Just when I'd decided to not beat him over the head with that last slice of pizza, he grinned. "It's freaking hilarious."
"It is not," I told him. "Do I need to remind you? I'm probably fired."
Steve made a scoffing sound. "For what? Serving the wrong drinks? If they're gonna be like that, screw 'em. Who needs a job like that?"
I did. That's who.
But that wasn't the point. I tried to explain. "It wasn't just that I served the wrong drinks. It was that I served drinks that were really, really wrong."
"How wrong?" Anthony asked.
I let out a long breath. "You don't wanna know."
Steve leaned forward. "You didn't shit in them or anything? Did you?"
Through clenched teeth, I said, "No. I didn't 'shit' in them. God, what kind of person do you think I am?"
"Hey," Steve said, "Chill. I was just askin'."
Anthony spoke up. "So what did you do?" He gave another bark of laughter. "Pee in them?"
"Oh shut up," I said. "I just mushed up a couple snacks from the vending machine, stuffed them into a couple of glasses, and topped them off with seltzer-water."
"What kind of snack?" Anthony asked, his eyes brightening. "Like a real Moon Pies?"
Moon Pies were a type of snack cake, made with graham cracker cookies and marshmallow filling. According to my sister who'd been living in Alabama, you could find Moon Pies in practically every vending machine down South.
But here in Michigan, they weren't exactly a common thing. Today, I'd been willing to improvise. As it turned out, that wasn't exactly a good thing.
"No," I said. "I used this other snack cake thingy. It might've been a Ding Dong, but I'm not sure"
Steve snorted. "And you got fired for that? Damn, your boss sounds like a real hard-ass."
"Actually, he's not," I said. "It wasn't just the drinks. It was the other stuff."
Anthony gave me a puzzled look. "What other stuff?"
Where to begin? I let out another long sigh. "Well, because I thought it was you guys, I didn't 'act professional' when the customers complained."
"Oh yeah?" Steve said, leaning forward again. "What'd you do?"
Just thinking of it, I sank lower in my seat. "I wrote this stupid 'note' and asked the waitress to deliver it. Told her it was an apology and promised her that the customers would totally love it."
Next to me, Anthony asked, "Did they?"
Reluctantly, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the so-called apology. It was crumpled and sticky from spilled beer and whatever else had been slopped across on the bar at the time. I flung the wadded paper at Steve and watched as he smoothed it out and took a look.
A second later, he burst out laughing.
As for me, I wanted to cry. "Well, I'm glad someone's amused," I said, "because the customers sure as heck weren't."
Chapter 7
Steve was still looking at the wrinkled slip paper. And, he was still laughing. "This was supposed to be for us?"
"Yeah," I said. "As a joke. And obviously, you think it's funny, so…" I didn't bother finishing the sentence. Just because my brothers would've found it amusing, it didn't mean that a nice, dignified couple would've been nearly as entertained.
Steve tossed the crumpled paper to Anthony, who picked it up and looked. Now, he was laughing, too. "No way," he said. "You sent this to a customer?"
"Not just one customer," I said. "Two customers. Unfortunately."
Anthony set the paper, face-up, on the table, next to the open pizza box. It wasn't really a note so much as a doodle. Some might call it a cartoon. I called it sheer stupidity. Bare-butted stupidity, to be exact.
Anthony pointed down at the drawing. "So, whose butts are those supposed to be? Ours?"
"I guess," I said. "Honestly, I didn't give it a whole lot of thought. I was just playing off the whole 'moon' thing, you know?"
Steve gave a slow nod. "Oh, I know. And I totally approve."
"You would," I muttered.
"So how'd they take it?" Anthony asked.
"The customers?" I winced. "Not so good."
"So they complained, huh?"
"They did more than complain." I hesitated. "Well, actually, the guy was a pretty good sport about it, but his date – a first date, by the way – threw a giant hissy-fit."
I reached up to rub the back of my neck. It felt all stiff and funny, like I'd slept on it wrong. "I apologized like crazy and tried to explain, but…" I shrugged. "Well, anyway, the lady wasn't really listening at that point. And my manager? He's actually a pretty cool guy, but the drawing? Well, let's just say, he didn't find it nearly as funny as you guys did."
