by Lauren Rowe
I rub my temple. Gah. I feel like there’s a jackhammer pounding inside my head. Holy fuck buckets. I’m never going to do shots again. On my next tour—if I have a next tour—I won’t give a damn how many people say, “Come on, AC! Aloha Carmichael not getting shitfaced on opening night will curse the entire tour!”
I stumble out of bed and into the other room, desperately searching for a bottle of water. And, much to my relief, I find Zander fast asleep on the couch. The man is shirtless and covered in a white blanket just below his nipples. His bulging arms are absolutely insane and covered in sexy tattoos. His dark shoulders are muscular and broad and drool-inducing. I swear, every time I see this man, I want to climb him like a tree. It’s not normal how much I want to hurl myself at Zander Shaw. Cleave my body to his hulking frame. Press my flesh against his and grind into him and then kiss, kiss, kiss his sexy, full lips... until, finally, riding his cock like he’s a rodeo bull.
Zander’s pants are slung over a nearby chair. Which means he’s either completely naked underneath that white blanket or he’s wearing nothing but his skivvies. Oh, how I wish I were the kind of pervert who’d shamelessly peek underneath a sleeping man’s blanket to find out if he’s a boxers, briefs, or commando kind of guy. But, alas, I’m not.
I grab a bottle of water and guzzle it down and then stand over Zander and gaze at his striking features in repose. Soon, my mind wanders to last night, to that electric moment when I was clinging to Zander like a monkey, and my lips were mere inches from his, and I truly thought he was on the verge of leaning forward and giving me the kiss of a lifetime. If my friends hadn’t pulled me away to do shots just then, would Zander have thrown caution to the wind and claimed my lips with his?
Zander’s phone on the coffee table silently lights up with an incoming text, drawing my attention. It’s a text from someone identified as “Captain”... a name I find vaguely familiar, though I can’t quite place it... and, much to my shock, my name appears in the preview pane of the message.
Well, fuck, Z. Apparently, Aloha doesn’t mean hello and goodbye to the Great Zander Shaw. It means nuttin but “helloooooo, baby!” Ha! I figured you’d dive head first into that particular honeypot like Winnie the Pooh on a starvation diet, but I never thought you’d do it on...
Holy crap. My heart racing, I grab Zander’s hand, gently press the pad of his thumb against the thumb-reader on his phone, and head straight to Captain’s full message.
Well, fuck, Z. Apparently, Aloha doesn’t mean hello and goodbye to the Great Zander Shaw. It means nuttin but “helloooooo, baby!” Ha! I figured you’d dive head first into that particular honeypot like Winnie the Pooh on a starvation diet, but I never thought you’d do it on your first day on the job! Dax said your boss declared the pop star off-limits. Are you playing with fire here, son? If so—and if you wind up getting axed for being her boy toy—I’m guessing it was well worth it. Surely, you blew her mind with The Sure Thing and all the other assorted nifty tricks only we five sex gods know. If not, shame on you. But either way, given the well-known connection between your dick and heart, I’m assuming I’ll be taking my beautiful wife out to dinner at her favorite restaurant tonight with my share of the winnings. All I need is for Judge Peen to issue his official ruling on the bet and I’ll be up to my eyeballs in Argentinian BBQ. Thanks for being predictable, Z! That’s why we all love you the most, sucka!
I look up from Zander’s phone, my mind and heart racing in equal measure. Okay, first things first: this Captain guy is clearly one of Keane’s brothers. Yes, now that I think about it, I’m positive “Captain” was one of the nicknames Keane mentioned. So, okay... Zander and this Captain Morgan guy bet Dax and Keane that Zander would fuck me. And now Zander has them all convinced he accomplished the task. But what did Captain mean he needs Keane to issue an “official ruling” on the bet? An official ruling about what?
I scroll through Zander’s inbox, searching for anything more about this douchey bet, and stop on a dime when I stumble upon an exchange between Zander and Barry from earlier this morning.
