by Warren, Rie
True story. And that’s how we potty trained the kid.
More sharing, laughing, complaining filled the next hour until I felt like just one of their group. We were from all walks of life with one thing in common: being tied to a romance writer, which brought an entirely new level of weird and wonderful into our lives.
Finally, Fred decided it was time for wine instead of whining, and we headed to the mezzanine level bar. I was in the middle of a conversation with Fawn about self-publishing trends and what it meant for writers—all ears because I wanted to glean any amount of leverage I could to support Leelee against LaFucking Forge—when Jules Gem legged it up to me like a really a tiny steamroller. And she still wore her mic and carried the bullhorn.
What the hell is she, some kind of roaming reporter?
She cut through Fawn and grabbed my arm. “Can I borrow him for a mo?”
“He’s with us.” Fawn went feral in front of me.
Patting Fawn’s shoulder just in case she’d brought one of her girlfriend’s six-shooters to the convention, I said, “It’s okay, I’ll meet y’all in the bar.”
As soon as they cleared the area, Jules looked me over. “Enough small talk. I just wanted to remind you about the contest. I need you, your bod, your smirk and designer stubble on stage tonight.” Her face dawned with evil delight. “These women want real men who walk the walk and talk the talk, trufax.”
She shoved a sheaf of papers at me and marched off.
“Ma’am!”
Her back snapped straight but she didn’t turn around.
“Sorry, miss. Miss Gem, could you wait a second?”
She pivoted around and returned. “That’s better. Never call me ma’am again. I assume you’ve heard of my rep? It’s not all convention gossip. What do you need?”
“Isn’t this a cover model competition?”
“That doesn’t matter, you’re purrrrfect. We’re keeping with the RAWRing Twenties theme. Instead of Guys ’n’ Dolls, we’re doing Guys with Balls. And you, Stone”—she flicked my lanyard—“have ’em.”
She wheeled away while I glanced at the papers in my hand. Guys with Balls: Questionnaire. Favorite place to kiss a woman? Lemme think about that. The cheek. Yeah, that would work with my gay persona. But to be honest, it was Leelee’s soft round ass cheeks I was thinking about as I scanned the rest of the questions.
The papers crammed in my fist, I made my way to the bar and almost mowed Fred over as I entered. They’d gotten as far as the back of house and no farther. Felicity captured my hand and pointed at the bar. She jumped up and down on the balls of her feet like the kid did when he needed to take a piss but couldn’t be bothered to go all the way to the bathroom.
“Fangirl squee!” Her squee pierced my eardrum and she gripped my hand so hard she almost broke bones.
The guys and dolls erupted into squeals, giggles, manly mumbo jumbo that went in one ear and out the other as I peered through the packed bodies to the bar. Whaddya know? They were flipping out over Leelee.
Fawn sidled over. “Do you know who that is, Stone?”
You bet your sweet ass I do. Leelee sat at the bar, a half-glugged glass of white wine in front of her . . . and unshed tears sparkling on her eyelashes. Aw, shit. Her mopey face was about a million times worse than the kid’s.
“Give me a minute. I’ll see if I can introduce you all to Leelee.” I wasn’t about to bring the wound-up Widows to her if she wasn’t prepared to play the game.
Shouldering to the bar, I came up beside her. I gently ran a finger along her neck. “Leelee?”
One tear dropped onto the napkin she’d been folding and unfolding in front of her. “Stone.”
“If this is a bad time, I can go away, but there’s a bunch of people over there—” I hooked a finger over my shoulder. The gang saw it and waved in response.
Her wet green eyes slid past me to the doors. “Fans of Stone?”
“Actually, they’re your fans. They just about burst my eardrums when they saw you.” Pride filled my chest as soon as a slow smile washed away the sadness on her face.
“For me?”
“They’re dying to say hi.”
“Okay. Just give me a sec.”
After she’d prettied up a face that was already drop-dead gorgeous, I wrangled the Widows over to her. The brilliant smile she gave each of them in turn as she shook their hands and signed whatever the hell they shoved at her really made me want to take her in my arms and kiss her.
