by Violet Blaze
“Because of … I just don't think it's that great of an idea for us to go out on a date, okay?” There's a long pause as Rhoden glances over his shoulder, drawing my attention along with him. Jasmine is standing in a cluster of women near the doors to the main part of the lobby, tossing her shiny hair around and laughing with a sound like tinkling chimes. Every so often, she glances our way. “You bailed on me,” I say without meaning to. “You took off like I was nuclear. I know we're not a couple or anything, but that was a shitty thing to do.”
Rhoden glances back at me and raises an eyebrow, dropping his arms to his sides. When he leans in and whispers in my ear, I get chills down my spine. The good kind. I am way too attracted to this guy.
“You'd just told me your asswad fiancé was buying my team—after we'd just fucked. That puts me in serious risk of losing everything, Della. If Walter Virgil wanted to destroy my whole life, he could, and he wouldn't have to try all that hard to do it.”
“What makes you think he would do something like that anyway?”
Rhoden's face gets dark as he turns away and runs his hand through his hair.
“Because he did it to my best friend in college, a buddy of mine that was on the team.” Rhoden turns back to me with a grim expression on his face. “Walter was dating this girl named Gigi, some big-time heiress or something. Well, guess what? My friend, Calvin, fell in love with her and six weeks later, a group of thugs cornered him in an alley and smashed his knees with a baseball bat.”
I feel my face pale, but I can't make that story line up with the Walter I know. He might be a little weird, kind of stalker-y, a little rude. But would he really hire someone to do that? Maybe it's just a coincidence?
“You can't know for sure it was him.”
“No, I guess I can't. But I also won't take the chance that something will happen to my career. I worked my ass off for this; I need it. It's everything to me. I don't want my mom to have to work ever again, and I sure as hell don't want to end up like Calvin, so depressed and broken that I end up blowing my own brains out.”
I shiver, but I keep my spine straight, my chin up.
“I'm sorry about your friend,” I tell Rhoden honestly. “And I'm sorry about the charity date. I'm sure they can find a runner-up to give it to.”
“If that's how you really feel, Della, then fine.” Rhoden looks pissed although for the life of me, I can't figure out why. In the background, soft jazz music plays, giving a relaxed, upscale vibe to everything.
“Maybe you can take Jasmine in my place? I bet she'd love to go out with you in an official capacity.” I pause. “I mean, in an official capacity other than tonight.”
“What's that supposed to mean?” he asks, recrossing his arms over his broad chest. “Are you jealous or something? I already told you, Della, I don't do romance.”
“So what's that supposed to mean? That I shouldn't hate on the skinny model you dragged to a party you knew I'd be at? Or that you don't do romance at all, with anyone, including her? Or maybe all of the above?”
Rhoden looks at me for a long minute and then shakes his head like he's frustrated.
“That's rich, coming from you,” he says as he gestures loosely at me and raises an eyebrow. “Since you're the one that's engaged. Why does it matter who I came here with? Do you think I give a crap about Jasmine? Because I don't. Just like you, I'm playing the game, and I'm playing it to win.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I whisper-yell at him, noticing as I lean in that his gaze drops low, as heavy and dripping as the warm purr of jazz music in the background. He takes me in again and breathes deep, like he's having trouble controlling himself. “You're the one that was talking about all kinds of weird stuff … about fate and … you followed me down to the dog park, practically dragged me to the beach with you.”
Rhoden gives me a loose, easy smile that doesn't reach his eyes.
“Forget about it. For a second, I thought there might be something here, but I was wrong.” He turns away, gaze getting caught on my body again as he pauses. “You look good in that dress by the way.” He leans into me a little, whispers low enough that the sound of the live saxophone in the main lobby area almost drowns his voice out. “So much prettier than Jasmine.”
Rhoden walks away with that smooth, rolling gait of his, and I watch with a strange twist in my tummy as Jasmine gloms onto his arm and leads him over to the dance floor. Hal's already there, swaying gently with the Adders' tight end. I watch her twirl and smile, her entire face lighting up as she revels in the moment.
