by Carrie Lomax
“Hello?” Janie began spinning the biggest yarn Trent had ever heard. No wonder she was good at pitching new business. The woman was a born salesperson.
Two blocks later she disconnected. “We’re good. If we can get to the office by five, we can submit the application today.”
“We’ve got company,” Trent replied grimly. “Hold on.”
The little car was slow to pick up speed as he jammed the accelerator, but he threaded through traffic with ease. The other couple’s SUV faded in the rearview mirror. He skidded into a technically illegal parking spot, and they slammed out of the car in unison.
“How fast can you write?” he asked as he led her into a nondescript midrise.
“Why?” Janie tugged her bag up her shoulder, limping as she hustled.
“I filled out the application this morning.” Trent vaulted up the stairway, eyes dim with the sudden change in light.
“Cocky, aren’t you?” Janie panted with effort to keep up.
“Only if the statistics are favorable.” Trent caught her at the top of the stairs in a long kiss. “I’d gamble on you any day, Janie. I’ll always take that bet.”
20
“Took you long enough to bring back my key.” The leasing agent was thin and balding, with the affable air of someone who’d shiv you if you gave him a reason to. Which Trent had done by absconding with it for most of the day.
“My apologies,” Janelle huffed. “I was tied up in meetings that ran over. We really like the house and want to rent it. Right now.”
“I’ve filled out the application form.”
Discerning Leasing Agent frowned at the crumpled piece of paper Trent held out. He smoothed it flat with his palm. “I’ll need one from the lady as well.”
“Sure.” Trent picked up a clipboard and held it out to her. Janelle shook her head.
Credit, she mouthed.
“Fill it out, Janie.” Trent’s low command jolted her into action.
“I have another couple interested in renting the apartment if your application falls through. They’re stuck in traffic, but they’ll be here in ten minutes.”
Trent leaned close. “Write faster, Janie.”
“I’ll get started running your credit check, Mr. Mason.” The leasing agent rose.
“I’m done. You can run mine too while you’re at it.” Janelle passed the clipboard across the desk. As if sensing she was one good shock away from passing out, Trent took her hand and ran his finger over her knuckles.
“It’s okay, sweetie.”
“My credit still sucks. Mom said it would take months for any changes to be reported.” Janelle tasted panic in her throat.
“I can lease it in my name if necessary.” Trent squeezed her hand.
“I have reference letters,” she rambled. “I have one from the sublet, and another from Rachel, saying I pay my rent on time. I have a real job, not only consulting fees.”
Trent turned in his chair and lifted her chin with his fingertips. “Janie. Breathe. It’s gonna be okay.”
The leasing agent returned. “All seems in order. I’ll need to see your identification, references, and a cashier’s check for the deposit and first month’s rent.”
“That’s it?” Janelle gasped.
“I have the money,” Trent replied, shifting to pull his wallet out of his back pocket.
“You do?” Janelle scrambled to produce her driver’s license.
“Remember the cashier’s check you made me sign for?” Trent’s mouth quirked up at the corner.
Janelle burst out laughing. “Are you kidding?”
“I can’t think of a better way to spend it than on a home for us.” He kissed her, sweetly, with the promise of more to come.
The man behind the desk coughed.
“May I see my credit report?” Janelle asked, straightening in her chair.
Leasing Agent passed over a single-page printout. “A little low, but passable. You’re young yet. It’ll go up with time. Mr. Mason’s is fine.”
Janelle held the paper in shaking hands. The three-digit score had changed dramatically from several months ago, when she’d leaned on her parents to cosign for the sublet.
Trustworthy.
“I passed,” she declared wonderingly. “It worked. Mom was right.”
Trent leaned out of his chair and kissed her cheek. “I knew you would.”
“I didn’t.” Janelle pulled out her phone and searched for the letters of reference in her email. “Here,” she handed the phone to the agent. “Can I forward these to you?”
“Please. My card.” The agent handed her a rectangle, and she punched in the address. She was too busy glowing to notice Leasing Agent’s eyebrows pop to his hairline.
“Your boyfriend, on the other hand…” Leasing Agent turned his computer screen to them. “Young lady, are you aware of this?”
The old computer screen flickered with the upfront of Trent’s naked body. Beside her, Trent stilled. It was Janelle’s turn to squeeze his hand, offering solace and encouragement. She laughed out loud.
“Yes! I’m aware of the video. Trent’s led an interesting life. Poker. Penny. Then the military.”
“Military?” Leasing Agent perked up. The image on the screen sat frozen.
“Two tours in Afghanistan with military intelligence. Listening in on the Taliban, running counterintelligence, that kind of thing.” Janelle spoke for Trent, concocting a tale on the fly.
“I’m not supposed to talk about it.” Trent draped his arm over the back of her chair, not paralyzed at all. “Clearance and all.”
He squeezed her shoulder. Janelle beamed.
“My sister’s in the Air Force,” Leasing Agent offered. “My entire family is affiliated with the military.”
The door slammed against the wall behind them. All three started.
“That. House. Is. Ours.” Amy’s face was red, and her blonde hair disheveled. Noah, two steps behind her, was a walking thundercloud. Their agent was an apparition bringing up the rear.