We hung out with her through a round of drinks. The room filled with laughter while Leelee’s eyes lit with happiness. She charmed every one of them just as she did me. Leelee didn’t need to worry about not being able to cut her own path or do her own thing. She just needed to be herself.
And fucking hell, my heart squeezed tight.
One by one, the Widows filtered away. I waved them off with a, “Yeah, I’ll catch you guys tomorrow.”
Silence descended as soon as they left and I realized I hadn’t seen Leelee since my masturbation muck-up earlier in the day. Ah, so this is a WTF moment. I ordered a second beer, another wine for Leelee, thinking about all the ways this could be imminently awkward, but hey, at least my vocab had skyrocketed being around all these writers.
“Hey,” I said. Or maybe not so much with the brainiac vocabulary.
“Thank you.”
“For what?” For busting my cock out in front of you? Don’t mention it.
“For putting me at ease with your friends. Other people make me so frazzled. You have a way of relaxin’ me.”
Well, good. Too bad she does the opposite to me. Standing beside her, being near her, ideas of everything we could get up to jolted through my body.
“They were nice,” she added.
“I think they’re nuts. Besides, how good you were with them didn’t have a damn thing to do with me.”
Leelee’s hair cascaded in loose waves down her back, and I wanted to tangle my fingers in it, follow the curled ends to her skin beneath. Instead I slapped my hand on top of the bar, crumpling the papers Jules had given me.
“What’s that?”
Groaning, I dropped my head to the bar. “Guys with Balls entry form and shit.”
“But you’re not a cover model.”
I peered up from my arms. “That’s what I said. So you’d better be there later.”
She spun toward me with a breathtaking smile. “You got it, hot stuff.”
Framing her face in one hand, I ran a thumb over her lowered eyelashes that had glinted earlier. “The tears before, they weren’t because of me, were they?”
She shook her head.
“Because I’m sorry you saw me, heard me . . .” I jerked my hand away and flipped the beermat up until it twirled on its corner. “That wasn’t very gentlemanly.”
“Probably not, Stone.” She drained her glass. “But it was so damn hot.”
Oh Christ.
DOWN BOY, JESUS!
Four deep breaths and one telling off to my cock later, I tried to make my voice work. “That bastard agent hasn’t been at you again, has he?”
She nodded, setting off fierce instincts that had never been at work for a woman before.
“Tell me what he’s done now,” I gnashed out.
“He came at me during the self-publishing panel I was on—Surfing the Perfect Wave. His questions put me on the spot. I couldn’t answer because I was so flustered, and what I did manage to get out just made me sound stupid. It was like bein’ under interrogation.” Her skin paled. “He knows how hard it is for me to be up behind the table, fielding questions.”
An unreleased sob rolled through her body, and I just wanted to be there for her. Not Stone. Not fake-gay. But as a man for his woman.
“ . . . and I have writer’s block and he’s right! I’m already twenty-seven and destined to be a failure. I can’t do this on my own, and . . .”
I gathered her in my arms. “You’re not doing it on your own, babe. You’ve
got Janice and Jacqueline and Missy. You’ve got Nicky. You’ve got thousands of fans and friends.” I brushed her tears away. “You’ve got me.”
“No, I don’t.” She sniffed
I jumped onto that shit like a lifeline, albeit one that could tangle around me and drag me under. “Do you want to? Have me?”
“Stone . . .”
It seemed like she did. But she couldn’t. Just like I couldn’t tell her all I wanted to do was be with her, show her I was just a southern boy, a single dad, a car mechanic trying to provide a good home for his baby boy.
“It’s Josh. My first name. Josh Stone, but we’re trying to keep it under wraps.”
One sodden napkin later, Leelee sent me flirty eyes. “Josh Stone, at your service?”
“Somethin’ like that.”
“In that case, Leelee Childes, from Shreveport.” Holding her hand out, she smiled at me.
My fingers slid from her palm to her wrist as I bought her hand to my mouth for a soft brush of my lips. “Pleased to meet you, Leelee Childes from Shreveport.” I released her fingers with another slow slide.
