Pu$ Magnet

by Tessa Layne

  “Pick you up at 6pm Friday?” I’m practically giddy.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll take an Uber.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  From the texts of Mariah Sanchez and her sister

  Mariah: Sis….

  Cecilia: You ready for your big night?

  Mariah: no… crying emoji, facepalm emoji, crying emoji

  Cecilia: Why? What’s wrong? … Do you need me to come over?

  Mariah: What I need is a 2x4 to the head, or some serious liquid courage.

  Cecilia: Why the anxiety? You look stunning in the dress you showed me.

  Mariah: I don’t belong there.

  Cecilia: Like hell you don’t. If Super Steele asked you, you belong.

  Mariah: This is a pity date. I don’t belong.

  Cecilia: Gurrlll… you gotta get out of your own way. You’re smart, you’re attractive, you’re a badass in the boat… and… you know more about 16th Century Spanish Literature than anyone I know.

  Mariah: I also work the bar at the President. Someone’s bound to recognize me.

  Cecile: tongue sticking out emoji. Who cares? Just because you work a side-job at a hotel doesn’t mean you’re not entitled to have fun. Go have fun with Harry and fuck the lot of them. It’s none of their business what you do.

  Mariah: It’s not a side job, and his name isn’t Harry. It’s Harrison. Or Steele.

  Cecile: Aww it’s so cute how you defend him. Heart eyes emoji, heart eyes emoji, star eyes emoji.

  Mariah: Shit it.

  Mariah: Shit… I meant shut it. SHUT IT… Fucking autocorrect.

  Cecilia: laughing emoji, laughing emoji, laughing emoji

  Cecilia: You really like him, don’t you?

  Mariah: I’m trying not to. I swear.

  Cecilia: broken heart emoji

  Mariah: I know, I know. But he makes me laugh.

  Cecilia: broken heart emoji.

  Mariah: And he sent me flowers.

  Cecilia: wide-eyed emoji

  Cecilia: Pictures or it didn’t happen.

  * * *

  dots… dots…

  * * *

  Cecilia: HOLY SHITBALLS they’re enormous!!

  Mariah: big smiley face emoji

  Cecilia: Jesus. He must really like you.

  Mariah: Harrison doesn’t like me. At least not in the way you’re implying.

  Cecilia: I’m not so sure, hon. Maybe you should test the waters.

  Mariah: But what about your worries about him breaking my heart.

  Cecilia: That was before it’s obvious that he likes you. Maybe you should go for it.

  Mariah: and ruin the dynamic in the boat? No thank you. No crewmance. We both know this boat is my key to getting back on the Olympic team… Besides, you’re the one who’s been telling me to stay away.

  Cecilia: There’s more to life than getting on the Olympic boat.

  Mariah: I’m not hustling two jobs for shits and grins. In a few years I’ll be too old. This could be my last chance.

  Cecilia: All I’m saying is that if Hunky Harry turns out to be more than the shallow man-whore you’ve painted him to be, that you might want to give him a chance.

  Mariah: Too risky

  Cecilia: Please, sis. Learn from my mistakes. Otherwise you’re going to turn into a spinster cat-lady like me.

  Mariah: And maybe I’m okay with that.

  Cecilia: Then you’d be lying.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I check my watch for the third time in ten minutes. She’s late. It’s not like Sparky to be late. Ever. In the three years I’ve known her, she’s always first to arrive anywhere. A knot takes hold in my sternum. She wouldn’t stand me up. Are you so sure? A deeper part of my conscience asks. I’m positive. But the seed of doubt has been planted. My phone buzzes, but I feel no relief when I see it’s Sparky.

  S: I’m soooo sorry. There’s an emergency at my other job. I have to go in.

  I blink. She has another job? How come I’ve never known this? Once again my guilty conscience stabs at me. Because you never asked, dumbass. I shoot off a quick reply.

  H: I can pick you up after? We can grab a late bite.

  I can see the dots forming and reforming. As if she’s just erased her original reply.

