by J. C. Reed
“How?” I mumble.
He flashes me a grin. “Let’s say I’m well connected, and I know where to hide stuff.” His hand points to his jeans and he raises his brows meaningfully.
I’m pretty sure he’s not talking about his jeans.
“Oh, my God. You did not hide it in your underwear!”
“I did, and I had to flirt with the security guard to make sure she wouldn’t pat me down,” he says smugly.
“Of course, you would.” I stare at the phone, fighting the urge to snatch it out of his hands, lock myself in the bathroom, and see what Bruce has been up to. “What else did you hide?” I ask, even though I’m not interested.
“Well, do you want to borrow it or not?” Kade asks, and in that moment I sort of want to hug him.
“Yes,” I croak.
“You can have it for one hour.” He drops the phone on my bed. As I reach for it, he puts his hand over mine. “In exchange for having dinner with me.”
“You are asking me out again?” I stare up at him, my breath catching. “Seriously?”
He shrugs his shoulders. “It’s not a date.”
“What do you call it then?”
“Two friends eating?” He winks.
“I’m not sure we’re allowed to do that, Kade. It would look like two roommates on a date.”
“What? We’re not allowed to eat?” He laughs.
“What if I don’t want to go?”
“Then you can’t have my phone,” Kade says coolly.
I shake my head. “You play dirty.”
“I play fair.”
I sigh, unsure how to proceed next. My gaze turns back to the phone again. I want it so badly, I’ve no idea why I’m making such a big deal out of having dinner with the guy. Like he says, it’s just food. “It’s just dinner, right? Because I told you I have a boyfriend.”
“I don’t see him anywhere here.”
“I’m not a cheater.” I can feel my hesitation dissolving into thin air and flying right out of the window.
“I never thought you were.” He heaves a long, exasperated sigh. “Look, Vicky, I don’t know you, but I just put myself out on a limb for you to make you feel better. I need to know that you’re not going to screw me over. So, do you want the phone or not? If not, just forget I even offered.”
I eye him for a moment, unsure whether I can really trust him not to screw me over. Eventually, I let out the breath I didn’t even know I had been holding. “Okay, I’m going for it. And—” I catch his glance and reward him with a smile, “—I’m not going to betray your trust. Just make sure you don’t betray mine.”
“We’re partners in crime.” He hands me the phone. “Nobody but you can know about it. Understood? We can’t afford to lose it.”
We.
A rock forms in the pit of my stomach at the word. When did things take this particular turn? I mean, one moment I could barely stand the guy and the next we’re plotting and breaking rules together.
I nod, and for a moment we just stare at each other in silent agreement. His expression is softer now, fearful even. I can’t blame him. Being in rehab, cut off from the world, a phone is that one thing that can save lives. It sure does mine. Every day that passes, I feel like I’m dying without it. It’s not just about Bruce. I also miss my family.
I need to be in touch with the outside world to stop feeling as though I’m slowly losing my mind.
“Being discreet about it goes without saying,” I say. “In fact, I’ve absolutely no intention of leaving this room while using it.”
“Good.” He gestures at the phone and gets up. “It’s unlocked. And so you know, I cleaned it.”
I look up only to see he’s almost at the door, his hand on the handle.
“Kade?”
“Yeah, Stalker?”
“Thank you.”
He shoots me a devilish grin that’s so handsome I almost forget what I’m about to do. “Don’t thank me yet, Viking. You still owe me dinner.” He presses the handle, calling over his shoulder, “By the way, don’t let the photos bother you.”
“What photos?” I ask, but he’s already gone, the door closing behind him.
Sighing, I let myself sink against the pillows as anticipation courses through me. I can feel it coursing through my body from my feet to my fingertips. It’s thick and prickling like a warm spring fountain. One hour…it’s not a lot, but those sixty minutes will grant me enough time to check up on all the people who matter to me.
I’m giddy with excitement at the prospect of finding out what Bruce is doing.
If he’s replied to my emails.
Maybe he’s even talked to his mother and changed her mind about us.
My fingers swipe over the screen a couple times until a text conversation pops up. It’s from last year, but its content is not what’s causing my breath to catch in my throat.
My eyes remain glued to a photo.
It’s a picture of a dick.
It’s huge and thick. And so very familiar.
Oh, wait, is that Kade’s cock?
I stare at the pic, ignoring the short conversation with a woman, and then scroll down to another picture. This one is of her breasts pushed up so high I wouldn’t be surprised to find she could rest her chin on them.
“Gross,” I mutter and scroll back to his dick.
This is like a train wreck. You know you shouldn’t be staring, and yet you can’t peel your gaze away from it.
The familiar heat from before returns, pooling between my legs, making me wonder how it would feel inside me.
Chapter Eleven
Kade
Vicky.
Such an ordinary name for a woman who looks anything but ordinary. The day’s been hot and dry, perfect for a date. For the first time in my life, I actually put some thought into the way I dress for a woman and give myself the obligatory once-over in the mirror.
My eyes are bloodshot from the lack of sleep and the drinks I had last night. My hair is still wet from the shower, the dark curls falling deep into my face.
