“Addy…”
“Ugh, you know this isn’t safe. What if something happens? I’m bound and can’t help you.”
“I doubt I’ll need your help.”
“Don’t know that.”
He chuckles. The bastard. “I’ll take my chances.”
I throw my back into the seat and stare out the window as we drive out of the busy city into the suburbs. I’m dying to ask where we’re going, but I also want to pretend I couldn’t care less. We pull into a subdivision, and I can’t take it any longer. “Where are we?” I ask as we drive down a rural street. “Taking me to meet your mother already? Hope she doesn’t get the wrong idea when I show up in cuffs. Unless, of course, she knows you’re really kinky.”
He pulls up into the driveway of a modern ranch-style house and turns to me. “My mother’s dead.” Then proceeds to climb out of the car. Oops.
I feel like a jerk now. I try to open the door but struggle since I’m freaking handcuffed. When it finally unlatches, I pour out, and Logan catches me, bringing me to my feet. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“Since you can’t seem to behave on your turf, you’re going to behave on mine.” He guides me up the pathway and unlocks the front door. When we enter, I’m shocked to not see beer bottles and heavy metal posters littering the walls. Instead, the place is pretty bare except for a large sofa and even larger TV on the wall. There aren’t even blinds on the windows.
“Whose place is this?” I ask, for real this time.
“It’s mine. While you were busy, Lois Lane, I was taking a call letting me know that Vincent is having us followed.”
“What do you mean ‘followed’?”
“You call yourself a journalist, yet you don’t know what having someone followed means?”
“I know what it means, dingle head, but why?”
His brows raise. Yeah, I called him a dingle head. The floor can swallow me up anytime now. He shakes his head at me. “It means he’s suspicious of us. He doesn’t believe we’re a couple and wants to catch us.”
“So, what do we do now?”
“We pretend harder. We need to play the part.” Haven’t we been playing the part? “We need to learn each other’s likes and dislikes—anything that will help us if he tries to trick us.”
“But I already told you mine. Movies, books, oh! Extra salted popcorn—”
“Addy! Pay attention. This isn’t a fucking joke. I’m talking mannerisms. Our daily routines. Now that he’s watching, he’s going to expect to see us do normal shit. Get groceries, go on walks—”
“Mob thugs go on walks?”
He slides his hands down his face. “Jesus, I’m saying you have to stop giving me such lip.”
“Maybe you need to stop growling at me and giving me that crazy eye.”
“What crazy eye?”
“That right there! Your eye twitches, and your lips get all pinched. Not to mention that jaw clenching, even though it suits you sometimes.”
“It suits me?” he asks, his lips curving into a mischievous smile.
Darn it. I just complimented him. Now he’s going to think I like him. Which I don’t. I just find him absurdly attractive. “No. I must have been thinking about your friend. Chino? The one you gave a nose job to.”
Logan laughs and walks up to me, unlocking the cuffs. Thankful, I rub at my wrists and walk farther into his place. “Did you just move here?” I ask, taking his jacket and hanging it over the couch.
“Couple years ago.” He walks into the kitchen and returns with two bottles of water. Eating and drinking haven’t been my first priority the past couple of days, so I take the water and find myself chugging it. My stomach rumbles at the shock.
“Shit, when was the last time you ate?”
“I’ve had a lot of gum. And M&M’s.”
“Jesus,” he grumbles. Taking out his phone, he orders two large pizzas, and I wonder who else he’s having over. When he hangs up, he shoves his phone back into his pants. “Listen, I need a shower. Can I trust you to sit here and not run away, or do I have to cuff you to my couch?”
As tempting as it is, I think this time, I may do as I’m told. Plus, it gives me some time to snoop through his things and find out anything I can about him. “You basically locked me in when you ordered pizza. Like, who needs a man when you have hot cheese and dough to do the work—” His eyes grow wide while my words sink in. “Oh, god, no. That’s not. I meant that—”
“The remote’s on the table. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be quick.” With a chuckle, he turns and disappears down the hallway.
