by Rie Warren
I gathered her in my arms. “You’re not doing it on your own, babe. You’ve got Janice and Jacqueline and Missy. You’ve got Nicky. You’ve got thousands of fans and friends.” I brushed her tears away. “You’ve got me.”
“No, I don’t.” She sniffed
I jumped onto that shit like a lifeline, albeit one that could tangle around me and drag me under. “Do you want to? Have me?”
“Stone . . .”
It seemed like she did. But she couldn’t. Just like I couldn’t tell her all I wanted to do was be with her, show her I was just a southern boy, a single dad, a car mechanic trying to provide a good home for his baby boy.
“It’s Josh. My first name. Josh Stone, but we’re trying to keep it under wraps.”
One sodden napkin later, Leelee sent me flirty eyes. “Josh Stone, at your service?”
“Somethin’ like that.”
“In that case, Leelee Childes, from Shreveport.” Holding her hand out, she smiled at me.
My fingers slid from her palm to her wrist as I bought her hand to my mouth for a soft brush of my lips. “Pleased to meet you, Leelee Childes from Shreveport.” I released her fingers with another slow slide.
I took a swig from my beer bottle. I might not be able to tell her the whole truth, yet, but I could tell her some of it. I started unbuttoning the top of my shirt.
Her gaze flicked to my fingers. “You’re not gonna practice for Guys with Balls now, are you?”
I chuckled. “No, babe. I have something I want to show you. It’s about my tattoo.”
Sitting back, she tugged in her bottom lip and let it out. “Then by all means, don’t keep that under wraps.”
I glanced up from under my lashes, taking in her swollen lip, so ripe for a kiss. Holding the shirt collar open over my shoulder, pec, and tat, I was really glad the Hens weren’t around to molest me. Or tweet me.
Leelee’s fingers hovered above my skin before pressing softly onto the heart surrounded by twisted chrome pipes. “It really is gorgeous.” Her husky voice flooded me with a now-familiar ache.
Chills raced over my chest from one simple touch. Just when I wanted to press her fingers harder to the heart, my heart that had only held the kid for so long, Leelee withdrew her hand and dropped it to her lap.
“Who’s Joshua James?”
“My kid. Joshua James. Josh for me and James for my dad.” My throat was raw from emotion. “My dad died nine years ago.”
“I’m so sorry about your father. I don’t know what I’d do without mine.” She let her fingers glance across the tattoo once more before drifting away. “Your son, huh? So how did that work?”
“There was a woman. We were married for a couple years.” Thirty-one motherfuckin’ months to be precise.
Leelee drew back, eyeing her wine, the bar, the door. “So, you’re like Patrick.”
It wasn’t a question, it was an accusation, no doubt aided and abetted by hearing me grunt her name when I came all over my hand, chest, belly . . .
“No, it’s not like that. I’m not like that. I’d never do that to you, Leelee.” I wasn’t bisexual, I wasn’t bro-sexual. I was a one hundred percent pure hetero male who wanted to nail her on top of the bar right now. I groaned. “It’s not like that.”
“What was it like then, Josh? Because I don’t get it.” At least she stayed seated on the bar stool instead of bolting for the door.
“Claire, my ex, got pregnant just about four years ago, and we got married. I’d do anything to make sure the kid had a good, solid home. She never really took to the until death do us part bit. She had some problems after JJ was born, couldn’t handle being a wife or a mother, and she left us. I never heard from her again. The divorce became final last year. She deserted JJ, signed it all away as soon as the papers were served.”
A heavy stone sat in my chest as I confessed as much as I could. Maybe I should’ve tried harder with Claire, done more.
“That’s horrible.” Leelee swung back toward me.
“It’s not. It really isn’t. Claire wasn’t a bad woman. She just wasn’t my woman.” I shrugged. “I’m a much better dad now that I don’t have to worry about her and . . .” I stopped, really thinking about it. “It’s been horrible for JJ, though. He still has nightmares, worries about me taking off and never coming home.”
“But he has Nicky too, right?” She skimmed one hand up and down my arm.
My smile was forced because I didn’t know what I’d say if she started asking about our relationship. He was a huge part of the kid’s life, but as Uncle Wicky, not Daddy Number Two. “Yeah. Nicky stepped up.”
