Cake

by Carmen Jenner

  I bet they’re full cotton briefs. Yeah, definitely briefs. She’s far too fucking prissy to wear a thong.

  Thinking about her ass in nothing but her underwear causes my dick to harden, but she’s not looking anyway so I guess it doesn’t matter. I let out a puff of air and cover my crotch with my hand, covertly adjusting my dick in the process.

  “Listen, junior, I know you own this airline and all, but please tell me you’re not going to play with yourself here.” Poppy says under her breath. She doesn’t look at me, but instead stares out the window at the clouds. Her laptop is open on her tray table and when she’s not admiring the view, she’s tapping away at her computer. Tap. Tap. Tap.

  “For a start, I don’t own this airline—my father is the majority shareholder. And secondly . . .” I slam her laptop shut. She barely has time enough to remove her fingers before they get squashed. She gasps, and I smile. “This is a vacation. You’re not supposed to work on vacation.”

  “No, this is a distraction,” she whisper-hisses. “I don’t even know why I’m here.”

  “So you didn’t come just to make my life a living hell?” I pick up her laptop, stow it in its case, and hold it above my head.

  “Hey, I need that.”

  “No, you need a drink.”

  I signal for the hostess, who greets me with a wide red-lipped smile. “How can I be of assistance, sir?”

  I indicate to my drink. “We’ll take another, sweetheart.”

  “Of course,” she says. “Would you like me to stow your laptop for you?”

  “I really would, thank you.” I hand her the device in question. She places it in the overhead before wandering off to get Poppy’s drink.

  Pop Tart opens her mouth to protest but the woman is already gone. With a drawn-out sigh, she glances at me. “Fine, I’ll have your drink, as long as you agree to get over yourself.”

  “Get over myself?” I chuckle. “I already tried—couldn’t do it. I’m just that loveable.”

  “You try too hard.”

  “Try too hard? Baby, I don’t have to try at anything. Also, you should know I don’t tire easily . . . especially not when it comes to hot, hard fucking.”

  “You don’t get tired? Because your lines certainly are.”

  I suck in a sharp breath and hold my hand over my heart. “Oh, that was a good one.”

  Poppy laughs and then accepts the drink the hostess brings her.

  I clink my plastic glass against hers in a toast. “To wild weekends in Vegas.”

  “To working the weekend in Vegas,” she says.

  “Why, Poppy, you never told me you were an exotic dancer. I should have brought more bills with me.”

  “Very funny. Not all of us can afford to live off Daddy’s purse.”

  Living off what now? She did not just accuse me of taking handouts from my father. I work damn hard for every cent I’ve ever made. Sure, my dad owns the company, and yes, technically I do answer to him, and a board of six other members, but that doesn’t mean I get special privileges. If anything, I have to work twice as hard just to live up to my old man’s ridiculously high expectations. “What the fuck does that mean?”

  Poppy’s gaze snaps toward me. Her eyes widen and a soft pink blush creeps across her cheeks. “I meant that you own the plane that we’re currently travelling on.”

  “No, my dad owns a share in this plane. I work for my dad. Sure, that might mean that I had an easier time getting my foot in the door, but you know as well as I do how much he rides me, Pop Tart. I don’t take handouts—not that he’s ever tried to give me one.”

  She frowns. “You’re right. That was unfair of me.”

  “You really think I have everything handed to me?” I don’t know why her opinion bothers me so much, but it does.

  “I don’t think anything about you, Leo. I don’t think about you at all.”

  “Oh, you think about me.”

  Pop Tart rolls her eyes. “You’re a mind reader now?”

  “No, but I’m an expert at reading body language.” I lean in and whisper, “And yours says you’re dying to fuck me.”

  “Oh, really? Then tell me, Professor Nass, how exactly does my body language tell you that?”

  I chuckle. “Well, first of all, there’s that blush in your cheeks that wasn’t there a minute ago.”

  “It’s the alcohol,” she mutters.

  I glance at her knees. They’re as tightly closed as The White House after a terror attack. “Right, and the reason you’re squeezing your thighs together is because?”

