Laurel's Bright Idea (Billionaire Baby Club Book 3)

by Jasinda Wilder

  I waited for him to pass level one, level two…waited until he was really cranking on level four, and then I sidled between his arms, sat on his lap.

  “Hey,” he laughed. “No fair. I didn’t actually get in your way.”

  I straddled him, facing him, and began planting kisses on him, starting at the side of his neck where the thick sinews met his shoulder. “Oh, is this distracting?”

  He huffed. “Nope.”

  I slid my seat on him, grinding back and forth as I kissed up his neck, over his jaw, behind his ear. He remained admirably focused as I ground and kissed, but his undoing was when I stuck my tongue in his ear.

  He leaped up out of the seat, laughing and shouting at the same time, bringing me with him. “Cheater!” he cackled, tossing me onto my feet and coming for me with clawed fingers. “That was cheating.”

  “Cheating? There has to be rules for it to be cheating. You distracted me, I distracted you.” I darted out of his reach, glancing at his score as I circled around the Ms. Pac-Man unit. “I beat you, by the way. By a good two hundred points. So far, I’m winning this date.”

  He lunged for me, and I dodged around a deer hunter game. “Only because you cheated!”

  I barely avoided his grasping fingers—I had good reason to stay agile in this game, since I hated being tickled. “Oh, I cheated at Skee-Ball, did I? And did you specify any rules for how I could distract you? No, you didn’t. There was no cheating. Just good old honest womanly wiles.”

  “I’m gonna catch you and I’m gonna wile you, woman.” He dodged the other way around the deer hunter game, but by that point I was screeching in laughter as I sprinted—as well as I could in three-inch heeled sandals—between rows of games and putting a giant four-person motorcycle racing game between us.

  “Oh, you’re gonna wile me, are you?” I laughed, breathless, as I faked one way, and then another. “What does that even mean, anyway?”

  “I don’t know, but you’re about to find out.” He watched me fake this way and that, then pulled a fake of his own…which my dumbass fell for hook, line, and sinker.

  He had me in two steps, then, catching me in his arms and lifting me clear off the ground, one arm keeping me held aloft while pinning my arms to my sides, while the other sought my ticklish spot—he found it in a matter of seconds: my ribs.

  He proceeded to hold me pinned and off the ground, helpless, and tickle me until I was laughing so hard I couldn’t breathe. I finally resorted to kicking his shins and begging for mercy.

  “Okay, okay!” I gasped, tears of laughter on my cheeks. “Mercy, ohmygod stop, stop, stop!” He let me down and backed away, warily. I smoothed my dress and glared at him. “I hate being tickled.”

  He made a sarcastic face. “Well, you were laughing.”

  “It’s an automatic response.”

  I held the glare. “I was going to suggest we sneak into the bathroom and see what kind of…trouble…we could get into. But now, I’m rethinking that plan.”

  His face went from sarcastic to comically tragic in an instant. “In my defense, I didn’t know you didn’t like being tickled. And you were playing hard to get.”

  I let a smirk finally cross my face. “You were chasing me. I was supposed to, what? Just let you catch me?”

  He shrugged. “I mean, I wasn’t planning on tickling you until you started playing keep away.”

  “Oh?” My voice sounded breathless and sultry, even to me. “What were you planning on doing, then?”

  He swaggered toward me. “Well, we’d have to sneak into the bathroom, for that. But it involved finding out whether you’re wearing panties under that skirt.”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?” I teased.

  “Of course I want to know,” he muttered, taking me by the hand and tugging me into motion. “Thus me suggesting I find out, in the bathroom.”

  We neared one of those video game pods that’s partially enclosed, to create a more immersive experience, or something. I pulled him into it and sat down—it was facing in a direction which meant Louis, even if he’d been looking this way, couldn’t see anything going on. And we were the only ones in the arcade, so…

  It was a Jurassic Park driving game sort of thing, and I pressed the button to start it. The machine began grinding, humming, and jolting as the music started, and the voice-over began.

  Titus glanced at me. “Jurassic Park, huh?”

  “Yup.” I grinned at him. “And I’ve got a hungry dinosaur.”

  He snickered. “Ohmygod, Laurel, you’ve got a hungry dinosaur? Really?”