Me, I stand there alone in the corner, unsure how to interpret what just happened with Rhoden. It was stupid, but I thought … I guess I really did think he liked me. How dumb was that? He made it very clear that there was nothing going on between us at the beach. And at the masquerade party? Well we both knew there was nothing to that either.
So why do I feel so let down?
I move back into the main room and snag a glass of champagne from a tray, crossing one arm under my breasts and watching as the glittering crowd relocates to the dance floor, laughing and shining in designer clothes and expensive jewelry as they move to the live music.
After a few minutes and three glasses of champagne, I'm just about done watching Jasmine cling to Rhoden like a leech. I'm about to walk away when Walter appears and actually gives me something that halfway resembles a warm smile. It might be the first I've ever gotten from him.
“Would it be too much to ask my future wife for a dance?” He holds out a hand as I try to hide my shocked face. Across the crowd, I notice Reagan glaring at me from narrowed blue eyes. She's dressed in a strapless baby pink gown that looks like it was made for a high school prom.
“Of course not,” I say with a smile as I let Walter take my hand, purposely meeting Rhoden's dark gaze as I move into the fray. Walt pulls me close and starts to sway in a surprisingly graceful manner. Surely he's been trained for this kind of thing since birth, so I shouldn't be too surprised. If there's one thing rich people know how to get right, it's parties of any kind. Whether it's a masquerade ball with dubstep, a beach bonfire with vintage cocktails and reggae, or a jazz infused old theater studded with stars, they usually turn out pretty damn amazing.
Walter's cologne surrounds me, that rich, uppity vodka-like smell that I usually hate. Right now, with the bubbles of champagne chasing around my tummy, I don't much care. He might be a socially awkward billionaire that grows GMO sugar beets, but at least he wants to dance with me. That's more than I can say for Rhoden Richards.
We spin and I notice that rich gaze of his, smooth as cognac. It drowns me when I stare into his eyes, my face propped at Walter's shoulder but my eyes on the Arcata Adders quarterback.
“I wasn't thrilled about this dress at first,” Walter admits, snapping me out of my Rhoden obsession. Oh my God! That's what this is: an obsession. I've turned into Ariana, only worse because I've had his big, thick … “But now that I'm holding you here, I've decided that I approve. Well-done, Della.”
“Um, thanks?” It comes out in question form because really? I approve. Well-done. Sit, stay, fetch, Della. Good girl. That's how the compliment feels. I make myself breathe, refusing to let myself get all defensive and ruin this evening. There's a reason I came here tonight and even if Rhoden's acting like a jerk who doesn't deserve my sympathy, I'm determined to ride this out.
“I can't wait to get you into bed, Della,” Walter whispers, putting his mouth at my ear. I can see Rhoden watching me still, Jasmine's lips all over his neck. I want to scream. Walt's touch is far from thrilling, but I don't move away. I don't want Rhoden to know that my soon-to-be-ex-fiancé's touch bothers me.
Fate.
What a load of crap. Guess that was just a line to get me to sleep with him again. I mean, I suspected it might, based on his reputation and all, but it still stings.
Forget about it. For a second, I thought there might be something here, but I was wrong.
&nb
sp; Walter eases us around as the song comes to an end and another, more romantic tune starts to pour from the speakers, like a hot toddy on a cold night. A woman steps up to the old fashioned mic in the corner and starts to sing in a husky voice that makes me think of starlit evenings and candlelit dinners.
“May I steal a dance with my future brother-in-law?” Reagan asks, batting her blond lashes at Walter as she practically shoves me out of the way and falls into his arms. Walter looks annoyed, but he lets her step in, continuing to dance in his methodical, well practiced way, leaving me alone in the middle of the glittering granite floor.
When I look around, it's like the whole room's conspired to dance without me. Even my dad is dancing, spinning my stepmom around and smiling softly. Romance lights the air like incense, twirling into my nostrils and making me feel a million times lonelier than if I were standing on the top of Mt. Everest all alone.
I rub absently at the tiny heart tattoo on my wrist and try to figure out the most strategic exit through the thickening crowd.
