The Inside Track: A License to Love Novel

by Tamsen Parker

  Everyone’s looking at me now, though, so I gotta tell them something.

  “Her name’s Dempsey. She’s a redhead, and she’s, like, smoking hot. Also smart like whoa. Probably has more brains in her head than the lot of us put together. She’s a financial planner for people who are in show business, especially kids, and she’s really good at her job.”

  “Oh, did you meet her at that thing at the high school?” Yeah, Christian pays attention.

  “Yeah, I did. She talked after me and basically cleaned up my mess? But she wasn’t boring like the first guy. And she… I dunno, guys. She likes me. And she loves Fiona, so you know she’s good people.”

  They nod in agreement. They all love Fi too and know a girl not liking my dog would totes be a deal breaker. And then, because they don’t seem suitably impressed, and I want them to like Dempsey, like like her almost as much as I do—but not quite—I throw out what I think will impress them the most.

  “And, hey, she hasn’t always been a financial planner. You guys remember that show Spencer’s Woods?”

  “Yeah. Don’t you remember we used to watch it every Tuesday night in your basement? We’d pretend to complain about Mila having bogarted the TV to watch it, but we were all so invested.”

  I’d forgotten about that, but Zane’s right. We did used to all pile downstairs with my sister and her friends to watch it and act like we were too cool, but then be glued to the screen within five minutes.

  “You guys remember that actress, Lauren Dempsey?”

  They all give signs of agreement but look kind of confused. Man do I know what that’s like, so I connect the dots for them. “Yeah, she changed her name, but come on. Lauren Dempsey, Dempsey Lawrence?”

  Realization dawns, and they all get a vaguely starstruck expression on their faces. Because, yeah, that happened before we were famous.

  “Holy shit. You’re dating Lauren Dempsey? No fucking way. Do you know how many boxes of tissues I went through jerking—”

  I try not to be a caveman, I really do. But there is some shit that just renders me unable to use my words and makes me want to club a dude instead. Which is probably what sends me vaulting across the room and tackling Benji, sending us both crashing into a glass-topped coffee table. Aw, man. Papa Teague is gonna be so mad.

  10

  Dempsey

  * * *

  Checking the clock when expecting Nick is basically futile. He’s always shown up approximately when he’s supposed to, but he’s not what I would call punctual. His flight landed a few hours ago, though, and he was going to swing by his house to pick up Fi and then come here. His flight was on time, so that’s not what’s keeping him. Did he forget? No, we talked earlier today, and he sounded legit excited about coming back, even if it was going to be for twenty-four hours. Which is not a great indication of anything really, because Nick is excited about everything. Which is one of the things I love about him and I need to remember that. The flip side of some of those coins is not the greatest, but for what I get in return…

  Finally the doorbell rings, and it’s a miracle my feet touch the ground on the way to the door. I fling it open, and there’s Nick looking messier than usual and Fiona wearing a Wonder Woman costume. Is that what took so long? I doubt it. Fiona seems to like wearing clothes—Nick packs a bag for her when he doesn’t always do it for himself.

  No, I think what took so long is that Nick is carrying half a dozen bags from stores that are out of my budget. Except for the liquor store down the street. I see those not often, but regularly.

  I try to take some of them from him, but he just barges in, throws them on the floor with some clanks, rattles, and crinkles. And as soon as I’ve shut and locked the door behind him, he’s coming for me. Scoops me up in an enormous bear hug and squeezes me so hard I can barely breathe. Also he picks me up and spins me around, and I throw my arms around his neck and cling to him. I’m dizzy but in a nice way—this must be what elation feels like. I am so happy to see him, touch him, smell him, feel the warmth of his body, that I could cry.

  Eventually he sets me down and I have to swipe at my eyes.

  “You okay, babe?” He brushes a thumb over my damp cheeks, a line of worry forming between his brows.

  “Yeah,” I say, feeling foolish. “I’m just really glad you’re here. Thanks for coming. I know it’s a pain in the ass to fly all the way from Miami and be staying for twenty-four hours, but—”

  “Hey. I would fly on a million planes for a billion hours if it meant I could spend an hour with you.”

