As usual, Walker didn’t seem to notice the big-boobed tumor on his body. Therefore, he was third on her hit list.
Only a frozen daiquiri by the pool and four naked men fanning her face with palm fronds would quell her murderous wrath.
She settled for a bottle of water and conversation with Eli. He’d presented another soundtrack to the client that morning, and of course, Dick thought it was awful—mostly because it was good.
“Sup?” Eli said.
She sat next to him on the curb. “Not much. Just dying of heat exhaustion.”
“Yeah, whose fucking idea was it to film a commercial in the desert?”
“I’ll give you a tiny guess.” She pointed her water bottle at the client
“That guy is such a tool. If he touches Sabrina again, I’m gonna beat the shit out of him.”
“I’d like to beat the shit out of her.” Surprising how light and airy her tone sounded, considering how serious she was.
Eli jerked slightly, frowned partially, and turned away.
She poured water over her head. “So Eli, do you have a girlfriend?”
He turned away.
“Girlfriends then?” She emphasized the plural.
He chuffed a laugh and sat back on his hands.
“No? A strapping young man like you? I thought you’d have a different woman for every orifice.”
The corner of his lip quirked.
“My sister’s moving to New York,” she said. “I bet she’d clean my toilet for a year if I set her up with you. She’s a musician too. Looks a lot like me, but I’m cuter.”
A shadow descended over them. She looked up and found Walker staring down at them with a frown on his face. He gave a curt nod to Eli. “Can I talk to you for a second, Callie?”
“I’m busy.”
“Now.”
Since Eli looked suspicious, she stood and followed Walker down the street. “Holyshitmas! Slow down. I don’t feel like jogging in thousand-degree heat.”
He glanced over his shoulder and pulled her into a cigarette butt-laden casino entrance. Before he even said hello, he gave her toe-curling kiss. “I can’t wait to get out of this hot mess,” he said, pressing his sweaty forehead against hers. “I’ve got one wheel down and an axel dragging, but the end is in sight.”
He took off his glasses and stared directly into her eyes. “Blue? Is Eli coming on to you?”
Ever seen that carnival game where you pound a lever with a sledgehammer, and it shoots up and hits a bell? His question was the sledgehammer, and the bell was her head.
She shoved him with both hands. “I’m sorry. Did I hear that right? You’re asking about Eli when you’ve got Hooker Barbie wrapped around you like a boa constrictor?”
He stroked his hands down her arms. “Now don’t go nuts on me. That’s not what I’m saying—”
The director squawked on the walkie-talkie in his back pocket.
“Damn. I’ve got to go. Meet me in my room in one hour and I’ll explain everything. Then I’ll eat your pussy, and hopefully you’ll give me blowjob in return. Later on, let’s go for a quick swim on the rooftop then fuck the rest of this day away in the air conditioning.” All this was said as if he were reading a grocery list instead of a pornographic agenda
After a quick kiss and an ass pinch, he left her in the sweltering heat with a flaming vagina and a burning rage.
“Photography deals exquisitely with appearances, but nothing is what it appears to be.”—Duane Michals
Soundtrack: Fantastic Negrito: “Working Poor”
Walker had spent the day shoveling out more bullshit than tractor at a ten-day rodeo. He was over it. The heat, the client, Sabrina, her boy toy, advertising—all of it. If he didn’t get between Callie’s creamy thighs in the next five minutes, he was going to go apeshit.
He hoped she’d calmed down some. The way she’d looked at him earlier made a hornet look cuddly. But he’d iron things out straightaway.
He just barely stepped out of shower and got his pants on when she knocked. Dying to kiss her sweet lips, he swung open the door and said, “I can’t wait to— Son-of-a-bitch!”
Was he the unluckiest bastard in the world or what? It wasn’t Callie at the door. It was Sabrina. And she was holding a champagne bucket and wearing the trashiest lingerie he’d ever seen. She didn’t have enough clothes on to wad a shotgun.