“Are you doing this on purpose?” a deep, low voice asks from behind me. I turn to find Rhoden standing there alone. He holds his hand out and waits like he expects me to take it.
“Where's Jasmine?” I ask as the jazz curls around me and tickles my skin, the singer's voice this black and white movie dream that tricks people into believing in romance. Twenty-nine years old here, never had it before. Also, Santa Claus: zero sightings. See, those two things are both in the make believe boat for me.
“She went to the bathroom,” Rhoden says with an odd smile, shaking his head like he's in disbelief. “So now I have nobody to dance with and you,” he nods his chin at me, “also have nobody to dance with. What do you say?”
I look at him standing there in his suit jacket and button-up, his dark jeans against everyone else's finely pressed slacks. He's even got old fashioned wingtip loafers on underneath. It makes me feel weak towards him, even though he fumbled that pass on Sunday.
“As long as you get us to the Super Bowl,” I say as I take his hand and let him pull me close. Right away, I know that I've made a mistake. Rhoden's body is warm and hard beneath my hands. His fingers burn into my lower back, pressing harder than I think they ought to. Without meaning to, I rest my head in the warm place between his neck and shoulder and breathe him in deep. God, that smell. I can barely stand it, letting my eyes flutter closed as Rhoden spins us in a gentle circle. “No more penalties for touchdown celebrations either.”
“Ah, so that's how it is. This dance comes with strings attached.”
“Sorry. You might not do strings, but I do. I need you to win this year for me. I've been wanting a Super Bowl win for the Adders since I was eight years old.”
Rhoden chuckles and the sound works its way into my chest, making my fingers curl in his jacket of their own accord.
“That's odd. I've also been waiting for the Adders to win a Super Bowl since I was eight years old.” A pause as I smile. “Okay,” he says as I lift my head up and look into his face. “I'll make sure we take home a win if you agree to go on the charity date.”
“Why? I thought you just said you didn't care if I went or not.”
“Did I? I was lying again.”
I relax my body into Rhoden's, loving the way we fit together, like my soft gentle curves were designed to match up with the hard, lean lines of his body. Without meaning to, I lift my mouth up and kiss the side of his jaw, blushing bright as I pull back and realize what I've just done.
“Fuck, Della,” he says which is not the response I expected. When I look up, I find Jasmine standing at the edge of the dance floor with her arms crossed over her flat chest, eyes narrowed in a dark glare. I do a quick check for Walter, but he's nowhere to be seen, hidden away from my secret kiss by the crowd. What I do see is Hal though, staring at me with giant eyes. She mouths you are so busted at me as Rhoden spins me away. “Please don't do that again,” he tells me, his voice hard as he pushes me back a few inches and puts some space between us.
When I look into his eyes, I see his pupils are dilated, his nostrils flared like he's fighting an impossible urge.
“I'm sorry,” I whisper as Rhoden lifts my arm up and twirls me in a full circle. When I come back around, I feel dizzy. Dizzy with want. For Rhoden Richards.
Uh-oh.
“There's nothing to be sorry about,” he says, his voice rough and strained all of a sudden. “I just can't let you do that. If I do, I'm liable to screw everything up.” I crinkle my brow because I'm not a hundred percent certain what he's talking about, but I don't press the issue as Rhoden slowly pulls me forward, tucking me back against him.
On our next turn, I come face to face with Walter. When he sees me dancing with Rhoden, his eyebrows come together and he frowns deeply, lines etched into his chin on either side like a doll's.
Uh-oh again.
I pull away from Rhoden and look into his face with a small smile. I can feel my heart pounding away inside my chest as I realize how stupid this is. I came here tonight to keep Walter from fixating on Rhoden and now I'm slow dancing with the guy to a romantic jazz song that's half in French? Not a good idea.
“Excuse me,” I murmur as I duck my head and pull my arms up under my breasts, moving through the crowd like a linebacker. I don't let anyone stop me, pushing past couples as the song comes to an end and people start clapping. Another slow jazz tune starts up as I make my way through the lobby and towards the doors to the main level of the theater.
Slipping inside, I let the door snick shut softly behind me as I take a deep breath, leaning up against the wall to my right. There's nobody in here, the stage up front dark and shrouded with a heavy purple velvet curtain.