I read both men’s texts, gasping the whole time. Well, now I know why Barry is sleeping in an armchair in the bedroom. And I also know why I’ve awakened to find my beloved Big Barry sleeping in a chair countless times after I’ve been a hot mess the night before. My God, Barry is the sweetest man, ever. And so is Zander, too, for the way he so diligently took care of me after the party. No, wait. What am I thinking? Zander’s not a sweet man! He’s a douche who bet his friends he’d fuck me and then lied to them and said he did it!
Just as I’m about to dive back into Zander’s texts to search for more clues regarding the bet, a new message lands on Zander’s screen—this one from someone named Cheese. And, yet again, I glimpse my name in the preview pane of the guy’s message! My heart medically palpitating, I swipe into the full message and read:
Day ONE, Z? Come on, man! I know Aloha is beautiful and a superstar, but you couldn’t have held off for a month and a day? I had month TWO, you fuckwad! Which, BTW, I only picked because Dax told us your boss designated her OL. Was Dax wrong about that or are you making mincemeat of the rules, Z? Also, I cry foul! Dax only told us Aloha is the female Peen AFTER all bets were placed! If I’d known that little nugget before pledging my Benjamin, I’d have bet month one like Captain. Maybe even HOUR one. As it stands now, I’m gonna have to listen to my brother go on and on until the end of time about how he won and I lost and he’s a winner and I’m a loser. Thanks for nuttin, Z. My only solace is knowing you lost, too. I hope you’re still employed, boy toy, but if not, I’m guessing it was hella worth it! #stud
I look up from my screen, utterly confused. Another Morgan brother who thinks Zander had sex with me... but this one assumes that means Zander lost the bet? How would that make any sense? Don’t douchebags who bet their friends they’ll bang a girl win the bet when they supposedly bang said girl?
I scroll again, looking for answers to this bizarre riddle, and come upon a series of rapid-fire texts from “Peenie” to Zander:
Well, that was quick! Less than a full day and the pop star is already publicly declaring, with video proof, that you’re her boy toy? Ha! I knew fuckery would soon be afoot when I saw the way you and the pop star were eyeball-fucking each other at Reed’s. Talk about two people with little boners in their eyes! But, even so, I thought you’d at least hold off a couple weeks, just to fight the good fight. FYI, the one-monthers are already demanding I call the bet. Don’t worry, I told them I have to look into your eyes on FaceTime before issuing my official ruling, just in case this is a rare time where you’re able to separate fucking and feelings. But I gotta admit, given the hard video evidence (pun intended), it’s gonna be a tall order for me not to call the bet today, Z. Call me as soon as the world’s most famous boy toy comes up for air, so I can look into your baby browns and make my official determination. #MyWifeIsABoyToy #JudgePeenieRules #ZHasZeroImpulseControl
BTW, if you’re in lurve, as I’m guessing you are, then this girl is for sure gonna take the top spot on my list of Z’s Coolest Girlfriends. No offense, but D was boring as shit. Gorgeous but boring. #FuckYourBluesAway #AdiosD #ZIsMovingOn #AlohaIsTheKewlest
Bwahaha! I just realized Daphne is gonna see the video! Damn, I wish I could be a fly on that wall! #RevengeIsSweet #LookAtZNowBitch
OMFG! I just looked up the tour sched and saw it ends in NYC! Was that vid all part of an elaborate ruse cooked up by you and Haha to make D jealous and beg you to take her back in NYC? #MadGeniuses
Okay, there’s no way in hell that video was a ruse to make D jealous. I saw the way you and Haha looked at each other at the party and there was no rusing the lust in both your eyes. As we both know, when it comes to Zander Shaw, where there’s lust, there’s a 50-50 chance love will follow, so just do your best to keep your shit tight so you don’t get burned to a crisp by this fire, mmmkay? Of course, if you do get burned, I’ll be there to patch you up with bandages and aloe vera. You
know why? Because I love you the most! #HappyWifeHappyLife
#MyWifeCannotSeparateFuckingFromFeelings #ButThatIsWhyILoveHimTheMost #TenderHeart #NotAManwhore #PenisConnectedToHeart #MassivePenisAndEvenBiggerHeart #ThatIsWhyILoveYouTheMost
Just to clarify, I love you the most because of your massive HEART, not your massive PENIS. (Though, of course, your penis inspires awe and admiration.)
