by Claire Adams
At night, my dreams were filled with images of her kissing me, putting her mouth on my dick, and making love to me. I imagined what it would feel like to put my hands all over her perfect body, and how it would taste to kiss those magnificent tits. I was obsessed with her, and I was counting down the hours until I could see her again, even if it was only in the context of a photoshoot.
She had told me she had a boyfriend; one that she'd been seeing for five years. That was a long-term, committed relationship, and I knew I had no chance with her. What could I offer her besides a one-night stand? I was a firm bachelor, resolute against changing my ways. She was better off without me trying to get her into the sack. Still, I needed to at least look at her one last time, talk to her, and hear her pretty voice before I let her go from my fantasies. I knew I could never have her, but I could at least indulge in one last day with her as I watched her model for the cover shoot. Then, I could let her go in peace.
Only now, the fates were working against me as once again Keith had delayed the shoot, and now Kayla's phone number was out of service. It was more than I could take. I decided to drive to her apartment to tell her about the new shoot date. I would even pick her up in my car and drive her to the studio personally if it was the only way I could see her again.
I stormed down to the garage in the basement of the building and got in my bright-red Ferrari. I sped through the city streets of L.A. until I came to the La Heurta Vista apartments. They were dingy, with plaster falling off the walls and an empty pool out front surrounded by a gate that was half falling down. It was filled with leaves and plastic garbage bags and obviously hadn't held water in years.
I knew exactly which apartment was Kayla's, since I'd memorized her entire file, including her address, during my obsessive re-reading of it over the past two weeks. As I approached her door, however, I heard distinct shouts coming from inside.
"How could you lose this job? How fucking stupid are you?" an angry male voice was yelling so loud I could hear him from outside.
"I didn't lose it. The doors were just locked when I got to the studio and no one was there. Maybe they rescheduled it." The distinct sound of Kayla's sweet voice pleading.
"Yeah, rescheduled with someone else. It told you to quit being such a prude. Maybe if you were willing to give it up little with that CEO guy, you wouldn't have lost the job and we wouldn't be broke. Do you know how humiliating it was to have my debit card turned down at the liquor store?"
"I have the money I was going to use for a new bus pass. You can use that to buy your beer. Are you sure nobody from Speed Motorcycles called? Are you sure there aren't any messages about the shoot being rescheduled?"
"Hey, what the hell are you doing? Get the fuck away from that phone!" The male voice sounded even angrier, and I felt my instincts prickle. Kayla was in danger.
My heart started to race and I knew I needed to get inside that apartment quickly before things escalated. I tried the knob, but it was locked. Did I dare try to break in or should I just knock and interrupt their fight?
"I just want to check my phone for messages. Hey, the service has been turned off. How long ago did that happen?"
"None of your damn business: that's when. Now give me that damn phone before I fucking take it from you and beat the shit out of you with it."
That was it. I was going in. I heard the sound of Kayla scream out in fear and it gave me the burst of adrenaline I needed to bust in the door. A man with scraggly brown hair and an unshaved face had her gripped by shoulders while she cowered in his grasp, clutching a cell phone in front of her like a protective shield.
I grabbed the jerk by the collar, yanked him back away from her, and punched him square in the jaw. He staggered back, falling flat on his ass, while Kayla screamed out again.
"Ethan! What are you doing here? Mick! Are you all right?"
I realized Mick must be her boyfriend of five years. Somehow, I'd imagined that any man who could win her heart would be much more sophisticated, not the scruffy asshole in front of me. She knelt down to help him, and he shoved her back roughly as he got to his feet and squared off to me.
"Who the hell is this?" Mick asked, and it became clear from the slur of his voice and the stagger of his stance that he was drunk.
"This is the CEO of Speed Motorcycles, Ethan Colson," Kayla explained, looking shocked and bewildered to see me. I realized I'd better explain myself, quick.
"I came to tell you the photoshoot has been moved to Friday. When your phone was off and we couldn't reach you, I wanted to tell you the message personally."
