Bona Fide (Illusive Duet Book 2)

by Hazel Grace

  Placing it between my own lips, I take a hit, letting the nicotine hit my lungs and restore them to start working properly again. Exhaling, I slam the end into her napkin, smothering it out.

  “I don’t know, Sox, you tell me.” I rise from my stool. “I suggest you smoke the bitch out of you before it causes you to lose everything.”

  Then I leave her sitting in the bar alone, in the midst of men and single fucks who’ll circle her like a fresh piece of meat.

  She wants to fuck to forget, let her.

  I’m already doing it.

  ♫ Passionfruit — Drake ♫

  The wedding went better than I could’ve imagined. Everything that Layla wanted to happen went off without a hitch. Again, the easiest event I’ve done on such short notice.

  But on the flip side of this transaction, my life is being flipped upside down on a “vacation” that I was hoping would rid myself of any extra stress or problems. Where I could let my hair down, bask in the sun, and not continuously glance over at Wade Lockwood in his khaki pants, white dress shirt, and coral suspenders.

  I could choke him to death for how the man can look like a damn god and never suffer the consequences for his actions.

  Tumbler in hand, he laughs with Chase as the music around us plays on the beach in all his spotless splendor. His white dress shirt is filled out by his broad chest, and his pants leave nothing to my imagination because I’ve already been there and fucking done that. The hundreds of strings of lights that are hung by rope and wooden rods in the sand only make him stand out more to me.

  I can never keep my gaze off him for too long.

  It’s almost impossible for me not to notice him because my heart longed for him a long time ago. Over three hundred and sixty-five days worth of self-loathing over how I can’t just drop this fool and become whole again. How pathetic it was that nothing can blur out the memories, the words that were spoken, or the feelings I let flourish into thoughts of a future.

  My self-destruction backfired because not even a month after I sent him that video of Grant, Jed, and I, I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror. Besides Wade’s lies, the reflection that stared back at me was becoming an enemy I couldn’t off because—well, I’d be killing myself.

  And since suicide wasn’t something I had the balls to do nor did I ever want to throw Mama and Marty through something that horrific, I continue to watch the power that oozes off his body. His facial hair is more full around his jawline, making him appear more knowledgeable and worldly.

  It doesn’t help that we’re forced into this small gathering with the intimate feel of romance and love. All this lovey-dovey stuff makes me want to play the angriest rock song that ever existed and point accusingly at him.

  I rake a hand down my face—this is what my life has come to.

  A shit show of fun, giggles, and thoughts of choking out a specific man even after a year of having no contact with him.

  “Never been to Mexico,” a male voice states matter-of-factly at my side. “It’ll definitely be something I’d like to do again.”

  I glance over my shoulder to see a guy my height in heels, sending me a grin over the rim of his martini glass. Short blonde hair, green eyes, and a slightly crooked nose, my sinister little mind already starts mapping out scenarios in my head.

  “It’s amazing,” I answer mindlessly, steering my attention back in the direction of my inner turmoil.

  Wade is speaking to Chase and Layla, casually enjoying their conversation and oblivious to the inner workings of my head.

  When is enough, enough, Lockwood?

  Another scheme to get me somewhere near him. First hiring me to run his events, knowing who I was before he hired me. Now, this.

  “Had you ever been before?”

  I shake my head and return my attention to the stranger now standing at my side. “Never.”

  “It’s amazing how days turn into years, and by the time you know it, you’re thirty-two, and looking at a passport with no stamps.”

  “Right.” I bob my head in agreement, not giving two shits about this conversation and about ready to just leave.

  I wonder how close I can get to Wade’s head with my glass?

  Except for the few men dressed in all black surrounding the area, that I’ve seen, alluding that they are Wade’s Secret Service makes me wonder how quickly they move.

  I mean, he is our president, I should make sure that at any given moment of time that they are on the ready. Which means rushing him with one of the dinner knives is out of the question.

