LOL #2 Romantic Comedy Anthology - Volume 2 - Even More All-New Romance Stories by Bestselling Authors (LOL Romantic Comedy Anthology #2)

by Anthology

  Otherwise, he would in agony right now.

  The melody that he had been working on in the early hours came back to him, flowing in cool, shadowy colors behind his eyes.

  Her words, his words, fit themselves into the colors.

  He opened his notebook, bypassing his earlier scratchings, and wrote:

  Because while I live,

  Because while I breathe,

  Because while my heart beats in my body,

  I will love you like we live

  in Alwaysland.

  Author’s Note - Blair Babylon

  You’ve just finished reading Alwaysland, a prequel to Rock Stars in Disguise: Xan by Blair Babylon. If you’d like to read more about the rock band Killer Valentine, you can start with What A Girl Wants (Rock Stars in Disguise: Rhiannon).

  CLICK HERE TO SEE

  “WHAT A GIRL WANTS”

  ROCK STARS IN DISGUISE: RHIANNON

  Amazon: http://smarturl.it/RSID-Rhiannon-Amazon?IQid=LOL2

  Music is a bitch mistress.

  When Rhiannon is hired as a back-up singer for Killer Valentine, the hottest breakout rock band on the planet, her contract includes an ironclad no-fraternization clause. However, it doesn’t take her long to figure out that Killer Valentine is falling apart from the stresses of touring and promotion. The band’s manager Jonas Rees, a green-eyed starmaker, is frantically trying to prevent them from self-destructing during their grueling tour and right before their first major-label record deal, but neither Jonas nor Rhiannon can deny the attraction that flares between them.

  When the band’s problems threaten to derail the tour and Jonas slips and reveals their relationship, the lead singer, Xan Valentine, demands that Rhiannon choose between music and love.

  Rock Stars in Disguise: Xan is a series about Xan’s search to find love and redemption. Click below to see Rock Stars in Disguise: Xan #1 at your ebook store!

  CLICK HERE TO SEE ROCK STARS IN DISGUISE: XAN #1

  Amazon http://smarturl.it/RSID-Xan1-Amazon?IQid=LOL2

  Want to know when Blair Babylon’s new books are published or when they go on sale?

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  About the Author: Blair Babylon is the nom de plume of an award-winning author who regularly publishes literary and suspense fiction. Because professional reviews of her other fiction usually included the caveat that there was too much deviant sex, she decided to abandon all literary pretensions, let her freak flag fly, and write hot, sexy, erotic romance.

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  Crime & Cake

  N.M. Silber

  A Lawyers in Love Short Story

  DESCRIPTION: Public defenders don’t jump out of cakes. It’s a simple fact, but one that Sarah Eisenberg’s best friend, Chelsea, refuses to accept. A gangster’s birthday party leads to an encounter with the only prosecutor in Philly who is both the best friend of Sarah’s courtroom nemesis, and the son of her idol. Why did he have to be so sexy too?

  When Matt Brenner sees a beautiful woman dressed like Marilyn Monroe trying to flee a raid, he’s amused. When she turns out to be a delightful flirt, he’s aroused. When he discovers that she’s the tough female lawyer, battling on the other side of the courtroom from him, he’s intrigued.

  Come along for a wild ride with Sarah and Matt, two thugs, a Cher impersonator, a German Beer Garden Girl and a five foot-tall hotdog, in another hot and hilarious tale by N.M. Silber, Crime & Cake!

  GENRE: Adult contemporary romance novel. Length: 9,000 words or about 36 pages.

  HEAT LEVEL: Spicy! Contains explicit descriptions of sexual acts and mature language. This story is intended for readers over the age of eighteen.

  Turn the page to begin reading CRIME & CAKE by N.M. Silber, or click here to return to this anthology’s Table of Contents.

  Crime & Cake

  N.M. Silber

  Chapter One

  “Just give up. You are never going to convince me that jumping out of a cake dressed like Marilyn Monroe is an act of feminist solidarity,” I said, grabbing handfuls of warm, fresh smelling, clothes out of the dryer at the Laundromat down the street from my apartment. The heat had steamed up the windows so much, I couldn’t see if it was still snowing outside. I had a feeling it was, though. The two blocks home would probably feel like running the Iditarod. I sighed.

