Sex And Writing|| 18+ [{Completed}]

6

We pulled up to the same shitty bar from the night before at 10:00 pm on the dot. People flooded the outside, cigarettes on their lips, drinks in their hands, and loud laughs breaking through the night air. We got out of his car and walked in. My brain still too exhausted to put up a fight about being there. They packed the place like the night before, familiar faces all around lining the booths and bar top. The warmth from all the body heat encasing my skin.

"Do you come here every night?" I asked through exhaustion as we settled at the bar again. Same spots as the night before. I rubbed my temples, placing my elbows onto the bar, wishing I was in bed.

My eyes darting around the crowded bar, hoping I wouldn't spot the devil from the night before. The last scenario I needed was another Neil temper tantrum, especially with what he had witnessed. I'm sure he'd be an unreasonable asshole, but what was new?

I laid my head on the bar. My muscles feeling the large amounts of exhaustion coursing through them, pulling my shoulders down. My limbs becoming too tired to even lift a glass. But he insisted we come here. Again. And I couldn't refuse.

Anything it takes.

He grunted in response, getting up from his seat. I watched him walk away towards the bathroom, sincerely hoping he wasn't ditching me there. He was my ride home.

"Every night," I looked back at the same blonde bartender from the night before bewildered. She handed me a large mixed drink, the same as the night before, and set his whiskey down too. Like she had served him a million times over.

I just stared at her, too exhausted to question his motive for coming every night. She leaned in a little like she was about to expose his secrets.

"Comes in for a few hours, barely drinks, and then leaves," she whispered, just for me to hear, her eyes checking for any nosey nellies around.

"Why?" I grumbled, and she shrugged her shoulders in response. Great—she didn't know either. He was becoming some sort of living mystery to me. And I was more than curious to figure them out. Where was a good detective when you needed him?

"Something happened to him—to his family, it was something big. I've heard some bizarre rumors, but I do not understand what actuallyhappened." Her eyes darted toward the side of the bar and she shrugged her shoulders again, walking away from me and C.J. sat back down.

He took a quick sip from his drink. "You live in the city?" He gruffly asked, and I shook my head.

"About 10 blocks from here, I can walk if that's what you want." I looked up at him and he shrugged, concern dragging his features down.

"No need to walk. We can stay there." If I needed a wake-up call, this was it. I nearly spit out my drink at his response, my exhausted brain shooting tiny bits of adrenaline through my bloodstream waking me up like a cold splash of water.

"We?" I asked in a high pitch voice, staring at him in disbelief.

"Unless you want to go sit in that stuffy office again?" He asked, side-eyeing me for my reaction. Like it didn't register with him that his comment was odd. What stranger stays with another stranger, besides one-night stands.

"No, not really." I hesitated, not wanting to go back to the miserable place they called a conference room. And Reese had said I could stay home and edit to my heart's content. I believe her exact words were, she didn't want to see my face.

"You're wanting to stay with me?" I asked cautiously. Wondering what a night with C.J. would be like.

"You are my editor." He said matter-of-factly, taking another long swig of his drink.