Make Me Sin

by J. T. Geissinger

  She sails away. I have no doubt she’ll get her introduction; there are few things Grace wants that she doesn’t get. Actually I can’t think of a single one.

  Then suddenly A.J. stiffens.

  “Just a few more minutes and then we’ll go, sweetie. I just want to make sure I say good-bye to Kat on the way out. I wonder if Kenji’s here?”

  When he doesn’t respond, I look up at him. But he’s not looking back at me.

  He’s looking at the raven-haired, large-breasted, incredibly beautiful siren in the skintight red minidress headed our way.

  My stomach drops. My eyes flash to his face. It’s clear from his expression that he’s not looking forward to speaking to her, which makes me feel a little better, but it’s also clear that there’s some history here that he’s very uncomfortable with.

  Or maybe he’s just uncomfortable because I’m standing beside him.

  The siren stops in front of us. I’ve never seen a woman with such perfect skin, hair, or teeth. She’s absolutely stunning. A model, no doubt.

  And he’s had sex with her, no doubt. Her knowing smile and bedroom eyes are proof enough of that.

  “A.J. Good to see you.”

  He replies with a curt nod. “Heavenly.”

  Heavenly. Dear lord, I’ve come face-to-face with the infamous five-thousand-bucks-a-pop whore.

  In spite of how much I instantly hate her, how I’d like to scratch out her eyeballs and tear her glossy hair right out of her scalp, I miserably understand why she can charge what she does. I’d bet men would pay her thousands just to look at her naked, and not even touch her.

  She turns her eyes to me. No joke, they’re the color of sapphires. I pray they’re as fake as her boobs, or God is exactly as much of a bastard as A.J. thinks he is.

  “And who is this?” she asks pleasantly.

  “Heavenly, meet Chloe. Chloe, Heavenly.” A.J.’s voice is wooden, his back stiff.

  If any other part of his body is stiff, I will murder him where he stands.

  “Of course,” says Heavenly, looking me up and down. Her smile widens. It almost looks genuine. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

  Whoa. What? He’s told her about me? When? It takes me about three point five seconds to control myself, then I slip into sphinx mode, and calmly return her smile. “And you.”

  Her smile falters. She glances at A.J. I can tell she’s wondering what he’s told me about her, which, as we know, is nada. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to let this Rodeo Drive ho get the upper hand over me.

  Heavenly decides to up her game. Her smile returns. In a throaty purr, she says to A.J., “Vy byli pravy. Ya lyublyu yeye.”

  As if she’s kicked me in the stomach, all the wind is knocked from my lungs.

  This is no ordinary hooker. This hooker speaks Russian.

  Instantly, I’ve conjured dozens of imaginary scenes of the two of them post-screw, sweaty and beautiful, murmuring sweet nothings to one another in their native language. I assume it must be her native language, too, because what prostitute has the time or energy for Russian lessons? And she has that Euro Bond Girl look about her, all slink and sophistication.

  I’ve never felt jealousy like this before. Not ever. It’s like I swallowed a bowl of razors.

  I know my face is beet red, just as I know the smile I’ve got plastered on my face has turned sickly. For some bizarre reason, my mouth is watering. Probably because I’d like to spit a big loogie in her perfect, stupid face.

  Then A.J. says something to Heavenly that confuses me even more.

  “I told you you would.”

  “Would what?” I ask before I can stop myself.

  A muscle flexes in A.J.’s jaw. “Like you.”

  My head is exploding. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. A.J. told Miss Five K a Blow Job she’d like me? When, while she was bouncing up and down on his cock? Completely at a loss, I chug my drink, just barely managing to restrain myself from smashing it upside his head.

  He had a life before me, this isn’t his fault, you knew about his “experiences,” he seems really uncomfortable so let’s cut him some slack, shall we?

  The voice in my head makes far too much sense, so I remind it that there is a very real possibility this girl knows even more about A.J. than I do.

  Which means I’m really not all that special.

  Which makes all the blood drain from my face.