  I choke on my incredulous laugh because I don’t even get the sense that he’s exaggerating and that’s wild. I never thought anyone would feel that way about me.

  “But preferably, like, three? Because it takes me a little while to do my best work in the sack, you know. An hour might not cut it.”

  And there’s my Nicky. I shake my head but then take his hand and kiss him. Kiss him until there’s a whine from below and Fi paws my leg. Someone is peeved that she hasn’t been greeted properly, and who can blame her? She got dressed up for this, and I haven’t even said hello.

  So I sit on the floor and she climbs into my cross-legged lap, licking my face as she does. It’s a little hard to pet her with her dress and her tiara and even the gold gauntlets wrapped around her front legs, but I do my best. “Oh, hello, princess. Yes, I’m glad to see you, too. You look so pretty. I love your outfit. And you are, you’re a Wonder pup. Yes, you are.”

  I don’t know what it is about Fi, but she’s the only creature I’ve ever wanted to baby talk to. When I look up at Nick, he’s standing there with a look on his face that makes me uncomfortable. It’s like if love were a liquid and he was a pitcher, and it’s basically overflowing, just gushing right out of him. I don’t think anyone’s ever looked at me like that before. My chest swells and my face gets warm, and there’s something swirling in my stomach that might be pleasure at being adored so much. Or it could be puke. Those things aren’t mutually exclusive either, because it makes me nervous for him to look at me like that.

  “So, uh, what’s with all the stuff?”

  “Stuff?”

  I raise my chin in the direction of the bags he dumped on the floor since my hands are busy scritching behind Fi’s ears.

  “Oh, right. Yeah, so I don’t know if you know this or not, but it’s the Hollywood Notes awards tonight.”

  “Okay?”

  I recognize the name. Smaller than the major awards like the Golden Globes or the Emmys, but still prestigious. It celebrates the music in TV shows and movies. Oh, shit.

  “Wait, is LtG up for an award?”

  Nick shrugs. “Yeah. We did a song for a kids’ movie that came out a few months ago, and it got nominated. I mean, it’s not a big deal or anything—”

  “Yes, it fucking is. That’s awesome. So why aren’t you—? Oh.”

  He’s not going to the awards because of me.

  I’d shove him in the chest, but I’ve still got Fi on my lap and she’s not going anywhere. I channel that indignant effort into a glare.

  Nick’s shaking his head. “No, really, it’s fine. I’d have to wear a tux and I’m not good at that. I can’t stand those shirts. I feel like I’m being strangled, and I always end up taking my jacket off and losing it, and… That show is just too classy for me, okay? I do way better at the ones for like Pop Nation. Besides, the other guys will be there, and Benji’s using my ticket so Jordan could go and she’s apparently super-excited about being on the red carpet. But I thought maybe after we fuck—”

  Nick’s not known for his subtlety. But I can’t even argue; we’re totally going to have sex really, really soon. It’s a minor miracle we’re not on our way there already.

  “—we could have a party, too.”

  He starts digging in the bags and breaks out a T-shirt with a tuxedo printed on it. Yep, that’s about right for Nick. And a couple of bottles of champagne. And a purple glitter-and-tulle ballgown confection f
or Fiona. Is it wrong that I’m a tad jealous that the dog gets a gown and I’ll be sitting on the couch in my pajamas because I donated all my fancy numbers to one of those prom dress charities a long time ago?

  But it turns out Nick’s not done yet. He digs under the empty bags with the tissue paper spilling out all over and hauls out the biggest one yet. From inside it, he pulls out a whole lot of shimmery emerald-green fabric. He fumbles with it for a minute, but finally gets it right so he can hold it up properly, and it’s gorgeous. Deep green, one-shouldered, it’ll go all the way to the floor but has a slit up to what will probably be my thigh.

  “Is… Did you get that for me?”

  He grins. “Yeah. I mean, just because we can’t go to the party doesn’t mean we can’t have a party ourselves. And I thought you’d look extra pretty in this. But it also seemed comfy, like I didn’t get you one of those strapless things with the sticks in the dress because, damn, that doesn’t seem nice at all.”

