by Jess Bentley
And then we kissed.
Truthfully, that first kiss blew me away. The warmth of his breath on my cheek as he exhaled, leaning into me, eagerly tasting my lips… That sensation seared through me. I'd forgotten how wonderful it is to be kissed. I'd forgotten how delightful it is to want to be kissed.
And then when Emmet arrived, the confusion returned. I forced myself to remember that I was on a mission and reconstruct my defenses. Also, I had to reconstruct something of my ambition, even while every secret part of me was screaming that I should leave. My cover had been blown. The character I’d created to act out the fantasy was torpedoed to smithereens.
But I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t just give up on everything like that.
And so I forced myself find a way to salvage the story. I had to kiss Emmet as well so that the blogger could see us. That wasn't like me at all, kissing two different men within, say, years of each other. And that aroused something different in me: a feeling of power. The realization that I could actually do this. They were actually going to let me.
They both wanted me.
My eyes scan the transcription, and I scroll through page after page, replaying every scene in my mind as I read through them again. From time to time I add more notes, but I find myself eager to get to the next meeting, the next conversation.
I realize quickly that there's quite a lot of material here. I execute the keystrokes for the word count tool and my mouth drops open. I have a hundred thousand words already. That's a novel, a really long novel.
I sit back in the chair, knuckling my chin and chewing on my bottom lip. Did I really write a novel? In three weeks? How the hell did I find the time, in between acrobatic bouts of the kind of sex regular people would never even consider?
But really, I've stolen every moment that I could, dictated everything that I remember into the app. I have been faithful, disciplined, dedicated.
Something else begins to occur to me too. It's my voice. It's me. This is the kind of writing that I wanted to do, the kind that Hannah told me was too difficult to sell. She is the one who nudged me off, forcing me to write those inane lifestyle pieces.
My eyes dart over the page, hungrily skipping ahead to the next juicy details. This is good. This is really good. This could be a perfectly steamy romance novel, if I just changed the names. A quick find and replace, and I could come up with a pen name in five minutes, I'm sure of it. I could self-publish it by tonight.
But I'm not going to do that.
This is my story. Our story. And the agreement was that I own this story. Every single word.
Can I really do it? I have got long passages in here describing the exact length and girth and texture of Emmet's beautiful cock. That sweetly rose-colored tip. The branching veins rolling under the skin. His balls, cupped tightly to his body, wreathing that beautiful shaft.
Oh boy. I wonder what he is going to think of this?
But I play the scene in my mind and realize he's going to love it. Dillon especially! He's going to adore my descriptions of his cum sliding between my tits, pooling in my belly button. He's going to absolutely love it. He may have to have it printed on a T-shirt.
Nearing the end of the document, I realize I'm almost up to today. So where does the story go? We’ve got the proposal coming up, with the spectacle of all of that. I'm sure it will be something, and a slow smile creeps across my face. Emmet has been very quiet about it, and I’m really excited to see what he's being so secretive about.
So what is my ending? Romance readers expect happy endings. Happily ever after, if at all possible. The characters are supposed to ride off into the sunset together, even if it's an unusual ride into the sunset, on three horses instead of just two.
Were supposed to make gooey declarations of forever at each other, passionately exclaim our love…
Oh, about that.
I scowl, wrinkling my nose. Love. Now there's a four letter word. I wonder if they've ever been in love. I wonder if I've ever been in love. Mark was my college boyfriend, but did I love him? I thought I did. We spent nearly all of our time together, applying to the same college and then walking around campus, holding hands smugly like we were relationship royalty.
I had that whole Promise Ring thing propping me up, the idea that my virginity was a shining jewel in a dingy sea of shattered glass, or so I had been told. Among all the other sullied college women, I rose gracefully above because I had a man who loved me and, to prove it, would not make love to me.
But when I found him with Camille, it all fell apart. They were in bed together, just two hulking, shuddering shapes under the blue blanket. They heard me drop my purse and poked out their sweaty, surprised faces.
So much for the noble love who respected me too much to defile my body. I guess he just thought I was a dead end chump, one who would give him the innocent Promise Ring Prince Charming reputation for just a little bit of his time in return. And a lot of his lies.
But after the initial shock, it was easy to let him go. It was like turning off a switch. If it was love, would it have been that easy to cast him aside?
And then Trevor… I must've loved him, because he changed everything. He's the reason I just gave up even trying. He was so charming, so believable. So earnest and unassuming… I believed every single word that he told me. I saw our future blooming in front of me like a wide-open landscape being illuminated quickly by a rising sun. I never even thought that I could see a horizon stretch out like that, see my future pushing out fast ahead of me like a thrown spear.
He too loved the idea of my virginity. He loved how special that made me, especially as I crept toward twenty-three, then twenty-four. He said he was satisfied just to cuddle. We talked about our future like it was a castle on a hill, complete with birds to carry my wedding train and angels to giggle around our eventual wedding bed.
So when he turned out to be a drug addict and a liar at a cellular level, it wasn't just a day-to-day relationship he took from me. He took the whole damn landscape, castle, fairies, and dwarves with him. The sun went out. In an instant, my whole future was scooped wholesale off the planet.
