by Meghan Quinn
“Shut up, whore.” I huff out a breath and collapse back on the mattress. “I’m scared. I’ve never felt like this about a guy before. And this is Gavin Saint we’re talking about for Christ’s sake! You know his reputation. It’s legendary.”
“Yeah, but you said it felt huge, right? Maybe you need to take a leap of faith on this one, babe. The worst that could happen is you get your heart broken.”
My forehead creases in agitation. “You make it sound like that’s no big deal.”
“Well it’s not, if you really stop to think about it,” she responds. “Yeah, heartbreak freaking sucks. It hurts like hell, but it doesn’t kill you, Nell. You’ll eventually pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and move on.”
“Jesus,” I grumble. “Whatever you do, don’t apply for a job at Hallmark. You’ll have people slitting their wrists in no time.” I put on a mocking voice. “We’re sorry about the death in the family. Now rub some dirt on that shit and get back to the real world.”
Her laughter tinkles through the line. “I’m just trying to put a positive spin on it for you, Nelly Belly.”
“Ugh!” I interrupt. “Don’t call me that or I really will cut you.”
“Look, I’m just trying to make you see that maybe this isn’t a bad thing. A super-hot, sex on a stick guy likes you. And you like him back. I say jump in feet first. Who knows, maybe this’ll end up being better than you can imagine.”
I close my eyes and suck in a deep lungful of air. “He got me another audition with La Magie.”
Page’s voice goes high-pitched. “Are you kidding me?!”
“No, I’m not,” I answer once it’s safe to put the phone back to my ear. “He even had his friend vouch for me. This could be it, Page. And Gavin did that for me.”
“Oh, sweetie, that guy doesn’t just like you. This sounds like a lot more than like.”
My stomach feels like a million butterflies are flitting about in it. “I think so, too,” I smile so big my cheeks ache. “And as a thank you, I was thinking…”
“Ugh, you suck!” she cut me off, reading my mind. “Fine, I’ll make a fancy dinner. But I’m not delivering it to you! If you want your man to eat well, you bring his ass here.”
“You’re the best!” I squeal, shooting from the bed and doing a happy dance.
“I know,” she grunts. “I’m so awesome it sometimes hurts. Like now, for example, because my evil bitch of a best friend won’t let me sleep off the rest of the wine hangover so I can get up in a few hours and make her and the man giving her multiple orgasms a spectacular dinner, while I’ll be spending the night replacing the batteries in my vibrator.”
Completely ignoring her sarcastic diatribe, I tell her, “Love you too! See you in a few hours!” I’m pretty sure she was cussing me out as I pulled the phone from my ear, but I’m in far too good of a mood to care.
***
I can’t help but imagine what Gavin’s seeing as he pulls up to my apartment building. Worrying about how someone else views the place where I live has never been something I concerned myself with, and honestly, I’d been so overwhelmed the few other times Gavin’s been here that I never gave it much thought. I never even stopped to consider the difference in where we’re going to where we’d just come from until this very moment. But as he pulls his sleek car into the parking lot full of potholes and cracked concrete, I feel nervous. The drug dealer supplying a crack head only a block away, completely out in the open doesn’t help any either, and I’m suddenly overcome with embarrassment at the thought of what Gavin must think. Does he consider me someone who belongs in such a place? Self-doubt is an evil bitch. That fear is almost worse than my current embarrassment.
“You don’t belong here,” he says in a low growl.
My head shoots to the side just in time to see his jaw tick as he puts the car into park and stares up at the building. “What?”
“You and Page, you don’t belong here. This place is beneath the both of you.” He turns and levels me with an intense look. “You deserve nothing less than pure luxury, Penelope. The idea that you’re living in this fucking place makes me want to hit something.”
While I love that he thinks I deserve better, it still rankles on my nerves that we’re from such opposite worlds. “Yeah, well, Vegas is expensive and this is what we can afford.”
His forehead wrinkles in confusion. “Do you not get tipped well working in the suite? The rules clearly state that the players are supposed to tip at least—”
“Yes,” I cut him off. “I get tipped very well, but…” I shrug helplessly as I stare down at my lap. “I have bigger priorities than finding a nicer apartment at this point in time. Besides, if I get this job with La Magie, I know I won’t be pulling in as much as I do right now anyway.”