  Thankfully, Wade has been ignoring me the whole night as I’ve been sulking behind the small crowds. Mila has been dancing with one of the groomsmen all night, laughing and flirting. She looks beautiful in a light pink gown that hugs her chest and falls aimlessly to the inserted dance floor.

  The wedding guests are quiet and respectful, having a good time on their own, and I think the babysitter—me—is going to go find someone with some weed or drink myself to death at the bar. I literally can’t stand being here another minute with Wade so close to me.

  “Where are you from?” the oblivious dude next to me asks.

  “Connect—New York.”

  “I get to go there often for business. Where in—”

  “Somewhere I’m sure you won’t have a shot at, Wilson,” Wade grumbles behind me. My eyes snap to the spot he was just standing in two minutes ago before pivoting on my heels to look at him.

  Instead of landing his glare on my new friend, it’s directed at me. A special little thing we’ve had going on for the last twenty-four hours that we’ve been here.

  “Mr. President,” Wilson beams, completely shoving aside that Wade just insulted him and subtly told him to fuck off. “I’ve been waiting for a chance to meet you.”

  “Write your questions down and I’ll be more than happy to talk to you about them over brunch tomorrow.”

  Geezus. Asshole.

  “Yeah…that sounds great.” A wave of black suits surround us, and Wade takes a step closer to me.

  “Will you excuse us, Miss Shelton and I have some things to discuss about tomorrow.” I think he’s going to manhandle me and pull me away, but he lets his men herd me away like a sheep from Wilson, not even giving me the option of sending him away with a “peace out” or “so nice having a basic conversation with you”.

  Up the white steps towards the lobby, Wade comes to a stop at the top.

  “That’ll be all,” he voices as I come up to stand next to him. They immediately step back to their original posts, leaving me to fend off another roadblock. “Would you like to go somewhere else, Miss Shelton?” I can feel his eyes looking down on me, but I dare not look up.

  Why bother?

  He’s only going to keep his scowl glued to his face, and I’ve seen that enough for me to cherish them for lifetimes to come.

  “The whole point, Governor, was to get away from everyone. And by everyone, that includes you too.” He gestures with his hand for me to go ahead, and I do, striding through the lobby of the resort with a rush in my step.

  Taking a left to go down to my room, that pesky, amazing smelling cologne follows me.

  I know better. I’m aware of the bullshit actions that Wade Lockwood demonstrates to his enemies.

  And that group of people—that includes me now.

  However, I’m not intimidated by his title, the career he built for himself, or the things he’s done to get there.

  I’m threatened by the way he makes me feel. A mixture of affection and loathing. A variety of emotions that never die but age because they’re filled with self-loathing on my part and regret on his.

  Door, meet face.

  The President of the United States’s face.

  You’ll never get that opportunity again.

  With my key card, I quickly get it to open just for his hand to make sure my original and the first-thing-he-probably-thought-I-would-do plan doesn’t work.

  I spin around
to lay into him, but his hand lands on my stomach as he shoves me back so he can close the door behind him.

  In the dark, only the moonlight that’s been cast over by a cloud fills the room. My back hits the wall, but Wade doesn’t step into all of my space yet, just some of it. Enough for my breathing to start performing erratically.

  “Do you know what today is, Miss Shelton?” he solicits casually, his silhouette filling out like a monster that shows up out of your closet, making a sudden sound that sends prickles of goosebumps up your spine.

  I stare into his chest. “The day you get fucked?” A deep chuckle resonates in his chest as his hand comes up to the wall right beside my face.

  “Not today,” he objects. “Today is the day of an anniversary.”

  “A what?” My brows descend, keeping my palms planted on the walls so that they don’t leave a mark on him to have to explain later.

  We don’t need good ‘ole Wilson making up stories. I’ve played the main character in one too many of those.

  “Do you remember what I said in my penthouse on New Year’s?”