“I’m sorry, we’re only taking backup applications at this point. Mr. Mason and Ms. Carlisle are in the process of signing a lease.” The leasing agent handed them two neat stacks of papers and pointed to the lines where they needed to initial and sign. Trent bent his head and got to work, so Janelle did the same.
“No. You can’t do this to us. They drove over the flower bed! They’ll trash the place! It’s zoned for a good school! It. Has. Parking.” Amy’s voice ratcheted up an octave with each truncated statement.
“Who cares about the schools, Amy? We don’t even have kids yet!” Noah pushed her aside. “We’re going. I think these two are going to be awful tenants, but if you want to move forward, it’s your choice.”
“Noaaaaaah.” Pleading.
“Amy, let me handle this. If he thinks we’re desperate we’ll never get the place.”
“Done!” Janelle handed over the papers.
“Me too. Here’s our cashier’s check.” Trent collected everything into a neat stack and passed it over.
“Your lease starts Monday. We’ll move the staging furniture out by the weekend.” The leasing agent signed on his portion of the contract while Amy dissolved into frustrated tears behind them. “I’ll make photocopies of the lease agreement. Wait here.”
Amy punctuated her words with manicured nails. “Well-priced houses for rent are hard to come by in this town. I’ve lived for eleven months in the apartment from hell, and I never want to share walls with anyone again. Pot smoking. Loud music. Animals barking. You name it. I need sanity. I need this house.”
“Amy. There’ll be another house.” Noah was gentle, though he regarded them reprovingly. Their ashen-faced agent looked on in silent horror.
“This one was perfect!” Amy broke down. “I can’t take another condo. I just can’t.”
“I’ll find you another house. A better house. One with a bigger yard. A better school.” The agent cajoled the disappointed couple out
the door.
“Fucking traffic,” Amy sniffed. “I hate the D.C. suburbs, and the traffic.”
Then they were gone.
“Wow.” Janelle collapsed against her chair. “I almost let her have it. Poor Amy.”
“Me, too. I kinda feel bad for her.” Trent had reclaimed her hand, running his thumb over her knuckles.
“I’ve been in this business for thirty years. What I see in this office is what I get at midnight on a weekend when the toilet overflows,” the leasing agent replied crisply. He tapped paper into place. “You may as well keep the keys. I’ll get the other set from their agent and bring it by the house on Monday. Congratulations and welcome home.”
It was done. An hour ago, she’d been single, sad, and unsure of her future. Things had moved so fast. She could barely process it.
“Is this real?” she asked Trent as they went in search of her illegally-parked car.
“Is what real?” He draped his arm over her shoulders.
Janelle curled against his body. “This. Us. The house.”
“Isn’t it what you wanted?” Trent asked. “Because honestly, my head’s spinning, too.”
“Right? I thought I’d lost you. I thought my whole life was going to be too much work and too little love. I’m so happy this happened. But it doesn’t feel real yet.”
“Janie. I love you. I’m going to make it real. We’re going to make it real. I love you. All of you. Always.”
Epilogue
“Have you thought any more about the trip to Fiji?”
Trent cracked an eyelid. “Hm?”
“Fiji.” Janelle poked his defined bicep. “Given it any further thought?”
“It’s a long way to go.” He rolled over and pulled her close. Janelle’s body fit perfectly into the curve of his, her ass snug against his hardening erection.
“That’s why they’re called destination weddings.”
“If we’re flying all the way there for Alyssa and Marc’s wedding, we should at least stay a week. Maybe a month?” Trent kissed his way down her neck.
“I’d lose so much money.” Janelle groaned.
“Nah. Just don’t book anything for July. Business slows down then, anyway. When’s the last time we took a vacation?” If Trent was trying to convince her to take a holiday, he was using all the right methods.
“Penny’s wedding,” he murmured from between her breasts.
“That doesn’t count.”
“Thanksgiving.”
“That doesn’t count, either. Ooh, keep doing that.”
Trent palmed her breast, edging the silky fabric down over the tip to tease it. The man always had stubble in the morning, no matter how often he shaved. Today it was extra rough. They’d gotten stuck in traffic coming home from the airport last night, and hadn’t gotten home until nearly midnight. Their suitcases still stood by the door, waiting to be unpacked.
Alyssa and Marc had flown back for a week over Christmas, leaving the boat in South African marina. A few days before, they’d gotten engaged on Table Mountain. They’d wanted to announce it in person to their families before the media got ahold of the story. The plan was to have a small destination wedding when they got to Fiji in a few months. The ad agency managing Alyssa’s social media presence was already advertising soliciting sponsors.
“What does count as a vacation?” Janelle asked sleepily.
“A month in Fiji and Australia.” Trent kissed his way down her belly. The sun was barely up, but this had become their pattern: wake early, get their fuck on, fall back asleep, then have breakfast and a shower, often together.
After he’d licked and sucked one orgasm out of her, Trent turned her on her side, pushed her left leg high and slid inside. Janelle fisted the sheets and arched against him.
“Next time we go to Florida, we’re getting a hotel,” she panted.