“So, that explains it.” She propped her cheek against one hand as she peered at me.
“Yeah. Wait, explains what?”
“Is that . . .?” She hesitated. “After Claire left, you and Nicky, is that why you’re with him? Trust issues with women?”
Ah, shit. Maybe this is the therapy sesh I thought I was having earlier with the Widows. “Yeah, no. I mean, yes . . . trust issues and women.” But I’m not gay! “Except for my ma.”
“She accepts you two, that’s sweet.” She petted my hand.
She’s goddamn petting my hand. This could not get any worse. Now I wasn’t even turning over her engine, I was the pathetic lemon car, the last one left on the lot . . . a pitiful picture of a man to her. I had to turn this around.
“About earlier, Leelee.” Once I had her attention—those big green eyes swerving to mine—I started buttoning my shirt. Slowly, very fucking slowly. “I’m sorry you saw me like that, but I don’t regret it.”
The same words I’d said about our kiss. Now she knew she was on my mind while I’d come, and I was glad she’d watched me.
“You looked amazing, stroking your cock like that.” The more dirty words that slipped from her pert little mouth, the harder I got. She took a sip of wine and gave a laugh. “I might have to add that to my WIP.”
I leaned closer, bound to her by the rippling tension between us. “Whip?” So long as it didn’t belong to Missy the Mistress, I was on board.
“WIP—work in progress.” Leelee looked me up and down, a gaze so intense it was as tangible as if her mouth, tongue, fingers slid all over my body.
“I don’t give a shit about any WIP.” It hit me then. I wasn’t interested in taking what I could get from Leelee. And maybe being with her was a no-go for right now, but I could lay the groundwork for something longer lasting later.
“I’m sorry, that came out wrong. What I mean is, I care about you.” Taking Leelee’s hand in mine, I skimmed my fingertips up to her elbow. “I haven’t made love to anyone for a long time.” For years, maybe never.
Her back arched as if every part of her body was connected to the almost innocent stroking of my fingers on her arm. “What about Nicky?” she gasped.
I cradled her face in my hand, my thumb brushing her lower lip. “You can’t tell anyone.” Josh, shut up, you big dumbass. “It’s over after the convention. I’m not in love with him, and he isn’t with me.” Not a lie.
“You seem so close . . .” Leelee leaned in, shivering from the heat of my touch.
I murmured, “We’ll always be best friends.”
Her eyelids grew deliciously heavy. Lips wet and parted. My thumb disappeared from her mouth, making way for my kiss. A small brush of our lips from side to side with her warm breath and hot wetness plucking at me. A kiss with all the promise of more.
My fingers trailed down her neck, which tipped to the side for my touch. I wanted to kiss her again, but I’d bide my time with a soft, slow seduction. I kept her hand in mine as I searched through my wallet for enough cash to pay the bill.
“We should get going. Headed to your room?”
She patted her bag, her lips, her hair. She stood on another pair of dangerous-to-my-dick heels.
“I’ll take you, babe.” With my hand resting on her lower back, I guided Leelee out.
My footsteps became heavier the closer we
got to her room, and my heart decided to match that shit, dropping low in my chest.
Delivering her to her door, I asked, “You’ll be at Guys with Balls tonight?”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” She darted up for a peck on the cheek, no lingering. New lines drawn.
Lines I was determined to destroy.
Chapter Eight
Thursday: Balls to the Wall
I TREKKED BACK TO the room of my inglorious release, relieved to find Nicky absent. I stacked Leelee’s and Jacqueline’s books plus all the other freebies onto the overflowing nightstand and hit the bed. It was time to put my iPhone plan—not my palm—to good use. Or bad use. I almost kissed the damn thing when no messages piled up. Not another shove-a-pen in my eyes, pucker-up photo from the garage. Connecting to the Internet, I got busy on Google. The search engine spewed out so much Leelee Songchild info, I had to scroll down and down and down some more just to get my bearings.