I huff and throw myself onto his couch. Why do I have to open my mouth? Why can’t I be normal? “Ugh…” I grunt and slap my hands on his super comfy couch cushions. A couple minutes go by, and I hear the shower go on. “Welp, time’s a tickin’.” Getting up, I head down the hall, passing the bathroom, and sneak into the room I suspect is his bedroom. A large bed rests in the center. I head over to his dresser and open the top drawer. Pushing aside a perfectly folded pile of black t-shirts, I check underneath for any hidden papers or weapons. Finding none, I try the next drawer, then the next. Disappointed, I go in search of his nightstand. “What the heck? Can this guy be any more boring?” I push through some magazines, some cash, and— “Geez, Michael Myers wants his machete back,” I mumble as I pull out a gigantic knife. What the heck does he do with something this big? I turn it in my hands and take a few test stabs into the air when the sound of the water shuts off.
“God bless it.” I jolt, and accidentally drop the knife, almost cutting my toes off. My head whips back to the bathroom, and the door opens. “Oh, shooot!” Bending down, I pick up the knife and shove it back in his nightstand. Logan is walking down the hall, which means I can’t escape out his bedroom door. “Oh god…” I look left and right, panicking. I debate throwing myself under the bed, but that only works in the movies. I take note of the slightly cracked door on the other side of the room and dash toward it, hoping it’s an exit. I throw myself through it just as Logan walks into his bedroom.
It’s dark and clearly not an exit. Darn it! Taking in the hanging clothes, I realize I’ve just trapped myself in his closet. This can’t be good and is going to be very hard to explain. Hopefully he gets dressed and leaves the room so I can sneak over to the bathroom and pop out when he goes looking for me. Good. Good plan. I hold my breath and watch him through the crack as he walks to his dresser. Then he drops his towel.
Any chance of making it out of this just went out the window when a gasp leaves my throat. My hand slams over my mouth. Logan turns toward the closet, giving me a full-on view of…I don’t know what that is. It’s way too big to be real. I squeeze my eyes shut. Maybe he didn’t hear me. Stay still, and he’ll go away.
Lights blasts over my clenched eyes. Busted. “Find anything interesting?”
I open a single eyelid to Logan, who’s right in front of me. Both eyes open, I shamefully drag my vision down his chiseled chest until I see his—I slam my eyes closed again. “Nope, I was cold. Thought I would borrow a hoodie. Isn’t that a thing? Girls always stealing their boyfriend’s hoodies? You’re my boyfriend. Well, fake boyfriend, so I figured…hoodie. I can’t find one. Do you wear hoodies?” I. Just. Can’t. Shut. Up.
Logan doesn’t mention my wandering eyes and leans past me, pulling an article of clothing off a hanger.
“Here. This might suffice.” I crank one eye open and see the hoodie he’s holding up for me.
I take it, slowly bringing it to my chest. “Thank you.” My voice is riddled with nerves.
“So, if you got what you’re looking for, I’m just gonna get dressed now.”
“Yep. Sounds good.” I continue to stand there and stare at him.
“Yeah, you’re gonna have to move. You’re in my closet.”
“Yep! Moving. Gonna move.” I hurry out, tripping along the way. It doesn’t help that when I race out of the room, I get a sweet view of his tight b
utt through the mirror on his dresser and run into the doorframe.
“You okay—?”
“Fine!”
When Logan makes his way out to the living room, I’m fake watching some cooking show, pretending to be completely enthralled. I’m also snuggled in his hoodie, which is actually super soft and smells amazing. I now get why girls steal these.
“You good?” he asks, coming around the couch and taking the seat next to me.
“Yep. Great. Never better.” Please don’t bring up that I saw your impressive package and tight tush. Really nice, tight tush.
“You sure?”
“Can we not?” I turn to him, trying to hide my embarrassment.
He chuckles and throws his hands up. “Got it. Why don’t we go over some basic stuff while we wait for the pizza, cool?”
Sure!
No, I have never seen a penis that big.
Yes, I am curious how that doesn’t tear a girl in half.
No, I would not like to test that out. Also, that’s a lie.
“I’ll start. What’s your favorite color?”
He smiles at my lame question. “Black. What’s yours?”
“Purple. But I like gray a lot. What’s your favorite movie?”
“Don’t have one. What’s yours?”
I scoff. “You don’t have one? How is that even possible?”