  S: That’s super sweet of you, but I’ll be here late. Raincheck?

  My stomach sinks. I don’t want a fucking raincheck. But I don’t want to be an asshole either. I check my temper and quickly write back.

  H: Sure. Another time.

  I pause, and against my better judgment add something else.

  H: Holler if you need anything.

  S: heart emoji. Thanks. And thanks for the flowers, they’re lovely.

  At least she likes the flowers. Maybe I’ve overplayed my hand. But I wanted her to know how much I was looking forward to this evening. I wanted her to feel… special. I shove my phone back into my jacket pocket and scan the room. Already, I’m calculating the minimum number of minutes I need to be here. I’ll work the room, flirt with the ladies, and get the fuck outta here. Maybe go for a late night run. I spy Danny across the room chatting up a very hot redhead. He’s dateless too, which means he can be my wingman until we buzz out of here. By the time I’m within earshot of Danny, it’s clear there’s something going on with Ms. Red. I’ve never seen him like this - hungry, on edge. Usually he’s cool as a cucumber. I clap a hand on his shoulder. “You might want to put your tongue back in your mouth, pal,” I say low enough no one else can hear. “I could see the sparks flying between you two from across the room.”

  Danny turns. “I thought you had a date?” His implication is clear. Ms. Red is off-limits.

  I scowl, half-pissed, half- embarrassed. “Ditched me.”

  Danny’s mouth widens into an amused grin. “No fucking way. Kansas City’s most eligible bachelor is flying solo at the gala of the year.”

  “Not solo.” I wink. “You’re going to be my wingman.”

  Danny shakes his head. “Oh, no. I told you I’m never doing that again.”

  He’s referring to the time when we were both at Stanford and I dragged him to a frat party that didn’t end well. “Aww c’mon. That was years ago. How was I supposed to know Samantha’s friend was dating the president of TKE?”

  “Because these are the things you bother to find out when you push your friend into the arms of a strange woman.”

  “Okay, I won’t blow it this time. I won’t push you into anyone’s arms unless it’s Red over there.” I tilt my head in the direction of the redhead he was chatting up earlier.

  “Sorry. No can do,” he says. “I promised Muffy I’d tend bar until the flasks were handed out.”

  Muffy Templeton. Now there’s a piece of work. Old Kansas City money with too much time on her hands, despite the number of charity boards she’s on. “Always behind the scenes, pulling strings like a puppet-master. When are you going to let go and start enjoying life?”

  Danny sidesteps my question entirely. “Where’s Stockton?”

  Stockton is typically my wingman when we fly solo, but all the bribery in the world couldn’t convince him to join me tonight. “He refused to come because his mother keeps trying to set him up with one of Muffy’s granddaughters.”

  Danny covers a laugh. “Stockton’s mother has been trying to marry him off since college.”

  “It’s only gotten worse,” I growl. “She’s taken to ‘dropping by the office’ with a new girl each week.”

  “Sounds like you could use a drink.” Danny steps around me to the makeshift bar and fills a tumbler of whiskey directly from the cask. “Tom’s Special Reserve,” he says handing me a tumbler of amber goodness.

  I raise my glass with a rueful smile. “To snatching kisses and kissing snatch. May one of us have success tonight.”

  Danny narrows his eyes. “Who is she?”

  “No one,” I answer too sharply. If Danny got w
ind of anything between me and Sparky, the whole boat would know within the hour. Not to mention I would be the recipient of incessant and indefinite razzing.

  “Liar. Your eyebrow always twitches when you lie.” He points to the corner of my eye. “Whoever she is, she’s got you tied up in knots.”

  I make a face. “The only tying up going on will be happening later tonight.” If only. I have half a mind to march over to Sparky’s and wait on her porch until she gets home. Half a mind to kiss her silly and tell her all bets are off. And if tying up were part of the negotiation, I’d be game for just about anything with her.

  “But not with Roxi. Just so we’re clear.” Danny sticks me with a look that clearly says Red is off-limits.

