Chore Play

by Piper Rayne

  “Marisol has kidney failure.” Saying the words out loud makes me feel nauseated.

  There’s silence for a beat and then, “Oh, man, what can I do?”

  “Give her a kidney.”

  He laughs but shuts his lips. “Give her a kidney?”

  “You’re a healthy male.” I toss the book on my desk.

  “Well…”

  “What do you want?” I ask. Clearly, he’s too chicken shit.

  “We’re setting up a couples’ get-together and figured maybe you and Quinn would want to join?”

  “Is this some sort of bullshit where we each bring something for a stupid potluck and play board games?” I’m with Quinn, but if I’m going to share her for a night it’s not going be playing Scrabble.

  “No, Layla got us reservations at the Chops. It’s the hot, new…”

  “Yeah, I know what it is. She’s got some good connections. We’re in.”

  “Okay, I’ll let them know. Next Saturday at nine.”

  “Perfect.”

  “All right, I’ll let you go. I’m really sorry, Jag, I hope this turns out for the best.”

  “Oh, I’ll make sure of it.”

  “If anyone can, it’s you.”

  “See you at softball practice.” I click the phone off, my mind everywhere but where it should be—work.

  Victoria walks in, a bunch of files in her hands. “Hey, boss man, I have to cut out early today.”

  “Sure.” I take the files from her hands and sit up straighter in my desk to look over the budget for one of my clients’ new films. They’re lowballing him and I can’t let the studio get away with it.

  “Really?” She doesn’t move from her position at the corner of my desk.

  “Yes, go.” I shoo her away with my hand.

  “Man, I’m liking this new Jagger.” She creeps backwards as though she’s afraid I’m going to stop her.

  “Hey.”

  She snaps her fingers. “I knew it was too good to be true.”

  “Have you ever thought of donating a kidney?” I look up, leaning back in my chair.

  “Um… are you dying? Is that why you’re being so nice?”

  I stare blankly, and she shrugs.

  “Would you donate a kidney to someone you don’t know?”

  Her forehead wrinkles. “Why are you asking me this?”

  I knot my fingers together in front of me. “Because I just want to know. I mean millions of people need a transplant and only so many people get one. Can you believe some people don’t even donate after death? I mean, get your shit together and save a life.”

  She holds her hand up and in all honesty, she should stop me. I might just be going crazy with the amount of research I’ve done in the past hour on kidney transplants and organ donation. The only decision I’m firm on is that Quinn will not be donating hers—on the off chance that she is a match.

  “Never mind.” I dig out the stash of cards I took from the transplant office and place them at the edge of my desk. “Put those in the break room on your way out?”

  She grabs the cards tentatively, reads them over and then plops down in the chair in front of me. “Seriously, are you dying? Is it your liver? I never thought you drank that much.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “You never even see me socially.”

  “You come in hungover a lot, so I figure you party hard, plus all the tabloid pictures.”

  She’s carrying on like she’s already convinced herself she’ll be unemployed once I kick the bucket.

  “I’m not dying. It’s my housekeeper…err, nanny. It’s Marisol.”

  Her face falls, although she has no idea who she is. “I’m sorry.” For the first time there’s no snarky back-and-forth jabs between us.

  “Thanks, but she’ll be fine. I just need to find her a kidney.”

  She stands from the seated position. “You could always go that urban myth way.”

  I tilt my head.

  “You know, drug someone at a bar, take them upstairs and steal their kidney. They wake up in the tub of ice with a missing organ.”

  “People do that?”

  “You’ve never heard of that? Supposedly people would sell the kidneys on the black market…” She’s waiting for me to have some sort of recognition.

  “Intriguing…”

  “Jagger,” she sighs, as if I’d really consider it.

  Whatever.

  “Please, sick bastards.” I shake my head, disgusted that people can be so greedy and vicious. “I’ll be watching my drinks more closely at bars now.”

  “Look, I just saved you from losing your kidney.” She points out, a proud smile on her face.

  “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

  She nods. “Thanks again for letting me go. See you Monday.”