Call meeeeeeeeeeee! (But only when you’re done making Aloha see God multiple times in one sesh.) #CannotRushPerfection #DoNotCallMeWhileFuckingAloha #UnlessYouFeelYouMust #OkYeahCallMeWhileFuckingAloha
Okay, my future wife is making me stop drunk texting you now. She said I’m being a dick while you’re trying to get your dick on. Actually, no, that’s a lie. Maddy didn’t say anything even close to that. What she said was I need to stop being a dick and take off my clothes and bone the fuck outta her now. So I’m gonna listen to my woman and make like Zander Shaw now. #IWannaBeLikeZ #GonnaBoneMaddyNow #InspiredByZ #ZsDickIsMyInspiration #ZsDickShouldWriteInspirationalLiterature
Surely, Keane’s hilarious and oddly endearing texts would be making me smile right now if I weren’t losing my mind about whatever video he keeps referring to. There’s video “proof” that I had sex with Zander? Did he record me drunkenly babbling at the party about how much I wanted to bone him? And did he then text the video to his best friends with a note that said “Mission accomplished!”? But then why would Daphne presumably see it? Did this fucker text the video to Daphne? Or, holy fuck, post it to social media? Hardly breathing, I scroll through Zander’s inbox again, looking for more references to the video, and stop dead in my tracks when I see two unread texts from none other than... Daphne.
Wow, Z. For a guy who said he was in love with me mere days ago, you’ve sure moved on in record speed. And with Aloha Carmichael?! I am shooketh. Did you fall in love with her at first sight, the same way you supposedly fell for me, or are you really her boy toy, like she said? Either way, I never would have believed you could move on quite this fast. Congrats, I guess.
Oh, for the love of fuck! Daphne’s seen this supposed “video proof” that Zander and I had sex? A video in which, apparently, I called Zander my boy toy? Did Zander personally send Daphne this video to make her jealous? My mind racing, I read Daphne’s second text to Zander, this one time-stamped about four minutes after the first:
It’s not that I didn’t love you, Z. I did and still do. Everything I said to you the night we broke up was the truth. You’re amazing. Sweet. Funny. And sex with you was mind-blowing, as you well know. Like I told you when we broke up, you were the perfect boyfriend. But that was the problem. I knew if I kept going with you, my future would be written in ink. And I’m not ready for ink yet. Not even close. Would you call me, please? I can’t express everything over text. I’m just so... shocked. I always thought we’d end up together one day when the timing was right for me. And now you’re with Aloha Carmichael? I can’t believe it. Call me.
Oh my God, that bitch! When the timing is right for her? So she’s just gonna keep her hooks firmly lodged in poor, sweet Zander’s heart until she’s ready to claim him for good... whenever it suits her? I hate her. I want to reach through Zander’s phone and throat-punch her! Zander is the sweetest, sexiest, cutest guy ever, and she—
Wait.
No.
The video.
The bet.
Clearly, Zander isn’t as sweet as he seems.
I open Zander’s Instagram app. No video there. So I open Zander’s browser and search my name and... bingo. There it is. Everywhere. A video uploaded by TMZ this morning for which the frozen screen shot is Zander carrying me into this very hotel.
I sit on the edge of the couch next to Zander’s legs and watch the clip, which begins with me calling Zander my “boy toy” and ends with me replying, when asked if I’m heading upstairs to have sex with Zander: “Sex is most definitely the plan! And it’s gonna be soooo gooood!”
Oh, boy.
I nudge Zander’s legs. “Hey, Mr. Bodyguard. Wake up.”
A couple more nudges, and Zander opens his eyes. “What time is it?” He rubs his face. “How are you feeling?”
“Just after noon and shitty. But my headache and sour stomach will pass. You know what won’t pass, though? At least not for a solid fifteen minutes, according to Andy Warhol? Your fame, boy toy.”
“Huh?”
“You’re famous, Z.” I hand Zander his phone with the video cued up. “It seems I ran my mouth off a bit as you carried me into the hotel this morning. Whoops. Sorry.”
