Stone: At Your Service (Carolina Bad Boys #1)

by Rie Warren

  “Manly studliness?”

  His eyebrows rose in response. “More like obvious heterosexuality, especially when there are women around.”

  “I think this car and your duds shout we’re bro-mos loud enough.” I checked out his pink oxford—the exact same shirt I’d sworn I wouldn’t be caught dead in—tight jeans, and the long medallion hanging from around his neck. “Well, aren’t you all dolled up, darlin’?”

  His eyebrows remained hairline high.

  “I am not cashin’ in my beer, man. Besides, it’s Heiney, that should work, right?” Met by more silence, I slouched further in my seat. “Fine. I’ll hide it.”

  I got a fist bump in agreement. That was good enough for me.

  “Let’s get this ass and pony show on the road!” I rolled down the window and rapped on the roof, sending a wave to my grease monkeys who were still goddamn gawking at us.

  Nicky hit the horn several times as he cut into the morning traffic, pointing us westward.

  ****

  We were on hour three, had just stopped for a refill at Wendy’s, and I’d taken over the driving. I eased back onto the highway, glancing at Nicky. “So lemme get this straight.”

  “Har har.” He rested a foot on the dashboard.

  “No pun intended.” I winked. “You’ve got this awesome job guaranteed to snag you some pussy. You’re basically surrounded by hot, smart, and horny honeys all the time, but instead of diving head first into the buffet of broads at these writing conferences, you told them you’re homosexual.”

  Pulling the leather band off his low ponytail, he dragged both hands through his hair. “It’s not all glamour.”

  “Oh, believe me, I know that.” I looked pointedly at the mess he’d just made of his hair.

  He shut me up with a punch to my arm. “Anyway, you know I thought it’d be hard as hell to break into the romance writing biz as a man. Women wanna read what a woman wants, not what a guy thinks a woman wants.”

  “Yeah, but you’re a best seller, man.”

  He snorted through his nose. “I am now, six years later, because of the loyal readers and being able to get my stuff out there, bam-bam-bam. But being a guy who writes sex and romance—even you didn’t think that’d fly. You know that’s why I went with my pen name.” His mouth slid into a half smile. “’Course, what the fuck do I know, huh? My sales didn’t really take off until it came out that I am a guy who writes steamy romance, fangs and all.”

  “Fans and all, you mean.” I waggled my eyebrows.

  “Don’t remind me.” He groaned. “How many times did I get hit on by chicks asking me to act out sex scenes from my books with them?”

  “Quit your bitchin’. You gotta admit the revolving bed of fangirls had some perks for a couple years.”

  “Yeah, well that bed rotation got old fast. I’m not the fantasy they want, and they sure as hell weren’t mine. Remember the one who showed up on my doorstep in the dead of night? She swore she was Alaina deChristiane from my—”

  “Vampires Do It in the Dark books?” I swiped a hand down my face. “How could I forget your very own bunny boiler? She promised to be your immortal mate. Oh! And she tried to kiss your face off while wearing fake vampire teeth, right?”

  He shuddered. “Maybe Nicky Love wasn’t such a good idea after all.”

  Nicky Love. The name sounded totally feminine, which didn’t match the man sitting beside me at all. Nicky could be a bruiser. Just over six-feet tall with a wiry, muscular build, he’d been my wingman in more than one bar fight during our early days after we’d gotten fake IDs. We certainly got a name on the bar circuit before my dad had found us out at the Kickin’ Horse Saloon and busted our chops. Then he put us both in front of Ma for her own brand of ass whuppin’.

  The funny thing was, Nicky Love was almost his real name. He’d practically fallen into his calling, much like me. Nicholas Loveland. I’d called him Nicky from the get-go and when he started writing he took it up and shortened his last name. Presto-fucking-bingo, for all intents and purposes in the anonymous age of the Internet, he could be a woman writing chick-shit.

  He’d carried on, flying under the radar and writing his love stories until he started going to these damn writers conferences. It wasn’t like the word got out after he came out as a guy to his fellow writers, but there was speculation among his growing readership. The mystery surrounding Nicky Love heated up his career.