  “No.” He pushes a piece of my hair away from my shoulder with his other hand, and I suck in a silent intake of air.

  Push. Him. Away.

  “Today is the anniversary of the day you marched into my office,” he drones. “Wearing a pink romper and lipstick that made your lips more fuckable and—”

  “Get to the point,” I snap, my fingers curling into fists.

  “You stomped in like a brat and asked me to book some stupid-ass kid for a birthday party.”

  “I stomped into your office a lot,” I retort.

  And I kissed you that day.

  “But there was something different about it. You pulled the lapels of my jacket.” He grabs the fabric of my dress near my rib cage, pulling me from the safety of the wall, and inches me closer. “And told me not to sell myself short.”

  His chest sweeps against my breast as he tucks his chin down so he can still look at me. I softly punch the wall with my hands to keep my emotions at bay. To keep any good feelings out of this because he burned them a long time ago.

  “On New Year’s I told you that for every anniversary of the first day we met, the first time I saw you, the first kiss we ever had…” The hand still resting on the wall comes around to grip my jaw from underneath my chin. “I’d need a kiss from you. And I’m back, baby.”

  He leans forward, his mouth only a few inches away from mine. Taunting and alluring, all it would take is one tip of my toes and we’d be there again. Molded together so perfectly that it’s a fucking shame that nothing else worked out.

  And I won’t try again.

  I can’t.

  I open my mouth to tell him that I don’t care what he said. That I’m not at his beck and call for whenever he wants to summon me.

  That we were over before we began. I think that’s what eats at me the most. Your mind can dream up scenarios, mine does a lot because I’m always trying to imagine different ways to improve an event or something else I can bring to the table. It’s also half the shit that brought me practically to my knees when everything went down.

  Demi.

  Mama.

  Chase.

  “Wade,” I utter. “I’m not—”

  “Available?” His tone isn’t menacing or filled with the revulsion that he had for me yesterday. This time it’s cool, collected, and fucking staged.

  “Doesn’t—”

  “Are you Jed Hardison’s now?” He cocks his head, allowing him the space to nustle his face into the crook of my neck. “Thought you’d rip him to pieces by now, Shelton.”

  Almost there, don’t worry your pretty head about that.

  “Or did you go back to that pretty boy, Grant?”

  “I—” His lips clasp around the responsive part of my neck. The one that he knows makes my eyes roll back in my head and my body go lax in his hold.

  That’s the problem with knowing someone too well. He knows how to press each and every single one of my buttons. The shiny red one to piss me off. The royal blue that makes me smile. The black one where I have threesomes with his mortal enemies and shamefully try to gouge it out of my brain.

  But then there is the purple button, the color of my eyes and the depths to my soul. The single preset that he knows where to push, touch, and prod to get what he wants.

  And I have a funny and sober-sided inkling that Wade Lockwood might want me on my knees to repent for the sins I’ve committed against him.

  The very tip of his tongue trails a path up the nape of my neck, drawing every ounce of self-restraint and Wonder Woman powers that I possess to just dissipate into thin air. I never discovered a cure for Wade. No amount of dick, muscles, sweet words, and men with potential tore him from being something I still think about every day.

  He’s literally on a billboard two blocks away from my apartment.

  “Or is there someone else?” he presses gently, the hint of his fingertips grazing down my sides. “Someone that is almost as good as me.”

  “What do you want, Lockwood?” I might as well just shut up because his name is a breathy, lustful gathering of shit I didn’t want to sound like.

  “Isn’t it obvious?”

  Um, no. Hence why I’m fucking asking.

  “You.” The scoff that freely leaks from my lips is a mask of confidence.

  I’m not talking about what I did. It’s bad enough that I let things go too long with Jed. He was a soft heart, a hopeful romantic, I know all of this. Except I needed him to fill a void when I was in Connecticut that wasn’t Wade and his last name signed as Lockwood.

