Hollywood Bad Boys Club, Book 4: Link

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Hollywood Bad Boys Club, Book 4: Link Page 13

by Alexis Adaire


  Right after I send it, I can’t help but finish the thought.

  It was just great fucking. And don’t tell me it wasn’t.

  The tears come heavier. My crying just pisses me off even more.

  Another cat screech and a text pops up on my screen.

  we both know where it was heading

  My emotions are instantly conflicted. On the one hand, I wasn’t alone in feeling something truly special was going on. On the other hand, it was that same feeling that scared him away.

  Goddamn him. Goddamn him to hell.

  You’re not a hero, you’re an asshole.

  His response takes only seconds.

  right on both counts

  I can’t help myself now.

  Chicken shit.

  I stare at the screen for a second, then send it.

  No response. I wait a full minute before I say what I’m really thinking.

  No, worse. You’re a fucking coward.

  The second I hit send, I know it’s irreversibly over. There’s no going back now.

  I feel better momentarily, then that inner voice pipes up: Told you to let it go. Now you’ve ruined it forever.

  I’m still staring at my phone and crying when Theo steps out a few minutes later.

  “Rave, what the fuck is going on?”

  He knows I’ve been waiting for Link to call. Theo already sensed I was getting invested too quickly and told me to chill a bit. I normally tell Theo everything and depend on him to be my voice of reason, but this time I held back on most of the details. And I completely ignored his warning.

  I look at him and start to talk, then just hang my head and cry.

  He wraps an arm around me, knowing what’s happened without my having to say a word.

  “You poor thing,” he says softly. “Wait here.”

  He disappears inside, returning a couple of minutes later.

  “Come on, we’re gonna have a drink,” he says, leading me around the corner toward the sidewalk.

  “No, I can’t,” I stammer. “I have an appoin—”

  “You can’t work like this,” Theo says, turning me to face him. He puts his hands on my shoulders and looks me in the eye for emphasis. “You’re useless today. I told Renee to reschedule your three o’clock, and that was the only thing you have on tap. I had Robin DeLara coming in later, but she’s flexible. Renee’s going to reschedule her as well, and Randy said he’d come in to handle any walk-ins. You and I are going to sit in O’Malley’s and talk until we’re both shitfaced.”

  That’s exactly what we do. Our little Irish pub is only a block from the shop, and Theo steers me to a quiet corner table.

  As soon as the waitress walks away after taking our order, he launches into one of our infamous get-down-off-the-ledge sessions. We’ve been through this before, with each of us being the distraught one at times, and the other playing the part of the drinking therapist.

  “So, I assume you slept with him and that the sex was really good? Is that close?”

  Theo knows me better than anyone.

  “It was amazing,” I say, holding back the tears. “The best I’ve ever had.”

  “Damn,” he says, “I would think that huge guy would crush every bone in your body.”

  The pained look on my face tells him this isn’t the time for humor.

  “Okay, I get it,” Theo says. He takes a deep breath, then says, “Tell me all about it, sweetie. I’m here to help.”

  Our drinks arrive and the alcohol dulls my pain as I tell him everything. I hold back a few of the more salacious details, but not many. After all, Theo and I saw each other naked many times during our years as roommates, and even caught each other fucking once. He came home early one night when I was on the couch with Ricky taking me from behind, and just said a quick “Sorry!” as he hurried past to his room. Ricky didn’t miss a stroke, bless his heart. And I got back from a vacation and burst into Theo’s room in the middle of the day with a hearty “Honey, I’m home!” only to see some girl I didn’t know licking the head of his very hard cock.

  So yeah, Theo and I don’t have many secrets.

  He listens patiently as I describe my budding relationship. When our second drinks arrive, I’ve just gotten to the point about the texts in the parking lot behind the shop. Theo’s got a stern look on his face and I know what’s coming. This is Voice of Reason time.

  “Here’s the deal,” he begins. “You have every right to feel the way you do. You were falling for his guy and he seemed to be into you as much as you were into him, right?”