Steve grinned over at Anthony. "Next time we're in there," he said, "let's order a Cock and Balls, see if ol' Moon Pie can draw that."
"Oh shut up," I said. "I'm not drawing anything. And besides, I probably won't even be there." At the thought of finding a new job, I wanted to cry. I'd been at that job for only a couple of weeks. I was just starting to settle in.
"Aw c'mon," Steve said. "Lighten up. If you lose the job, so what? It's not like you need the money."
"I do, too," I said. "Why wouldn’t I need it?"
"Because Jake's loaded," Steve said. "And you live with him. What do you need money for?"
In a way, Steve had a point. Jake was loaded, and like clockwork, the money kept flowing in, buckets of it, even while he slept.
And with every video he put out, the bigger those buckets got – more money, more fans – I sighed. More drama. More girls chasing him. More reasons to wonder why, exactly, he'd settle down with one girl, me specifically.
But the way it sounded, that's what he wanted.
Supposedly.
I mean, it's not he'd made it official or anything. And for the tenth time today, I couldn’t help but wonder, why was that? Why would he hint at something more permanent, but then do nothing about it?
Damn it. I needed to stop thinking like that. We'd been together less than two months. I was putting the cart way ahead of the horse, as my grandma might've said.
Steve's voice interrupted my thoughts. "If you want a job so bad, you should work for Jake."
That was another sore subject. For weeks, Jake had been suggesting the exact same thing. And for weeks, I'd been resisting. Lately, he'd been pushing harder. And for whatever reason, I'd been pushing back just as hard.
It wasn't that I didn't want to work for him. It was just more complicated than the way Steve made it sound.
"I can't work for him," I explained. "What happens if we break up?"
At the thought, something in my heart twisted. Forget the job. A life without Jake? It pained me just to think about it. But it would pain me even more if I was without Jake and out on my ass with no way of supporting myself.
"What do you mean?" Anthony said. "You think he'd fire you?"
"I don't know," I said. "But either way, I'd have to leave."
I'd seen this dynamic play out before. The job he'd been offering me had to do with my degree in Hospitality Management. He wanted me to handle the same stuff that Bianca, his previous event planner, used to handle.
There was only one problem. I'd seen firsthand how that arrangement had worked out for Bianca. Technically, Jake had been her client, not her employer. But in the big scheme of things, that distinction hadn't really mattered.
Things between them had gotten friendly – too friendly, the way it sounded. And then, when their relationship – if you could call it that – had ended, she'd gone more than a little crazy.
I didn't know what she was doing now. But if I knew Bianca, she was dying to get her old position back. And who knows? If I kept turning Jake down, maybe she'd even get it.
The whole thing was giving me a headache. Or maybe it was just a hunger headache. I glanced at the pizza box. That last slice of pizza was still there, looking surprisingly delicious all things considered.
Steve gave the box another nudge in my direction.
I gave him an irritated look. "Stop that."
He grinned. "Stop what?"
"You know what. Besides," I lied, "I'm not even hungry."
Steve looked to Anthony. "So, you want the bet or not?" He pulled out his wallet, dug out a ten-dollar bill, and slapped it onto the table. "I still say she eats it."
Anthony turned to give me a long, speculative look. "I dunno, she looks kinda tempted."
Suddenly, I felt like an animal in a zoo – at feeding time, no less. "Look," I said, "I'll save you both some trouble. I'm not eating that thing. Bet on something else, okay?"
Ignoring me, Anthony reached for his own wallet and pulled out a ten of his own. He tossed it onto the table and told Steve, "You're on."
Smiling like he'd just won the lottery, Steve said, "Sucker."
I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. I'd come here for a distraction. And yeah, they were providing it and all, but somehow, I'd envisioned something a little more comforting.
Like pie. Pie would be good.
My happy thoughts of pie were interrupted by Steve saying, "So, tell us. How mad were you last night?"