A saran-wrap bustier cinched her enormous tits together and forced her nipples over the top. And her fishnet panties showcased her waxed pussy for him, God, and any other poor bastard who happened to be walking down the hall.
“What. In. Thee. Hell.” He looked both ways for witnesses then dragged her in and slammed the door.
“I’m so dumb,” she said with a nervous tittering laugh. “I like, locked myself out of my room, getting ice.”
“You went out in the hallway in that?”
“I was in a hurry. The machine’s right outside my room.”
“Why’d you come here?” It didn’t even matter why. His ass was grass no matter what. Full-on panic mode, he paced the room, gripping his hair.
“You’re, like, only four doors down. I thought—”
“Have you lost your damn mind? You have any idea what Eli’s gonna do if he sees you coming out of my room?” He didn’t even want to think about what Callie was going to do.
“Call the front desk and get your naked ass out of here before all hell breaks loose. And for God’s sake, wrap a towel around yourself.”
If she didn’t get out of there, Callie was going to string his balls up and use them for target practice.
Just then someone knocked on the door. Perfect. Just perfect. Blood pressure hammering in his head, he didn’t move a muscle. Maybe if he stayed quiet, she’d go away and come back after doodle brain got her door opened.
Leonard Nimoy yipped at the door. “Shut the hell up,” he whisper-yelled at the dog.
Another knock.
The Queen of the Shittiest Timing in the World hollered out, “What’s your room number, Walkie?”
Callie started kicking the door.
“Who is that?” Sabrina seethed. “Get rid of them. I’m naked!”
Perhaps his girlfriend hadn’t heard his moronic coworker. Who was he kidding? A deaf person could have heard that loudmouth. Fists clutched, he air-strangled Sabrina’s neck.
Soon the door was under attack. If he didn’t open up, Callie was going to jam a battering ram through it.
Muttering a silent prayer to the God of Testicles, he took a deep breath and opened the door. “Hey, sweetheart.” He spread his limbs wide, trying to hide the naked woman in his room. A nice little afterthought occurred to him right then—he wasn’t wearing a shirt. The scene looked bad. Real bad. We’re talking breakup bad.
She ducked under his arm.
“Now Blue, before you—”
Sabrina screamed, “Oh my God, why did you let her in here?”
Callie slapped him so hard his teeth rattled then shot out the door, running down the hallway hell bent for leather. He chased after her, bobbing and weaving like NFL running back, and the only way to stop her was to tackle her like one.
They went crashing to the floor. As predicted, she tried to take out his balls. “Stop. Just— Ow, shit! I swear on my grandmother’s life nothing happened.” He got ahold of her wrists and pinned her legs with his knees. But a hand broke free and nearly twisted his nipple clean off. “Ouch! Goddammit!”
She thrashed like a wild animal.
“Stop! And just listen to me. That dumbass locked herself out. She’s with Eli, not me.”
Her body went rigid underneath, and her rabid fury leveled off into conflicted contempt.
“Sabrina’s screwing Eli, not me,” he shouted. “She was getting ice and locked herself out, wearing that getup. She came to my room to call the front desk. If you won’t kick my nuts off, I’ll take you back and you can ask her yourself.”
Tears brimmed and her lips quivered.<
br />
“Aw, Blue, don’t cry.” He brushed away her waterworks. “Honey, this is just a horrible, awful, terrible coincidence. You’ve gotta believe me.”
That just made her cry harder. He climbed off her and held out a hand, but she refused to take it. “Please baby, trust me. I’d never hurt you.”
She rose to her feet and walked down the hall as far away from him as she could get.
Sabrina had messed things up again. Madder than a pack of wild dogs on a three legged cat, he marched to his room. At the door, he blew out a hot breath and turned the knob. “Damnation!” he growled. “Boy, she’s on a bullet train through stupid town. She’s locked us out. Paying attention to this?” he said to Callie. “See how easy it is to do?”
She glowered at the door as if she were willing it to go up in flames.
He banged his fist on the door. “Open up, Brainiac!”
