Mr. Big Ego (Dirty South Book 3)

by Kat Addams

  “I take it, you’ve heard of him,” I said, raising my eyebrows.

  “Who hasn’t? Have you been to his shop in Nashville? Deuce’s? Oh my gosh, it’s amazing! I hear he doesn’t get to work there much anymore. He’s too busy with gigs and albums. But such a humble story. Doesn’t hurt that he’s one hell of a good-looking dude too.”

  “Good-looking, eh?” I tugged at my jacket sleeves and brushed off a piece of lint from my knee. Maybe I didn’t need to stand next to this Jason Jones dude.

  “He is.” She looked me up and down, grinning. “He’s also married.”

  I let out a breath I hadn’t even known I was holding.

  “So, I guess he won’t be whisking you off to Nashvegas then. Darn. And here I thought, I was going to hire a new event planner. Maybe even put Sara in that position.”

  “Ouch. She couldn’t do what I do even if she worked day and night, trying. Besides, she’s busy banging my pervy neighbor.”

  “Huh? How do you know that?”

  “She added me on Facebook. I didn’t want to add her. I don’t like to mix my business and personal life. It’s just business, right? But I figured she wasn’t someone I wanted to turn down either. I have nothing to hide from her. She won’t be slandering me like she did your Bitch Who Must Not Be Named.”

  “Great. Well, double-check that you aren’t in a bikini in any photos. God forbid that woman see a hot chick! She sees red. I’ve never seen someone so jealous of other women in my life. She’s just … bitter.”

  “Noted. I’m pretty much a hermit though, so she can’t mess with me. Also, I know she’s boning the guy next door. I could just hit her back with that. That’s shameful enough. He has a thing for having an audience—of birds.”

  “This conversation is confusing me. Let me get this straight. For starters, you aren’t running away with the famous Jason Jones. Phew. That’s a relief. For two, Sara added you on Facebook because she’s starting to feel like you’re in her territory, which is me; I’m her territory. But you said you could handle her, so that takes care of that. But for three, she’s banging your neighbor who has pet birds that like to watch him fuck.”

  “Wow, you did good.” She squeezed my knee, sending that damn vibration up my leg and into my crotch, making my dick hard once again.

  “I think you got your bases covered.” I leaned over to press my lips against hers. I couldn’t hold out any longer. I had to kiss her.

  “I can take care of myself,” she mumbled into my mouth.

  “Ms. Independent. Don’t I know it!” I felt her smile.

  We made our way inside the packed building. Already, the room was filled with women—hot women—and a handful of men. Since tonight was some special event with limited seating, tables were set up in front of the stage where it usually tended to become a mosh pit. I had spent a few drunken nights here as a younger man and maybe as an older one too. I scanned the tables for a Beaumont tag, finally finding it right next to the front-and-center table. Good enough. Sometimes, I even impressed myself. Whoever had reserved this table before me would be getting a fat paycheck. It was a win-win situation all around.

  “Whoa! These seats are amazing. Thanks, Victor! I’ve never been this close to the stage before.” Samantha’s face lit up as I pulled her chair out for her.

  “Limo rides, front-row seating. What else can I woo you with tonight?” I asked as I scooted closer to her so that we both faced the stage.

  “Yourself. Just be yourself. No fake personality crap.”

  “I feel like I’m being interrogated tonight or like I’m on trial. Are you judging me? Trying to get to know Voodoo Victor?”

  “I thought you didn’t like that name. You sure do use it a lot for not liking it. Just saying.” She unfolded her napkin and set it in her lap, avoiding eye contact with me.

  “You are judging me tonight. Okay, I’ll be on my best behavior.” Spoiler alert: I wouldn’t be.

  “So, you know how I am—fresh meat on the market. I have to be picky. One red flag and …” She dragged her finger across her neck and made a screeching sound.

  “Shit. How am I doing so far?” I asked, picking up the menu and thumbing through it. I needed a drink.

  “I’m only teasing! You’re great … so far.” She reached for my hand and gave it a little pat.

  “In that case, let me set the bar higher.”

  “Oh, yeah? How so?”