  I nod, dabbing away my tears.

  “Totally understandable,” he says, “and that’s why what I’m about to tell you is going to hurt.”

  Well, fuck. I’m not sure I want to hear this, mostly because I know it’ll be good, solid advice. I take a big drink of beer.

  “Okay, go for it,” I tell him.

  “You had two nights of amazing sex, and that’s more than some people get over their entire lives. Consider yourself lucky.”

  He takes my hand in his.

  “Now forget about this guy and move on.”

  I look at him with question marks floating all around me.

  “He’s damaged goods, Rave. From what he’s told you about his childhood, I’m pretty confident in saying he’ll never be any different. If you managed to see him again, he’d be likely to bail out at any point, due to reasons only he knows. And your emotions will be jerked all over the place every time. Every minute of bliss will come with a moment of pain, waiting for you just down the road.”

  Damn it. He’s absolutely right. I know it, but I still don’t want to hear it.

  “You will cry as much as you laugh, and any joy will end in hurt. Save yourself the heartache and move on.”

  I’m quiet for a moment, then start to challenge him. “But—”

  “But nothing,” he interrupts. “Remember Hannah, with the curly hair?”

  Of course I remember Hannah. They dated for a few months and Theo was crazy about her, and was distraught when he finally realized he had to break it off with her.

  “But Hannah had a crazy side,” I say. “You yourself said she was psycho-level jealous about you, but couldn’t understand why you got upset when she saw someone else.”

  Theo nods, confident I’ll make the connection on my own.

  “You had no choice but to dump her! She was a total flake and completely undependable. You were either on cloud nine about her or you were…”

  Oh fuck. Of course.

  Theo smiles softly.

  “Yeah. Damaged goods. No matter how hard you try and how much effort you give, some people are just unfixable.”

  The skin on my face feels tight and I suddenly can’t even cry.

  But the pain, the pain is tremendous.

  “We were only together two fucking nights. This is stupid.”

  Theo gets up, walks behind my chair, then bends down to wrap me up in a big hug.

  “It’s not stupid, Rave. I’ve fallen in love fast before. Sometimes it happens.”

  Love?

  Who said anything about love? I never mentioned that word.

  “And sometimes,” he continues, “we just fall in love with the wrong person.”

  When we’ve had enough to drink and I’m exhausted from talking about all this, I thank Theo for his counselor services and insist on paying the tab, then send for an Uber. I have no choice but to leave my Bug behind the shop tonight.

  Right now, I just want to get home as fast as possible.

  I don’t want to think about this any more. I want to lie on the couch with Phanes and Nyx and eat Ben and Jerry’s until I fall asleep.

  17

  Link

  New York City has never really appealed to me, mostly because there’s just too many people packed into too small an area, and I’m a guy who needs space. I have to say, though, that seeing it in May makes a world of difference. With the weather this good, I can almost see that
magic side of Manhattan everybody always talks about.

  I’m here with Jackie for the Tribeca Film Festival. She’s a featured speaker and Trident studios has their big new drama closing the festival. This is the movie’s debut, even though it’s not going to be in theaters until fall. It’s Trident Studios’ “serious” film that they hope will bring in a bunch of Oscar nominations.

  My job is to keep Jackie safe. After the crazed gunman on the red carpet at the Oscars a few months back, she’s scared shitless around crowds. She hired me full-time two weeks later at a hundred-fifty grand a year. Luckily, she doesn’t travel too much and I just go to local events with her a few times a week. While she’s in her office at Trident, their security handles things. It’s easy work, usually. What happened just a few minutes ago is the only time I ever break a sweat.

  “I’m gonna go out for a bit,” I say as I turn away from the window. We’re on the eighth floor of the Hotel Kamakiri in SOHO. It’s expensive as all fuck, but Trident covers everything.

  Jackie looks at me from the bed, naked and freshly fucked, still coming down off an orgasm high.