Pinterest. That was the thing they’d mentioned last night. Quickly learning Pinterest should be called Pimpterest, I clicked, blinked, and backed away. Twitter. A bluebird, that didn’t look like it would blind me with images of man-cock, right? I was immediately a fan of the little blue birdie because I didn’t have to sign in or log on to follow Leelee, and she was online.
#LitLuv13 #WriteWidows Y’all r amazing! Thx for drinks & luv
Huh, the Widows had their own hashtag thingamajig. That was cool. Maybe I’d sign up after all.
Another tweet popped up from LeeleesSong: Lulz @Felicity Stone is yummy but he’s off the market
Oh Christ, she’s tweeting about me? As soon as I blinked, before I had time to ferret out Felicity’s leading tweet, @LeeleesSong flashed up again.
@Dev Nope just friends with Stone ;)
Hmm, I was working hard to change the just-friends status faster than I could change a flat tire.
Ohai @Jaque_line mm hmm defs Alpha Male material
Alpha male, was I? I Googled that . . . pronto, and was pleased with what I read, yeah, I could work that angle.
I leaned back against the headboard. Leelee had me tied in fucking knots and, as usual, rock solid. I went to the door, cracked it, and looked out into the empty corridor. Satisfied Nicky wouldn’t burst in on me, I hurried back to my phone and searched for the LitLuv flash-mob. I hit the link and whaddya know? A video bloomed across my miniature screen. Forwarding to the tango, I waited until the camera zoomed in on Leelee and me. Holy fuck. Seeing it as a bystander was almost as hot as when she’d been pressed against my body.
Cursing the stingy display on my phone, I viewed the goddamn thing three more times, wishing for Surround Sound and a big ass, flat-screen HDTV. Nicky’s laptop was on the desk, buried beneath a tower of papers and potato chip wrappers. Jumping from the bed, I double-checked the door this time. I wasn’t a total schmuck.
I cracked the computer open, gave myself a free pass for breaking and entering, and attempted his password. Nickyloveromance. Master hacker? Hell yes, I was. I made sure not to touch any of his open documents. There were thirteen in all including his WIP, outline, upcoming Q/As, pic files, promo spots, and follow-ups. I hovered over his two open web browsers long enough to note what I expected: Amazon, Goodreads, Twitter, Facebook x two, Pimpterest, Instagram . . . and then a whole lotta what I could only call research. Porn in the name of his books. The bastard’s been holdin’ out on me.
Thinking about Ray and cookies and caches, I opened Google Chrome and left Nicky’s Mozilla and IE tabs alone. I’d close Chrome out and he’d never be the wiser. Navigating to the convention homepage, I bingo’d the tango once again.
Then boing. Instant boner.
Big screen was even better.
Leelee in that svelte black dress and short black hair shook her hips to entice me. She blew me a kiss with cherry red lips over her bare shoulder to excite me. My hands moved up her back to her neck, meshing her against me so we met from thigh to hips to chest to breath. And then we kissed. Violent, frenzied. Tongues appearing, hands grabbing, mouths taking.
I wanted to see that kiss, to feel her lips blazing me up like a blowtorch, one more time.
Several loops later, I’d pulled the chair to the desk, the laptop to me. I was practically on top of it, my gaze glued to the image of Leelee and me kissing for all we were worth.
The only warning I had of Nicky sneaking in was a smack to the back of my head. I tried to shut down Chrome, but his fingers clamped down on my wrist.
He stared at the flash-mob video then spun my chair around. “Who’s the stalker now, Stone?”
“Who’s the creeper, dillweed?”
With an almighty slap he closed the laptop. His hair and collar were loose, his lips swollen. I narrowed my eyes when he accused, “You fucking kissed her!”
“And who have you been mackin’ on, bro?” I stood up and pushed him back. “I recognize that I’m-gonna-get-some look.” I sniffed his throat. “Lipgloss, watermelon flavor, right there, asshole.”
“Guilty, but it wasn’t with one of the insiders, and it certainly isn’t gonna end up on YouTube.”
“You smell like perfume.”
He jabbed my chest. “You smell like spunk.”
“You’re a few hours late for that.”
Sliding down the floral-papered wall, Nicky hauled his knees to his chest. “Shit, man. Just keep it in your pants for three more days.”