  My neighbor, Chelsea, gave me an exasperated look, and she could do exasperated. She was a graduate-level theater arts student, and she could convincingly mimic most emotions. Unfortunately for her, though, I was a public defender, and I was used to seeing people put on a show. At age twenty-six, and only one year out of law school, I was already a cynic.

  I suspected that the emotion she was really experiencing at the moment was closer to desperation, but even that, wasn’t enough to make me want to do this for her. Female trial lawyers, who wanted to be treated with respect by male colleagues, had to be tough. They didn’t jump out of a cake and sing “Happy Birthday” in breathy, baby-like voices, while batting their fake eyelashes. Sorry, Chelsea.

  “I’m telling you, Sarah, you’re looking at it all wrong. Nobody would think you were less intimidating in a courtroom just because you jumped out of cake. Being sexy is powerful. And we women have just as much right to own our sexuality as men do.”

  “Look, Gloria Steinem, I totally agree with that, and being the owner of my own sexuality, I choose not to twirl titty tassels for a group of dirty old men.” I used a pair of socks to illustrate my point.

  “Cut that out!” she demanded, trying not laugh. “You know there are no titty tassels involved. Rent A Star is a class act. We’re celebrity impersonators not strippers.”

  “I get that women can be empowered and sexy, but why couldn’t you have been impersonating Hedy Lamarr? Did you know that she was also a mathematician? She invented a device that jammed the radio frequency directing enemy torpedoes. It’s true! Look it up. ”

  “Because even though she was a celebrated actress, not many people request Hedy Lamarr jump out of their cake.” She took a deep breath and gave me what I could almost swear was an earnest look. “Okay, I’ll cut out all the feminist rhetoric. I really need help, Sarah! I don’t know how I double booked tonight, but if I skip either party, I’ll get fired and I need this job. None of my other part-time jobs pay as much as the cake gigs.”

  “Why do you have so many jobs, Chelsea? Your parents are both doctors. They’ve offered to pay your tuition. You don’t have to jump out of cakes, or dress up like a German Beer Garden Girl, or five-foot-tall hotdog, or sling lattes at the Bean, or any of the billion other jobs that you have.”

  “Because I want to be independent, and all of these jobs, arguably, are improving my acting skills. I practice my German accent at the microbrewery, and I play different celebrities at the cake gigs. I meet all kinds of people at the Bean. They’re like character studies. Okay, maybe handing out flyers for Weiner World isn’t so useful…”

  “What if someone recognized me?” I asked, getting back to the topic at hand. “I would be so embarrassed.” I looked around, hoping nobody who worked in the criminal bar was overhearing this conversation. Here in Philadelphia, the Defender Association and the District Attorney’s Office were both so large, that I didn’t even know what every one of my fellow lawyers looked like.

  “You would be in costume. You have dark brown hair and you dress conservatively for court. I would put you in a blonde wig, and I have a tight red sequined gown and stilettos.” She tilted her head to the side and gave me an appraising look. “I could also do a dramatic make-up, porcelain skin, smoky eyes, and blood red lips.” She looked far t
oo excited about this for my comfort.

  “Oh God.” I grimaced up at the ceiling, starting to feel panicky. Why did I have a feeling that I wasn’t getting out of this?

  “Okay, I have no choice. I’m sorry, but you drove me to this,” she said sternly, placing her hands on her hips and looking me straight in the eye. “Two words. Bug Boy.”

  “Oh come on,” I said with a defensive laugh. She wasn’t going to play that card. She really must be desperate. “That was months ago!”

  “Sarah, I rescued you from a guy with an insect collection. He talked to me about it all night. I totally took one for the team.” Okay, she had me. I sighed again and rolled my eyes, pulling the drawstring of my laundry bag tight and hefting it over my shoulder.

  “Fine. But we are officially even. I never want to hear mention of Bug Boy again.” With that, I headed for the door and the blizzard outside.

  I stared in the full-length mirror in Chelsea’s bedroom later that evening, feeling a little stunned by the image staring back at me. Sarah Eisenberg, Esquire, with her sensible knee-length suit skirts, and sturdy pumps, had completely vanished. In her place, stood a sex goddess from another era. Chelsea had been right, nobody who knew me in my day-to-day life would recognize me like this.