He shrugs. “I just don’t watch much TV,” says the guy who has a television the same size as his entire wall. “Where did you grow up?”
I get more comfortable on his couch, tucking my feet underneath me. “I grew up in a small town in Indiana. Got a scholarship to the University of Chicago. Spent my last year at an internship with a small newspaper. After graduating, I applied to every news or magazine outlet hiring, but the only bite I got was Celebrity Dirt. I figured I would take the job until a real opportunity opened up. Three years later, and I’m still waiting.” Three hard years where I’ve busted my tail to not move an inch on the totem pole.
“Why the long face? Thought you loved your job.”
“It’s not that I don’t. It’s just…I never realized the ugliness of it. The scandals. How cutthroat it is to grab a story. You have people you work with, but they’re your competition. Not to mention, this isn’t where I saw myself. I always thought after my internship, I would land a job reporting real news. Work in an environment where we expose real-life issues. Make this city a better place. Instead, I’m working at a gossip magazine, being passed up for promotions by coworkers who chose to sleep with famous sports players for a story instead of getting it the authentic way. That’s just not who I am.” We’re quiet for a moment, then I throw the question back at him. “What about you? Did your high school yearbook have ‘most likely to become a mobster’s henchman’ under your picture?”
He sighs and leans against the couch. “Not quite. I was raised in Ohio. Moved here for a job. It didn’t work out. Vincent found me. And…well, you know, when he finds interest in something, it’s hard to back away. He offered me a job I couldn’t say no to. At first, it was just being a runner. Small-time shit. Seemed harmless. The money kept me going, so I did more. The more trust I earned, the bigger errands he had me doing. Before I knew it, I was one of his main henchmen, as you call it.”
“Wow, real success story.” We both laugh as the doorbell sounds. I’m on alert, but he’s at ease.
“Pizza. Sit tight.” He gets up and answers the door. It’s strange how things have quickly shifted between us. He’s not barking down my throat or giving me his grouchy snarl, and I kind of like it. He has a great smile, only accentuated by his dimples and perfect teeth. “Why are you smiling? Thinking about all the dirty things you’re going to do to the pizza?”
I deserved that one. “Nope.” He sets the pizza and paper plates down, serving me up a huge slice. “I was just thinking you’re not so bad when you’re not growling at me.”
His lips curve up into a playful smile. “Growling?”
“Yeah! You do this thing when you’re mad, which seems like all the time. Like this…” I try to impersonate him, but it doesn’t match up.
“That’s not how I look or sound.”
“Yes, it is. Like roooar.” I laugh and deepen my voice. “I’m grouchy and angry all the time and—”
He’s suddenly not smiling along with me.
“Hey, it was just a joke. I mean, you are kinda—”
“Don’t look, but there’s a car parked outside on the other side of the street. I spotted it when I opened the door for the pizza—I said, don’t look,” he snaps when I start to move my head. “It’s one of Vincent’s men keeping an eye on us.”
“What do we do?”
“We pretend,” he says. “Put your pizza down and climb on my lap.”
“What!”
“Do it.”
I’m suddenly anxious, unsure of what to do. Kissing is one thing, but this is entering unchartered territory for me. I have no idea how to be smooth and seduce a man. My past relationships are a telltale sign I suck at it. “Logan, I’m not sure I can—”
“You can do it. Just climb onto my lap and straddle me.” How can he act so cool and collected when my heart is about to burst out of my chest? “Now, Addy.”
“Now. Okay.”
“Nice and slow.” Easy for him to say, stupid expert level lover. I inhale slowly and reach over to place my plate on the coffee table. I miss it by a mile, and it falls to the floor.
“Leave it.”
“But it’s gonna stain—”
“Addy.”
“Leaving it.” Crudsicle! I can do this. Visualize myself as a luscious vixen crawling on to my lover—fake lover. Because this is fake. Except for the hoodie. That’s real. And now mine.
Pulling back, I lift my leg over and settle on top of his lap, then stay still, waiting for my next instruction.
“Take my shirt off and run your hands up my chest. Slowly. Like you’re teasing me.”