“What could possibly take precedence over moving out of a goddamned crack den?”
“My parents,” I answer in a hard voice, looking up at him so he can see the determination on my face. “My parents are. They’re struggling right now, and they did everything for me growing up so that I could do what I wanted. It’s my turn to pay that back. Every spare dime I have goes to taking care of them. My mother’s medical expenses alone are fucking outrageous.”
His head jerks back as he takes in what I’ve just said. “Wait… medical expenses? Is she sick?”
“She was in an accident,” I answer, feeling the tears beginning to sting the backs of my eyes as I think about it. I’d just spoken with her yesterday, and while she tried to convince me that everything was fine, I could hear it in her voice. She was in pain and worrying. I’ve been checking my bank account daily in the hopes of seeing that the checks I put in the mail have cleared, but the money’s still there. I keep telling myself that maybe they just haven’t gotten them yet. I have a strong feeling I’ll have to make another call and strong-arm them into cashing those damned checks. “She broke her arm and isn’t able to work. She’s a waitress at the diner in town. The longer she’s out of work the longer they’re without pay and medical benefits, the worse off things are going to get for them.”
“What about your dad?”
“Disability,” I reply in a small voice. “He broke his back on the job a few years ago and physically can’t work.”
I feel the tips of his fingers beneath my chin as he tips my head up. When I meet his dark gaze, I’m surprised at the compassion I see shining back at me. “You carry more on your shoulders than I ever imagined,” he says in quiet reverence.
“They already sacrificed so much for me. What kind of person would I be if I went about my life and acted like what they were dealing with didn’t matter? I can’t imagine ever being that selfish.”
“Penelope.” The sound of my name on his lips is like a gentle caress. “You have to be the least selfish person I’ve ever met in my entire life.” The kiss he gives me is sweet, gentle, and when he pulls back and I open my eyes, the smile on his face is too contagious not to mimic. “Now come on, I’ve sampled Page’s cooking once already so I know what I’m in store for. Plus, I’m starving.”
With a laugh, I grab the handle and push the door open, meeting Gavin on the sidewalk at the hood. We make our way into the dilapidated building hand in hand, and for the first time since moving here, the dread at my surroundings is long gone. All I can see is him. Gavin Saint is all encompassing.
“Page!” I call out once we enter the apartment even though, given the paper thin walls, she probably heard us coming. “It smells fantastic in here.” I tug Gavin’s hand, leading him further out of the drab, water stained walls of the hallway and into our apartment that Page and I work tirelessly to give that homey, comfortable feel.
“Of course it does,” she answers, her head peeking around the half wall built to divide the kitchen and living spaces. “I’m a freaking genius in the kitchen.”
“What are you making?” I ask, letting go of Gavin’s hand long enough to round the tiny eat-in bar in an attempt to get closer to the stove
where those amazing smells are coming from.
“Ah, ah, ah!” Page slaps my hand as I reach into a sauté pan and try to snatch at a mushroom. “Back off, bitch. They’re not ready yet.” I pout as I pull my hand away and rub the sting out of it. “And to answer your question, I’m making steak topped with mushrooms sautéed in garlic and butter, roasted new potatoes, asparagus with a hollandaise sauce, and for dessert, a chocolate mousse.” I almost squeal with joy, only to be quelled by her raised hand. “And before you get all excited, no, it’s not a filet. I’m not Mr. Moneybags over there,” she says, tipping her chin at Gavin and gives him a playful smirk, “The best I could do on a budget was a New York strip.”
“Still,” Gavin starts. “It appears you’ve outdone yourself yet again, Page. I can’t wait.”
“Pfft,” she snorts, lifting the pan of mushrooms and doing that cool wrist-flippy thing, not dropping one of them onto the floor. Damn, I’m jealous. I’ve tried that move once or twice with a completely different outcome and a few first-degree burns. “This is what I do. If it’s not going to be spectacular, I don’t bother trying. I could make Spam taste like a gourmet meal.”