  Victoria packs up her stuff and heads out while I hop online some more, searching Google for the words ‘black market’ and ‘kidney.’ After a few minutes I slam my laptop closed, more afraid than I’m willing to admit that this might be the one time I can’t control the outcome.

  19

  Quinn

  Dinner with friends.

  His friends.

  A Hollywood actress.

  A Hollywood director.

  A celebrity dog dresser.

  A Hollywood agent. Well, that one I’m comfortable with, being that he’s been providing me with daily multiple orgasms for the past week.

  The only one I think I have anything in common with is the dog dresser’s girlfriend, Teegan. She’s a PR rep and from what I understand is just starting out. We’re going to some hot new restaurant. The only thing I’m looking forward to is not talking about kidneys and transplants for a few hours.

  Seeing Jagger on this mission is hard to watch. The outcome is out of his hands and Jagger doesn’t do well when things are out of his hands.

  The doorbell rings and my heels click on my hardwood floors as I hurry to answer it. I spent the day getting a manicure, pedicure, my hair done, my make-up done. I want to make a good impression on Jagger’s friends.

  I open the door to a smiling Jagger. It’s nice to see it, though his shoulders are still a bit stiff.

  “This is why I wish you’d gotten ready at my house.” He steps in, wrapping his long arm around my waist and pulling me to him. “Now I’ll be having dinner with a hard-on all night.”

  He places a chaste kiss on my lips, but his head falls into the crook of my neck, kissing me there too. Shivers run up my spine. Maybe we should’ve gotten each other out of our systems earlier.

  “You look drop-dead in red.” He lets me go and I head over to my table to swap out my purse.

  “Thanks. As always you’re in a fuck-me suit.”

  His smile grows, and I drop my purse, needing to feel his body against mine.

  I wrap my arms around his waist, leaning my head lightly on his chest so as not to get make-up all over his expensive suit. He pulls me tighter and then kisses the top of my head.

  I melt into him, loving this sweet, intimate side of us as much as the passionate, rip-our-clothes-off side. “We should go,” I mumble, grabbing my purse and smiling up at him.

  “How do you feel about restaurant restroom sex?” he asks once we’re secure in his car and his hand is on the shifter of his Spyder.

  “I think it depends on how worked up you get me.” I coyly smile over to him and he chuckles.

  “Oh, Belle, you know how much I enjoy a challenge.”

  Paparazzi loiter outside of the restaurant, waiting for someone famous to make an appearance.

  Jagger gets out, tosses his keys to the valet driver and opens my door. The cameras begin to snap, and I turn my legs out, grab a hold of his hand and smile.

  All the cameras stop clicking except for one.

  “Jagger, who’s your date?” a woman asks, and a few other cameras start clicking.

  They obviously didn’t know Jagger.

  “My girlfriend, Quinn.” He stops us, holding me
close to his body, his hand on my hip. “Just smile naturally,” he whispers into my ear, but I can barely hear him over the pounding of my heart.

  “Thanks,” the woman says and his hand slides down my arm until our fingers are interlaced.

  “Please tell me I’m not going to be in some magazine?” The thought of having a bunch of strangers picking me apart is less than appealing.

  He turns to me, squeezing my hand as the door to the restaurant is opened for us. “You look beautiful and I couldn’t be prouder to have you on my arm.”

  I blush, even if the statement is a tad old-fashioned.

  Jagger has a presence. If he’s in a room, you know it. He has an air about him that gives him instant authority. The hostess straightens her back as we approach, smiling politely.

  “Mr. Kale,” she says, slightly frowning. “I don’t have you down.” She scans the screen in front of her.

  “Relax, Evelyn, I’m part of the Andrews party.”

  A relieved look crosses her face.

  “When did you move over here? Last I saw you were a Webber girl, no?” Jagger asks.

  A Webber girl? What the hell does that mean? Is that some kind of stripper thing?

  “The Webbers own Chops. They’re expanding again. Actually, their son, Cole, is here with his wife and few of their friends.” She pivots her body and we spot a big round table near the back with a group of six laughing and drinking. Is that a dildo on the table? I squint, but Evelyn blocks my view once more.