So that must have been love, because that was devastating.
So what do I see now? Do I see a future? Are Emmet and Dillon the kind of men I make plans with? Are these the kind of people I trust long enough to find out if the plans are for real? Because that's what love is, isn't it? Bliss today, but the promise of more bliss tomorrow too, right?
Slowly, I lift my hands off the laptop and snap the lid closed. I see the light blue of the screen flicker and go out.
I don't have an ending for the story it. I don't know what it is.
Chapter 37
Dillon
“Can open my eyes yet?” she asks, pursing her lips.
“Not yet,” I tell her. “Actually, you look kinda good like that. I might have to keep the blindfold for another time.”
She holds her arms out in front of her, wrist to wrist. “You know, these scenes usually involve a rope or handcuffs or something. You want to cuff me?”
“Yes!” Emmet answers. He leans forward, ready to take her delicate wrists in his hands.
“Both of you, knock it off,” I say seriously. “This is my show, and I’ll decide if this can be a bondage scene, okay? Are we agreed?”
She pouts, pushing out her lower lip far enough that I have the urge to rest my balls on it.
“Fine, whatever,” she sighs. “I thought this was all Emmet's plan anyway. What happened to that idea?"
“Well since I get to do the actual spectacle part, Dillon wanted to direct, shall we say.”
“I have always wanted to direct,” I nod. Then I remember she can't even see me.
And it's pretty sad, because I do look amazing.
Finally the car stops next to the bridge in the middle of downtown. The driver gets out and opens the door on the sidewalk side. People back away, startled, eager to see who’s emerging from the car. When they realize
it's Emmet first, I can hear the gasps of surprise and delight.
“Can I take the blindfold off yet? I’m going to fall flat on my face.”
“No you won't! Leave it on!” I declare. I get out of the car and take her hand in mine, carefully maneuvering her onto the sidewalk, doing my best to ignore everyone. People are pushing forward again, endangering our personal space. I'm starting to wonder if this was not my best theater direction after all.
And as we get closer to the steel structures of the bridge, I realize everyone is expecting it to happen right now. They're all filming us.
“Oh, geez… Nevermind,” I mumble and untie the bandage, safely stuffing it into my trousers for later. “Here we are!”
Bella looks around, momentarily confused. She manages not to make eye contact with any of the two dozen people who are actively filming her right now.
“So we are… back in front of your office?”
I can tell she's trying to be respectful, but this is not going as planned.
“Exactly!” I exclaim with a halfhearted flourish. “But in two days, the river will be pink!”
Her eyebrows go up. “Why would it be pink?” she asks, glancing at the muddy brown color it normally is.
“Because Emmet is going to dye it for you!” I announce, but as quietly as I can. I don’t want anybody else picking this up and posting it all over the place.
“Dillon, great idea, brother… But maybe we could talk about this someplace more private?” Emmet suggests, talking to me through gritted teeth to try to camouflage the movement of his lips. He looks meaningfully at everybody’s cell phones, and I suppose he's right. Maybe this grand walk-through wasn't such a great idea after all.
“Yeah… okay. Let's head over to the grill and get a room. We can talk about it more there,” I sigh, trying not to act as defeated as I feel.
“Shows over, everybody!” Emmet announces just before he gets back in the car. “Great to see you! Thanks so much!”
When we are back in the car, Bella reaches out and pats my knee sympathetically. “I bet that didn't go exactly the way you wanted it to,” she sighs. Strangely, I appreciate the gesture. “But I like the way that you started to describe it. Is there more?”
“Lots more!” I nod, excited over again. I scoot closer to her, absentmindedly sliding the palm of my hand over her kneecap. I love the way it fits so neatly in the hollow of my palm.
We arrive at the restaurant promptly and hurry inside. Once again there's a whole group of people waiting for us, as though they knew we were coming. Then again, celebrity watchers like to congregate in places like expensive restaurants, hoping to see people like us and so on. It's not unusual.
Once inside, the noise dies down and I realize how grateful I am for the relative quiet of the busy restaurant. The hostess takes us back to a private room and leaves us with a bottle of champagne and politely averted eyes.
“I don’t think I’m ever going to get used to this,” Bella muses as she settles into a chair that Emmet pulls out for her. “Everybody knows who you are, and they just automatically treat you like royalty. Right away! It's like you live in a whole different world.”
“What do you mean? You eat at restaurants like this all the time, don't you?” Emmet asks her, smiling curiously.
She rolls her eyes a little bit. “Yeah, but when I do it, I'm nobody. They give me a little bit of the benefit of the doubt, assuming I'm going to pay my bill. But that's it. Not like they know who I am when I first walk in and they think oooooh, big spender! I'm automatically on a probationary period.”
“Oh, I see what you mean,” Emmet nods. “And now you’ve tried it our way. Which is better?”
She seems to think about it for a while, seriously weighing the pros and cons of each.
“Your way is way better. Way, way better.”
“Are you sure about that?” I ask, suddenly curious. She's never talked about this before, but our different worlds must be a bit of adjustment. She's had her game face on more or less the whole time, but I see again the real Bella peeking through, like the sun poking through the clouds. But instead of immediately rushing away, she brightens even further.