  “You know, you really are a prick.” She gets the cutest little furrow between her brows when she’s angry.

  “So you keep telling me, and hey if it helps you sleep at night, you keep on believing that’s all this is. But remember, I’ll be on the other side of the wall, so don’t scream my name too loud when you slide your hand into your little cotton panties to stroke that pussy while you’re fantasizing about me.”

  Poppy swallows hard and downs the rest of her drink, slamming the cup on the tray table. She turns her body so she’s leaning against the window as she stares through the plexiglass. “Shut up, Leo.”

  Well shit. I think I struck a nerve.

  ***

  “I’m sorry, sir. There’s a slight plumbing issue with the suite you booked, so I’m afraid we’ve relocated your party to two adjoining rooms,” the woman behind the hotel desk says with a contrite smile. “However, you’ll be happy to know that we’ve comped your room for tonight.”

  “Okay, great. Thank you.”

  “There’s just one small problem. The only adjoining rooms we have left have one king and two twin beds.”

  “No problem.”

  “Um, no. Not no problem,” Claire says from beside me. “I’m not sleeping in a separate room to Chase.”

  “Wait, what?” Poppy screeches.

  “Come on, babe, it’s okay,” Chase says. “You and Poppy take the king and Leo and I will share the twins.”

  “Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Easier to sneak out.”

  Chase, Poppy, and I all turn to stare at Claire, whose face is turning red. Chase sighs and puts his hands on her shoulders. “Okay, we’ll take the king.”

  “I’m sorry,” Poppy’s shrill voice echoes through the Bellagio entrance as she turns to Chase. “For a second there I thought you said Leo and I would be sharing a room.”

  “That’s exactly what he said,” Claire confirms, then appeals to Chase with wide, pleading eyes. “Baby, I won’t sleep a wink if I’m worrying about you and Leo sneaking out and traipsing all over Vegas in the middle of the night. And you know how I get when I’m tired. I’ll be a mess.”

  I have half a mind to tell Chase to run before he marries a psycho bitch from hell. Even Pop Tart looks taken aback. And for some strange reason I want to defend her, but it’s Poppy. She can bitch it up with the best of them.

  “Honey, it’s fine. We’ll take the king. I hadn’t planned on sneaking out, but if it will make you feel better—”

  “It really will.”

  “You don’t mind sharing with Leo, do you, Poppykins?”

  “Actually, I—”

  “Poppykins doesn’t mind at all, does she?” Claire gives her a snide smile.

  I glower at Chase, who apparently handed Claire his ball sack when he gave her a ring. Fantastic. A whole weekend alone with Miss. Safety Poo and no chance of getting my dick wet whatsoever. Just what I fucking need.

  Pull it together, Nass, she couldn’t possibly hate you that much. “Don’t worry, Pop Tart. I’ll take real good care of you.”

  I approach up to the woman in question and throw my arm around her. She shoves me, hard. I grunt and rub at my ribcage. Clearly I underestimated the level of angry, harpy wench we’re dealing with.

  “See? Perfect.” Claire snatches one of the four room cards from my hands.

  “Great. I’m going to be spending my weekend with Nass the Ass. Wonderful. Best bac
helorette weekend ever.” Poppy’s tone implies otherwise, and she stomps off toward the elevator.

  Jesus. If this woman can’t even stand to share a hotel room with me, then Jasper might be right. I may have one hell of a time getting in her little cotton panties. Which means I may soon be homeless. Fuck.

  I should have known better than to bet against Poppy Porter.

  Chapter Eleven

  She’s a scream . . . literally

  Leo

  I lie on the bed as Poppy hangs up another delicate dress. She’s up to five by the time I lose interest and begin browsing the room service menu. Does the woman know we’re in Vegas, and not Manhattan? We only came for a weekend but the amount of girly shit she’s pulled out of those cases since we arrived surprises even me.