  “I had no idea. Send him a round on me.”

  She nods. “Your party is here, so let me get you to them.”

  She’s polite and smiles and I’m thinking she might be the only attractive girl in L.A. whom Jagger hasn’t slept with.

  We go through a curtained area and the two guys sitting at the table acknowledge that Jagger has arrived, the girls stopping their conversation and looking up. Each of the men stand and although Jagger is taller than both, they aren’t short in stature either.

  “Quinn, I presume?” one asks me, holding his hand out.

  Jagger comes alongside me, his hand placed possessively on my hip.

  I shake the guy’s hand. “Vance,” he says.

  “And I’m Leo.” The blond guy who looks like a born-and-raised California guy holds his hand out too. “Let me introduce you to my girlfriend, Teegan.”

  Jagger follows, shaking hands with the guys and kissing the girls on the cheek. After introductions, he slides out my chair and tucks me into the table.

  “Did you guys know this is the Webbers’?” he asks, and Layla, the Hollywood actress, nods. God, she’s more beautiful off camera. How is that possible? Photoshop has nothing on her.

  “I heard they’re starting to open some restaurants in the L.A. area.” She sips her wine and her boyfriend Vance positions his arm around the back of her chair.

  “So, Quinn, tell us about yourself.” Teegan sits up straighter, not seeming to notice Leo checking her out beside her.

  Jagger’s hand lands on my knee, and his fingers play with the edge of my dress.

  This is so not the time to play these games.

  My hand lands on top of his, intertwining our fingers. “I’m a writer.”

  “Oh, my friend writes for Wake Up, LA. Who do you write for?” She’s chipper.

  “Mostly freelance.”

  “She’s working on her first novel,” Jagger chimes in.

  My gaze shoots to him.

  “It’s going to be awesome.” He leans over and kisses my temple.

  I return my attention to the table, ready to play off Jagger’s enthusiasm. All of them register shock as they stare between us.

  “Wow,” Layla mumbles.

  “I second,” Teegan chimes in.

  “Let’s get under the table because the world is about to end.” Vance dramatically moves to cover Layla.

  She swats him away. “You’ll ruin my hair and there are paps outside.”

  “You look gorgeous,” Vance tells her.

  She rolls her eyes and then sets them on me. “Last week they caught me coming out of my kid’s school—red-faced, mascara running down my cheeks. Not pretty.”

  “Why?” Teegan asks and I wonder how close they are.

  “Payne.” She looks at me. “My son has some problems with authority on occasion.”

  Jagger’s hand tightens on my thigh.

  “He bit a kid. Yeah, my kid’s the biter.”

  Teegan squeezes Layla’s shoulder in support.

  “He’s still little,” Vance says. “Boys are more energetic and crazy.”

  Layla quirks an eyebrow at him. “Payne is like the Energizer Bunny on steroids.”

  I giggle, loving the fact she can see her kid for who he is and own it. Vance doesn’t argue, nor does anyone else in the room.

  The waiter comes in with another bottle of wine, placing it in front of Jagger. I don’t remember him ordering one.

  “Compliments of Cole Webber.” He presents the bottle and I was wrong. It’s not wine. Rock Hard Whiskey. Huh.

  Jagger laughs, leaning in close to me. “I’ll be right back.” He kisses my cheek. He stands, buttoning up his jacket, obviously going to thank the man himself, but he’s too late. A group of six comes into the small space. They’re paired off into couples, much like us gathered around this table.

  “You’re pushing your shit on me?” Jagger says, shaking hands and then hugging a guy who challenges whether his or Vance’s dimples are deeper.

  “It’s a new one, give it a try,” the man says.

  “I haven’t seen you in forever. What’ve you been up to?” Jagger glances at the brunette at his side.

  “This is my wife, Whitney.” Cole wraps his arm around her shoulders.

  Jagger shakes her hand, glances down to me, holding out his hand. “This is my girlfriend, Quinn.”