“She really can,” I tell Gavin with a sage nod. “I know for a fact. She’s had to do it more than once before.”
“You’ve eaten Spam?” he asks with a disgusted curl of his lip.
“We do what we have to do,” I answer with a lazy shrug. “We live like two broke college girls, only, you know, without the college.”
“You’d be amazed what I can pull off with a packet of ramen and pre-sliced sandwich meat,” Page adds.
I point in her direction. “Yep. I guarantee you, we might have less money than you do, but we eat like kings because of this one here. You should feel super jealous right now.”
“I’m insane with jealously,” Gavin smiles, wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling me flush against him, causing my belly to swoop with pleasure.
“No hanky panky in my kitchen!” Page warns, jabbing her wooden spatula at us. “Get out. I’ll call when dinner’s ready.”
With a laugh, I lead Gavin out of the way and lean into his side, whispering conspiratorially, “Wanna see my bedroom?” lowering my lids in a sultry stare.
“Page?” Gavin calls over his shoulder, not taking his eyes off of me.
“Yeah?”
“How much longer until it’s ready?”
“About twenty minutes.”
One corner of his mouth kicks up in a sinful grin as he starts walking me backwards towards the bedrooms. “Not enough time for everything I want to do to your body, but I’ll make good use of the time.” And just like that, I’m wet. “Now, Penelope, let’s see if you’re capable of being quiet.”
I wasn’t. Twenty minutes later when we come walking out of the bedroom, Page is staring at us both with a knowing, yet slightly annoyed expression. “Real nice, assholes. I’m in here slaving away making you a dinner fit for royalty, and you’re back there acting out your very own porno.”
I can’t even bring myself to feel ashamed as I reach up and pat my sex-mussed hair. True to his word, Gavin had made great use of those twenty minutes… twice, and I’m on too much of a high to feel bad for nearly screaming the building down.
Gavin’s wearing a smug grin as he pulls out a chair for both Page and I at our tiny dinette table before taking a seat himself. The conversation flows easily between the three of us as we devour Page’s five-star meal. Seriously, if vaginas didn’t somewhat scare me, I’d have put a ring on her finger long ago, simply because of her cooking alone. We talked about nothing important and laughed at each other’s stupid jokes. Well, the stupid jokes came more from me and Page, but a genuine grin is plastered across Gavin’s face the entire time and I know he’s enjoying my and my best friend’s shenanigans. What can I say? We’re a hoot.
We’d only made it halfway through dessert when a loud crash cut through my moans of appreciation as I ate a spoonful of Page’s chocolate mousse. To. Die. For.
“What the fuck was that?” Gavin asks.
“Sounds like 3B is at it again,” Page mumbles with a look at the wall before going back to her meal.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
I hold a finger in the air. “Just wait for it. You’ll see.”
Then, like clockwork. “You sorry muthafucka! I’m gonna make you wish you’d never been born!” followed closely by, “Bitch, you done lost yo damn mind! Put the knife down!” Page and I have heard this exact same fight so many times that we mouth the words as they’re hollered through the wall. As usual, I take Fat Albert—yes, that’s the name he dubbed himself with when he got into pimping—while Page acts out the roll of Felicia, the wayward prostitute that truly believes her overweight pimp’s in love with her. It’s sad, really.
“I should cut your goddamned dirty dick off, you piece-a-shit!” Felicia/Page continues.
“Woman!” I mouth along with Fat Albert. “You go anywhere near my dick with that blade and I’ll bitchslap the hooker outta you!”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Gavin growls as he throws his napkin down on the table and climbs to his feet. “That’s it. Pack your shit.”
“Huh?” Page asks at the same time I cock my brow in confusion. “Why?”
“Because there’s no goddamned way I’m letting you stay here with that shit happening next fucking door. Now go pack a bag. Both of you.”
“Gavin,” I say in a soothing voice. “It’s okay. Really, they do this all the time.”
“So I gathered from the spot on lip-sync you and Page just did,” he grinds out, that tick in his jaw coming back full force.