  She twists her hair up at the back of her head and uses a chopstick-looking thing to spear it through and hold it in place. Even the nape of her neck is sexy as fuck. Dainty. Like you could wrap your hand around it and . . . whoa. Okay, I know this bet is a stupid decision I made with my even stupider brother, but either I had one too many drinks on that flight or I’m sitting here fantasizing about Pop Tart. I mean, she is a woman, so it’s not like it’s too far of a stretch for me to conjure up dirty scenarios of me fucking her from behind, but I seriously need to take a huge fucking step back. Or a cold shower.

  Speaking of cold showers . . . next door there’s a moan. A moan from Chase. And if that isn’t the equivalent of dousing my crotch with ice-cold water, I don’t know what is. I glance at Poppy, who has stopped moving in front of the wardrobe and is staring at the wall separating our room from theirs. As if she can sense my gaze, she lifts her head high and turns, smoothing down her pencil skirt. Her eyes are sparkling, but I only catch a glimpse before she clears her throat and turns back to her cases on the bed.

  “Does that bother you?” I ask, because I genuinely want to know. I have no idea if she’s still in love with Chase. The way he tells it, their breakup was a mutual decision, but it can’t be easy seeing your best friend not just move in on your ex, but marry him. Not to mention having to listen to them fucking through paper-thin hotel room walls.

  “Does what bother me?”

  There’s another moan from the other side of the wall. This one Claire’s . . . unless my buddy’s balls have suddenly crawled inside his ass and turned into ovaries. “That.”

  Poppy turns with a sweater set in her hands and moves back to the wardrobe with a forced smile. “Why should it bother me?”

  “Seriously, Pop Tart?”

  “I think I need a shower,” she says abruptly, and gathers her things. The bed is hitting the wall now and Claire’s moans are quite frankly annoying as hell. I like a woman to be responsive in bed. The more vocal the better, as it means I’m doing something right—like there is any chance of me not knowing what a woman wants in bed—but this is next-level moaning. I can’t help but think it’s all for Poppy’s benefit. Which is just shitty, from both of them. Compelled by my anger, I shoot up off the bed, march across the room, and bang on the wall.

  “Keep it the fuck down. Jesus.”

  Silence.

  Poppy turns and stares at me. She has her arms full of clothing and toiletries, and she’s shaking ever so slightly. She’s ready to bolt. “Thank you.”

  “No problem.” I shrug, and just like that she turns and quietly steps into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

  Chapter Twelve

  Grumpy cat

  Poppy

  Leo steps out of the bathroom surrounded by a cloud of steam. I’ve never met anyone who showers for as long as he does. He’s dressed in dark jeans, a white shirt, and a casual suede jacket in burnished cognac with polished oxfords to match. The man looks edible. Oh god, what is wrong with me? I already sent a text to Claire to say I won’t be joining them for dinner because I’m not feeling well, but maybe I really am sick. Maybe I need my head examined. I clear my throat and swallow hard.

  He runs a hand through his damp hair and his gaze slides over me from head to toe. I’m wearing my Grumpy Cat PJs. After a minute of staring, he doubles over with laughter. “What the fuck are you wearing?”

  “Pajamas.” I close my laptop and glare at him. “What?”

  “You sleep in Grumpy Cat pajamas?”

  “So?”

  “Oh, baby. You really are a crazy cat lady.”

  “Don’t call me baby; I’m not your baby. And so I like cats. So what?”

  “So what?”

  “What’s so wrong with that?”

  “Okay, remember twenty minutes ago when your ex-fiancé and your best friend were having wild monkey sex in the room next door? You know why she’s wearing his ring right now and you’re not?” Leo raises a brow at me, as if he’s waiting for a response, but he doesn’t miss a beat before he opens his mouth again. “Because you’re a fucking crazy cat lady. Cat ladies don’t get married; cat ladies don’t get laid. Cat ladies die alone in their apartments surrounded by their crazy fucking cats, who eventually eat their owners.”

  I straighten my pony tail, pulling it so tight I give myself a mini eye-lift. “My cats would never eat me.”