  The tight gown hugged my curves and shimmered in the lights. It had a deep décolletage that nicely framed my 36 C’s, and a slit up the side that offered a teasing glimpse of one stocking-clad leg, complete with garter. The red satin heels I wore had ankle straps, and so that gam looked sexy from top to bottom, if I may say so myself.

  Even more shocking, though, was what was above the shoulders. With the fake eyelashes, the blonde wig, and the heavy make-up, I really could pass for Marilyn Monroe, or at least a good Marilyn Monroe impersonator.

  Even though it was a very “obvious” look, I had to admit, I felt drop-dead sexy, and yes, weirdly powerful. “Powerful” was usually something I felt in a courtroom when I knew my case cold, not something I thought I would feel dressed like a vamp. But then, I had never really dressed like a vamp before.

  I turned and looked over my shoulder at the shape of my bottom through the shimmery fabric. Even though I felt sexy, I still felt a little embarrassed too. This dress was so tight, that I might as well have been naked.

  “You look amazing!” Chelsea gushed, looking like she was about to get all misty-eyed. She clasped her hands together in front of her mouth and looked truly overwhelmed. I had a feeling she wasn’t acting. “You’re stunning.”

  “Well, thanks, I guess.” I still wasn’t quite sure about this. At least there were no tassels. I just had to pop up and sing Happy Birthday. That was it, and then I was done. I didn’t have to sit on the old guy’s lap, or run my fingers through his comb-over, or kiss him or anything. In fact, the rules were that we weren’t allowed to touch the clients, and vice versa, thank God. Wait a minute. “We?” Oh man! “This isn’t your wacky job Sarah,” I reminded myself irritably.

  “Okay, sing it through once. Pretend you’re at summer camp.”

  “Yeah, singing Happy Birthday to a strange old guy is just like singing Blowin’ in the Wind at Camp Ramah in the Poconos,” I replied dryly and cleared my throat. At least I could carry a tune. My voice was decent, if nothing to write home about. I sang one chorus of the song and looked at Chelsea. She didn’t look very thrilled. “What? That was on key,” I said defensively.

  “I wasn’t serious about summer camp.”

  “What does that mean? What was wrong with that?”

  “You sounded… wholesome, more like Marie Osmond than Marilyn Monroe. Don’t you remember how Marilyn sang Happy Birthday to JFK?”

  She took a deep breath and suddenly, she looked different, the way she stood, the way she smiled, it was like she was channeling the former bombshell. Chelsea really was good. Then she began signing in a breathy voice that sounded like sex. I had to admit it was mesmerizing. She let the last note float out and linger like a caress, and when she was done, she flashed me a bright smile and she was herself again. Wow. I almost applauded.

  “You should totally be doing this, Chelsea. I can’t do that like you can. The only time I ever perform in public is when I’m telling some half-assed story, that my client swears is true, to a jury. I’m just not good at kittenish. I’m more like an angry lioness.”

  “You can too do it, Sarah. I’ve seen you be very sexy, when you’re relaxed and not overthinking everything. Look, if you can’t pretend you’re Marilyn, pretend you’re me doing Marilyn.”

  I bit the inside of my cheek, and fidgeted for a minute, thinking about her suggestion. I did know Chelsea really well. So, couldn’t I imitate her? Maybe I could. I tried to focus and center myself the way she did when she was about to assume a character. I pictured how she stood, and walked, and spoke …

  “Hhhhappy birth… day, to you…” I began, almost not recognizing my own voice. “Hhhappy birthday to… you. Hhhappy birthday, Mr. Dirty Old Guy. Happy Birthday to… . you.” I paused, and looked at Chelsea, quirking an eyebrow questioningly. She was silent for a beat, and then she let out a huge “squee” and came running over to hug me. I took that as a sign of approval.

  Chapter Two

  “Um, excuse me.” I tried to flag down a passing caterer’s assistant but he ignored me and rushed on by. “Excuse me.” I tried again with another, but the result was the same. Okay, no more Mr. Nice Guy. “Hey! MARILYN MONROE HAS ENTERED THE BUILDING! I’m the cake girl! Who do I talk to here?” I yelled out in a no-nonsense voice. Finally, someone paused.