Tits jiggling and nipples not the slightest bit hidden—Sabrina flung it open and shrieked, “Why did you let her in?”
The minuscule amount of patience he had left dissipated into a fine red mist. If he hadn’t had to restrain Callie right then, he’d have booted his friend right out the window.
“Sabrina Driver, if you had a half a brain you’d be dangerous. Get out of my way.” He shouldered past her, dragging Callie behind him.
“I don’t know which is nastier?” he said. “Your outfit? Or the way you just treated my girlfriend? You mucked things up good between us last time with your brilliant idea to fend off the client, and now you’ve done it again.”
Sabrina’s mouth dropped open so wide it looked like a train tunnel. “Wait? Are you two together? I mean together, together?”
He applauded her brilliance. “Lord, you really are a super-genius. All right, Einstein, mind explaining to Callie why you’re in my room dressed like a two-bit hussy?”
She scowled and shook her head.
When Sabrina wouldn’t crack, he turned to Callie and said, “Sabrina and Eli are fucking. Dimwit here likes to make him jealous by flirting with other men, so he dumped her. Smart man. But they hooked up again in Orlando.”
“Walkie, stop,” Sabrina whined. “Don’t say another word!”
He ignored her and went on. “She was planning on surprising him with a bottle of champagne and her dental floss underwear, but locked herself out instead. Did I miss anything?” he asked his mindless friend.
She hung her head, not saying a word.
“Now tell Callie we’re not sleeping together.”
The account manager snorted. “What? Are you serious?” She cracked up. “Sleep with you? Gross.”
He closed his eyes and counted to ten. “Get out of here, Sabrina.”
“Gawd, you’re being really mean.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, please get the hell out of my room.”
“Tchah. Can I like, borrow your bathrobe, first?”
He marched to the bathroom, ripped it off the hook, and threw it at her.
Finally making herself decent, she slinked to the door, looking every bit as embarrassed as she should have. At the last second, she spun around and begged, “Please don’t say anything. Eli doesn’t want anyone to know we’re . . . um, you know.”
“I don’t blame him. I’d be embarrassed to admit it myself.” He slammed the door in her face.
It felt like he’d eaten a bucket of bait. “Say something, Blue.” Leonard Nimoy helped him beg by pawing her ankle. Then the canine Benedict Arnold jumped next to her and gave him a look that said better your balls than mine.
If she broke up with him, Sabrina had better get the hell out of town. He knelt between her legs. “Darlin’, please talk to me.”
She kissed his forehead. “Get up, silly, and lie next to me.”
When he snuggled up tight beside her, his heart started pumping again.
“Why didn’t you tell me about her? In Florida?” she asked.
“I tried, baby.”
“You’ve never been with her? Ever?”
“Nope. Never.”
“But you call her Hot Pants?”
“Sabrina and I were roommates after I broke up with Claudia. Believe it or not, she got me the job at Shimura. As for the Hot Pants, I gave her that nickname after she burned her ass on the stove, having sex with one of her dates.”
“All this time”—her voice cracked—“I thought—” She pressed her palms to her eyes.
“Don’t cry, baby. Nothing happened.”
“I thought you were sleeping with her. I’ve been worrying about it for weeks.”
“I know.” He pulled her hands down. “I tried to tell you, but you wouldn’t listen.” He rested his forehead against hers. “When she showed up at my door dressed like that . . . Lord, I’ve never wanted to punch a woman so bad in my life. It’s like the porch light’s on but nobody’s home. She doesn’t think, she just does. Did the same thing in Orlando.”
“But why’d you ask if I was flirting with Eli?”
“Sabrina’s insecure. She thought he was coming on to you.” He paused, not entirely sure if he should admit the next part. “I guess I was a little jealous, too.”
She stared at him then laughed. “Have you looked in the mirror lately? Do you have any idea how amazing you are? Inside and out? Not to mention, you have The-Most-Beautiful-Cock-In-The-World.™”
“TM?” He grinned. “Did you trademark my cock?”