  “What? Like you’ve never made a terrible dick pun before?”

  “Of course I have. I just didn’t peg you for the type to make terrible vagina puns. You come across as this classy lady, and all.” He was only nominally pretending to pay attention to the game.

  I cackled. “Titus, babe—if you think I’m a classy lady, then you really need to get out more and meet some actual classy ladies, because I am not one.”

  I glanced this way, and that. The coast was clear, as Louis had by now fallen asleep kicked back in his chair, feet up on the glass counter, Wheel of Fortune reruns playing. I think I heard him snore, actually.

  “For one thing, a classy lady wouldn’t even dream of doing this in a public place.” I tugged the hem of my dress up, inch by inch, baring my shins, then my knees, then my thighs.

  Titus had abandoned all pretense of playing the game—whatever the objective seemed to be; it appeared to be more of a ride than an interactive game. Not that it mattered. We weren’t in this pod to play a game, after all.

  At least, not a video game.

  I tugged the hem up one last inch, and my black thong was revealed. “There. Now you know. I’m wearing panties.”

  He inhaled deeply, slowly, chewing on his lip as he let it out with a growl. “Take ’em off.”

  I smirked, winking. “Is this the payback you were referencing, earlier?”

  He blinked lazily, eyes roaming my body, down from my eyes to my cleavage, to my thighs, to the black cotton over my sex, damp with desire and sticking to my skin. “Could be.”

  The game was at the end of the experience, and he started it over. Leaned past me to verify our host was still zonked out.

  “You want it to be?” he asked, his voice low as his fingers trailed over my thighs.

  “Well, I’ve never done anything like this in an arcade before.”

  “Me neither.” He slid his finger over the damp cotton. “Off, Laurel. Let me see you.”

  I shimmied out of the thong, handing it to him. “There. Now what?”

  He shoved the black thong into his hip pocket. “Now, you come on my fingers before the game ends.”

  I leaned back against the seat, sliding down, spreading my thighs for him. “If you’re challenging me, then I’ll up the ante—can you make me come twice before it’s over?”

  He brought his fingertip to my sex, dragging the thick digit through my slick folds. I was already shuddering—when his touch slithered against my clit, I had to bite down on a gasp, chew on a whimper. When he thrust two fingers inside me and smeared my own wetness against me, I had to bite down on my lip and close my eyes and swallow around the scream in my throat—roughly fourteen seconds had passed and I was already hurtling past the first orgasm, rocking raggedly against his fingers as they swirled against my sex, the pressure of his fingers precise and perfect, his speed exactly calculated to bring me maximum pleasure, his rhythm torturously designed to keep me at the thrashing edge of climax.

  He kept me there, just past orgasm, with nothing but two fingers lightly drilling against my clit, until I began shaking and trembling and a shriek escaped my clenched teeth and I was riding his fingers. On the screen, a pixelated raptor made a sound that rather effectively mimicked my screams. The second orgasm battered me into quaking jelly, left me gasping as the game credits rolled and the screen flashed “insert $1.50 to start game.”

  “Two orgasms bef
ore game’s end.” He let his fingers halt, but didn’t remove his touch. “What do I win?”

  “I thought…” I had to pause to get my brain function back. “I thought that was payback for the other day in my room.”

  He laughed. “It was. And I owe you at least two or three more.”

  I shook my head sloppily. “Nah, I think we’re even.”

  We just sat, for a moment, watching the intro screen of the game cycle. He had something on his mind, I could tell. I didn’t want to ask. I was having fun, and I didn’t want it to be anything. Just a fun date with a hot guy who could make me come twice in a matter of minutes with nothing more than a couple fingers.

  His eyes cut to mine, and our gazes locked. I saw the things in his eyes, the unasked questions—the nascent desire for something I wasn’t sure I was ready or willing or able to give.

  “Bet you I can beat you at the deer hunter game.” He withdrew his touch, and my skin mourned the loss of his heat, his rough touch.

  I laughed gratefully as I tugged my dress down and exited the game. “Now that, I’ll give you. I’ve never shot a gun of any kind in my life.”

  He eyed me incredulously. “You haven’t? Not even, like, a BB gun?”