  I’d volunteer that they’re not sticks, it’s called boning, but if I tell him that, Nick will never stop giggling, and I can already picture the disastrous future red carpets. Yeah, I’ll just keep that to myself. “Thank you. It’s beautiful. I love it.”

  If it’s possible, his goofy smile gets even bigger, and he drops the dress on the floor, turning back to rummage even more. “Wait, I’m not done yet. I got something else, too. It’s in here somewhere. Aw, man, Stan is gonna be real mad if I lost them. He already doesn’t trust me with shit like this…”

  Then Nicky’s popping up with a velvet box. A big one. Oh my god, what did he do?

  “I borrowed these. Which I maybe lied to do because the reason those jewelry places let you borrow shit is so that rich people will see famous people wearing them on TV and buy them, but you probably know that because you used to do all this crap. Anyway, I told them it was for the awards tonight, which it is, but I failed to mention we’d be attending from your couch. So, uh, I hope you either like them a real lot and I’ll buy them, or not at all so I can bring them back and they’ll never let me borrow anything again.”

  The ridiculous man hands me the box, and I crack it open. Instead of the giant diamond monstrosity I’m expecting, there’s a delicate diamond and pearl and maybe emerald scroll-y pendant on a thin chain, with matching earrings. The ensemble is like nothing I’ve ever seen before, and I can’t help the way my eyes bug. This wouldn’t show well on the red carpet, but it’s absolutely lovely.

  “Nick. What did you—”

  “Uh, before you get too excited, you should know that green stone is called demantoid garnet and that sounds like demented and I like that word and also think it’s pretty fitting considering how my brain works, so that’s half the reason I picked out that one.”

  I have to roll my lips between my teeth to keep from busting out laughing, because that is such a Nick thing to do. It also leaves me curious. “What’s the other half?”

  “It’s pretty like whoa but not super-flashy, so it reminded me of you. I thought you’d like it.”

  “You were right. I do. A lot. C’mere.”

  I crook a finger, and he gets down on his knees, doesn’t even try to dislodge Fiona from my lap because we both know she’s not going anywhere. Not yet.

  “Thank you. This is going to be really fun, and I love it.”

  He’s close enough that I can grab the collar of his shirt and drag him in to kiss, and kiss him I do until Fi huffs in irritation that she’s being squished and vacates my lap. Nick pulls me off my feet and points me toward the stairs. “Let’s go have sex because I really wanna see you in that dress, but I gotta get laid first, because lemme tell you my left hand is nowhere near as good as being inside you.”

  Nick Fischer, ladies and gentlemen. Classy as fuck. But also, mine, and we hold hands as we scramble up the stairs, not being able to get up there fast enough.

  Nick

  * * *

  Once we’re up in Dempsey’s room, I take off my clothes and throw them on the floor and then strip her almost as quickly. Seeing her naked is like… I can’t even think of something as good as seeing Dempsey naked. Except maybe being inside her. But as ready as I am for that, she probably needs some foreplay. And hell, I like that, too. Sometimes it makes me feel like my dick is going to fall off or explode because it aches so hard, but it’s only because I’m so goddamn turned on. I’m gonna keep that whole dick falling off thing to myself though because it’s not exactly sexy talk. Who wants to think about a zombie dick falling off and then chasing you around, amirite?

  Even I don’t want to think about that right now but it would make a hilarious claymation. What I’d rather think about is how Dempsey’s sitting on her bed, and I would really rather she be sitting on me. More specifically on my non-zombie dick.

  I climb onto the bed to be near her and then we sorta slip down so we can lay next to each other, and it feels really fucking good to have so much of her skin touching so much of my skin. If I could wrap myself in a Dempsey blanket, I would. But that’d be super-weird and I’d rather kiss her like this.

  She’s grabbing my butt and pulling my hips toward her, and maybe I was wrong about this whole foreplay thing? Because judging by the way she’s moving, she’s ready to fuck.

  “Nick.”

  Yeah, her voice is all low and raspy and desperate. It makes my cock throb, and I almost jump out of my skin when she reaches between us and squeezes me.