  The waiter came by to take our order, interrupting our conversation and then hurrying off into the crowd.

  “You were saying?” she continued, pulling me out of my trance.

  “I said, I’m going to set the bar high. Just watch.” My foot fidgeted under the table. I had no idea what I was supposed to be doing. I was making shit up as I went. Basic bullshitter Beaumont.

  “I’m watching.” She held two fingers to her eyes and then pointed at mine.

  My butt cheeks clenched tight.

  The bar grew quiet just as our drinks were delivered. I slammed mine back and ordered another round right as Jason Jones—or at least who I thought was Jason Jones—settled on the stage. It had to be him. I was a lover of women, but this guy was very good-looking. I shrank into my seat and sipped my whiskey while Jason crooned onstage. Thankfully, his eyes didn’t wander over to Samantha once. The whole time, he seemed to be singing to a beautiful redhead seated next to us.

  “I think that’s his wife,” I whispered in Samantha’s ear, nudging her to look.

  “I think you’re right. Look at how he’s looking at her! That is so dreamy. She’s glowing!”

  “That’s because her hand is on her belly. Look! Either she ate too many hot wings or she is carrying his little rock star in there.”

  “Oh my word! That is the cutest!” Samantha’s lips turned up in a smile that quickly faded. She gazed back toward the stage.

  “Do you want children one day?” I put my arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer to me.

  “I thought I’d have them by now, but it’s getting too late for me to have the big family I pictured. I want about five kids, which means I needed to start two years ago.”

  I grabbed the side of the table as my body did some weird, involuntary convulsion.

  “Sorry! Felt a tickle on my leg. Thought it was a spider! Must have been the table skirt.” I flagged the waiter down and ordered another whiskey.

  “Do you want kids?” She turned to me.

  Uh-oh. I could feel that this was part of the interrogation.

  Don’t fuck it up. Don’t fuck it up.

  I took off my jacket. The whiskey was making it unbearably hot in here.

  “Ten. I want ten of those suckers.” I raised my brows and locked my eyes on hers. This whiskey was going to get me nothing but child support. Rum wouldn’t have done this to me—not Fleur-De-Lis.

  “You are so full of it!” She laughed.

  That was good. At least I had gotten a laugh … and maybe set myself up for a zoo of children or a family circus. Ba-dum-ch!

  We watched Jason Jones sing for the next two hours while we ate, made small talk, and drank. Mostly me. It was me doing the drinking. Ever-so-proper Samantha milked her wine. I’d never dated a woman as smart as Samantha before, and here I was, calming my nerves by getting hammered with whiskey and quite possibly setting myself up for disaster. Spoiler alert: I was a disaster.

  “So, what do you do in your free time? What has been keeping Ms. Masson busy?” I switched my drink to water and got the check. The energy in the room was too much for drunken Phantom Man. My forehead broke out in a sweat.

  “I’ve been looking at homes lately. That’s what’s been keeping me busy.”

  “Homes? As in you want to buy one?” I patted the napkin across my forehead.

  “My apartment is old, and the walls are paper-thin. I want a place with a yard and preferably at least an arm’s length from a neighbor.”

  “Where is it you’re looking?”

  “Lakeview. There’re
two there I’m debating on.”

  “Lakeview? I own a home over there! Well, technically, it’s the family home, but I have access to it. I rarely go there though. Want to go check it out?” I hiccuped and took another sip of my water.

  “Sure. As long as you’re good. You seem a little … drunk.” She grinned up at me.

  I grabbed her palm and pulled it up, bringing the back of her hand to my lips.

  “No worries. I’m fine,” I lied. Even I, drunky Victor Beaumont, was worried.

  “All right, Voodoo Victor. Let’s apparate to Lakeview.”

  “Isn’t that a Harry Potter reference?”

  “Score brownie points for you! Your trial is going well! But if you puke on my shoes, that’s an automatic disqualification.”

  She wrapped her arm around me as we walked back to the limo. I didn’t know if she wanted to get closer to me or if she was trying to keep me from falling.

  Damn these nerves and damn that whiskey.