I gave a little shake of my head. "Huh?"
"We saw Jake's new video," he said. "That was some crazy shit."
"You mean at the convention center?" I said. "Yeah, no kidding." I still hadn't seen the video, but if I knew Jake, it would be crazy, because they were all crazy – sometimes violent, sometimes funny as hell, always entertaining, assuming you weren't the squeamish type.
Anthony's voice interrupted my thoughts. "So, who was the girl? You know her?"
I felt my eyebrows furrow. "What girl?"
"The one in the video."
I stared blankly at him. I had no idea what he was talking about. "There was a girl?"
Anthony glanced toward Steve, but said nothing.
"What's going on?" I said.
Anthony turned back to me and said, "You haven't seen it?"
I gave him an exasperated look. "Seen what?"
With obvious reluctance, Anthony reached up into an overhead bin. He pulled his small, tablet computer and fired it up. I braced myself, wondering if it was something I'd even want to see.
Five minutes later, I had my answer. And that answer was a definite no.
Chapter 8
The first part of the video was pretty much what I'd expected. I saw footage of Dorian, sliding around on the floor before getting up and plowing into Jake, who knocked Dorian on his ass with surprisingly little effort.
A moment later, Ronnie entered the frame, taking a flying leap that missed Jake by at least two feet. Ronnie slid, face-first, across the table, exactly where I'd been sitting, just before that stranger had hustled me out of there.
The camera shook wildly as the angle suddenly changed. It was easy to guess why. When I'd left that place, Trey, holding his video recorder, had been standing on our table. The way it looked now, he'd just jumped off. But why? To avoid Ronnie?
I kept on watching.
No. It was to zoom in on Jake, who was bobbing and weaving as Dorian took wild swings that never quite connected.
Around them, the place was pure chaos, with half of the people running for the exits while the other half added to the mayhem, either by either fighting amongst themselves or cheering on those who were.
The camera did a quick pan of the crowd, and I tried to make sense of it all. In all the commotion, I could hardly tell who was fighting who. But then, I realized something. Mostly, it was the security guys – meaning those who had arrived with Dorian.
I watched as a huge guy in a leisure suit sucker-punched a tall, clean-cut guy who looked around twenty years old. A college athlete? Probably.
Watching this now, I was wishing that I'd paid more attention to the news this morning, or heck, even late last night. With as bad as this looked, there was no way this hadn't morphed into a major news story by now.
I mean, how often did a basic awards ceremony turn into a full-blown riot?
When the camera panned back to Jake, he was squaring off against Dorian, who'd stumbled to his feet yet again.
I focused all my attention on Jake. He was facing away from the camera, so I could only see his back. When I'd left the convention center, he'd been wearing dark slacks and a matching jacket, along with a dark dress shirt – no tie. Now, the jacket was gone, whether flung onto the floor or lying somewhere in shreds.
But even without the clothes, and even from this angle, I'd have recognized Jake anywhere – with that thick, dark hair, those broad shoulders, and something predatory about the way he moved.
Watching, I felt that familiar mix of excitement and shame – excitement because even when Jake horrified me, he thrilled in ways that just weren't normal – and, shame, because I knew that those butterflies in my stomach would soon flutter downward, making me want to rip off the rest of his clothes and remind him that his amazing body wasn't only fit for fighting.
At the thought, my pulse quickened, and I bit my lip. If I left now, I could make it to Jake's place in a half-hour. He might even be home. And if he wasn't, he was probably at his office, located just one floor down. Technically, he was the boss. He could take a break any time, right?
Suddenly, the screen in front of me froze, jolting me out of my X-rated thoughts. I looked to Anthony and asked, "What happened?"
He gave me an annoyed look. "I paused it."
"Yeah. But why?"
"Because you were looking all—" Anthony shook his head. "—I dunno, stoned or something." He studied my face. "Are you?"
"No." Talk about insulting. "I was thinking of Jake."
Across from me, Steve made a sound of disgust. "That's even worse." He practically shuddered. "We don't wanna see that."