I put my hands up to my face and try to breathe through the rush of electric hormones running through me. I don't know Rhoden Richards all that well. Honestly, I don't really know him at all. But I wish I did.
My friend, Calvin, fell in love with her and six weeks later, a group of thugs cornered him in an alley and smashed his knees with a baseball bat.
Walter had nothing to do with that, I'm sure. So why are you here trying to make sure things are smooth as butter before you break up with him?
I sigh and stand up, planning to head over to the seats and slump down in one until I can catch my breath. When I hear the door open, I pause and smooth my hands down the front of my dress.
“Hello?”
Footsteps move around the corner and Rhoden Richards strides into view.
“What are you doing in here?” I ask as he looks at me with this impossible face, this raw expression that says nothing but sex, sex, sex.
Like that night at the masquerade, he says nothing, just walks up to me and puts his right hand on my cheek, leaning down and putting his mouth to mine. Heat sears through me, a molten explosion that makes my body tingle from my toes to my fingertips. It's a different kind of kiss than before, a much needier, more frenzied type of kiss.
When Rhoden pulls back, I take his hand and pull him over to one of the seats in the back of the room. There's plenty of space for him to stand in front of me as I sit down and open his jeans with deft, careful fingers, revealing the thick hard velvety perfection of his cock. I lift my eyes up and find him watching me, leaning forward to press my mouth to the side of his shaft. My tongue slides down to the base and then I kiss my way up the trail of hair to his belly button, kissing around it and then making my way back to the shiny head of his dick. It's already slick with pre-ejac, teasing my mouth with a salty taste when I slide my lips around it. Even down here, Rhoden smells like bourbon and oak, like an applewood fire crackling in a wood stove.
I take as much of him as I can into my mouth, but it's not nearly enough. He's too big for me to go deep with, so I settle for using my hands, caressing the smooth skin of his balls and teasing the dark hair around his shaft with my fingers.
In the hushed half-dark of the theater, piano and saxophone leaking in through the closed doors
, I feel dirty in such a sexy way, like the energy between us is made of forbidden romance, aged Scotch, and cigar smoke. I was born several decades too late.
Rhoden moans low in his throat, that wicked animal growl-purr thing he does, massaging the sides of my scalp with his fingers. Yes, massaging. I've never had a guy massage me while I'm sucking him off. It's … well, I like it. A lot.
After a few songs, he stops me, his breath coming in pants and gasps as he zips up his fly and holds out a hand, lifting me up from the chair with warmth hot and slick between my thighs. Without speaking, Rhoden leads me over to a set of stairs and up to the mezzanine level, guiding me down the front row and pulling me in front of him.
“You're not afraid of heights, are you?” he asks me as I look down at the rows of burgundy seats below.
“A little,” I whisper as he unzips his pants again and slides a condom from his pocket, putting it on over the wetness of his gleaming shaft.
“Then can you trust me?”
I have no idea what he's planning, but I nod as he leans in toward me and slides his hands up and under my dress, taking hold of my panties as I gasp and lean against the metal railing behind me. The underwear comes off and he tucks it into his pocket, standing up and grabbing me by the hips. With effortless ease, Rhoden sits me on the center rail, my back leaning against the top, my body ridiculously aware of how high up I am.
“Here?” I whisper, but he's already kissing my neck and nudging between my folds, testing my readiness with the head of his cock. It's so big, I think he's gotten used to making double and triple sure a woman's ready before he enters her. But I'm slick and hot and so turned on. I'm not sure if it was the blow job or just … Rhoden. I think it's just Rhoden.
He pushes himself all the way into me and I gasp, my little black dress riding up my hips as we start to move together, his hands holding my ass firmly in place as he fucks me an entire story above the ground. The theater dances around me as I let him kiss my neck and forget to worry about hickeys. Old fashioned copper lights hang above my head as I relax into the motion of his body burrowing into mine, leaning my head back and letting my hair dangle over the railing. I can see the stage from here, can hear the music, can feel the old magic of this building leaking into me.