It’s late, and he’s out with some blonde bimbo who posed in Playboy who’s all fake boobs and Botox with an irritating laugh and a weird pair of overly plump lips. We fly home tomorrow so he’s letting off steam Carrero style. Loose women, booze, and a nightclub. So very Jake.
I glance at the clock in distraction, noticing how quiet it is when he’s not around to frustrate me. I don’t get his fascination with nightclubs, all that loud, thumping music grinding bodies, and stifling air. But then Jake’s fascination with jumping out of planes and down buildings is beyond me too. He’s the original adrenaline junkie and never seems to sit still for long.
It’s a hot muggy night and I’m sticky in my sweats and T-shirt, my hair has been up all day and it feels itchy with my scalp screaming for relea