  “Won’t you excuse me for a moment? I think I see someone I need to speak to,” I say, prim and proper, in my best Julie Andrews Princess Diaries impersonation. My intention is to turn and run, but A.J.’s arm clamps down over my shoulders, preventing me from moving. He holds me tight against his side. I don’t want to make a scene in front of her, so I stay put, face burning.

  “You get an invite to this party, Heavenly?”

  I can’t tell from his voice whether A.J. is angry or merely curious. I swallow and look away, heart pounding.

  “No, I’m here with Slash.”

  She came with the guitarist from Guns N’ Roses? This girl really makes the rounds. I wonder what Slash’s wife thinks about that.

  Then A.J. says something to her in Russian. She answers back. I have no idea what they’re saying, which obviously is the point. And now I’m so mad I could scream.

  Just as I’m about to peel A.J.’s arm off me and throw the rest of my chardonnay in his face, Heavenly says, “You know my number.” Then she turns and glides away. Heads turn in her wake.

  I vibrate with fury. Also I think I might puke.

  A.J. takes the glass of wine from my hand and sets it on the bar. Then he takes my arm and steers me past the pool and into the house. People scatter in front of us like scared mice; A.J. is wearing his serial killer expression. The thunderclouds have returned over his head.

  He takes me to a first-floor bathroom, locks the door behind us, and backs me up against the wide marble sink. “All right. Say your piece.”

  Breathing hard, I cross my arms over my chest. “No, I think you should go first. And I’ll give you five minutes to cover all the important points, specifically why and when you talked to her about me, when the last time was that you slept with her, and what the hell you two said to each other at the end there, when it looked like you were making plans to hook up later.”

  He says instantly, “I haven’t been with her since we’ve been together.”

  “And when exactly did we get together? When you were visiting me at my apartment in the middle of the night, when you were grilling me about my entire life story but refusing to sleep with me, or after I moved into your place?”

  He glowers. “You think I’m lying to you?”

  That muscle in his jaw is really getting a workout.

  “Don’t you dare try to turn this back on me! I had to stand there like an idiot while you and your ho had a nice little chat in Russian about God only knows what!”

  “She’s not mine,” he says, voice hard, “you’re mine, and you know it.”

  He crushes his mouth to mine.

  I struggle, but he holds my jaw in one hand and pins one of my arms around my back with the other. It’s easier to give in than to fight him, so I let him kiss me, and pretend I don’t like it. When he finally breaks the kiss we’re both panting.

  “I told her about you long before we ever got together, right after I heard you sing that day in your shop, back when you hated my guts. I’ve haven’t fucked her or anyone else since that day.”

  His voice is rough, but his eyes are soft, and I want so badly to believe him. But the way Heavenly looked at him . . . the intimacy of her eyes, her voice. It’s eating me up inside.

  “You’re forgetting about that brunette you left with, the one you met in my candle aisle!”

  “I just did that to piss you off, angel. I didn’t fuck her. I didn’t even kiss her. She gave me a ride to my manager’s office, and then I took a cab home.”

  He kisses me again, another demanding pull on my lip
s, and I can’t keep my head straight. I’m losing my train of thought. I draw back, but he doesn’t let me go far; he keeps his hand on my jaw, his lips very close to mine.

  “What about what you said to each other at the end? What was that?”

  He’s been looking at my lips, but his gaze drifts up, and he meets my eyes. He stares into them with sizzling intensity. “I told her she should go back to Slash.”

  “And what did she say?”

  “That she was glad to see me happy. That I deserved it.”

  I look away because my eyes are filling with water. A.J. kisses my cheek, then murmurs into my ear, “I’m going to say something you won’t want to hear, angel, but it’s the truth so you need to hear it.”

  “What?”

  He turns my face so I have to look him in the eye. “For a long time, she was the only friend I had.”

  That hurts and it also makes me incredibly sad for him. “Does she know about you? About your past?”