  “A couple years ago I started hating going to the coventions. Being one of the token males?” He shivered and it had nothing to do with the A/C blasting over us. “It gets a little uncomfortable. They don’t mean any harm. But who doesn’t like a little attention from the opposite sex, right?”

  Who me? I mouthed, wide-eyed and innocent.

  “I was gettin’ drunk-groped like I was one of the Coverdales—”

  I spit a mouthful of Coke all over the steering wheel. “Cover what now?”

  “Coverdales. That’s what we call the male cover models who usually make appearances, meet and greet, and get groped . . . the ladies love it.”

  Groped, huh. Maybe this gig isn’t so bad after all.

  Nicky must’ve recognized the predatory gleam in my eyes because he wagged a finger at me—obviously getting into role—and continued. “Aside from the off-their-meds stalker types, I was in too much danger from the women in my writing circle trying to set me up with their daughters, nieces, younger sisters . . .”

  “Ah. The rarified breed, a male romance writer.”

  “Fuck you, Stone.” He elbowed me in the ribs. “My crew is as awesome as yours at the garage, but they excel at henpecking. You’ll see.”

  “Not sure I want to.” My hands started sweating on the steering wheel as I reconsidered the five-day LitLuv romance convention I’d signed up for.

  “Being gay was a good solution. Bonus? Saying I was in a permanent relationship kept the hens off my back, until they kept hounding me about my partner.” He looked over, sizing me up. “Now you’re my bear.”

  I gave him a jaunty nod. “Stone, at your service.”

  Scrubbing both hands over his face, he mumbled, “What the fuck was I thinking? Macho mechanic who can’t keep his cock holstered, with sex on the brain and grease stains on his knuckles?”

  “Hey, asshole, that hurt. I’m sitting right here, and I goddamn scrubbed my knuckles until they were chapped, I’ll have you fuckin’ know.”

  He peeked out at me between his fingers. “Holy shit, Josh. That was really gay of you.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.”

  I jerked my chin down, weirdly pleased. “Right on. See? I can do this, lover.”

  Nicky snorted until I burst into laughter too.

  After another driver switch, I pulled one of his bags onto my lap, intent on doing a dive for the romance-y shit he always packed for these getaways. I already had all his books—signed, naturally. I’d even opened an account on Amazon to post reviews for him. He was a talented dude, even if I had to pretend it wasn’t him writing stuff that made me a little turned on because that would just make my nuts dry up. Nicky could joke about Stone’s Escort Service all he liked, but I was his biggest pimp, handing out his postcards and business cards at the garage. Because the ladies liked romance and red roses with their lube jobs.

  I pulled out a wad of white cards. “What’s this? Notes for your next story?”

  “Uh . . . actually, they’re note cards, for you.”

  “Me?” Didn’t I feel overwhelmed by happy. I flicked through them. Then I didn’t feel happy-frigging-happy at all. “Notes about how I’m supposed to dress, act . . . who I’m supposed to be?”

  The asshole kept mum.

  “Art dealer? You’re shitting me, right?” I tore that card in two and stomped it beneath my feet. “I know jackshit about art. How’s that gonna fly if someone with a clue starts talkin’ to me? What’s wrong with a fella owning a garage?”

  Nicky frowned so hard I thought all the w
ords he kept inside his head were going to spew all over the dashboard. Then he grinned slowly. “Foreign car dealer.”

  Smug motherfucker. I bumped his fist. “Yeah.” I settled back in my seat. “I still don’t understand why this is necessary. Can’t you just do the holy water, wear a cross, garlic thing to keep the crazies away?”

  “Try being a single male surrounded by thousands of female romance writers and fans . . . in an enclosed space.”

  Hell yeah, game on.

  “Sounds like my kind of heaven. PS. you ain’t that hot.”

  He cracked a smile and managed to deliver two birds my way while keeping his eyes on the road.

  Talented mo-fo, like I said.

  “I hate taking you away from home, man. Do you think JJ will be okay?” he asked.

  I rubbed a hand over my chest, the place that ached whenever anyone mentioned the kid and I wasn’t close enough to see him. “I haven’t been away from him for more than a night at a time since he was born.”

  “I know.”

  I sucked it up. “It’ll do him good to be away from his pops. Ma’s plans to spoil him will take months to undo.”