Kayla smiled, looking touched, but Mick saw right through me immediately. With slurred words, he said, "Ha! No rich, company big-shot drives all the way to some model's house to tell her simple message like that. You want her. You came here hoping to fuck her."
Kayla looked at me with such intensity then. In a breathy voice, she whispered, "You could have sent your assistant. Is what Mick's saying true?"
"He's right. I am interested in you. We had such an incredible time together that day I taught you how to ride. I haven't been able to stop thinking about you ever since."
"I have a boyfriend. Mick and I are going to get married. I told you that, and you still came over here hoping that I would..."
She couldn't finish the sentence. She wasn't sure what I wanted, and the truth was neither was I; but Mick didn't have any trouble filling in the blank space.
"He came here to fuck you," he blasted drunkenly. "He wants to use you to get his dick wet. Well, she belongs to me. You want to get with her, you and me need to talk some business. How much is it worth to you?"
I couldn't believe Kayla's boyfriend was offering to prostitute her out to me. Worse than that, I saw from the look on her face that she thought I was considering the offer. She turned on me with a look of pure hatred blazing in her eyes.
"Get out!" she screamed at me as she shoved me hard against the chest with both hands, forcing me out the door. "How dare you come to my home, break in the door, assault my fiancé, and then think you can buy me that way? I am not a whore. I am a professional model. I pose for pictures, but that is the extent to which I sell my body."
"No, it's not like that. I don't think you're a prostitute. I just think you’re beautiful. I haven't been able to stop thinking about you all week. All I do is stare at your portfolio. I've memorized every page of your résumé. When I found out the shoot had been cancelled and I wouldn't get to see you today, all I could think about was coming down here just so I could look at you."
I thought my heartfelt plea would make her understand, but I was shocked how she took it the completely wrong way. In the end, all it did was fuel her anger to even greater intensity.
"What? You're obsessed with me. You're a sicko. A stalker. Get out. Get away from me. Leave me alone. If I see you again, I'll call the police."
With every sentence, she shoved me back with steadily increasing strength, until she had pushed me completely outside her door. Then, she slammed it shut in my face and locked it. Inside I could hear the sounds of her turning to Mick for comfort, so I left.
As I drove slowly through the city streets, I couldn't believe how wrong things had suddenly gone. I had actually thought that she'd be happy to see me, glad to know that the shoot had been rescheduled, and maybe even willing to go out on another ride with me. Now, she hated me. She thought I was a stalker—and maybe I was.
It broke my heart that she was stuck in such a miserable little apartment with such a Neanderthal for a boyfriend. How could she stay with a jerk like that after I swept in and tried to protect her from him before things got ugly? It was obvious he didn't treat her like she deserved to be treated, the way that I would treasure her if she were mine.
Except, I had vowed to be an eternal bachelor. Maybe it was time to change that. All I knew for sure was that this wasn't the end of things with Kayla. I needed to find a way to see her again, to know that she was safe and being taken care of. I
needed to know that she was happy and being treated right. She was my obsession, and I had to have her now more than ever.
Chapter Six: Kayla
"You're so lucky you have Mick. I would give anything to have what you two have," my best friend Samantha said to me from her barstool, as yet another loser hit on her with a bad pick-up line.
Her bleached-blonde hair was cut short in a sexy shag highlighted with pink and purple dye to make her stand-out during dance auditions. She was working as an exotic dancer at the bar where Mick sometimes hung out when I was working, but her dream was to become a professional chorus dancer in a play.
It was girls’ night at her favorite bar and I'd agreed to go with her even though I was in a committed relationship so she wouldn't be alone. Besides, after the tough day I had, I really needed to get away from the apartment so I could think and breathe.
"Don't be so sure about that. Being in a relationship can be even harder than getting into one," I said, only half joking as Sam handed me the drink loser-boy had just bought for her. I swallowed it down with gusto, making Sam blink with surprise. She handed me the Mai Tai the previous loser had bought for her, too.
