“You’re welcome. We’ll be out in about thirty minutes with the main course.”
“Perfect. Thank you.” I nod to both Mal and John, who swiftly disappear back the way they came. I’ve requested complete privacy for the two of us tonight. They’ll be making themselves scarce unless called upon.
“Perrier-Jouët?” I ask, removing the foil from the top of the bottle.
“Never had it. I’m more of a mixed drinks girl, but I’m willing to give it a try.” She jumps back when the cork pops, probably anticipating a shower like she’s seen on television. Laughing, I bring her glass under the bottle, which is lightly overflowing with bubbles, and fill her champagne flute before filling my own.
“Mmm,” she moans, dabbing her cloth napkin to catch the soup that stayed stuck to her lips. “Jesus…this is delicious.”
I fall back in my seat, exhaling dramatically with the back of my hand pressed to my forehead. “So, you do eat more than ice cream and candy.”
The glare she aims at me from across the table is lethal. “Don’t make fun of my sweet tooth, mister.”
“Oh, I’m fairly certain you have more than one.” I’m not kidding. I had to call Raven to find out what to feed her that wasn’t comprised of primarily sugar. I was assured that seafood and carbs were a relatively safe bet.
She takes a sip of champagne, holding it briefly in her mouth before swallowing it down with a smile and a nod of approval.
“To falling in love,” I say, holding my glass up to hers.
She purses her lips, running the champagne flute back and forth beneath her nose. “To protecting our hearts,” she counters, tapping the rim of her glass to mine.
We each drink to our toasts, that I’m fairly certain just canceled each other out, then dive into our food.
She’s right. The soup is divine—rich and creamy with the perfect blend of spices. “Thought you liked it?” I ask when I’ve drained my bowl and find Stick leaned back with her arms crossed watching me—her own still half full.
“Oh, I did.” She sends me a coy smile. “Leaving room for dessert.” She pats her flat stomach.
“Of course.”
Our next course arrives as soon as I set my spoon down—an impressive array of oysters on the half shell and a side dish of grilled asparagus.
“Bon appétit!” Mal chimes with a wave of her hand, already on her way back to the kitchen.
Stick’s brows knit as she examines the spread. “Not a fan of oysters?” I ask, fully prepared to have it taken back and something else brought in its place.
She scrapes her lower lip through her teeth. “I love oysters, actually.” Scowling, she picks up an asparagus with two fingers and dangles it over her plate. “But what the hell is this green, phallic looking thing?”
I choke. “It’s asparagus, and delicious. And my phallus is nothing like that.”
After placing the object of her revulsion back on the plate, she covers it with a napkin and shudders. “I don’t eat green things.”
“What? Are you five?”
“Pretty sure you know that I’m not, considering you’re feeding me a meal of aphrodisiacs.” She narrows her seductive eyes my way.
“Oh, you caught that, huh?” I raise a brow, not even trying to deny it.
Stick reaches forward, taking a shell into her palm and loosening the meat with a cocktail fork. She squeezes a lemon wedge, dripping the juice over the top, and then adds a little spoon of mignonette sauce. Bringing the wide end of the shell to her lips, she makes a show of tipping her head back and slurping the oyster into her mouth. I watch with rapt fascination, unsure of why I’m so eager to learn whether she swallows it whole or savors the natural flavors. She bites down, chewing once…twice. Then her head rolls back in pure ecstasy, and she purrs her delight.
I gulp hard, reaching below the table to adjust my now rock-hard cock. I feel like I’m back in high school, with no control over myself. She’s just given a whole new meaning to the term food porn.
Following her lead, I pick up an asparagus spear and roll the head around my tongue before sucking it into my mouth. Moaning dramatically, I chew it to a pulp and swallow. She’s not the only one who can put on a performance.
The look of disgust on Stick’s face is worth the humiliation I should feel over that erotic spectacle. If I were one inclined to feel embarrassment, that is.
“If sexy is what you’re going for, Hollywood, you’re failing miserably.”
I shrug. “There’s still time to redeem myself,” I say with a wink, leaning forward to prepare my own oyster.