“In a few minutes, Felicia will put the knife down and it’ll change from shouts to sex moans. Not saying that’s better or anything. Trust me, I’ve seen Fat Albert, he comes by his name honestly, but I’m just saying they’re harmless.”
“Harmless?” he asks in exasperation. “That’s not fucking harmless, Penelope. And if you two have become so desensitized to that shit, I’m seriously worried. Now. Go. Pack. A. Bag. I’m taking you two back to the hotel with me.”
“Gavin,” I say at the same time Page pipes up with, “We can’t afford to stay at Hotel Paragon! Are you crazy?”
“Don’t you worry about that,” he replies in a low, ominous voice that makes the hairs on my arm stand on end. I’ve seen Focused Gavin, I’ve seen Intense Gavin, hell, I’ve seen In The Throws of Orgasm Gavin. But I’ve never seen him with such fierce, calculated determination before. The vibe in the air is don’t fuck with me and it’s thick.
“But what about Graham?” I ask. “Is he going to be okay with us taking another one of his rooms?”
“Let me handle Graham. You handle packing your shit so I can get you out of this hell hole.” His last statement is punctuated by a thud against the wall we share with Fat Albert and Felicia, followed closely by her moaning as Fat Albert begins to grunt at a fast pace. Gavin looks positively horrified. “You’ve got three minutes, make it count.”
“Should we tell him they’ll be done by then?” Page whispers with a giggle as we head to our rooms to pack.
“Nah, we’ll let him figure that out. I can’t believe he’s making us leave such a peaceful place. I’m going to miss it.”
We both laugh as we break apart and step into our rooms. “I’m not,” Page calls. Three minutes later, we’re toting bags on our shoulders and waltzing back into the living room just as Fat Albert lets out a high pitched squeal.
“Thank fuck,” Gavin sighs. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
Page and I look at each other with wide grins before turning back to the wall. Then together we call out, “Bye Felicia,” before hurrying out the door.
Chapter Twenty-Five
**GAVIN**
“And then pudding came flying out of her nose, all over Ronald Halgram’s Valentine’s Day card. The poor guy spent hours cutting and pasting foil hearts together only for Nell to pudding s
not all over it in return.” Page laughs hysterically in the back of my car, slapping the leather of her seat out of pure joy.
“I think that’s enough,” Penelope grinds out, clearly not happy with Page’s over sharing.
I chuckle, only to receive death stares from Penelope in the seat next to me. I shrug my shoulders in innocence. “What? It’s funny.”
“It is not funny. I was sick and sneezed at the wrong time. I wasn’t used to the pollen in the Springtime just yet and Ronald was being sweet. I ruined his hard work.”
I reach for her hand but she denies me her warmth. Cutting a glance at her, I convey through my eyes that her neglect is unacceptable. In a warning tone, I say, “Penelope, give me your hand unless you want me pulling this car over so I can spank you in front of your friend.”
“You wouldn’t,” she seethes.
I turn my blinker on and start to pull off the road. “Test me.”
Groaning in frustration, she gives me her hand and I twine our fingers together.
Page laughs in the back, enjoying the interaction in front of her. “Oh shit, Nell, you’ve met your match. I didn’t know you hated to be spanked. Maybe I’ll start using that in my repertoire to get you to get off your ass and vacuum every now and then.” Page uses a deep voice as she speaks. “Nell, you vacuum this apartment right now, or else I’ll spank you.”
“She actually likes to be spanked,” I cut in. “Gets her so fucking wet.”
“Gavin!” Penelope scolds.
“Oooo, really? You naughty little ho,” Page teases. “I never would have guessed. What else does she like?”
“Well,” I ponder for a second. “As you know, I’m sure, she likes to be eaten out—“
“We are done with this conversation,” Penelope says, cutting me short. “Unless you want your secrets spilled, both of you, then I suggest you shut your mouths. God,” she huffs out. “I don’t like you two hanging out.”
Silence falls over the car from Penelope’s threat, only the hum of the car’s motor filling the small space. At a red light, I drum my thumb on the steering wheel, trying to figure out what to say that doesn’t involve what Penelope likes in bed. Hell, I have a one-track mind whenever the thought of having her underneath me comes up.