  I let her crawl into the limo first, partly because I was a gentleman but mostly because I wanted to see her ass in the air. Her form-fitting dress hugged her curves in a way that should have come with a warning label.

  “Your champagne is chilled and waiting on you, Mr. Beaumont,” the driver said before closing the door.

  “Champagne? You got champagne?” Samantha asked, reaching over to the fridge tucked away on my side of the limo. “What kind is it? I was reading about champagne and about how not all sparkling wine can be called champagne. Did you know it has to be from the Champagne region to be labeled champagne?” She pulled the bottle from the bucket in the fridge. “Dom Perignon! You got Dom Perignon? I guess you really are trying hard tonight, aren’t you?”

  “Just a special bottle for a special lady. Here, let me open it.” I took the bottle from her hands and twisted the cap off like my parents had taught me to do when I was twelve. Some things they hadn’t taught in school. I poured us two glasses, realizing I didn’t need any more to drink, but how could I let her drink alone? Also, I was still on her watch, and champagne made me fun and bubbly. Get it? I laughed to myself, hiccuping.

  “You sure you want more to drink?” She lowered her voice and put her hand on my elbow before I poured my glass.

  “I’ll be fine. Fine. I run a distillery! My tolerance is ridiculously high!” I hiccuped and continued pouring.

  My tolerance was not high. I was not fine. I was three drinks away from being a dumpster fire, but I was under interrogation, and my pulse was beating in my eardrums. The only thing that was slowing down time, me, my inhibition, my logical thinking, and everything was my blood alcohol content. I should have eaten my feelings like I had when I saw her with Dude.

  “Cheers to Lakeview!” I rolled down the partition and told the driver to head toward Lakeview.

  Samantha chimed in the addresses of the homes she wanted to show me. She wanted my opinion—mine. As if I knew anything about homes other than what I’d been handed.

  “You know, this night has been kind of nice. I appreciate it,” she said, reaching over to roll the partition back up. “You know what else would be a first for me?” She crawled onto my lap and popped her tits out of the top of her dress. “I’ve never made out in a limo before.”

  My reaction time was slow, but even so, my face dive-bombed in between her big balloons, and I motorboated her like I was sailing my ass to China.

  “Ha-ha-ha! That tickles! Here, try this.” She dipped a pinkie in her champagne and twirled it around her nipple, all the while smiling at me.

  My voice caught in my throat, my dick jumped in my pants, and my heart fell to the pit of my stomach. I was going to marry this woman and have ten kids. I growled at her before taking her nipple between my teeth and licking the sticky champagne off of her breast. I made a mental note to purchase a few more bottles of Dom.

  “You’re something else, Samantha. You’re … I’m just going to say it. Damn it to hell, I’m going to do it. Wasn’t it Brené Brown who said to be vulnerable? Put myself out there? Be courageous and go for it?” I tipped my glass back and finished my champagne. I gave a quick peck to each of her breasts, which were still gloriously hanging out in my face, and told her, “I like you. I really, really like you. Not just as a business thing.” I hiccuped. “But a girlfriend thing.” The champagne bubbles tingled in my nose.

  “You listen to motivational speakers?” She leaned back to search my eyes. Her bullshit detector was on.

  “I’m not a complete goob. Just a goob for you.” I honked her boob.

  “What is it with you and boob-honking?” She tucked her breasts back in and crawled off me.

  “No, no, no! Wait! Where are you going? Was it the boob-honking? Was it because I said I liked you too much? Because I’m a goob?”

  “Um, no. It’s because the limo stopped, and we’re at the house—goob.” She pinched my nose. “That’s payback for the boob honk. And this …” She cupped my face in her hands and gave me a rough, smacking kiss on my lips. “This is for telling me you like me a lot on our first date.”

  “Technically, it’s not the first date. I mean … we have fucked and stuff.” I hiccuped, then laughed, and accidentally squeaked out the girliest of poots.

  “Did you just—” She laughed and scurried out the door as soon as the driver opened it.

  “You were sitting on my stomach and … well, shit happens. Literally. Sometimes.” I crawled out after her and prayed to whatever voodoo magic was in the air that I wouldn’t embarrass myself any more tonight. Spoiler alert: I would.