  “Nope. You’ll probably go apoplectic when I tell you this, but I actually was once invited through some mutual friends to spend a summer in Scotland with some royals from the UK. Like, at their famous summer castle, the one in the show, The Crown. They took me hunting, and skeet shooting, but I was too nervous around them, and couldn’t shoot. I held a big double-barrel shotgun, but I chickened out.”

  He grunted in disgust. “Pathetic.” He laughed, to make it a joke. “I don’t shoot a lot, actually. I don’t own a gun. I’ve been shooting with friends, though. Some dudes I know have this big fuckin’ ranch down in Mexico, like thousands and thousands of acres, and they took me down there and we went hunting. Pretty cool, for what it is, but hunting is kinda boring for me.”

  I laughed as we started the game and pulled the fake orange rifles out of their scabbards. “Thank you! Like, when I went with the girls, in Scotland, it was so boring. Just crawling around in the dirt, walking for miles, waiting in absolute silence for some poor deer half a mile away to just blithely walk into a bullet. I don’t get it. I didn’t tell them that, of course. I acted like I was having the time of my life.”

  “Of course. What one does when one is hunting with English royalty.”

  “Rawwwwther,” I drawled, in a passable affectation of a posh English accent.

  Conversation was light, then. We played pretty much every game in the arcade at least once, and Titus beat me at most of them.

  Finally, Louis woke with a start, and checked the time, and realized he was supposed to have closed an hour before. The poor old guy looked just absolutely done in, exhausted from his long nap, and it was pretty late, so Titus made sure Jeremy had paid for the day, and we took our leave.

  Next stop was a pizzeria—it was a tiny corner place, the dive bar version of a pizza joint, with a handful of tables covered in red-and-white checkered cloths made of that weird not-quite-rubber material. There was a group of four twenty-something girls at one table, and the moment Titus and I walked in, they went silent, staring, only to huddle together and start whispering fiercely.

  Titus grinned at me. “You order. I’m gonna do the rock star thing.” He jerked a thumb at the table of girls.

  “What do you want?”

  He shrugged. “Whatever.”

  I cackled. “Isn’t that supposed to be my line, here?”

  He affected a high-pitched voice. “Oh, just order for me, darling. You know what I like.”

  “Anchovies and onions, coming up,” I said, laughing.

  “Pepperoni and bacon, how about that? I’m not picky.” He paused. “Well, anchovies and onions are both pretty gross on pizza.”

  “Pepperoni and bacon sounds good to me.” I couldn’t help it—in the presence of four drooling, lust-agape, starstruck young women staring thirstily…at my man?

  I kissed him…but good.

  I about passed out, mentally, when I realized I’d thought of Titus as my man.

  He chuckled as he pulled away, touching my chin with a thumb. “Territory marked, huh?”

  I wasn’t sure how to answer. Just shrugged. “I just wanted to kiss you.”

  He backed away. “Shitty liar, Laurel. You’re a shitty liar. But again, I’ll give it to you.”

  “I’m not jealous!”

  He held up his hands. “I think it’s hot, so don’t argue for my sake.”

  I huffed, and turned to the counter. “Just go be a rock star while I order our pizza.”

  He cackled, turning around only a few steps from the table of girls. “Hi, ladies. How are we doing this fine evening?” He grabbed a nearby chair and did the hot guy thing where he spun it around and leaned against the back of it.

  He spent the next few minutes flirting with them, taking selfies, signing shirts and receipts and such, while I ordered a large pizza and a milkshake to share. The teenaged kid behind the counter was actually wearing a Bright Bones shirt under the open button-down shirt sporting the logo of the establishment. He was shy, though, afraid to make eye contact with me and finding it hard to look anywhere except my chest, because teenage boy—the only other place his eyes went was Titus, and there was hero-worship in his stare.

  I took a table in the corner and sipped at the milkshake while Titus took his leave of the girls, who were giggling and comparing selfies and discussing which filter was best as they exited.

  Titus was about to sit down with me when I glanced up at him, humming a negative as I swallowed a sip of milkshake. “Mmmm-mmm. Not done being a rock star yet, big boy.” I glanced meaningfully at the kid behind the register.