“It is kind of strange, having people stare at me all the time,” she admits. “You probably have really different idea about privacy than I do. I first, I felt a little… I don’t even know what a good word would be. Assaulted? Insulted? Something like that anyway.”
“So then why would you want it this way?” Emmet asks gently.
She shrugs as though the answer is obvious. “Well, when I'm with you, I don't have anything to worry about. It feels okay. Like when we're together, there's an invisible shield around us, like a force field or something.”
She finishes with a chuckle, shaking her head. “This must sound ridiculous to you.”
But Emmet glances at me, and I know exactly what he's thinking. Safety. It's a rare thing for us. But we've noticed it too, or at least I have. Being with her feels like suddenly sailing into calmer waters. It does feel safe. And the way Emmet's looking at me, he feels it too.
I’m not sure this has ever happened before.
In just a little while, the server comes in with steaming plates of fresh seafood and filet mignon. The champagne bottle is replaced by a new bucket, and I watch with delight as Bella helps herself to a generous portion. The girl can eat. I like that. She's not shy about it.
“Pink river!” she muses as she spears a fat shrimp and bites cleanly through it. “You really do know how to throw a party, Dillon. What else is happening?”
I start to tell her, but then change my mind. I love that glitter in her eyes right now, when he knows that it's something, but she doesn't know what. Anticipation.
“You know what, why don’t we just let it be a surprise?”
Emmet raises his eyebrows at at me. “Okay, but, do I get to know what's happening? I'm sort of integral to the process, you know.”
I just shrug. “You will know when the time is right, brother. You'll know everything you need to know.”
They look at each other, mimicking each other's surprised, amazed expressions. “I guess we'll just have to wait and see!”
“Trust me, you are going to love it,” I assure them, sinking my teeth into a spicy, sweet mussel. “Only the best for you guys.”
Chapter 38
Emmet
Perez Hilton arrives in a limousine that swoops toward the curb at the underground dock. He emerges from the door, adjusting his sunglasses and looking around suspiciously as though he expects to be overtaken by a group of screaming fans.
But there aren't any.
While he readjusts his expectations to our relative privacy, I stride forward, holding out my hand in greeting.
He purses his lips thoughtfully and slides his hand against mine. “Mr. Riordan,” he smiles. “At long last.”
“Thank you so much for coming. It's great for you to make the time.”
I lead him down the short flight of concrete stairs to the floating dock on the river. Our other boat is here, not the sailboat but a thirty foot cruise liner that we sometimes use for dinner parties.
“Well isn't this nice!” he sighs, pulling himself up the railing and onto the boat. “You sure do know how to put on a show! Wait, is the river… pink?"
I smile and nod, walking up behind him with my arms crossed. There's a little bit of a breeze coming off the lake and I hope that Bella is wearing something warm enough. The days are starting to get cooler and the temperatures could drop suddenly, especially on the water.
“Yes, well, if they can dye the river green for St. Patrick's Day, the could certainly die the river my girlfriend’s favorite color for this, right?”
“Your girlfriend!” Perez repeats, his cheeks dimpling deeply. I'm not sure if I like this guy or not. I’m pretty sure he said some fairly crappy things about me, but then again that's his job. Still, he has enough reach that this fairytale should get a lot of good exposure.
“She is definitely a lucky girl.”
My phone buzzes in my pocket and I see I got a text from Dillon.
“They are pulling up now,” I mutter, rushing back off the boat and up the dock stairs. I'm excited to see her, my heart racing like a little boy. This really is pretty cool. I can't wait to see her face.
Dillon holds the door open for, taking her hand and helping her from the car. When she sees me, her eyes quickly look over my shoulder and scan the river, widening dramatically. Her lips form of perfect O of surprise.
Then she glances back at Dillon, winking at him and rolling her eyes as if to say, oh you shouldn't have.
She's wearing a blue dress that ties at the waist and has a waterfall of flowy fabric that swirls around her ankles. A shawl is knotted casually over her shoulders, and her hair is tucked into a secure style. She thought of everything from the temperature to the wind.
That's my girl.
“Your chariot awaits,” I smile, cursing myself for saying something so absolutely stupid right off the bat. I offer her my elbow and she takes it graciously, squeezing my bicep.
“I almost can't believe we’re doing this!” she whispers as I guide her down the stairs.
Me neither.
She shakes Perez’s hand and we get underway, gliding along the pink toned river, waving periodically to the throngs of onlookers who hang over the railings and wave and hoot at us. Dillon was right, this is a significant thing. There have to be three or four thousand people gathered on the bridge, like we are in a parade. But we are the only boat on the river, so this must be all for us.
“Champagne?” I hear Dillon ask behind me and the characteristic pop of the cork.
“Don't mind if I do,” Perez sighs, taking the first glass and practically chugging it before holding it out again for a refill immediately. “Oh my stars, that is good!”
I slide behind Bella, angling her and nudging her subtly toward the front of the boat. We don't really have to talk to Perez. Dillon can handle that. But Dillon told me that I needed her to be in position for the second part of our cruise.