  He shakes his head. “You’re the only one I’ve ever told that story to. She’s not stupid; she knows I’m not from Vegas. But she never cared. She never asked anything of me. Before you, with her was the only place I felt safe.”

  Oh God, my heart. I don’t know how much more of this it can take. In a shaking voice, I say, “I can’t compete with that, A.J.”

  “You don’t have to, baby. There’s no competition; all of me belongs to you. It has from the very beginning.”

  He kisses me again, hungrily, his hard body pressed against mine. I break away just long enough to say, “I never want to see her again! Promise me you’ll never talk to her again!”

  Against my mouth, he promises, “Never. Never. You’re the only one I need.”

  I cling to his shoulders as he lifts me up onto the sink counter. His hands slip under my dress, pushing the fabric up my thighs. He pulls my panties down, and drops them to the floor.

  “Yes,” I groan when he slides his fingers inside me. I need this. I need him. I’m going out of my mind. Beyond the locked door, the party rages; the bass from loud music pulses through the walls.

  I fumble with his belt buckle, yanking at it until it comes undone. Tearing at the fly of his pants, I manage with my shaking hands to free his erection. He moans when I curl my fingers around it.

  He pulls my head back with a hand fisted in my hair. “On your belly, baby.” His voice is husky with need; he flips me over and pushes up my dress, exposing my bare behind.

  I watch him in the mirror as he stares down at my body. I see the overwhelming desire in his gaze, and it calms me, as well as excites me. It only takes him a moment to don the condom he pulls from his wallet. Then he positions himself between my spread legs, and eases his hard cock inside my wetness.

  In the mirror, our gazes lock. Holding on to my hair with one hand and my hip with the other, he starts to fuck me from behind.

  Someone tries the door handle. We ignore it, consumed by watching each other, the heat building hotter and hotter with every stroke of his beautiful, rigid cock.

  Through the door comes an aggravated shout. “Oy! Anybody in there!”

  A.J. growls, “Go away or lose your fucking head!”

  He thrusts harder. I moan brokenly, my palms flattened against the mirror so I can push back against him as he thrusts.

  From outside the door comes laughter. “Get it, brother!” There are two short, approving raps on the door, then nothing but the music and the sound of the party.

  A.J. moves his hand from my hip to down between my legs. His fingers expertly stroke me, sliding over and around my throbbing nub until my whole body quakes with pleasure and I’m so wet I feel it slipping down my thighs. He quickly brings me to two orgasms before he finally lets himself go.

  As he shudders and moans, I rest my cheek against the cool tile, close my eyes, and pray that’s the last we’ve seen of the woman who used to be A.J.’s only friend.

  Unfortunately, it won’t be. And if I thought I knew what pain was before, the two of them will soon give me an education in pain that will last me a lifetime.

  “Honestly, Chloe, it’s time I met this young man. You’ve been living with him for two months, for goodness’ sake! When Bunny asked me the other day at the club how you were doing, I had absolutely nothing to say, did I? I don’t even know his last name!”

  My mother. Within minutes of calling the shop, she’s in harassment mode. I smile to myself. Not even Mommy Dearest can knock me off my high.

  It’s been a few weeks since the Memorial Day party, and everything in my world is about as perfect as it can be. We haven’t seen or heard from Eric—he didn’t press charges against A.J.—and Heavenly feels like a distant memory. Best of all, everything between A.J. and me has been great. As in, amazingly great.

  As in, I’m so in love with that man it seems like a dream come true.

  “His last name is Edwards, mother, which I’m sure Dad has told you on more than one occasion. And you’ll meet him at the wedding. I’m not ready to release the hounds on him just yet.”

  She makes a sound like she’s deeply insulted, which I know is manufactured strictly for guilt-inducing purposes. We both know what A.J. would be subjected to if my mother gets him alone. When she gets him alone; I can already picture the scene at the wedding. I feel sorry for him in advance.

  Lucky for us, my father is on our side. He and A.J. have spoken several times on my burner phone, and I get the feeling they like each other, though neither one admits it out loud.

  Men.