I took a swig from my beer bottle. I might not be able to tell her the whole truth, yet, but I could tell her some of it. I started unbuttoning the top of my shirt.
Her gaze flicked to my fingers. “You’re not gonna practice for Guys with Balls now, are you?”
I chuckled. “No, babe. I have something I want to show you. It’s about my tattoo.”
Sitting back, she tugged in her bottom lip and let it out. “Then by all means, don’t keep that under wraps.”
I glanced up from under my lashes, taking in her swollen lip, so ripe for a kiss. Holding the shirt collar open over my shoulder, pec, and tat, I was really glad the Hens weren’t around to molest me. Or tweet me.
Leelee’s fingers hovered above my skin before pressing softly onto the heart surrounded by twisted chrome pipes. “It really is gorgeous.” Her husky voice flooded me with a now-familiar ache.
Chills raced over my chest from one simple touch. Just when I wanted to press her fingers harder to the heart, my heart that had only held the kid for so long, Leelee withdrew her hand and dropped it to her lap.
“Who’s Joshua James?”
“My kid. Joshua James. Josh for me and James for my dad.” My throat was raw from emotion. “My dad died nine years ago.”
“I’m so sorry about your father. I don’t know what I’d do without mine.” She let her fingers glance across the tattoo once more before drifting away. “Your son, huh? So how did that work?”
“There was a woman. We were married for a couple years.” Thirty-one motherfuckin’ months to be precise.
Leelee drew back, eyeing her wine, the bar, the door. “So, you’re like Patrick.”
It wasn’t a question, it was an accusation, no doubt aided and abetted by hearing me grunt her name when I came all over my hand, chest, belly . . .
“No, it’s not like that. I’m not like that. I’d never do that to you, Leelee.” I wasn’t bisexual, I wasn’t bro-sexual. I was a one hundred percent pure hetero male who wanted to nail her on top of the bar right now. I groaned. “It’s not like that.”
“What was it like then, Josh? Because I don’t get it.” At least she stayed seated on the bar stool instead of bolting for the door.
“Claire, my ex, got pregnant just about four years ago, and we got married. I’d do anything to make sure the kid had a good, solid home. She never really took to the until death do us part bit. She had some problems after JJ was born, couldn’t handle being a wife or a mother, and she left us. I never heard from her again. The divorce became final last year. She deserted JJ, signed it all away as soon as the papers were served.”
A heavy stone sat in my chest as I confessed as much as I could. Maybe I should’ve tried harder with Claire, done more.
“That’s horrible.” Leelee swung back toward me.
“It’s not. It really isn’t. Claire wasn’t a bad woman. She just wasn’t my woman.” I shrugged. “I’m a much better dad now that I don’t have to worry about her and . . .” I stopped, really thinking about it. “It’s been horrible for JJ, though. He still has nightmares, worries about me taking off and never coming home.”
“But he has Nicky too, right?” She skimmed one hand up and down my arm.
My smile was forced because I didn’t know what I’d say if she started asking about our relationship. He was a huge part of the kid’s life, but as Uncle Wicky, not Daddy Number Two. “Yeah. Nicky stepped up.”
“So, that explains it.” She propped her cheek against one hand as she peered at me.
“Yeah. Wait, explains what?”
“Is that . . .?” She hesitated. “After Claire left, you and Nicky, is that why you’re with him? Trust issues with women?”
Ah, shit. Maybe this is the therapy sesh I thought I was having earlier with the Widows. “Yeah, no. I mean, yes . . . trust issues and women.” But I’m not gay! “Except for my ma.”
“She accepts you two, that’s sweet.” She petted my hand.
She’s goddamn petting my hand. This could not get any worse. Now I wasn’t even turning over her engine, I was the pathetic lemon car, the last one left on the lot . . . a pitiful picture of a man to her. I had to turn this around.
“About earlier, Leelee.” Once I had her attention—those big green eyes swerving to mine—I started buttoning my shirt. Slowly, very fucking slowly. “I’m sorry you saw me like that, but I don’t regret it.”
