The light from the screen hurt my eyes in the darkened hotel room, and I was surprised to see how late it was. “Shit.” My mouth tasted like I’d made bad decisions the night before, and I fumbled around the nightstand hoping to find a bottle of water. No luck. I picked up the phone instead. “Coffee, water, and aspirin,” I said to the woman who answered the room service extension. She’d answered in French, of course, since we were in Paris, but I assumed she spoke English. I hung up and lay back, eyes closed, trying to sort out the tangle of thoughts in my head. My dreams had been flashes of ink, porn stars, music, and Tatum. Tatum. The last time I’d talked to her, she’d seemed preoccupied. I looked at the necklace I’d bought her nearly every single day, and even though I knew I should have called her more frequently, I really was working hard. I wanted to get back to her, and with all the sex swirling around me, I needed her. I was jerking off more frequently than a fourteen-year-old, but I knew I needed a woman, and Tatum was the one I wanted.