  “You say that now, but ten days after your rotting corpse has been fermenting on the living room rug, and those cats have eaten all the kibble left in their bowls, they will eat what’s left of you.”

  “Could you just leave already?”

  “Hey, I’m trying to help. God knows you need it.”

  “I don’t need help. I don’t need advice from a man whore. And I definitely don’t need a man. I have a vibrator. Several, actually, and some other things that I don’t even know the names of . . . or did you forget about the giant basket you had delivered to my workplace?”

  “How could I forget when I get updates every day?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The we vibe.”

  I cast a surreptitious glance toward my luggage, which happens to house the vibe in question. It’s not like I thought Claire and I would be having that kind of slumber party, but we have tickets to Magic Mike, and since her husband-to-be is on this trip, and I have no one to take the edge off but the goon standing right in front of me—and that is so not happening—I thought I may as well bring it along.

  Leo’s mouth twists with a lopsided grin. “You brought it with you, didn’t you?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “You dirty girl. You brought my vibe to Vegas.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything.”

  “Not unless you picture my face when you use it.”

  “Not on your life,” I say. “And what did you mean about getting updates?”

  He stares at me in disbelief, as if I’m simple. Then he walks to the bedside table and picks up his phone. After punching in his security code, he turns the screen to face me. There’s an app open, and it’s showing me Pop Tart’s Playlist. I snatch the phone from him and hit play. My vibrator starts buzzing in my bag, and realization finally dawns. I scroll through a list of songs: “Closer” by Nine Inch Nails, “Gorilla” by Bruno Mars, “Wicked Games” by The Weekend. The list goes on and on.

  “Oh my god.” My mouth gapes open in horror. All this time he’s been . . . “You!”

  Leo smiles. “Me.”

  “You’ve been spying on me through my vibrator?”

  “Spying? Jesus, Pop Tart, you make it sound so covert. What exactly do you do while you’re masturbating? Sounds like I’m missing out on all the fun.”

  “I can’t believe you. This is an invasion of my privacy.”

  “Oh, come on. You used the vibrators I sent you—what did you expect? You’d never seen a We-Vibe before?”

  “No. And I certainly wouldn’t have used it if I’d known.”

  “Why?”

  “Because, you freak, you’re you, and I’m—”

  “A crazy cat lady in desperate need of a good, hard fuck.” It isn’t a question. He takes several s
teps toward me. I shoot farther back on the bed, but Leo seems unperturbed. He wedges himself between my legs and my mouth opens in shock as he leans down into my space, forcing me to lie flat to avoid our bodies colliding. He hovers above me with that fucking Nass smirk on his face and lowers his hips until we’re touching. “Tell me, Pop Tart, is your pussy this unhappy, too?” He fingers the print of Grumpy Cat right over my nipple. I gasp before I can help it. The sound just slips out. Leo’s eyes darken with lust.

  “Right now? Yeah, because some asshole doesn’t know what personal space means.”

  He smirks and lifts himself up off the bed and away from me. I can’t help but shove him to make him move quicker.

  “I hate you.”

  “Aww, you say the sweetest things. You okay, there? You look a little worked up.”

  “Well, it’s not every day my archnemesis climbs between my legs and tries to get me to sleep with him—as if that would ever be an option.”

  “You won’t fuck me, just my vibrator, right?”

  “Fuck you.”

  “You wish.”

  “God, fighting with you is exhausting.”

  “You think this is fighting? No, sweetheart, this is foreplay. Now imagine how good it would feel with your grumpy pussy wrapped around my cock.”

  “You’re sick.”

  “I prefer the term sexual deviant, but hey, whatever floats your boat. Oh, wait—I know what floats your boat.” He taps his screen and the buzzing starts up again.

  I grab my pillow and throw it at him.

  Leo is as cool as ever when he walks to the door. Swiping his room key from the counter, he winks at me. “Don’t wait up.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Crazy in spades

  Poppy

  After Leo leaves, I order room service and finish up my work for the day, sending Jacinta an email with all of my completed tasks. I copy Katherine in on it too, so she can’t accuse me of leaving her out again.