Korie has two more, leaving the rest of the dozen for me, again claiming she doesn’t want to spoil her dessert. Once I’ve devoured the remainder of our meal, Mal returns one last time, with a platter of chocolate-covered strawberries and a hot fudge brownie sundae for my girl.
“You didn’t disappoint, Hollywood,” she announces, bringing the first loaded spoon of ice cream to her mouth. “Well,” she corrects, talking with her mouth full. “Besides the asparagus.”
While she satisfies her sweet teeth, I refill our glasses and sip on champagne.
“Dance with me?” she asks, pushing the other half of her dessert away. She rises to her feet, wobbling a little. She steadies herself by holding on to the table and slipping out of her shoes.
I remove mine, too, not wanting to accidently smash her toes. Then with her hand in mine, I lead the way to our makeshift dance floor.
The song is slow—“Don’t Close Your Eyes” by Keith Whitley. I pull her close, resting one hand just above the curve of her ass and splaying the other across her bare back. She buries her face in my shoulder, her warm, alcohol-soaked breath completely overwhelming my senses—making me wild with want. We move in rhythmic circles, swaying in time to the music, both caught up in the emotion of the lyrics. In the beauty of the setting sun. In the magic of this moment.
Chapter 32
Korie
No feeling compares to that of being wrapped up in this man’s arms. There’s nothing more exhilarating or more frightening than the way my body responds to his. How my breathing suddenly quickens and my blood heats. The way my skin tingles at the slightest brush of our skin.
The familiar scent of his spicy cologne sends my pulse racing as I hug him close.
It’s a night fit for the movies—fancy food, bubbly drinks, and romantic music, the sky lit up with orange and purple rays as the sun sinks down over the horizon. My inhibitions are lowered, thanks to the three glasses of champagne I had with dinner, allowing me the freedom to truly revel in this moment. To feel every exquisite touch without the constant worry over what’s to come.
I forget to be cautious. Forget all the reasons this is a terrible idea. I forget the pain my father caused, the games, and Rhett’s sordid past. I forget everything but the way I feel right here. Right now. The tickling of butterflies fluttering in my stomach. The rush of heat spreading through my veins. The lump of emotion I can’t seem to dislodge from my throat.
Rhett’s hands lift to cup my face, forcing my eyes from the ocean to his. I swear my heart stops beating when I see the way he’s looking at me—with hunger, with adoration…with more. His fingers massage behind my ears while his thumbs delicately brush my cheeks. I swallow hard as a wave of emotion washes over me.
He brings my mouth to his, brushing his lips lightly over my own. Then his tongue slips between them, dancing with mine in a slow and sensual rhythm. I’m not sure if it’s the champagne clouding my judgment or the romantic atmosphere making me swoon, but this kiss somehow feels more intimate—more meaningful—than any other thus far.
He pulls away, swiping the back of his hand over his mouth, staring at me with a stunned look on his face.
Guess I’m not the only one feeling confused and utterly overwhelmed.
“Korie, I—” He starts to speak then seems to think better of it, giving his head a slight shake.
“Yeah?” I whisper, wanting and also maybe n
ot really wanting him to finish whatever it is that he was about to say.
He clears his throat, “I, uh. I need a drink.”
With a nod, I follow him back to the table, where we feed each other chocolate-covered strawberries and finish off another bottle of champagne.
I’m now well past tipsy and feeling brave enough to continue our little game. “So,” I slur, “What’s with you and Anika?”
“What do you mean?” he asks.
“Well, it’s obvious she doesn’t like me, and I think it’s maybe because she has feelings for you. I was just wondering if you two ever dated or…” I trail off, mumbling the end of my question, because even three sheets to the wind, I feel uncomfortable asking it. “If you’ve slept together?”
His Adam’s apple bobs with a hard swallow, and a pit forms in my stomach, because his reaction gives me the feeling I’m not going to like his answer. “We’re um—we’re just friends. Never been anything more.”
I nod, feeling more relief than I care to admit.