I rolled my eyes. "There's nothing to see. Jeez."
It was true. It wasn't like I was going to start masturbating or anything.
On instinct, I glanced toward the nearby bunk and couldn't help but wonder something. If my brothers weren't here, would I be getting hot and heavy with thoughts of Jake?
No. Definitely not. If shame didn't stop me, the smell of old beer would definitely do the trick.
Of course, I could plug my nose…
Damn it. I was stoned. And my drug was Jake. I couldn’t help it. The effect he had on me, well, it just wasn't natural.
Across from me, Steve's tone grew sarcastic. "You wanna sext him? We'll wait."
My face grew warm. Sexting wasn't the thing I wanted. What I wanted was the real deal, not that Steve needed to know that. "Oh shut up." I turned back to Anthony and said, "Go on. Hit play, will ya?"
Looking less than enthused, Anthony reached out and tapped the small screen. Once again, the image sprang to life.
As I watched, Dorian swung again, missed Jake by a mile, and slipped onto the floor. It belatedly dawned on me that Dorian must be drunk off his ass. He had to be, because there was no way on Earth he'd be having such a hard time staying upright if he weren't.
And where was Ronnie in all this? Unless he'd slid off the other side of the table, it seemed surprising that he hadn't jumped back in. I was still wondering when a new person stumbled into the frame.
It was Nipple Girl – the blonde who'd sitting at Dorian's table. She lunged forward, but not toward Dorian – I tensed – toward Jake.
What the hell? Was she planning to fight him?
A split-second later, I had my answer.
Obviously, it wasn't a fight she was looking for. It was something else. And the way it looked, it was the same thing that I'd been fantasizing about just a few seconds earlier.
Watching her on the small screen, I felt myself frown. Her eyes were glazed, and her smile was sloppy. She staggered into Jake and wrapped her arms loosely around his neck. She shimmied against him, and her silver halter dress slipped to the side.
And there it was – the nipple – except I couldn’t technically see it, thanks to some sort of digital blurring effect. But no amount of
blurring could hide the fact that it was out there on the loose, surrounded by more bouncing flesh than her sparkling dress could reasonably be expected to contain.
Somewhere behind the camera, Trey had to be drooling all over himself.
But what about Jake? With my heart racing, I leaned closer to the screen and studied his face. He wasn't drooling. But he wasn't exactly fighting her off either. When she shimmied again, he turned and grinned straight into the camera, looking like he was having the time of his life.
What the hell?
A few feet behind Jake, Dorian was struggling again to push himself up. When he spotted Jake with the blonde, his nostrils flared, and his eyes narrowed. He lunged forward, as if looking to score a tackle.
Jake – with the girl still latched onto him like a monkey on a tree – twisted sideways just in time. The sudden twist made the girl's legs fly upward, giving me the briefest glimpse of skimpy red panties. She gave a squeal, followed by a giggle that abruptly ended when Dorian plowed into them, sending all three of them tumbling to the floor.
The camera panned down, and I saw a tangle of arms, legs, and blonde hair, thrashing amidst the saucy remnants of yup, my Chicken Florentine.
Damn it.
My jaw clenched. Forget the chicken. My Jake. And my temper – it was rising with every second.
On the small screen, Jake rolled to the side, taking the girl with him. A few feet away, Dorian wallowed in the same spot, looking like a giant fish, flopping around in too little water, until his forehead flopped suddenly to the floor, and he stopped moving entirely.
I sucked in a breath. Was he dead? No. He couldn't be dead. If he had died, I definitely would've heard about it. Hell, it would've been national news.
I shifted my focus back to Jake. On the floor, she was on top of him now. They were pelvis-to-pelvis, face-to-face – my gaze narrowed– nipple to shirt.
Okay, so I couldn't see the nipple, but I knew it was out there, causing all kinds of trouble. I frowned. For all I knew there were two nipples on the loose.
I stared down at the screen. Was Jake planning to just lie there? Holding some other girl, while Trey – the jackass that he was – filmed the whole thing?
Jake Forever (Jaked Book 3) Page 4