  Titus saw the shirt, and nodded. Dug in his pocket as he headed for the counter. “What up, buddy. Nice shirt. Where’d you see us play?”

  “Uh, here. LA. One of your last shows.”

  “Sweet, man.” He pulled something out of his pocket—a much-folded piece of paper. “So, answer me a question. How big a fan are you?”

  “I have every album you’ve ever made, on CD, digitally, and vinyl.” He shifted uncomfortably. “I’d been saving my allowance and job money to buy a car, but when I saw you guys were doing a set of shows in LA, I used it to buy front row seats.”

  Titus set the folded piece of paper on the counter. “So, this is pretty special.” He eyed the kid. “What’s your name, buddy?”

  “Cal.”

  “Cal, this here is actually the set-list for a show in Minnesota, one of our very first shows outside Chicago, actually. Written in Tommy’s own hand.” He pulled his Sharpie out from behind his ear, uncapped it, signed the paper. “I’ve been carrying it around for years, but I think it’s time it went to someone else.”

  The kid looked about ready to shit his pants. “For real?” He traced the paper with a fingertip. “No fuckin’ way.”

  I got choked up, watching Titus do something that sweet, so spontaneously. Damn him. Damn the man. It was easy to stay objective and detached when it was just fun and sex. But when he did something like that? God, how could I not fall for him?

  Shit, shit, shit.

  Did I just think that?

  I wasn’t falling for him. Was not. Absolutely not.

  Titus realized I was distracted the moment he sat down, but he didn’t push it. Didn’t angle to get invited in when he pulled into my driveway. Just…kissed me, quickly, lightly, and cupped my cheek with a rough paw.

  “I’ll see you soon?”

  I blinked at him, distracted by my emotions—namely, the freak-out I was shoving down, holding back. “Uh, yeah. Yeah.” I rallied, momentarily. “I had a really great time, Titus. Really, really great.”

  He touched his thumb to my chin. “Good. I had fun too.” A pause. As if he was about to ask me what was wrong. Don’t—don’t—don’t. “Um. Yeah. I’ll call you?”
r />   I smiled at him, leaned in and kissed him—I had to. “Yeah. Call me. Soon, okay?”

  He nodded. “Promise.”

  I went inside, watched him leave through the blinds of my front picture window…when he was gone, I promptly called Lizzy and demanded an emergency meeting, all hands, alert, alert, code red, major freak-out.

  I was falling for Titus.

  Lizzy slammed the empty wine bottle down on my coffee table. “I hereby call this emergency meeting to order.”

  I laughed, already tipsy. Or, tipsy again, since I’d already been tipsy once today. “First on the agenda, I’m not talking about it.”

  Teddy huffed. “Yes, you are. You called us, remember?”

  Zoe was still taking the many cartons of Chinese carryout she’d brought from the paper bags. “You know, for all that you never stop talking, Laurel, I’m realizing how little you ever actually say.”

  Kat was uncorking the next bottle of wine. “For real. The last year and a half or so, ever since Lizzy met Braun, I’ve learned more about you than in all the years I’ve known you before. And it’s making me realize how little I actually know about you.”

  Teddy helped Zoe with the food, arranging opened cartons, stacks of paper-wrapped chopsticks, and packets of soy. “You’re a master of obfuscating, is what you are, and avoidance. And changing the subject. But as I said, you called us upset and said you needed some support. And in the years I’ve known you, you’ve never asked for help for anything. Which means it’s serious. But now that we’re here, you’re gonna be all like, oh no, I’m not talking about why I’m freaking out, even though we all know it’s because I’m falling for Titus Bright and I don’t know how to handle it.”

  “I am not falling for Titus Bright.” I slugged wine.

  Lizzy grabbed my wrist. Her eyes locked onto mine. “Listen, Laur—we’ll sit here all night and get drunk with you, as drunk as you want to get, and we can all take tomorrow off. But you have to talk to us.”

  I groaned, flopped my head forward onto my palm. “Feed me. And then ply me with me copious amounts of alcohol, and prepare to be horrified.”

  And so they did. We destroyed a couple hundred dollars’ worth of Chinese food, washed it all down with glass after glass of red wine, all shot through with jokes and levity and banter and acting like this was just another girls’ night in.