All In: Paying to Play (Gambling With Love) Read Online Free PDF

later I am so. Fucking. Drunk. I can’t possibly try to drive the eight short miles to my house. Even shit-faced drunk I know better than most people how disastrous that stupid decision could be.
    Feeling like I need to get my money’s worth out of her, I call my house phone since I don’t know her cell number, and listen to it ring. And ring. And ring some more because I don’t have an answering machine. She finally answers.
    “Hello?” she huffs, sounding tired and annoyed. 
    “Yo, sweet tits, ‘bout fuckin' time you answered.”
    “Jake- ass ? Is that you? Why are you calling yourself? Do you know what time it is? Some people have to actually get up and go to work in the morning!” She bitches for so long my eyes close and I almost fall asleep on my stool.
    “Are you done running your mouth? ‘Cause I need you to get your ass in your car and come get me.”
    “No.”
    “No?” I repeat. “That wasn’t a fucking question. Get your ass in the car and come pick me up at the Blind Tiger . I’m drunk.”
    “I’m not your damn chauffer you filthy chode!”
    Did she just call me a fat, dirty cock? Ah, hell nah. “Look, cunt, it won’t take you ten minutes, so quit your bitchin’ and come get me!”
    I pull the phone away from my ear when I’m met with silence. That’s not like her. Sure as shit she hung up on me! Fuck.
    I give up and call a taxi, then redial the house number while I wait outside the bar. It rings nonstop for several minutes before it’s answered and slammed back down. When I climb in the backseat of a yellow cab I try calling the house phone again and get a busy signal. She must’ve taken it off the fucking hook.
    As soon as I walk through the front door, I try to make as much noise as a high school marching band. I go straight to the kitchen. Hungry for something to soak up the alcohol slopping around in my belly, I make an omelet, banging pots and pans more than necessary. I turn on the house stereo system to Linkin Park, blasting the loud, angry music.
    “You are the most inconsiderate fucker on the planet!” Addison screams at me to be heard over the rock music. When I turn around, she’s standing in the middle of the kitchen wearing a tight ass, white tank top and little black cotton shorts. The woman’s titties are fucking perfection, and I can just barely make out the areolas through the thin material.
    “Sweet tits!” I say in greeting, then I’m wondering what those soft swells would feel like in my hands before I try to remember what I was going to say. Oh that’s right. “If you’d come picked me up, I wouldn’t be so loud. But noooo, you had to be a bitch!”
    “It’s almost two o’clock in the morning! I have to be at work at eight you self-centered prick!”
    “Do I look like I give a shit?” I ask, unable to peel my eyes away from her tits. Gorgeous, full tits that are all natural and would probably bounce beautifully if she was riding my cock.
    “Where have you been? Getting drunk off your ass all night? Did you fuck a few sluts while you were at it?” she asks sounding like we’re married or some shit.
    “Hell yes,” is all I respond with, and her face falls with just those two words.
    For some stupid reason I can’t figure out because I’m too drunk, I hate seeing that look of disappointment on her face. I’m about to take the words back and admit that I didn’t even talk to any women, but then she blows up on me.
    “Fuck you! You’re a waste of talent you selfish little shit. When you lose the contract that you don’t even deserve in the first place, you’re gonna be a has-been that no one ever thinks twice about! I bet your parents will be so proud of their washed up son when you lose a shot at greatness because you couldn’t take your dick out of sluts or hold your alcohol-”
    I throw the fucking frying pan across the room so hard it feels like it shakes the house before I get in her face, backing her up against the kitchen counter.