  “Peter!” an assistant yelled to someone in the distance. “Marilyn Monroe wants to talk to you.” A tall, gaunt looking man in a black turtleneck and trousers glanced over at me and then, looking put out, headed in my direction. Geez, I hoped I wasn’t troubling him.

  “You’re Ms. Davis, from Rent A Star?” he asked as he approached. Chelsea and I had agreed that it would be better for both of us if I used her name that evening, just in case her boss ever checked, or anyone asked who I was. I wasn’t even carrying identification on me. So, if they found me floating in the Delaware River later, I could be a woman of mystery.

  “Yes.”

  “Come this way,” he said and hurried off toward what looked like a storeroom at the back of the bustling hotel kitchen. As we passed through the door, I saw an enormous Paper Mache replica of a cake with a small stepladder leaning against it. “The party is already well underway. The guest of honor, Mr. Anthony DiLaurento, is celebrating his 85th birthday with his… family. Mr. DiLaurento is a very powerful… businessman in South Philadelphia, and they want him to be happy. He’s got a thing for Marilyn Monroe.”

  The dirty old man was Anthony DiLaurento? Oh, great! This was a nightmare. Please God, don’t let me get caught jumping out of a cake at a party for a mafia capo. This more than made up for Bug Boy. Chelsea now owed me as far as I was concerned.

  “How will I know when to jump out?”

  “Haven’t you done this before?” he asked giving me a dubious look. “You’ll hear someone say the word ‘surprise!’ You jump up then. There will be a microphone stand right next to the cake. He’ll pass it to you and you’ll sing your song.”

  “Okay, I jump up and sing my song and then?”

  “And then we’ll help you out, and you’ll give this cigar to Mr. DiLaurento,” he said handing me a Habano. I guess the fact that Cubans were illegal wasn’t a really big deal to the DiLaurento family. “Then you’ll exit, return back here; I’ll pay you and you’ll be on your way.”

  “Gotcha,” I said, swallowing nervously and popping the cigar into the clutch bag that Chelsea had leant me. I took a deep breath and pictured her. She wouldn’t be nervous. She would be ready to put on a show, and impatient to get out of here. “I am Chelsea,” I said quietly.

  “You told me that already,” Peter the caterer said, sounding annoyed. “Now let’s get you into that cake.”

  He took my arm and led me over to the stepladde
r, helping me to keep my balance as I sat on the edge of the enormous paper pastry and swung first one leg, and then the other, inside. Hopping down, I stood looking out. There was no seat in there, so apparently, I would have to squat. Luckily, thanks to the slit up the side, I could just pull that off in this dress. I crouched down as he covered the top with some cheesecloth. This was really uncomfortable; I hoped I wouldn’t have to be in there long.

  It was only a few minutes, but it was long enough, as it turned out. By the time I felt someone start rolling the cake out of the storeroom, my legs had started to lose circulation and get numb. I could hear laughter and boisterous voices all around me. It sounded like quite a party. I hoped that I wouldn’t miss my cue. There was the sound of feedback, and a microphone crackle, and then a voice with a heavy Philly accent boomed out, and the cake came to stop near it.

  “Yo, everybody listen up! This is a very special night here! Uncle Antony is turnin’ 85. Now, he remembers the days when Frankie and Dino and the rest of that gang, used to put on a show, and he was a big fan of a certain blonde back in that time too. And so, we put together this surprise!”

  That was it! My cue! But when I tried to stand, my legs wouldn’t cooperate. Shit! They had gone completely numb, and I couldn’t move. To my confusion, though, it sounded like the crowd was reacting to something. I reached up to the edge of the cake, and shoving the cheesecloth out of the way, I grabbed on and used my arms to haul myself up. I was finally thankful for all those damned bicep curls.

  As my eyes peeked over the rim of the cake, I saw a scene of chaos unfolding before me. People were running and knocking over chairs everywhere. Dinnerware was smashing on the ground. What in the hell was going on? And then I heard it, the word that struck terror into my heart – “Raid!” The party was being raided! Fuck! I had to get out of there, but my legs were just starting to tingle with circulation again, and they were not going to support my effort to scale the side of a giant cake. I looked around frantically, and saw the microphone stand to my immediate left. Pulling myself up further, and reaching out as far as I could, I just managed to grab it, and pull it over to me. Holding it firmly, while leaning against the side of the cake, I did the only I could do… I rowed.