“Of course. It deserves its own brand and maybe an athletic cup sponsorship. But I’m not finished. What about the others? Liberty? Avery? What’s-her-face? The receptionist?”
“You’re the only one I’ve been with at the agency.”
She raised her brows and shook her head.
“You look as confused as a cow on Astroturf.”
“I don’t get it. Women throw themselves at you. And you’re so . . . player-ish with them. This whole time I thought you were—”
“A manwhore. I know.”
“But why? Why didn’t you set me straight? Same with the club that night. Why didn’t you tell me the truth?”
“You wouldn’t have believed me.”
“That’s ridiculous. Not saying anything is as bad as lying. Don’t do it again.”
“I promise. Boy Scout’s honor.” He flashed the sign.
“Nice try. That’s the Vulcan greeting.”
“Whatever. I promise it won’t happen again.”
She reached for the phone and dialed room service. “Do you have banana splits? Great. And extra whipped cream please. We’ll be indisposed for about forty-five minutes. Could you bring it up then? Thank you,” she said then hung up.
She didn’t look confused anymore. Now she looked like a jungle cat hunting for prey—eyes shining bright, cheeks flushed, lips all wet.
“Indisposed? What are you up to, naughty girl?”
She straddled him and unbuttoned his pants. “Pretending you’re a manwhore.”
“In only forty-five minutes?” He helped her take off his clothes.
“That’s for the blow job.” She stroked him nice and slow. “The banana split’s for after.”
He laid back and sighed. “I’ve been waiting my whole life to hear a woman use the words blow job and banana split in the same sentence.”
She smiled around his cock.
“Jesus, I’m not gonna last five minutes.”
“Hmm?” She pulled him out of her mouth. “You want me to call them back?”
“Hell, no. Get those lips back on me. I’ll use the other forty on you.”
Chapter Thirty
Fallin’
Yosemite National Park, California
Soundtrack: alt-J, “Pusher”
As Effie’s arrival drew closer, Callie’s jaw pain worsened. What if her sister had lied about being clean? After all, that’s what she did—lie and get high.
All night she stayed up, fretting her sister would show up wasted and embarrass her in front of Walker.
That would be a minor offense
compared to the other things she’d done. For example, she stolen Callie’s ID and drained her hard-earned savings. The same day, she’d hocked her surfboard, her bike, her guitar, and her jewelry. All told, she made off with about sixty grand worth of Callie’s shit.
To this day, she still resented Effie for not selling her precious violin that was worth a small fortune.
Effie had bled her emotional and financial resources so dry she’d had no choice but to sever contact. And cutting off her twin felt like cutting out part of her heart.
Though she talked to her almost every day, it’d been almost two years since she’d last seen her sister. Which made it all the more troubling that she didn’t feel like greeting her
Rather than question her bizarre behavior, Walker offered to welcome her sister. When Effie arrived, he held open the car door and helped her out. In slow motion, she shook out her long blond hair as if she were in a shampoo commercial and delivered him a dazzling smile.
Her body was no longer emaciated, and her skin had a healthy glow. She didn’t seem strung out or raggedy. On the contrary, from her chill demeanor and carriage, one might have mistaken her for a yogi, rather than a former drug addict.
For the first time in years, Effie looked . . . healthy.
Callie let out her breath and darted out the door. They crashed into each other’s arms and laughed through their tears.
Effie pulled back to examine her. “What the —? What happened to your hair?”
Walker gawked at the twins. “Mercy, it’s creepy how much you two look alike.” His eyes darted from sister to sister. “Blue, is that what your natural hair’s like?”
“Hers was longer,” Effie said. “Down to the middle of her back. Give me the name of the hairdresser who did that to you. I’m going to kick their ass.”
She glared at her sister and gritted her teeth. “I needed a change.” The day after she’d moved to New York, she’d made an appointment with Skip’s hairdresser Colt, a man who wore more makeup than her, and asked for a whole new look. He begged her not to cut it—got down on his knees even. But three hours later, she’d stepped out of the salon with a chin-length black bob and a new tougher identity.
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