I’ve been told on more than one occasion that I look like a celebrity. I have even had random people on the street approach me for an autograph, mistaking me for a famous actor whose name I couldn’t be bothered to remember. Honestly, I don’t see the resemblance to any celebrity, but if people claim so, then who knows? Maybe we’re related. I wouldn’t be surprised, considering that I’ve never known my birth parents.
Absentmindedly, I brush my fingers through my hair, wondering whether to cut it. Women dig the two or three extra inches in all instances. They like my dark brown eyes and haunted look. They say they love my cocky smile, but underneath it, I can be serious as fuck.
Planning. Scheming. That’s what I’m good at.
Getting Vicky into my bed is my newest goal.
The plan is to do it in an old-fashioned way—have dinner, get her invested in me.
The more I think about it, the more I want her to be the last one in my 365-day, non-stop sex calendar. Cash was right to demand that I sleep with her. Get her out of my system.
She knows that fucking your roommate is not allowed, so that might make the task at hand harder, but not impossible.
The faint sound of a door opening and closing echoes. I turn around just in time to see her entering the living room, her hand clutching my phone like it’s a rare commodity.
“As good as new.” Smiling, she hands it to me. “I even gave it a good scrub.”
“There was no need. Believe it or not, I’m pretty meticulous when it comes to hygiene. I clean up after I finish everything. My brother calls it OCD.”
Her groomed eyebrows shoot up as she asks in surprise, “OCD?”
“Yes. Even addicts suffer from it.”
“I thought you weren’t an addict.”
The fact that she seems to have warmed up to me a little bit, and no longer looks like she wants to rip my head off, doesn’t escape me.
“I’m not.” I
point at the phone in her open hand. “Why don’t you keep it for now?”
She opens her mouth, then closes it again, seemingly at a loss for words. I turn back to the mirror hanging on the wall and regard her through my reflection. “Do you think I should cut my hair?”
“You’re vain, aren’t you?” She laughs, the sound both innocent and sexy as hell.
“Why? Because you always seem to find me standing in front of a mirror?”
“I know, right?” She laughs again and takes a step toward me.
The ice queen is melting.
I chuckle, inwardly pleased with the progress a little gesture has made. “Since I’ve got all the time in the world, I thought I could take a little more care of myself.”
“There’s nothing wrong with taking care of yourself. Just be careful that you don’t fall in love with your image or the mirror might end up glued to your chest.” Her smile widens and there’s a sparkle in her eyes.
She isn’t just snarky; she also has a sense of humor. I find that I like that about her.
“I don’t think I can,” I say honestly.
“What?”
“Fall in love.”
“Why’s that? Are you incapable of loving or—”
“No. I mean, I don’t think I could fall in love with myself. You see, I like it soft and warm, with a little moisture in all the right places.”
The double entendre is obvious.
She stares at me, and then she throws her head back and laughs. “Do women fall for your kind of crap?”
“Always.” Her laugh is so infectious, I can’t help but join in. “So, what do you think? Cutting or not cutting?”
“Let me see.” She takes another step forward and stretches out her hand, her fingers lingering inches from my face. “May I?”
I nod my head to signal my agreement.
She shifts behind me, her fingers raking through my hair, gingerly at first, then with more determination, each stroke sending electricity through me. And fuck, I can feel myself hardening again. She takes another step, this time to the left, to inspect the side. Standing so close, I catch a whiff of her perfume. It’s rather heavy for a woman her size, but it’s decadent and sexy, as if the vulnerability she displays is nothing but a disguise.
It’s the kind of fragrance I want to linger on my pillows.
“When I was younger, I used to cut my father’s hair,” she says. “He always used to say that I was better than any hairstylist he’s ever met. Back then, he was the best hairdresser in Jacksonville.”
“Jacksonville? Is that where you are from?”
“No.” She lets her hand drop, making me miss her touch instantly. “I’m from Portland.”
She steps back and I turn to regard her. Her face is drawn in thought. “I think shorter would look good on you.”
“How short are we talking about?”
“Buddhist style.”
I frown until I catch the hint of a grin and the mischievous glint in her eyes.
“You’re messing with me,” I state the obvious.
“Wait here.” In the mirror, I see her heading out. A few seconds later, she returns holding a pair of scissors. “Who’s joking now?”
“You want to cut my hair?” I ask, surprised. “Now?”
“Yeah, now. What are you afraid of, big boy? That I might ruin your look?”
“I’m not worried. But we have a date.”
Her expression hardens. “You said dinner.”
Fuck!
I could slap myself for making such a rookie mistake.
“I meant dinner. Obviously, we’re not allowed to have dates.” I let my gaze brush over her. She’s wearing jeans and a shirt that look like they’ve been through the laundry a few times too many. “Is that what you’re going to wear?”
“I didn’t think you were being serious about having dinner,” she says. “This is my lounge wear.”
“My phone doesn’t come for free.” I take in her confusion. She’s torn about this. If I don’t play my cards right, I’ll lose her.
“Where do you want to go anyway? There’s nothing around here.”