“That’s what you said last time.”
Trent was busy making her regret not sticking with that decision. “I mean it. A week is too long to go without you.”
“Separate bedrooms are a bit much.” Trent grunted a little as she arched her hips and took him all the way.
They’d managed to sneak in a few quickies over the past week, but they’d been starved for touch by the time they stumbled through the door of the bungalow. Tired as they were, they’d stumbled into bed for marathon catch-up sex.
Trent ground slowly into her, aware that she was still sensitive, hitting all the good spots. After, Janelle lay with her head against Trent’s chest and traced the outline of his newest tattoo.
Two figures. No wings. One vaguely masculine, the other nominally feminine, the outlines defined like stained glass, entwined together. The shape made a lopsided heart. Intentionally, she suspected. Trent could still be cagey about things that hit deep emotions. He’d gotten better, though. Just as his steady presence evened her out. The past year and half had proven that they were a good match.
“So the answer is yes, if we go for long enough?”
“Mmmm.”
Janelle yawned. “I’ll book tickets.”
“We could make it a double.”
“A double wedding? With my sister?” She sat up, halfway, cocking her head.
“In Fiji. Mhmm.” Trent curled sleepily around her, kissing her ear.
“Well, that would be one way to knock the Penny video off the top page of your Internet history,” Janelle mused, sinking back down to curl against his body. “Ask me again when I’m awake.”
“Sure, Janie. Anything you want, love.”
* * *
The End
Author’s Note
I am grateful to Stoya and Vice for helpful, factual, and entertaining articles about the adult film industry.
Similarly, the professional poker world is sprawling and unfamiliar to me. Thank you to K. for your honesty on the challenges and rewards of being married to a pro poker player.
All mistakes and misrepresentations are my own.
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Also by Carrie Lomax
Say You’ll Stay
Book 1: Alyssa & Marc
Being within ten yards of Marc De Luna always made Alyssa feel like she was drowning in lava. Hot didn’t begin to describe it. Just seeing him burned away nerve endings. Faded jeans hung low on his narrow hips. The pale blue T-shirt clung to his pectoral muscles and broad shoulders, loose around his body where his waist narrowed. Marc’s thick dark hair was just shaggy enough to make her want to run her hands through it.
If he ever looked her way, she’d probably fall into the trash can. She was that suave. And if he spoke to her? She’d swoon and give herself a concussion.
She yanked the lid of her parents’ can open, tossed in the bag of paper recycling, and gently closed it. There was no point in trying to attract Marc’s attention. For starters, he was the last person she wanted to be around at this exact moment. Ever since her parents had moved to Verona Harbor, Florida, when she was in high school, Alyssa had watched him from afar. He’d been in college then. If he’d gotten as far as declaring a major, it would’ve been a degree in seducing sorority girls. Despite this, Alyssa still remembered every single syllable he had ever spoken to her.
She glanced up. His intense amber gaze pinned her where she stood.
“Alyssa. I wondered if you were coming home for the holidays.” He dropped the lid to the garbage can and shifted his weight onto one foot.
“You did? I mean, of course. I always come back for Christmas.” She felt faint. What fresh hell was this speaking words business? If she did fall over she’d blame it on the balmy weather. Marc never spoke to her, except to tease.
“You didn’t last year.”
“I can’t
believe you noticed,” Alyssa blurted. She’d been in Connecticut with Zach’s family.
“I’ve always noticed,” he replied with a half-grin that hit her like a tractor-trailer. “I hear we’re coming over for dinner later.”
“You are? I mean, yes. Right. For dinner.” Her voice sounded better, but her words had never sounded so stupid. Her mother hadn’t specified which neighbors. Theirs was a social block, and she could’ve meant anyone ten houses up or down either side of the street. It hadn’t occurred to Alyssa to clarify who was coming over.
“See you later,” Marc said casually.
Alyssa stumbled into her house, where she caught a glimpse of herself in the hall mirror. Gray smudges lurked beneath her eyes from lack of sleep, her stringy, tangled hair shot from her head in crazy angles, and she still wore the wrinkled, stained black shirt she’d had on since leaving her apartment. Not to mention she hadn’t seen a ray of sunlight in about a year.
“Mom! When are the De Lunas coming over for dinner?” So, what? He talks to you and suddenly you’re salivating?
Also: Shut up, Inner Critic.
Catherine stepped out of the kitchen. “Half an hour or so. Why don’t you clean up a little before our guests arrive? Janelle, would you help me with the avocado rolls?”
Alyssa squinted at her mother. Could she be…up to something?
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Acknowledgments
I am profoundly grateful to fellow Maryland Romance Writers Association members Mona Shroff and Ingrid Hahn for feedback, insights and general hand-holding. To Christi Barth, thank you for the hand up and cover critiques. (You too, Mona!) You are all amazing writers and friends. Anya Kagan at Touchstone Editing for helping me escape the detail weeds in an earlier draft. To Margaret Bates for final editing—you are a lifesaver. Again. To Liz Durano for continued advice and support, you are an amazing writer and friend. Nichole Giangola, your input on military ranks and relationships was invaluable. All errors are my own.