  I followed Samantha up the brick stairs to the front porch and looked inside the window. Someone had left a light on, and I could already see that this place was newly renovated. For a house in an old neighborhood, what I could see of the inside was immaculate and white—very, very white. Everything had a crisp, clean look to it.

  “I’d be afraid to set foot in this house! Can you imagine if you had a dog? Those walls and floor would be covered in muddy paw prints!” I turned toward her and pulled her away from the window. “You can’t get it. What about the eighteen kids? It’s too sterile.”

  “Shh! Everyone and their mama can hear you!” She pulled her hand from mine.

  “Sorry, I do that when I drink!” I whispered loudly back at her.

  “You don’t like it? I thought it was the perfect location, and it’s so beautiful!” She peeked through another window. “Look in here. Check out this fireplace!”

  “What about the kids?” I insisted, pulling her away and into the car.

  “You sound like my mother!” She rolled her eyes.

  “You know, I’m the voice of reason. Even if I’m tipsy. Where’s the other one? Show me! Let’s see it. I have a feeling it’s going to be just like that last one.” I patted my lap and tried to coax her back on top of me. It didn’t work this time.

  “Forget it. You won’t like it either. Let’s go to your place. Show me what kind of house you like since mine aren’t up to your standards.”

  Samantha held her champagne glass out for a refill, and I topped mine off too. She tossed her drink back and folded her arms.

  “It was a beautiful house! I’m just thinking of the future. I’m being practical!”

  “Since when is Victor Beaumont, the man who popped out of a real coffin for his Halloween party, practical?”

  “It’s the alcohol. It makes me all philosophical and smarty-farty sometimes. It makes me do dumb things too. Like this. Have you ever stuck your head out of the sunroof of a limo before?” I smiled so big that my face began to hurt.

  “Well, no, considering that my only time in a limo was at that funeral, you know.”

  I pushed the button to open the sunroof and stood up. “Come on up here!”

  “Isn’t it cold?”

  “Yep! But not if you drink more champagne!” I called down to her.

  She poked her head through the opening and squished in next to me, laughing.

  “See?
I told you it was fun! Woohoo!” I shouted and threw my hands in the air. “Try it. It’s pretty freeing. Just live a little.”

  “Little-lady-who!” she yodeled down the dark street.

  Surely, we were waking up the neighborhood.

  “What the fuck was that? You can yodel?” My mouth hung open.

  “Just one of my many talents.”

  She yodeled even louder.

  We fell back down onto the seat and laughed hysterically.

  “Ever mooned someone?” I asked once I caught my breath.

  “Maybe when I was eight.” She rubbed her hands together and blew into them.

  “Oh, yeah? Bet you haven’t done this.” I wiggled out of my pants and boxers.

  “What are you doing?” she shrieked. “We’re almost to your house! Get those back on.”

  “No way. You can yodel, but can you do this?”

  I flipped myself over—once, twice, seven times—and stood on my hands, poking my legs and my bare ass out of the sunroof. I spread my legs to catch on the sides of the window so that I wouldn’t fall over. This was definitely one of my worst ideas. But she laughed. Upside down, I watched Samantha laugh so hard that she fell on the floor beside me and clutched her sides. Her giggles, in turn, made me laugh, which sent my body into waves, my freezing cold bare ass shaking in the air. I hadn’t thought about how the wind would feel on my johnson before I performed my little trick. My head began to throb as blood started to pool into my already-fuzzy brain.

  “Close your eyes. You can’t see me get down from here. I’m shriveled like old man balls.”

  “I need to see the dismount, so you can show me how it’s done. You never know, maybe I’ll try it next time.”

  “Fine!” I tried to wiggle myself down, and that was when I heard it.

  The limo halted to a stop as a police siren rang out. I lost my balance and stumbled down to Samantha’s feet.

  “Fuck! I’ve never been arrested before! Damn it, Victor!” She nudged me with her foot while I tried to gather my senses.

  Blue lights flashed through the windows as I scrambled to put my pants back on. We both sat in silence, listening to the officer and the driver mumble.