  “She’s the best.”

  My throat tightened when I thought about her, alone in that big house, without my dad. The way she welcomed everyone from her grandson to my best friend to my crew and all their hangers-on made it a home even with one vital part missing. The Stone family is everyone’s family. “Pretty much.”

  “So’s JJ.”

  “Yeah,” came my raspy reply.

  “Let me talk to him when you check in later?”

  “Okay, Uncle Wicky . . . just don’t rile him up before bedtime.”

  “Rile him up? C’mon. When’ve I been known to do that?” He gunned through the midtown Atlanta traffic, as much as he could in a not-so speedster Volvo.

  “Let’s see. Usually every Saturday night, eight o’clock, on the dot.” I dug through his bag again, determined to leave off the heavy. I had a few days off to hang with my best friend, see him in his element, and I was gonna make the best of it. “You brought new swag?”

  “Yeah, check the main pocket.” Nicky leaned over to slap my thigh. “Like a kid in a candy shop.”

  ****

  Ramada’s valet parking sucked balls and cost a mint. The hotel was lit up like a fairytale palace—or a whorehouse, depending on how you looked at it—with convention attendees coming and going. It was busier than Stone’s before a holiday weekend, when everyone in Charleston’s tri-county area seemed destined to get a flat tire. Bellhops wearing pained grins pushed overflowing wheeled-carts through the carousel doors.

  I wielded our cart into the lobby, following Nicky as he strolled up to the check-in desk. His demeanor changed the instant we walked through the doors. Gone was the scrappy South Cackalackee bad boy. He rolled up the sleeves on his oxford twice, neatened his hair back into a sleek ponytail, and greeted people with effortless charm.

  While we stood in line, a commotion at the back of the queue drew my attention. A woman wrangled with her cart and then watched—eyes wide and mouth open—as four boxes crashed to the floor. Books, dresses, shoes, wigs . . . lingerie swam onto the polished marble floor.

  I noticed her cock-up with the cart first.

  Her legs second.

  Her tits third.

  Her face last.

  Holy fuck.

  “Who the hell is that?” I whispered, pointing at the babe surrounded by ten tons of shit spilling all over the floor.

  Nicky glanced over his shoulder. “No idea. New kid on the block, I guess.”

  “I’m gonna go help her.” I shouldered through the crowd and squatted down next to her. “Need a hand?” Because one thing Ma had taught me was always help out a lady in distress.

  She blew a tendril of the lightest red hair from her brow. “I’d sure appreciate it.”

  I helped pack her things back up and tidily stacked it on the cart. I willed myself not to look at her as I stepped back. Definitely not remembering the lace, the frills, the full-on feminine lingerie I’d handled.

  “My knight in shinin’ armor?”

  Shaking my head, I backed away. I saw Nicky at the elevators, waiting for me. “Not really, miss.”

  New kid on the block. There was nothing kid-like about her. She was voluptuous, a handful from hips to hourglass waist to perfect breasts. The southern drawling miss in a knee-length skirt and clinging top didn’t seem to realize she’d made my cock railroad-spike hard. I walked away, mesmerized by her feminine-fuck-me appearance up to her goddamn adorable face. A killer combination. Full throttle attraction the likes of which I’d never felt made my head spin, my heart speed.

  And there was no way I could act on it because I’d just signed up for five and a half days of Gaydom at the Rom Con.

  Chapter Two

  Tuesday: Gamecocks and Henpeckers

  LITERARY LOVE CONVENTION 2013 had kicked off with a bang all right, just not the kind I suddenly needed care of the lusciously curved lady who’d caused a heavy ache to settle low in my groin.

  As I approached Nicky at the elevators, he asked, “Do what you needed to do?”

  I shrugged. “Sure.” Not really, since my dick’s still in my pants.

  To offset the fact I could barely keep from looking back at little miss sex-on-legs, I grabbed Nicky’s hand and rubbed my thumb over his knuckles. His forearm tensed as he fought against pulling away from the unexpected caress.

  “Goin’ up, babe?”

  I thought he was gonna snort, which would really kill the mood I was going for. Holding himself in check, he twined his fingers through mine and gave me a peck on the cheek. “Sure, love.”