The same words I’d said about our kiss. Now she knew she was on my mind while I’d come, and I was glad she’d watched me.
“You looked amazing, stroking your cock like that.” The more dirty words that slipped from her pert little mouth, the harder I got. She took a sip of wine and gave a laugh. “I might have to add that to my WIP.”
I leaned closer, bound to her by the rippling tension between us. “Whip?” So long as it didn’t belong to Missy the Mistress, I was on board.
“WIP—work in progress.” Leelee looked me up and down, a gaze so intense it was as tangible as if her mouth, tongue, fingers slid all over my body.
“I don’t give a shit about any WIP.” It hit me then. I wasn’t interested in taking what I could get from Leelee. And maybe being with her was a no-go for right now, but I could lay the groundwork for something longer lasting later.
“I’m sorry, that came out wrong. What I mean is, I care about you.” Taking Leelee’s hand in mine, I skimmed my fingertips up to her elbow. “I haven’t made love to anyone for a long time.” For years, maybe never.
Her back arched as if every part of her body was connected to the almost innocent stroking of my fingers on her arm. “What about Nicky?” she gasped.
I cradled her face in my hand, my thumb brushing her lower lip. “You can’t tell anyone.” Josh, shut up, you big dumbass. “It’s over after the convention. I’m not in love with him, and he isn’t with me.” Not a lie.
“You seem so close . . .” Leelee leaned in, shivering from the heat of my touch.
I murmured, “We’ll always be best friends.”
Her eyelids grew deliciously heavy. Lips wet and parted. My thumb disappeared from her mouth, making way for my kiss. A small brush of our lips from side to side with her warm breath and hot wetness plucking at me. A kiss with all the promise of more.
My fingers trailed down her neck, which tipped to the side for my touch. I wanted to kiss her again, but I’d bide my time with a soft, slow seduction. I kept her hand in mine as I searched through my wallet for enough cash to pay the bill.
“We should get going. Headed to your room?”
She patted her bag, her lips, her hair. She stood on another pair of dangerous-to-my-dick heels.
“I’ll take you, babe.” With my hand resting on her lower back, I guided Leelee out.
My footsteps became heavier the closer we got to her room, and my heart decided to match that shit, dropping low in my chest.
&nb
sp; Delivering her to her door, I asked, “You’ll be at Guys with Balls tonight?”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” She darted up for a peck on the cheek, no lingering. New lines drawn.
Lines I was determined to destroy.
Eight
Thursday: Balls to the Wall
I TREKKED BACK TO the room of my inglorious release, relieved to find Nicky absent. I stacked Leelee’s and Jacqueline’s books plus all the other freebies onto the overflowing nightstand and hit the bed. It was time to put my iPhone plan—not my palm—to good use. Or bad use. I almost kissed the damn thing when no messages piled up. Not another shove-a-pen in my eyes, pucker-up photo from the garage. Connecting to the Internet, I got busy on Google. The search engine spewed out so much Leelee Songchild info, I had to scroll down and down and down some more just to get my bearings.
Pinterest. That was the thing they’d mentioned last night. Quickly learning Pinterest should be called Pimpterest, I clicked, blinked, and backed away. Twitter. A bluebird, that didn’t look like it would blind me with images of man-cock, right? I was immediately a fan of the little blue birdie because I didn’t have to sign in or log on to follow Leelee, and she was online.
#LitLuv13 #WriteWidows Y’all r amazing! Thx for drinks & luv
Huh, the Widows had their own hashtag thingamajig. That was cool. Maybe I’d sign up after all.
Another tweet popped up from LeeleesSong: Lulz @Felicity Stone is yummy but he’s off the market
Oh Christ, she’s tweeting about me? As soon as I blinked, before I had time to ferret out Felicity’s leading tweet, @LeeleesSong flashed up again.
@Dev Nope just friends with Stone ;)
Hmm, I was working hard to change the just-friends status faster than I could change a flat tire.
Ohai @Jaque_line mm hmm defs Alpha Male material
Alpha male, was I? I Googled that . . . pronto, and was pleased with what I read, yeah, I could work that angle.