I hunkered beside him. “You’re the one who wanted me to settle down. Now I find a woman and I can’t make a move?”
“I didn’t think you’d find the girl of your dreams here, Josh.”
“I didn’t think I’d find her ever.” Punching to my feet, I paced between our bed and the desk. “What am I supposed to do now?”
“Not here, Josh. Not now.” Frustration crept into his voice.
I pounded the wall. “Goddammit!”
“We’ll figure something out after.”
“Yeah, and how’s that gonna work? Leelee already thinks I’m gay, at best bi-curious. Her ex-fiancé is a two-timing, backdoor douchebag. She isn’t gonna be impressed if I come out straight after the Con, and you still have your rep to think about.”
He opened his mouth and then shut it tight.
“Exactly. I’m fucked.”
Nicky glared at me with cool eyes. “So, you know the score. Why are you being such a bitch about this?”
The bitch comment wiped the scowl right off my face. “Holy shit. Who died and made you princess?”
“Fuck you. I’m the queen and don’t you forget it.” He lunged for my midsection and we crashed to the floor.
“Straight up,” I wheezed with his forearm across my windpipe.
Grabbing a chunk of my hair, he thunked my head to the carpet. “Ha ha.”
Incapacitating the slick motherfucker with my arms and legs, I used my superior body mass to flip him onto his back. “Who’s the man now?”
“Me!” He gasped when I sucker-punched him in the ribs.
We rolled around, wrestling, laughing and half off our heads from sheer exhaustion. Finally he held up his hands in mercy, stumbling onto the bed.
I back-planted beside him and dragged his noggin in for a last noogie.
“You’re still an asshole.” Nicky rubbed his sore skull.
“But I still don’t lick asshole.”
Fist bump. All good.
Until Nicky turned on his pillow. “Remember the time that chick thought you were gonna propose to her—”
Her name I would never forget—but not for lack of trying. “Shayna.” Single mom, wore desperation like the cloying perfume clinging to Nicky, and laughed like a hyena.
“—because she’d heard about your rep and you saw her three Friday nights in a row? What’d she do when you changed your cell number after she texted you every hour on the hour for five days straight?’
“She made a scene at Stone’s. I think Javier videoed it on his phone. First she threw a chair at the reception win
dow, and then she started bawlin’ in front of the customers. When I tried to get her to take it to my office, she accused me of leading her on—which I never did. All the ladies know the deal with me. She finally left. Not before she slashed all the tires on my Bronco.” Great times with Shayna.
“Good thing she never got her paws on the Camaro, since that’s your one true love.”
I flicked him on the end of his nose. “I think I might’ve tipped her over the edge when I offered to give her an adios fuck.”
“Not your most chivalrous moment, my man.” Nicky closed his eyes, sleep about to pull him under. “’Sides, you attract crazy.”
“That explains you, then, don’t it?”
“Funny guy,” he tiredly slurred.
“Tough guy.” I gave him my butch voice and bunched up my muscles.
But I wasn’t made of tough guy material at all, not when I thought about Leelee and everything I wanted with her. I didn’t want her to become a girlfriend revenge story, and she wasn’t even my girlfriend yet.
By the time I checked the clock, it was time to haul out. I set the alarm on Nicky’s phone so he’d have a few minutes to wake up, freshen up, and make it to my debut as a strutting stud in Jules’s contest.
When I opened our door on the way to Guys with Balls, the Hens about fell inside. They looked a little hectic from all the eavesdropping they must’ve been doing.
“Y’all got an appointment, ladies?” I tried to look stern, in the white terrycloth robe Jules had sent to my room, fedora in my hands.
Janice was back to the hippy look today, complemented by lemon-yellow lenses in her sunglasses. “Because of unnecessary lemons,” she mentioned in answer to my pointed glance.
“Only lemons I know are bad cars,” I said.
“Fanfic reference, hot stuff, never you mind.”
Just when I was about to ask what the hell fanfic was, Jacqueline slipped between us. “Is everything all right in there?”
“Peachy keen.” I smirked at Missy Peachtree.
Missy pushed a foot inside the door to keep it open and pierced me with an all-too-knowing stare. “Just rolling like a stone, right?”