“There aren’t many people I can trust. She’s one of the few.” He scrubs a hand over his chin. “And I’m sure she doesn’t dislike you. Anika is just very protective of the band. She’ll warm up eventually.”
“Fair enough,” I say, feeling satisfied with that answer. “Do you want to ask me anything?”
“Nah. I’m saving mine up for something special. You go ahead.”
My face flames crimson before the burning question has even passed my lips. “Will you let me watch you—umm…pleasure yourself?”
Oh, my God. Did I really just ask him that? Drunk Korie needs a fucking muzzle.
A cocky smile curls his lip. Without a word, he bunches the tails of his shirt around his waist and unfastens his shorts. My mouth salivates as I watch him lower them along with his boxer briefs, and his thick cock springs free.
I’m in a drunken, trancelike state as I watch his strong hand fist the base of his erection and slowly begin to slide up and down in a twisting motion. “This what you want?” His raspy tone has me clenching my thighs together and breathing heavy.
With a throat that feels as if it’s been brushed with sandpaper, I nod. “God, yes. Just like that.”
Eyes fixed on mine, he continues to stroke himself. My stare volleys between the massive cock thickening in his hand and his dilated pupils and flushed cheeks. His sexy grunts and thrusting hips have me wet with desire.
When his face tenses, I know it means he’s close. Suddenly there’s nothing I want more than to wrap my lips around that glorious appendage. To be the one responsible for the sexy little sounds he’s making.
“Rhett,” I whimper, dropping to my knees and crawling between his parted legs. I rest one hand on his thigh and the other replaces his. When I lower my head to take him into my mouth, he growls his approval. His hands fist my hair as he drives into my mouth hard and fast. I pump my fist at the base to match his stride.
Hollowing out my cheeks, I suck him off like a woman starved and searching for sustenance.
When his cock spasms in my mouth, I become ravenous for it. Bobbing my head, I take his full length, base to tip, and suck him harder, while reaching between my own legs to ease the throbbing ache. With the pads of my first two fingers, I massage my clit, coming almost instantly. My mouth constricts with the force of my orgasm, compelling his release to follow. A stream of warm cum shoots to the back of my throat and greedily I drink every drop.
A pained cry jars me from a dead sleep, and I’m not sure whether I actually heard the agonizing sound or possibly dreamed it. It takes a moment for me to remember where I am, why the room is swaying, and the mattress feels like it’s been carved from stone. This isn’t my bed. Rhett’s scent lingers on the pillow beside me. Along with the pungent smell of stale alcohol floating in the air, it’s a recipe for disaster.
I reach for him on the other side of the bed, but come up with nothing more than a fistful of sheets and blankets.
The loud retching sound coming from the direction of the closet-sized bathroom tells me where I can find him.
“You okay?” I yell from where I lay on the bed, afraid to get up and have to fight him for the bathroom. All I get in return is a series of groans followed by more vomit. He sounds pitiful. He must’ve drunk more than I thought, because I’ve never known him to have a hangover before.
After this goes on for at least an hour, I decide I should probably check on him. Apart from a little dizziness, I make it to the bathroom just fine. “Rhett?” I whisper, rapping my knuckle lightly on the door. “Hey…I’m coming in.”
When he doesn’t respond, I shove the door open with my hip and find him bent over the toilet, his hair wet with sweat and sticking to his forehead. I lift the front of my tee to shield my nose, the odor in the tiny room rancid, like spoiled milk.
With extreme effort, he turns to face me. He’s pale and also a little green. One look tells me this is more than a hangover.
“You look like hell.”
He gives me a thumbs up before clutching the seat in both hands and dry heaving into the bowl, his body convulsing as it rejects everything and anything.
I wet a washcloth in the sink and wipe down his face and his neck like my mom used to when I had a virus. It always made me feel a little less revolting. “Thanks,” he rasps, his voice weak and shredded.
“Don’t mention it.” I wave him off like it’s no big deal, even though I should win the best girlfriend award ever for enduring this torture. I slink down, making myself as comfortable as I can beside him on the floor.