  I stand, rounding the chair. Jagger wraps his arm around my waist and I shake their hands.

  “You guys are the L.A. crew?” the short dark-haired girl with tattoos all over her asks, taking in the rest of us in the room.

  “Hey, you look familiar.” Vance points to the girl and the man next to her.

  “You do, too. Have I tattooed you? We’re from San Francisco,” she says, tilting her head.

  “No, but have you been to Climax Cove?”

  All three pairs of eyes widen and the conversation shifts to Vance.

  “Climax Cove?” The long-haired blonde looks past me.

  “I’m from there.” Vance stands, joining the conversation. “You rent from Garrett Shaw, right?” He points to the guy next to the girl who looks like she came straight from a punk rock concert—well, maybe a charity event that had Green Day performing. Her black cocktail dress is gorgeous.

  “Yeah and…” The girl’s eyes blink in rapid-fire fashion. “Wait. You’re Charlie’s brother?” she asks.

  Vance beams. “I am.” He elbows Jagger. “How do you know them?”

  Jagger points to the woman with long blonde hair, his forehead creased, and my heart trips over a beat.

  Oh, God, she’s slept with him.

  “Tahlia?” he says in a soft tone that I thought was only reserved for me.

  My gaze flows over her—she’s not all that. So what if her legs go on for miles, or her hair has the shine of the sun even though we’re under soft candlelight, or she has a perfect smile?

  “Jagger. I didn’t know if you’d remember,” she says.

  He lets go of me, wrapping her in a hug. I inhale a deep breath and I swear I can feel the eyes of everyone still sitting at the table on the back of my head. Everyone’s watching their affectionate greeting.

  Jagger steps back, his eyes still on her, and then they shift to the man on her left.

  The blonde places her hand on the shoulder of who I suspect is her husband, based on the giant rock on her left hand. “This is my husband, Lucas.”

  Jagger smiles at her and nods. “You wised up and tossed Chase in th
e Bay?” he asks. She laughs and then Jagger looks at Cole, who’s laughing as well. “Sorry, I know—”

  Cole raises his hand. “Believe me, no apologies.”

  “I haven’t talked to him in years and years,” Jagger says to Tahlia.

  “He was a cheating bastard,” the tattooed woman butts in.

  The brunette on Cole’s arm laughs, sharing a look with Tahlia.

  “I had hoped that changed,” Jagger says.

  “What a crazy small world,” Cole says, changing the subject. “We’re down here for a couples’ getaway. Away from the kids.”

  “You have kids?” Jagger asks, his eyes popping out of his head.

  “Two girls.” Cole and his wife smile, and Jagger’s eyes move to Tahlia and her husband.

  “You, too?”

  She nods. “A daughter and a son.”

  He shakes his head. Tahlia’s husband, Lucas, thumbs to the last couple. “They’ve got twins and an older son.”

  “Is it possible for a man to hear his biological clock ticking?” Jagger’s gaze locks with mine. “Maybe we should start.”

  Leo coughs out a laugh behind us.

  Cole slaps Jagger on the shoulder. “You’ll know when it’s time.”

  “Do you guys want to join us?” Vance asks. “For a drink at least?”

  Cole’s already shaking his head. “Nah. We’re going to some club.” They all turn their heads to the short-haired one and I’m guessing it’s her idea. “Hopefully, we make it until midnight.”

  They all laugh and the short-haired one rolls her eyes. “Losers.”

  “Great seeing you. Give me a call.” Jagger pulls out a card and hands it to Cole and then one to Tahlia.

  “Transplant center?” Cole says.

  “Shit. Sorry.” He snatches the card from Cole’s hand and digs his business card out, handing it over to them.

  Jagger’s phone buzzes in his pocket, but he ignores it. A ding sounds a few seconds later, indicating that whoever it was has left a voicemail. All the women dig into their purses to make sure it wasn’t one of their phones.

  We all say our goodbyes and they leave us to our dinner once again.

  I sit back down in my chair, but Jagger walks around the table, placing the transplant cards in front of everyone.