bruno Mars

40

Peter lit a cigarette and perched it between his lips, the glow of the filter reflecting off the large bedroom window of his apartment. He sat on the edge of his bed, looking down at the late night traffic that glowed and sounded up into the building. He let it lull him though he was not tired.

"You coming back to bed, baby?" He felt slender arms drape across his shoulders from behind him, a pair of naked breasts settling against his back. The warm body of the woman, he could not remember what she said her name was, was enticing, but he was finished for the night.

He inhaled from the cigarette and slowly let the plumes sift through his lips before answering, "You want me to call you a ride?"

The woman scoffed and removed herself from him. He heard her rifling through the sheets to find her panties before haphazardly pulling on her dress as he finished his smoke.

"No. I can get one myself. You're just like the rest of these guys out here. I bet you won't even call," she surmised as she stood in front of him, her arms crossed and the lights of the city illuminating her porcelain skin and auburn hair. Peter was unsure if her pout was to convince him that she was not exactly correct—it was just a one-time thing, maybe twice if it was good. But it had been a mediocre night, so he doubted he would ever allow her back into his bedroom.

Peter stood as well and walked over to his side dresser. He grabbed his wallet and pulled out a couple bills. The woman appeared offended when he returned and tried to give it to her.

"I'm not a prostitute, you jackass!" and hit him with her sweater. Peter would have laughed had it not been for him wanting her out of his home. It had only been forty dollars—certainly she would have thought she was worth more than that had he really been paying for her sex.

"It's just for the cab fair and for something to eat," he explained with a haughty smirk and edged it toward her again. The woman glanced down at the money, appearing thoughtful before ultimately deciding her own was the only type good enough.

"Thanks, but no thanks. I can handle it myself."

Peter followed her out his door, down the elevator, and waited with her outside until he saw her get into the cab and drive off. He had enough gentlemanly couth to make sure she made it from his place safe, but also enough perspicacity to watch out for women with sticky fingers. The first time he noticed one of his gold watches was missing after having a woman stay the night, he had made it his duty to stay awake until he could watch her leave his home, no matter how worn or tired he was.

He also made it clear that with them that they were to have protected sex—birth control meant nothing to him. Condoms or they could show themselves the door. He also made it his responsibility to find the condoms and throw them away—he had heard too many stories of women using them to get a child and money out of ignorant men. He would not be one of them.

Peter walked back inside, wanting to fall asleep but finding he still could not. He sat down at his kitchen island, entertaining a drink but eventually deciding against it. He had had enough to drink in the hours before at Roger's surprise album-release party for Elle Marie.

Peter had assumed the couple would have broken it off after Elle Marie's, who they now affectionately referred to as Em, infidelity, but after a couple months of Roger's loathing and threats he told Peter and Neal about dumping her for good, the two remained together—and stronger. It shocked both men, even Neal who had claimed he had his own suspicions, when Roger got down on one knee and asked for Elle Marie's hand in marriage. The album-release party turned into an entirely knew celebration and had everyone taking double the shots.

That was what Peter's life seemed to be like more often than not—parties. If he was not in and out of the office of SoulWork Enterprise, protecting his craft as a producer, headlining meetings and working as the C.O.O., appearing in interviews, award shows, or out of the country to meet with foreign executives, he was at bars, multi-million dollar homes, or yachts partying the nights away. At points, the taste of alcohol became like water and music was the only thing he heard.