  Jed was my pawn, my escape, the man I was going to hurt again, and he refuses to see the telltale signs that I lay out for him. I know my next step, just blurting it out, but I wanted to remain friends. I still wanted something in my life that was home and not memories caked in heartache and bitterness.

  “I’m not for sale,” I bite out.

  “Who said anything about buying? I already know you give out for free when the Hardison’s are around. Who knows—” My palms find his chest, and I shove him back as hard as I can. He goes backward, but I go with him, his braced fingers still gripping my dress.

  “Still so angry,” he croons, brushing the back of his hand over my cheek. “I have a solution for that.” He can’t see me that well in the dark, but I hit him with a glare.

  “What, your dick?”

  “I’ve outgrown you and, no. I want your truth.”

  “My what?” He backs me into the wall again, tightly grasping my chin and taking my bottom lip between his. His teeth bite down into my tender flesh as he tugs my mouth wider, just to slide his tongue inside.

  His scent fills my nostrils as it takes everything in me to suppress a moan of pleasure. To reach out and stroke his cock because I want him.

  I. Will. Always. Want. Him.

  And I hate myself for it.

  Hate my body for it.

  It betrayed me a long time ago as Wade did some conspiracy theory that I’m still trying to solve and decipher.

  My pussy clenches in need, begging for him to touch it. For his large hands to trail from my ribs and give me some sort of release so that I can be rid of some of the animosity in my body and brain.

  A sharp inhale sounds between us and it’s his—remembering. Recalling how I taste and melt into him. His cock stirs against my lower abdomen, mocking my hands to leave the wall.

  I won’t—I miss him, but I need to keep myself grounded and focused.

  Before I can even argue with myself to just let go and give in, he breaks our kiss, his staggered exhale mixed with mine. Frazzled, turned on, and wanting more—just like me.

  “You’re exactly the same,” he whispers. “But not.”

  “Leave me...alone,” I mutter.

  “Why?”

  “Because...”

  “Because you’ve found someone new.” There is no animosity in his words, which surpri
ses me. And even more so, his thumb grazes my jawline in affection or remembrance.

  “I haven’t spoken to you in over a year. I’m not—”

  “Not only did I have to watch you fuck two men a long time ago,” he proceeds flatly. “But you want to make it a thing apparently. If you were looking for praise on your performance, Miss Shelton, I’d be more than happy to write you a letter of recommendation on how weak your moans were and how limp you looked in Jed’s arms. Maybe the hot tub video was a sequel for me but—” I yank my face out of his palms.

  “What are you talking about? Why do you keep mentioning them?”

  “Was he that easy to forget?”

  “Who?”

  “Jed Hardison.”

  “What about him?”

  “I didn’t peg you for someone who denied things you’ve done,” he seizes. “Another sex tape in a hot tub, Sox..remember who I am.”

  “I didn’t videotape any—”

  “But you’re still fucking him,” he leers, his monotonic octave dripping down my body. “You never stopped. You continued to do it over and over again and for what? Because you need me erased from your head? Because you’re so fucking heartbroken over me that you need a—” I hit him in the bicep with my fist, needing him to stop. To not say what he’s going to say because that means he’ll see right through me. That he’s privy to how I operate and that the only reason I participated was to break myself from his hold on me.

  “Don’t pretend to know what I went through,” I fume. “You lied—about every fucking thing.”

  His shoulder lifts in the dark. “I left shit out.”

  “Important shit.” A tear suddenly hits my cheek, and I gasp at the surprise of it.

  I always told myself that I would never cry in front of him again. That he’d never know how it felt to be utterly and helplessly enraptured in my feelings towards the infamous man they called stoic and mercilessly handsome.

  It was like drowning and fighting to swim to the top just to be able to breathe again.

  To feel normal again.

  “Don’t get into your feelings about it, Shelton.” Wade readjusts his suspenders, always perfectly put together. Forever idyllic in the eyes of the American people because he never seemed bothered over worldly issues.