  “Yeah, babe?”

  “Need you to fuck me. I want to feel you inside of me. This kissing is nice, but can we maybe save the sweet stuff for later? I’ve been waiting weeks for this.”

  Despite her words, she kisses me again, nipping and biting and tasting while she strokes me, and it’s enough to make my eyes cross. “I don’t have a problem with that.”

  And then she’s gone, rummaging in the side table and coming up with one of those foil packets, ripping it open carefully even as she’s fevered in every other way. That’s my Demps; responsible to her last breath, even when she’s dying of horniness.

  Speaking of dying, I feel like I’m going to expire when she unrolls the latex over me and then pushes my shoulders until I’m flat on my back. She straddles me, and it doesn’t hardly take a minute before she’s guiding my cock inside her and throwing back her head as she works her way onto me.

  “Fuck, yes, Nick. You feel so fucking good. Love having you inside me.”

  When I’m fully seated, she opens her eyes and smiles, puts her hands on my chest and starts to rock, making a little scoop with her hips as she comes forward, and I’m almost certain it’s so she can get the contact she needs on her clit.

  I grab her hips and don’t steer her because she sure as fuck doesn’t need my help, but just to have my hands on her. Dempsey’s pussy is heaven on earth, and heaven, I am in you. Warm and close and slick, and the view is incredible from here. She’s all freckled skin and red hair, and holy hell, her tits are magnificent.

  She moves her hands to frame my head and leans closer. I take the opportunity to cup one of her breasts, skim the pad of my thumb over a nipple and then pinch it, and she moans in between panting.

  “Yes. That feels so good. Squeeze them both, please.”

  Who would deny a request like that? Not me. Now I’ve got handfuls of Dempsey’s breasts and I’m kneading and squeezing them with the occasional brush over her nipples and it’s so much my brain is about to overheat.

  “Nick, suck me. I think I’ll come if you suck me.”

  “I think I’m gonna come if you keep talking like that.”

  I lean forward a little to take Dempsey’s nipple in my mouth and suck, tonguing the hard peak as she rocks and then switches to grinding against me. Goddamn. Goddamn it all to hell.

  “Seriously, I’m gonna come, so if you want to come on my cock—”

  “Ah!”

  Her cry is accompanied by that fantastic pulse of her muscles around my dick, and I blow right as she’s coming. It’s the
most incredible feeling, her squeezing and milking me, draining everything I’ve got as she shudders above me. And when she’s exhausted every ounce of her climax, she collapses on me, her head in the crook of my neck, her hair in my face, and I don’t even care. I just want to hold her.

  Dempsey

  * * *

  We totally went at it twice. Once in a fairly desperate, sloppy, animalistic, quick-and-dirty kind of way, and then a second time in much more slow, intimate, sensual kind of way. Well, as slow as Nicky ever goes anyway. Which is fine. It’s easy enough to keep his mouth busy, and once he’s set to a certain kind of task—like giving ladyhead—he’s quite persistent until it’s complete.

  And now, after showering and some primping on my part, we’re sitting on my couch in our red carpet getups and we’re drinking the champagne Nick brought while eating what he refers to as “loaded” bagels: lox, cream cheese, tomato, red onion, capers, and dill.

  Fi is eyeing our dinner, even though I made her a bowl of her own with poached salmon, Brussels sprouts, and sweet potatoes. But smoked salmon is a no-no for puppers, so no matter how much she sulks, she can’t have any.

  We’ve been clapping for the winners, and I’ve been taking notes on movies and shows I want to watch. I’ve caught up on a lot of things while Nick has been away. He leaves more than empty space while he’s on tour; he leaves me with a lot of empty time. Which at first was fine. I got to catch up on books I wanted to read, the shows I’d DVRed, some movies that had come out in digital that I’d been wanting to see. It was nice to have a little bit of space to breathe and to have only my own small messes to tidy after, but it didn’t take long before I missed him. A lot. Ached for him to be here with me. So I’d best stock up to keep myself busy because he’s going to be gone for just as long again before he comes back.