“I’m not spilling my secrets to everyone.”
She narrows her eyes. “Why do I have the feeling it involves breaking the rules?”
“Probably, but definitely not more than you using my phone.” I wink, expecting a laugh, but she doesn’t seem to acknowledge my attempt at breaking through the sudden tension.
“I’m still not sure this is a good idea,” Vicky says.
I throw up my hands in mock surrender. “Fine. Forget about it. But it’s the last time I let you use my phone.”
She keeps silent for a few seconds, but her thoughts are written on her face. This phone is probably like a lifeboat to her; it keeps her glued to the asshole she’s in love with, robbing her of any chance of seeing him for what he is.
I’ve barely finished drawing my conclusion when she places her hand on my shoulder. Before I can figure out what the fuck she’s doing now, she’s pushed up on her toes, her lips coming dangerously close to my ear as she whispers, “Relax, I never said no. Only that I’m not sure it’s a good idea, not with this haircut of yours. I’m not leaving with someone looking so—”
Frowning, she waves her hand in my face, looking for the right word.
Fuck it!
My hair’s like my dick—it’s perfect. No woman’s ever found anything to fault.
“What’s wrong with it?” I ask.
“It’s not about what’s wrong with it,” Vicky says slowly. “It’s more the fact that you need it. New phase. New look. That’s what my dad used to say whenever people were having a hard time. He said going for a new haircut and reinventing yourself helps to shed old behavior and make room for the new. Now, sit down. You’ll like it.”
“As long as you don’t leave me bald,” I mumble.
She lets out a laugh. “You can’t reject the possible.”
“Yeah, I might go bald. At sixty. I’ll probably even rock it.”
“Vain. That’s what you are.” She rolls her eyes and motions for me to sit on the sofa. I do as she instructs and realize that I enjoy our banter way more than I should.
“Wait,” I say as the scissors come dangerously close to my face. “What cut are you going to give me?”
“Where’s your trust?” She smiles sweetly and lifts the scissors. “Any last wishes? You know, once it’s gone, it’ll take weeks to grow back.”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, but relaxation is the last thing on my mind. Her hands are soft, her expert fingers determined as she rakes them through my hair. I can’t help but wonder how they’d feel on my dick.
“Just don’t make me regret it,” I say.
Chapter Twelve
Kaiden
“How much longer is this going to take?” I ask.
I don’t know how much time has passed, but it sure feels like my hair’s been at Vicky’s mercy for hours. The sound of scissors cutting is making me nervous. And it’s not helping that Vicky keeps making those tiny noises—half irritation, half delight.
Either she’s having a hell of a time, or she’s on the verge of giving up.
Several times, I tried to steal a peek at the mirror, but she caught me and covered it with my jacket.
Vicky insisted that I don’t look.
She wants my new haircut to be a surprise. I’m not sure how I should feel about that, but I like the touch of her hands on my skin. It’s soft and feminine, the strokes determined, as if she’s used to touching people.
I don’t want to tell her, but she really has wonderful hands. Some hands are rough, others are harried. Hers are like heaven. They seem to know how to send a tingle down my spine and make me want to peel her clothes off her body.
The fact that I’m glued to this chair, able to do none of the things I want to do to her because I can’t afford to scare her away, amplifies my anxiety.
“How much longer?” I ask f
or the umpteenth time.
“You got somewhere to go? Places to see?”
“No, I’m just concerned we’ll be starving if we don’t get going soon.”
She lets out a laugh at my half-ass attempt at a comeback. “I’m about to create art here. You can’t hurry it. Trust me, you’ll like it.”
Why the hell does she keep saying that?
“I’m sure I’d like everything at this point,” I mumble.
“You’ll have to because there’s no going back now.” She runs her hands through my hair again. The motion travels through my body, straight to my groin, and I’m barely able to stifle the groan in my throat. “Besides, this is trendy.”
My brows shoot up at the covert insult. “And my previous cut wasn’t?”
She lets out another tinkling laugh. “Let’s put it this way…this was long overdue.”
Eventually, the scissors drop on the table and Vicky removes my jacket from the mirror, revealing my reflection.
My heart gives a jolt.
That’s a hell of a cut.
I’m almost unrecognizable.
My hair is still long enough to fall into my face, bringing out my strong features, but the back is shorter. I never figured such a cut would suit me.
“What do you think?” she asks and bites her lip, as though nervous.
“I think it’s bearable.” I reach for the pair of scissors. “Now you’ve got to let me cut your hair.”
“Hell, no. Not before you watch a few instructional videos on YouTube.” Her eyes twinkle.
“Don’t need to. I can assure you I’m quite the expert myself,” I say. “Just tie your hair in a ponytail and I’ll take it from there.”
“Oh, my God.” She snatches the scissors from my hand, keeping it at a safe distance.
For a moment, I’m tempted to try to snatch it back just to get a little closer to her, but then decide this isn’t the time.
She’s not ready for it yet.
I get up to inspect myself in the mirror.
The more I look, the more I decide that I like it.
I run my hand through my hair and then turn to catch her expression as I ask, “What do you think?”