Chapter 17
Aloha
Zander looks up from the TMZ video, looking utterly annoyed. “I told you not to talk to that paparazzi guy.”
“Yeah, I probably should have mentioned: I’m kind of a loose cannon when I drink. Also, a fame-whoring dipshit. Oh, and, quite frequently, a big ol’ flirt.”
Zander plops his phone onto the coffee table, sits up onto his elbow, and rubs his eyes again—and the blanket covering his wide chest slips down to reveal an eye-popping upper torso and the top of what promises to be a truly ridiculous set of abs. “Nothing happened between us, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
I roll my eyes. “No, I wasn’t wondering. I don’t think for a second you’re the kind of guy who’d take advantage of a shitfaced, unconscious woman. Also, I’m pretty sure I’d know it if a penis had recently penetrated me, particularly a ‘massive’ one attached to an extremely muscular six-foot-whatever black man.”
“Six-foot-four. And why the air quotes on the word ‘massive’? Was that sarcasm?”
“Uh, no. I have full faith in the sincere massiveness of your penis, Zander. The air quotes were because I was quoting your ‘wifey.’”
“Oh, Jesus.” Zander shifts his position and the blanket falls even farther down his torso, revealing the most spectacular set of abs I’ve ever seen... plus, a little something-something extra: a jaw-dropping rod poking straight up from behind the white blanket. When Zander notices the trajectory of my gaze, he glances down, sees his tent pole, and quickly covers his hard-on with his forearm. “Keane told you I have a ‘massive’ dick?”
“No, Keane didn’t say it to me. He said it to you. In a text. Specifically, in one of the many texts I secretly peeked at on your phone while you were impersonating Sleeping Beauty.”
“Aloha.”
“Sorry. But not really.”
“How’d you get into my phone?”
“I brilliantly pressed your thumb against the thumb-reader while you were sleeping.”
He shakes his head.
“You should thank me for being so considerate. You were sleeping peacefully and I didn’t want to wake you to ask permission to hack into your phone.”
“Okay, let’s set this as a boundary right now: hacking into my phone is emphatically not allowed.”
“Oh, cool your jets, Zandy Man. You’re in no position to chastise me after you committed a far more egregious crime.” I lean forward over Zander’s legs on the couch and narrow my eyes. “I know about the bet. I know you bet your friends you’d fuck me by the end of the tour—and that they’re all convinced you’ve done it, thanks to that stupid video.”
To my surprise, Zander doesn’t look the least bit like a guilty man. Just an exasperated one. “I didn’t bet my friends I’d fuck you.”
“You might want to read the million or so texts on your phone before serving me a steaming pile of cow dung and swearing it’s chocolate mousse in a crystal parfait cup.”
Rolling his eyes, Zander grabs his phone from the coffee table, lies back—keeping his forearm firmly covering his bulge, I notice—and begins reading his recent texts. But, quickly, he looks up, mortified. “You’re totally misinterpreting these texts. I can explain everything.”
“Read first, ‘explain everything’ second.”
Zander returns to his phone and reads for quite a while, muttering things like “Oh, Jesus,” and “Fucking Morgans” as he
does. Finally, he lowers his phone and exhales. “I know this looks bad, but—”
“Just tell me this: Did you, or did you not, bet the Morgan brothers you’d fuck me?”
“I did not. Swear to God, the bet isn’t about sex.”
“I’ve read the texts, Zander. There’s no point in lying to me.”
“I’m not lying.”
“What’s the bet about, then?”
He sighs. “I need to tell you how the whole thing unfolded or else you won’t believe me.”
I lean back against his legs and cross my arms. “I’m listening.”
Zander rubs his forehead. “The whole thing came about Monday night—right before you texted me. I was hanging out, drinking whiskey and smoking weed and talking shit with my boys—Keane, Dax, Fish, and Colin—right after getting back from getting this job. So Fish started playing your music videos on a big-screen TV and going on and on about how hot you are. And that led to someone saying there’s no way I was gonna be able to resist making a move on you at some point during the tour. So I said ‘No, no, it’s never gonna happen, guys.’ And then someone goes—”
“Stop. Wait. Why’d you say that?”