  “So if it wasn’t for Kat having the good manners to invite us to the wedding, we’d never meet him?”

  “Let’s not get carried away on the exaggeration train, mother.”

  My parents have known Kat for years, since we went to high school together. Her mother was sick all through high school, and died our senior year, so Kat spent a lot of time at my house. My parents are like her godparents, so of course they were invited to the wedding. My brother, too. It’s just over two months away; I can’t believe how fast time is flying by. Grace and I haven’t even planned what we’re going to do for Kat’s bachelorette party yet.

  “Well, James had a few good things to say about him, anyway,” she admits grudgingly.

  I perk up at that. “Really? Like what?”

  There’s a fraught beat of silence. “He says he can tell this young man really cares for you. He thinks you’re safe with him.” She exhales heavily. “And after what you’ve been through, that’s all that really matters to your father and me.”

  I’m touched. “Thanks, Mom. And I agree with Jamie on both counts. In fact . . . I can’t remember ever being this happy.”

  Is that a sniffle I hear? No. Impossible. My mother isn’t sentimental in the least.

  “I’m glad you’ve kept your apartment anyway, Chloe. That’s very sensible of you. Just in case.”

  I scowl. I’ve only kept my apartment because I signed a contract, which isn’t even close to being up. If I walk away from it I’ll get hit with a lawsuit, so it’s been sitting empty, gathering dust. My mother must sense the storm clouds building, because she quickly changes the subject.

  “How’s work?”

  I nearly fall off my chair in shock. “Um . . . great, actually. Thanks for asking. Kat’s mentioned a few things about the wedding on social media that have been really great for Fleuret. I’ve picked up three big new clients this week alone.”

  There’s a small pause, then my mother quietly says, “Your father and I are very proud of you, Chloe. I know we don’t tell you enough, but we are. And we love you.”

  Now I’m completely blown away. I wonder if she’s been drinking. “I love you, too, Mom.”

  The bell on my shop door jingles, indicating someone’s come in. I’ve been expecting Kat and Nico; today I’m showing them the samples of their dining table centerpieces.

  I look at the clock, wondering why A.J. isn’t here yet. He confirmed just this morning he’d be here, and h
e’s not one to be late. He said he had a meeting with his manager at ten o’clock, but that was hours ago. A twinge of worry pinches my stomach, but I push it aside.

  “Gotta go, Mom. I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

  I hear the sound of a kiss through the phone. “Take care of yourself, darling.”

  “I will. Bye.”

  When we hang up, I cross my fingers that Nico and Kat will like their samples. Trina and I spent all morning setting up two square banquet tables in the shop so they could see how the final table setup would look at the wedding. I’ve rented linens, silver, and glassware, and have set the tables for eight guests, mimicking the setup for the reception. In the center of one table is the low arrangement we’ll be using, with the tall, dramatic arrangement on the other. They’re alternating tall and low for the reception tables, which is one of my favorite designs for a large party. It gives the room more visual interest than just a sea of tall arrangements, which can easily look overdone.

  I hurry to the front, where I find Nico, Kat, Grace, Kenji, a stout, fortyish blonde named Jennifer, who’s the wedding coordinator, and Brody Scott, aka “Scotty,” the lead guitarist for Bad Habit and one of Nico’s groomsmen, standing in a semicircle around the display table with the tall arrangement.

  Jennifer is snapping pictures of the arrangements on her iPhone. She looks impressed.

  Grace is fingering the linens. She also looks impressed.

  Kat is staring at the flowers with her hand over her mouth. She looks like she might cry. When she sees me, she says in a trembling voice, “Holy fucking shit, Chloe. I can’t even . . .” She bursts into tears.

  Nico puts his arm around her, pulls her against his chest, and smiles at me. “She loves it, darlin’. So do I. You’ve outdone yourself.”

  Flooded with relief, I beam. I’ve been stressing about this moment for a week. “Really?”

  Brody is looking at the flowers like they’ve just arrived from outer space. I think he must hate them, but then he asks, “Where’d you get peonies in June?”