  “I’m just going to hang out here and get some work done,” she says. “We’re leaving at five. Be back in time to get ready.”

  I get dressed again while she watches, then grab my key card and head out without responding. There aren’t a lot of wasted words when I’m working with Jackie. It’s mostly just a lot of standing around silently and making sure nothing happens to her. That and fucking her now and then.

  The sex doesn’t happen often. This was probably the fourth or fifth time I’ve fucked her in the three months since it first happened after the Oscars. There’s no romance at all. We don’t date, and now that I think of it, apart from oral sex, there was no kissing this time. Just an hour or so of fucking, enough to get her off twice. I have a separate room in the hotel, but Jackie decided she needed some cock, and since she’s already paying me, I’m the lucky guy who got to fuck the head of Trident Studios.

  I hit the sidewalk and turn north, people moving out of my way as I walk against the flow. Even here in New York, I’m still a minor celebrity because of the red carpet thing. I don’t really care for being recognized by strangers. Posing for pictures isn’t terrible, but when they tell me to smile, I think how I’d prefer to punch them instead. I declined to do that “Security God” reality show, but agreed to a few TV appearances. My guest spot on Jimmy Kimmel’s show was awkward since I’m not a show business guy and don’t know how to act in front of people. I guess I did okay, though, because people seemed to like it. Kimmel was funny enough for both of us. The LA Times did an article about studio executives and private security firms, featuring me, the Oscars hero. My business got such a boost, I had to turn away work. Now I’ve hired two more guys to help out.

  I stroll around SOHO and end up in Little Italy, and then Chinatown. Keep moving, keep thinking about anything else but her. The festival ends tonight, and we fly back home tomorrow. Hopefully I can immerse myself in my growing business and forget everything else.

  Every time my brain starts to go in that direction again, I stop it immediately. What’s done is done.

  Two days later, Drake and Mason are waiting for me at our usual table when I arrive at Miguel’s, a Tex-Mex restaurant and bar where we used to hang out a lot. We still come by occasionally, but like everything else, it seems to be changing. Not the bar itself, but our presence in it. Marcus is currently in San Antonio, where the Lakers are battling the Spurs in the NBA’s Western Conference finals. We’ve already said if they make it to the finals, we’re going to go to every game. At the beginning of the season, nobody thought they could do it, but now they’re just two wins away from playing against LeBron James and the Cleveland Cavaliers in the finals.

  As I greet my friends and grab a seat, it occurs to me that Mason is now the only one of us who can walk around town without being stopped for an autograph or a selfie. I have never thought of myself as some kind of celeb, but the reality is that people know me now.

  “How was New York?” Mason asks before my ass even hits the chair.

  “It was cool. Great time of the year to be there.”

  “And?” Drake asks.

  “And what?” I reply.

  “Did you fuck her again?”

  I look at Drake, then at Mason and shrug.

  “Hey, I was horny.”

  “You owe me five bucks,” Drake says to Mason.

  “How many times is this?” Mason asks.

  “I don’t know. Four or five. I’d really rather not do it anymore, though. You know, better to just keep it professional. No sex. I’m not sure how to approach her about it, because I don’t want to lose this gig.”

  Drake nods. "Yeah, it’s kind of hard to stuff that genie back in the bottle once you’ve opened it."

  “I’m going to have to talk to her. I don’t really like the idea of fucking a client.”

  They nod, then Drake says, “What you’re trying to say is that she’s not a very good fuck. Otherwise, why stop?”

  It draws a laugh, but now they’re waiting for a response. Just like the good old days, they want to hear the details. Well, since I never get the details about their sex lives anymore, they’re not going to hear about mine.

  “She’s all right. Pussy is pussy.”

  “Whatever,” Drake says with an eye roll.

  “What about the little tattoo artist chick, the one who gave you the free tattoos?” Mason says. “From what I remember, that sounded promising.”

  “Yeah, well I had to stop seeing her.”

  “Too bad,” Mason replies. “You really seemed to like her.”