  “Roxi, huh? That her name?” The corner of my mouth curls up. He may not know it yet, but Danny’s a goner.

  “Don’t get any ideas. My love life’s off limits.”

  I spread my hands, the picture of innocence. “I just want to help.”

  “You want to help? Spread the word — discretely — about tonight’s poker game.”

  I jam my hands in my pocket. Maybe a poker game is just what I need to blow off the steam building inside me. Danny’s games are big. You either win big or lose big. And I’m not in a mood to lose tonight. “What’s the buy in?”

  “Fifty.” He means thousand. “Limited to the first five. If we have ten, I’ll do a second seating at one.”

  I nod. A night of poker and whiskey will put Sparky far from my mind. “See you at midnight?”

  Chapter Twenty

  I’ve got a few hours to kill before heading to the Whiskey Den. I’m out of sorts, and still bugged that Sparky stood me up. I leave the Nelson, and head downtown. I have half a mind to hit the office for a few hours, but I’m too restless, there’s too much energy in my body and no place to put it. If I wasn’t locked into a stupid bet I’m determined to win, I’d hit the nearest nightclub and take some willing thing back to my place.

  But I’m not fucking doing that, goddammit.

  Instead, I decide to go vintage and hit the President Hotel. They have a cigar room, and there will be jazz. I can lurk in a corner drinking whiskey and brooding to my heart’s content. I don’t go there often, only with a certain type of client I’m trying to woo. But it suits my mood perfectly. I toss the keys to the valet and walk through the doors that I swear are original. Across the plush carpet to the elevator that zips me up to the top floor and a spectacular view of the Kansas City skyline.

  The hostess greets me with an overly enthusiastic smile and leads me to a table in the corner. It’s pretty empty, but for a piano player on the dias, a cocktail waitress who’s currently helping a couple of older guys in suits, and Sparky behind the bar.

  I do a double-take, not believing what I’m seeing, but it’s definitely her, wearing a black tee and black pants. “Some emergency,” I mutter. I rise, and make my way to the bar, sliding into a seat right in the middle. “And here I thought you were off saving humanity, a lá Don Quixote.”

  She gasps and turns, eyes wide. “What are you doing here?” She narrows her eyes.

  I raise my hands and speak before she does. “I swear I’m not stalking you. Just a crazy coincidence. I didn’t know you had a second job until you ditched me.”

  “Can I get you something?”

  “Jameson, neat.” She doesn’t deny she ditched me. I look around the room. “Looks super busy,” I say, mouth twitching. “Yep, total emergency.”

  She tosses a rag into the sink. “A colleague needed help.”

  I sniff. “I smell eau de chicken shit.”

  Her mouth twitches, and two pink spots stripe her cheekbones. “I smell I can’t take no for an answer.”

  “I took no just fine. It’s the excuse I’m not buying. C’mon, admit it. You chickened out.” She starts drying glasses and putting them away. “Let me guess. Someone needed a shift covered and you jumped at the opportunity.” The color on her cheeks deepens. “Am I right? Because it was either that or stay home translating Cervantes, and you were too chicken to text me that you’d rather stay home reading old Spanish tomes than go on a date with me.”

  She raises her eyes to mine. “Okay, you’re half right. I chickened out.”

  “So you admit you would have rather stayed home?”

  “No. I was dressed and ready to go.”

  My voice softens. “So what happened, Sparks?”

  “I chickened out. Big fancy parties aren’t my thing.” She pulls the Jameson from the shelf and pours it into a glass.

  “They’re not mine either.”

  “But you’re used to them. They’re part of your world. People like me work big fancy parties. We don’t attend them.” She pushes my drink across the counter.

  I drop my hand on top of hers, before she can pull it away. I get what she’s saying, and it never occurred to me that she’d feel that way. “I’m sorry I made you feel uncomfortable.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t level with you. You deserve better.”

  “I’m sorry I pushed too hard.”

  She snorts. “What is this, an apology-fest now?”

  “I’m entirely certain I can outdo you with apologies.”