“You—you don’t have to stay.” He tries to wave me away before he’s hit with another bout of heaving.
“I’m not leaving you alone,” I insist, rubbing a hand in slow circles on his back.
We spend hours on that smelly bathroom floor, him teetering on the edge of death and me trying not to become sick myself. Not that I think he’s contagious—I know food poisoning when I see it—but because it’s just fucking gross. I don’t know how we ate the same thing and I managed to escape the plague, but I’m counting my blessings, believe me. Once he’s finally gone half an hour without gagging, I manage to get him into the shower and cleaned up.
“Here.” I hand him a towel to dry off. “Your bag is on the bed. Go get dressed and lie down. I’ll phone up to the kitchen and have someone bring you a large bowl in case it comes back. Then you and I are gonna get some much-needed sleep!” I feel like I haven’t slept in weeks. Tired from such a long day yesterday, sluggish from an evening of too much drinking, and exhausted from playing nurse all night.
“I’m so sorry, Stick. This wasn’t at all how I’d planned to spend our weekend together. It was supposed to be fun and romantic.” He shrugs, wrapping the towel around his waist. “You were supposed to fall in love with me.”
I snort at his boyish grin and shake my head. “How sexy have those oysters got you feeling now, Casanova?”
“Probably not my best idea.”
“Meh,” I shrug. “I’ve come to expect it by now.”
Chapter 33
Korie
“Hello, skate fans, and welcome to Cottonwood, Mississippi! We’re thrilled you’ve come out to celebrate our first ever Chicks with Tricks, females-only skate park competition.”
My skin buzzes when the one-and-only Melanie Binx addresses the crowd. It’s been a hot minute since my last competition, and I’d almost forgotten how much I thrive on this feeling. The adrenaline has me bouncing in my shoes. I glance over to my section, where Raven, my mom, and my cousin Abby Jane, who’s actually from Cottonwood, are right behind the barricade, ready to cheer me on. I’m trying not to dwell on the fact that Rhett isn’t here. The band has to perform at some festival in Santa Monica tonight. It sucks, but it is what it is. I can’t expect him to drop everything for me.
Today’s competition is being judged on overall impression. It’s broken into four heats of six skaters each. The top three from each heat will compete in t
wo heats of six women this afternoon, and the top three skaters from each of those will make it to the final, which takes place tomorrow morning. In addition to prize money, placing also secures a sponsorship from Vortex energy drinks and an invitation to the Vortex Energy Pro Series.
That’s the real prize. It’s an international tour that would put me in front of all the right people. If I can earn a spot on the tour and skate well, and this publicity thing with Rhett really works out, I’ll have my shot. No pressure or anything.
“Drawing third in the lineup in our first heat of the day, we have Korie Potter. At twenty-one, she’s the second oldest competitor here today.” When I hear my name, I stop daydreaming and pay attention to the announcers.
“Isn’t she the one dating that country singer. What’s his name? Ryan, Rex, Reese—”
“Rhett. It’s Rhett Taylor,” Melanie supplies, helping her cohost, Duncan, out.
“Jesus, they make me sound ancient,” I grumble to no one in particular. The competition just keeps getting younger and younger, with an average age of only fourteen.
“Don’t let them get to you,” Yoko, the ten-year-old prodigy from Japan, offers. “They act like I’m still in diapers.”
She’s so tiny and cute, but I don’t dare treat her as anything less than an equal. She skates with power and a finesse unlike anyone else out here, and has a damn good shot at winning not only this heat, but the entire competition.
“Good luck out there today.”
“Thanks,” she says, snapping her helmet beneath her chin as she prepares to drop into the bowl for her run. “Same to you.”
The crowd goes wild when little Yoko lands a freaking frontside 540 at the buzzer. That full turn and a half on the board makes the 360 I’ve been working so hard on look like child’s play.
I congratulate her when she passes by. She’s positively beaming with pride, as she should be. Not many female skaters have that trick in their arsenal, and I’ll have to take comfort in that as the next skater, Rylie Jean, wraps up her first run, signaling the start of my own.
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