Normally, I wasn't much of a drinker, so I knew I had to be careful how much I consumed or I would get sick. Today had been such a strain, however, I was willing to throw caution to the wind and downed the fruity beverage in just a couple of gulps.
"What's the matter? You and Mick have a fight?" Sam leaned closer on her barstool, intrigued. She loved gossip, especially of the romantic nature.
"Not so much me and Mick, as Mick and my boss." I told her the whole story about how I went to the studio for Speed Magazine that morning ready to work, only to find the building locked. "There was no note, nothing. So, I went home and found out that my cell had been shut off by the phone company. So, if the cover shoot had been rescheduled, I wouldn't even have known about it. Mick and I were arguing about it, when suddenly my psycho boss Ethan breaks down our apartment door and punches Mick right in the face. Ethan tells me that the cover shoot was rescheduled for Friday and he wanted to tell me personally, which instantly had Mick suspicious. So he got Ethan to confess that he's obsessed with me. He's been stalking me for the past week."
"Oh my God," Sam gasped as another loser with slicked back hair and a low-cut shirt bought us another round of Mai Tais. "So what did you do?"
"I kicked him out and locked the door. I haven't heard from him since." I sipped my drink slowly, already feeling the room start to spin. This was more to drink than I'd had in a month, let alone an hour.
"What's going to happen with the job? Are you still going to do it on Friday?"
"Well, Mick and I have been talking about that all day. He thinks I should still do it. After all, why should I lose a huge modeling contract just because the CEO is a stalker? Plus, Mick thinks I could even pressure him into paying me more money to keep what happened quiet."
"You probably could. The owner of a huge company like that wouldn't want the negative publicity, and if you sued him, you could get a fortune."
"I don't feel right doing that. It feels sleazy, like blackmail. I'd rather just do the modeling job I was contracted for and earn the money I'd been promised legally and honestly. Besides, I love the work and this could be the big break that launches my career up to a whole new level—if I even still have the job."
"Do you think Ethan would fire you over what happened?"
"He may. The whole thing got pretty ugly. I told him he was a sicko and that if I ever saw him again, I would call the police. Then, I pushed him in the chest over and over until I shoved him right out the door. I don't see how he couldn't fire me."
"Well, until you get it in actual writing, just act like the job is yours and go to the shoot on Friday. You earned that cover spot, and you might as well do it. I have to ask, though, what on earth caused Ethan to punch Mick in the first place?"
"Mick and I were having an argument over money. I guess it got pretty loud. When Ethan came to see me, he heard it and literally broke the door down. Mick had his hands on my shoulders, and Ethan pulled him off me and punched him in the face. I guess he was protecting me. Mick can be pretty intense when he's angry, but Ethan was calm and in control. It was pretty impressive the way he burst in and knocked Mick flat on his ass, and for a moment, I was relieved to see him.
“Then, when I found out Ethan had come over because he'd been obsessing over me, I felt scared. The things he said were really intense, and I could see from the look in his eyes that he meant them. No one has ever thought about me that much, not even Mick or my own family, so why would this stranger? It scared me, and I suddenly wanted to get as far away from him as I could. I wanted to get back to what I used to. To what was normal."
"What's that? Being utterly ignored?" Sam was joking, but her words hit the mark a little too accurately. In my drunken state, I started to feel sick and little sad.
"Mick doesn't ignore me." I sounded sullen in my defensiveness. "He loves me. We're going to get married just as soon as we get the money."
"I know you are. Mick's a great guy. He's really supportive of your career, at least, a lot more than most guys would be. I wish I had a guy like that."
"I know. He takes care of my money for me. He always tries to get me the best deals for my contracts. He's the best."
In that moment, I couldn't help but think about how Mick was always pushing me to do things I didn't want to do, like get naked for photoshoots, or even trade sex for money. He had even been willing to prostitute me to Ethan earlier that day. Normally, the thought of being treated like a whore made me shiver, but in Ethan's case, he had so much charisma, maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing.