  “I’m damn sure you can’t.”

  “We can thumb wrestle do decide the winner.”

  Her mouth twitches at the corner. “You’re a dork.”

  “I’m pretty sure the dork prize belongs to you Ms. I want a PhD in Sixteenth Century Spanish Literature,” I tease.

  She flashes me a grin. “Just remember, I can curse at you in both ancient and modern Spanish. Skillz.”

  I stare at her over my whiskey, and can’t help but wonder what other skillz she’s kept under wraps. I sure as hell am going to enjoy finding out.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  From the perspective of Steele’s dick

  If chasing pussy were an Olympic sport, I’d win all the gold. I know how to leverage my assets, use my charm and my good looks. Women eat me up like pints of Ben & Jerry’s. Except I’m so much better than B&J. I live as much for the chase as I do for the outcome. There’s nothing quite like the exhilaration of the chase. It’s better than booze, or high stake poker, or Christmas Morning. And the gratification that comes when the chase is successful? Epic - for both me and my partner. E.P.I.C. Because I make it goddamned unforgettable.

  * * *

  But none of my tricks work with a certain tiny lady with balls of steel. Not one. And I’m beginning to worry she might break me. Because it’s been six months.

  SIX

  What the fuck is he thinking? I’m losing my goddamned mojo. And when we finally get some action, I’m going to shoot off like a fucking thirteen-year old, thereby embarrassing both of us.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  New Year’s Eve

  * * *

  I sense Sparky’s presence before I see her. I turn, scanning the room, and find her making her way to the bar. I grab two champagne flutes and head to intercept her. “You look amazing,” I say, dropping a kiss to her cheek and handing her a flute. Amazing is perhaps an understatement. Her dress floats around her the way Marilyn Monroe’s did over the subway vent. But Sparky’s dress is a brilliant shade of turquoise blue - the kind of blue that makes you think of beaches and snorkeling… and skinny dipping.

  “Thank you,” she murmurs, pink staining her cheeks. “And thank you for inviting me.”

  It was totally spur of the moment, inviting the team to the Steele Conglomerate annual New Year’s Eve bash, but we’re losing our number two stroke Trevor, to a job in Boston, and this is our last hurrah. “The whole team’s here. It wouldn’t be right to ring in the new year without you.”

  I usher her past the packed dance floor and over to a high top where the team’s hanging out. The guys let out a series of low whistles when they see Sparky. “Damn, Sparks, you clean up good,” gushes Owen.

  “Promise you’ll save me a dance?” adds Mac.

  Hot gre
en poison pools in my belly, but I force myself to let it go. They’re just looking after her, which is what I should be doing too, if I wasn’t tied up in knots. She looks around the group, then back at me. “Where’s Danny?” Leave it to Sparky to not miss a thing. Danny’s been an honorary teammate of sorts, ever since we started.

  “He’s been laying low since everything blew up at the Whiskey Den.”

  Sparky gives a sympathetic nod. “It sucks when you lose everything.”

  She speaks like she’s been there, and I want to get her to a quiet place and find out why. Even after nine months of regular nightly phone calls, she’s played her cards close to the vest. Offering up only glimpses of her private life. But I’ve been no better. I haven’t shared anything deeply personal either. Maybe that changes tonight.

  She brightens. “Have you guys thought about asking him to replace Trevor?”

  “We’ve asked him before,” Stockton says with a shake of his head. “Answer’s always the same.”

  “Maybe it’ll be different this time,” she suggests. “You know, New Year, New You?”

  “I like it,” says Mac. “We could all make New Year New You resolutions.”

  “I hate resolutions,” I growl, draining my champagne. “Terrible idea.”

  “Oh?” Sparky answers with a grin. “Too far outside of your comfort zone?”

  “I think they’re great for goal-setting,” says Jackson.

  “Sure, if you need that kind of thing,” I agree. “But I set goals all the time. I don’t need New Year’s Eve to do it.”

  Stockton eyes me. “I think it’s too personal for you.”