  “You know me. Don’t need the hassle of a relationship.”

  Drake jumps back in. “Who’s talking about relationships? Was she good in bed?”

  I don’t even have to answer. I try to suppress a smile, and my expression says it all.

  “That good? So, don’t let it turn into a relationship. Just keep it about the fucking.”

  Mason nods in agreement. “What’s her name?”

  “You don’t need to know her fucking name, because she’s in my past now. Seriously, guys. It got intense quickly. I had to bail out before things went too far.”

  To me, that was just another sentence. With Drake and Mason’s expressions, you’d think I dropped a hand grenade into the conversation.

  “I knew it!” Mason said. “I could tell when we talked about her at the game that you had feelings for this chick.”

  “Damn, dawg, you should call her again. Don’t run away just when—”

  “Enough!” I slam my fist on the table loudly enough so that people around us look over. I’m sure everyone wonders who Drake Manning’s temperamental friend is.

  I lower my voice, then continue, “Yes, I bailed just when things were getting interesting. And no, I'm not going to see her again, ever. I don't like the way that, just by being who she is, she makes me suddenly question everything in my life I’m certain about. I don't need that. This is Hollywood, and there's plenty of amazing pussy out there that won’t make me crazy.”

  I laugh, but neither of them laughs with me. They’re both staring like I’ve confessed to a murder. They continue prodding me with questions about Raven and me until they realize it’s a dead-end street and finally change the subject.

  Too late, though, as they’ve activated that part of my brain again.

  As they continue to yammer on loudly, I become quiet, even more so than usual, with a single thought suddenly on my mind.

  I wonder if Raven still hates me.

  18

  Raven

  I’ve just finished the free tattoo I promised Lacey Rawlings in exchange for my TV interview. She was thrilled with the dahlias I designed to cover Eminem’s ugly portrait, and though the execution of the piece was difficult, I managed to make it work. Eminem is no longer a part of Lacey’s anatomy, and she can’t thank me enough.

  While sh
e was on the table, she asked me if “the Oscars hero” had contacted me after the broadcast. When I told her he’d stopped by and had even gotten his first free tattoo, she had all sorts of questions for me: What kind of tattoo did he get, and where did he get it? Did I see him shirtless? What was his body like? Wouldn’t he have to take his pants off for that? Was it really hot working on a man like that, especially tattooing him so close to his… you know? When is he coming back for another one?

  I answered all the questions, but never told Lacey that Link and I had hooked up. I just didn’t feel like discussing anything too personal with someone I barely know. Besides, it’s not her business. Anyway, she was overjoyed with her cover-up and told me we should think about other ways we can use her platform as a reporter to get publicity for the shop. She didn’t come right out and say it, but my guess is she wants another tattoo.

  An attractive young guy enters the shop a few minutes after Lacey leaves, and Renee points him toward my station. I know I’ve seen him before, I just can’t remember where. Early-to-mid twenties, thin build, scruffy brown hair that isn’t long but isn’t short, and a face so cute you just want to lick it. He’s a little less than six feet tall and his lack of facial hair makes him look even younger.

  He introduces himself as Zach Halley, saying he heard of my shop and wanted to be tattooed by the owner.

  “What kind of piece are you looking for?” I ask. He has no visible tattoos, but he’s wearing a long-sleeved, yellow checkered shirt over his black skinny jeans, so I can’t see much.

  “A piece? Is that what you call them?”

  “I take it this is your first tattoo?”

  “Yes, not counting those I got in prison,” he says with a straight face.

  I try to determine whether he could possibly be telling the truth, then he breaks into a grin.

  “Yeah, it’s my first.”

  What a great smile.

  “So, what do you want?”

  “Something like this,” he says, pulling a printed image from his back pocket and unfolding it. On the page is a pinup girl, sitting on a big eight-ball. One foot is on the ground and the other is hiked up on the eight-ball, and she’s holding a cue stick. I love the idea, and instantly imagine ways to improve it and put my own stamp on the design.

 

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