Oh, shit. Now I knew I'd had too much to drink. Sam had been handing me all the alcoholic beverages men had been buying for her that evening, and I'd been drinking them. Now the room was spinning in circles and it was clearly time for me to go home.
"Listen, I have to get back to the apartment. Mick will be waiting for me. He hates being left home alone. He needs me to do all the cooking, cleaning, and make all the money to pay our bills. He'd be lost without me, and that's why we're perfect for each other," I said, hearing the slur in my own words as I clutched at the bar, trying to keep upright.
"I'll have the bartender call you a cab," Sam said. "I want to stay a little longer and see if I can meet my prince charming."
"You will. There's a prince for you out there, too. Someone handsome, rich, and brave, with a sexy smile and stormy eyes. Someone who will take care of you, who worries about your safety, and doesn't drive too fast or leave you alone. Someone who makes you feel alive, beautiful, and free. Someone who is patient and kind, and allows you to learn at the pace that's comfortable for you, while still encouraging you to push the limits and try new things.
“Someone who takes the time to want to know everything about you, even memorizing your résumé and the lines of your portfolio. Someone who will fight his way through a locked door if he thinks you're in danger. Someone who will drive all the way across town just to make sure you get an important message and is truly disappointed if he thinks he won't get to see you. Someone whose every thought is of you."
I didn't realize what I was even talking about anymore, just that Ethan's face was in my mind as Sam helped me to a cab and gave the driver my address. When I got home, I saw that Mick had repaired our apartment door and was sleeping on the couch, surrounded by beer cans. I crashed into bed alone, dreaming of motorcycles and princes, and someone I never knew I wanted.
Chapter Seven: Ethan
"Are you alone? I had hoped you would bring a date." My mother peered around me as if she expected someone else to be standing on the front porch beside me.
I bit my tongue and refused to make the retort that was burning the inside of my mouth. If my father hadn't been standing beside her, I would have said it: “No, Mother; having dates over has always been your thing, not mine.” But the cruel reminder of
her many infidelities would have hurt my Dad too much, and she had already done that enough. I never understood why he took her back after she abandoned us, but I wanted to support him in any decisions he made, so even after all these years, I kept silent.
"Welcome home, son." Dad hugged me warmly, and I returned the embrace. He was thin now, gaunt from the sick liver he'd gotten from being an alcoholic. A lot of people said I should stop trying to fix him, that it was up to him to heal himself, but I always blamed my mother. If she hadn't broken his heart all those years ago, the rest of his organs wouldn't have followed suit.
Now he had liver damage, just one kidney, and his eyes were failing him. Soon, I'd have to pay for him to have around the clock care, and Mom would be free to have her lovers over in broad daylight without him even knowing. It was just another reminder why I was determined to stay single: marriage killed, it was a plain and simple fact. I was never going to let a woman have my heart and destroy me like my father had let my mother do—even someone as mesmerizing as Kayla Brandt.
"Dinner is ready. We were wondering if we should start without you, since you're late again as usual," my mother chided as we entered the dining room of the house I bought for them and sat down at the elegantly laid table.
"Sorry, I had a problem at work that required my attention."
Mother looked vaguely concerned as the maid served our plates. "Nothing wrong with the new motorcycle line, I hope. What are you calling it? U.S.A?"
"The All-American." My father knew the answer. He and I were still very close and talked almost every day. He was my sounding board for any major decisions I made on the bikes. He was the one who originally taught me how to ride, which is how I got assigned to the motorcycle division at Krueger to begin with.
Shaking my head, I said to them, "No, the new line of the All-American is perfect. We've already got a hundred thousand coming off the factory lines and ready to be sent to the dealers. This had to do with marketing. We're going to feature it on the cover of next month's Speed Magazine, and I want the perfect model to showcase the bike and give readers that all-American feeling I want them to have when they see it. It's the image of the whole line, and very important. So, any little hiccup and I need to give it my full attention."