  Motherfucker better not try to one-up me in the gay-stakes. ’Cause I’m gonna bring it.

  We pushed into an empty elevator and broke apart as soon as the doors closed. Nicky knocked his shoulder against mine, laughing when I alternated between rubbing the heel of my palm against my just-kissed cheek then my hand against my thigh. To wipe off boy cooties presumably. Christ.

  “You’re gay!” He nearly cackled.

  I hit him with a broad smile. “Only for you, babe.”

  He was still chuckling when we made it to our room. He waved the key-card in my face, and I snatched it from him as we went inside. A Fabio wannabe with some half-dressed pirate’s booty babe decorated the card—someone’s book cover. Oh, good for a buy one, get one free appetizer at the mezzanine level Grille on Tuesday. I had to hand it to the writers, customers loved BOGO. I might learn a thing or two.

  I unloaded shit. Nicky checked out the bathroom and the freebies before chucking everything off the desk to set up his laptop. I cracked a beer then growled, taking in the one and only bed in the room. Keepin’ up appearances.

  He shucked his jeans, pulling on the same pair of University of South Carolina sweats he’d been wearing for over ten years.

  I tanked the beer and went for another, checking my iPhone. There was an urgent message from the garage. Imagining fires, destruction, utter fucking mayhem, I opened the attached file . . . then wished I’d never been given the gift of sight. The knuckle-draggers obviously thought they were funny as fuck. They’d stepped out behind Stone’s to drop trow and shine their moons for the camera. I pushed the phone as far away from me as possible with a loud groan.

  Nicky looked over. “What?”

  I pointed at the cell with a firm shake of my head.

  Undeterred, he reached for the phone and reeled back when he saw the photo. In the next second, he fell all fricking over himself, laughing it up. “Ray looks like his ass could use a weed whackin’, dude, yeah?”

  I grabbed the phone back, quickly texting, “All y’all are FIRED.”

  “See ya Monday, sport!” Ray replied.

  “Meatheads,” I muttered.

  Nicky continued to rock with laughter. Meanwhile, I was scarred for life. I ignored the rest of the buffoons’ incoming bullshittery and settled back o
nto the bed, pressing the most used contact on the phone.

  “Stone’s! At your service, y’all.” The sweet voice humming over the wire warmed my heart, her greeting not so much.

  “Ma, you’re not supposed to answer your home phone that way. Gives people the wrong idea.”

  “Joshy! We were wonderin’ when you’d call. You get to ’Lanta all right? You know those people out there drive like it’s the Indy 500. Like to take your life into your own hands. You stopped to eat, now, didn’t you?”

  I waited for her to take a breath. “Yes and yes, ma’am.”

  It didn’t take her long to gather more speed. “You tryin’ to sweet talk me? Five days away is a long time to get into trouble. Now I know Nicky’s a good boy, but I don’t approve of you spendin’ all that time around all those ladies. Y’all best make sure to mind your manners and your morals.”

  Unlike everyone else on God’s green earth, Ma didn’t know I was playing Queer Eye for the Straight Guy.

  Nicky had heard her rant from half a room away. He shouted, “Hey, Gigi! Don’t worry, I’m keepin’ Joshy here under lock and key.”

  That calmed her down some. Nicky always had that affect, while I riled her up by breathing the same air, simply because I was, and always would be, her baby boy. Not that she was much for babying, unless it came to JJ.

  “The kid there, Ma?” I asked.

  “Oh, he’s sittin’ right here. Had him some pulled pork for dinner, your memaw’s old recipe, and a tiny piece of cobbler. And then we went to the Piggly Wiggly to get some Popsicles. I think he’s about tuckered out.”

  Tuckered out? JJ was gonna be bouncing from his sugar spike for the next three hours. I listened to the patter of little feet while my heart flip-flopped in my chest.

  “Daddy?”

  It never goddamn failed. I shifted to the side of the bed and stared at the wall, quickly blinking. “Yep, I’m here.”

  “Miss you, Daddy.” His squeaky voice cut a path straight through my heart.

  I cleared the gruffness from my throat. “Me too, kid. But you’re havin’ fun with Jamma, right?”