My anxiety increases as my hands fall flat against his chest. Latching my fingers under his black t-shirt, I work my way up until I’m forcing him to lift his arms for me to tug his shirt over his head. God, he is beautiful. His chest is a solid mass, and his skin smooth and tanned by the sun. “Now what?” I ask, my voice shaky.
“Kiss me.”
My heart thunders inside my chest. I stare down at his lips, the plushness of them calling to me. The lines of real and fake are starting to blur. The ache to kiss him again is so strong, I give in to my need. With the slowness he demands, I lean forward and press my lips to his bare chest. I place soft kisses on his right and left pec, then work my way up his neck. He smells like cologne and all man.
The fact that we’re being watched is the farthest thing on my mind as I work my tongue up his neck, pressing kiss after gentle kiss to his chin, the side of his mouth—
Something snaps inside him, and I’m no longer in control. He grabs for my face, his lips crushing against mine and demanding access to my mouth. His hands grip my butt cheeks, pulling me closer, his strokes becoming more urgent. My palms work up his chest until they’re sliding into his thick hair, and I’m holding tight as he takes my breath away. A moan travels up my throat, and his grip becomes brutal, digging into my skin, thrusting me forward over him. His thickness rubs against my sex, and I gasp out another breathless moan.
My body reacts to his touch, his taste, the feel of his hardness teasing my sex. I lose myself in the fantasy and start moving my hips, working back and forth against him.
Logan hisses and works me faster. “Fuck, Addy,” he grunts, flipping us so my back hits the couch, and he’s on top of me. His lips slam over mine, and he devours my mouth. Panting, I reach for his neck and pull him closer, deepening our kiss. He’s just as crazed, sliding his hand down into my pajama pants.
“Oh, fu—” I moan loudly as a finger disappears inside me. My hips are out of control, lifting off the couch, riding his finger, needing more. He works me, in and out, un
til I can’t take anymore. My body becomes not my own as my vision goes black and every nerve-ending starts to spasm. My fingers scrape down his back as he pumps into me until my neck arches back and an orgasm explodes through me.
My back lands on the couch and our heavy breathing fills the silence. It takes the sound of a car starting and the revving of an engine as it speeds off to bring us back to reality.
What we just did…
“Shit, I’m sorry.” He pulls his hand from my pants like it’s on fire and jumps off me. “I shouldn’t have done that.” He walks away from me, vanishing into the kitchen.
I sit up and adjust my clothes back in place. My fingers touch my lips as I gaze over to where Logan disappeared. Taking a deep breath, I fight not to let my mind overthink his words, but the questions started coming the second he jumped off me and left me with all this confusion. What just happened? Why didn’t I stop it? Why is he so upset? Does he regret it? Should I? My body is still buzzing. Doubt starts to creep inside me. He’s mad because you took it too far. He’s just pretending. He wouldn’t really want you. Do you look like his type? Technically, I’m no one’s type. No one looks at me the way he just did. No one’s ever touched me, branded me, the way he has. But it wasn’t real. And now he’s mad at me for allowing it.
He walks back in, and I straighten up on the couch. “Hey, I’m sorry. I was just trying to make it look real. Did I do a good job moaning? Not like he heard us, but if he did, do you think he believed us? That we were enjoying ourselves?” If I don’t admit I loved every single second of what just went down, maybe it will ease the sudden tension. Logan’s back to looking like a grouch and growls something under his breath.
“So, is that a no? I mean, if I were into you, maybe it would have been more believable—”
“Shut up, Addy. Just. Shut. Up.” Then he storms out of his house, slamming the door behind him.
I don’t move from the couch for some time. Confusion flutters in my stomach as I sit chewing on my bottom lip. I can’t stop wondering if I did something wrong. I get up and start to pace. Frustration shoves my confusion out of the way, and I become angry at how he can be so hot and cold. Fake or not, I felt something. I throw myself back onto the couch as pity takes its turn and bashes me for thinking he would actually be into me. He was faking it, sister. Guilt is up last, because I feel guilty for pretending I didn’t enjoy it. Is that why he got mad and stormed out? Telling me to shut up wasn’t very nice, and to be honest, not very gentlemanly. Yeah, because a mob thug is up to date on his manners and all.
Celebrity Dirt: A Fake Relationship Romantic Suspense Standalone Page 7