The Last Guy

by Ilsa Madden-Mills

“Some say it’s sexist in how it portrays women, but I don’t agree,” Trent says, stirring the drama pot—and never one to be left out.

  “Why is it sexist?” Now I’m interested.

  Stone is perturbed. “The movie is not sexist!”

  Trent shrugs. “Beats me.”

  Stone is shaking her head. “Ariel is empowered and brave and daring—”

  “Nice rack?” I interrupt, my gaze hot as it traces the curve of her body. I picture her in a coconut bra. Shit. That’s sexist. But I can’t help it. I fucking want Stone so bad I have a hard-on at work talking about a goddamn mermaid movie.

  She ignores me. “ . . . for example, Eric is the damsel in distress when Ariel rescues him from drowning—”

  “That’s enough for me. I’d do her. I like a girl who fights for her man.” Now I’m just pushing her buttons.

  Stone looks flustered. “You can’t appreciate it if you haven’t actually seen it.”

  “Then show me.” I don’t know what I’m talking about now.

  “Like I said . . . movie marathon at Cade’s tonight,” Trent chimes in.

  We speak at the same time.

  “Shut up,” Stone says.

  “Give it a rest,” I say.

  We look at each other and burst out laughing. Something . . . small . . . seems settled between us. I don’t know what it is. Maybe she’s forgiven me for getting her assigned to the petting zoo debacle or maybe we’re just having fun. Whatever. I go with it and grab her another Diet Coke when I see she’s empty and looking around. She takes it and smiles. “Wish this was gin and tonic.”

  I grin. “If it was, this night would end very differently.”

  She giggles.

  The conversation moves from Disney to current events and before I know it, I look up and the entire place is deserted except for the three of us.

  Then Trent leaves—and we’re completely alone in the quiet room.

  We chat for a few minutes longer about inane stuff. It’s just regular, mundane conversation—but so fucking comfortable. Before long, I’m sitting next to her on the barstool and our faces are close.

  She gives me a thoughtful look. “I had these assumptions about you, but you’re so different. You cook. You volunteer to help kids. You have a cat.” She bites her lip. “I like it.”

  The air in the room thickens.

  She swallows. “What are you thinking right now?”

  I shutter my face. “You really want to know, Stone?”

  She nods.

  I lean across the island until we’re nose-to-nose.

  “I want to fuck you again,” I say softly.

  A small gasp of air comes from her parted lips. “What?”

  My lids are heavy as I gaze at her. “We have an hour before I have to be at my desk. We can go to my office right now and shut the door. I’ll strip you out of that tight-as-fuck skirt, take your underwear off with my teeth, toss you on my desk, and eat your pussy until you forget your own name. Then, I’ll fuck you so hard and good that I’ll have to cover your mouth when you scream. And when I’m done, you’ll suck your cream off my cock like it’s candy.”

  Her eyes glaze over as she clutches the side of the island. Her chest is rising rapidly.

  I smile. “Or we can just finish our drinks here, head on to wherever we’re going, and forget I ever said a goddamn word.”

  Rebecca

  WITH EVERY WORD from Cade’s lips, my scalp grows tighter, and I can’t seem to breathe properly. He’s watching me, waiting, and I slip off my stool, putting my face right at his chest.

  “Cade . . .” His name is a burning wish on my tongue.

  He stands, and his scent of warm fires and citrus is all around me, flooding my brain with every memory of our night together. I’m vibrating with need. If he actually did rip my panties off with his teeth, he’d see they’re already wet . . .

  “Are you with me?” His large hand cups my jaw, and he touches my bottom lip, lightly pulling it with the pad of his thumb.

  My mouth falls open, and I can see my breath coming fast. “I-I . . .” I can’t seem to form a sentence.

  “I want to kiss you.” His voice is low, husky.

  My lips are heavy with need, and I can’t meet his eyes. If I do, I’ll forget everything. I’ll forget all about anchor positions and good decisions and the future. Oh, God, I want that kiss so much.

  “Look at me.”

  My eyes flicker up, and when our gazes clash, it’s all over. His mouth covers mine, hard and fast, pushing my lips apart. A little noise escapes my throat, and just as fast, I’m kissing him back, chasing his mouth, hungry for everything him.

  My hands are on his face. My fingers scratch through his beard, moving into the sides of his hair, threading in his soft, dark waves. He groans, and it’s a shock of sheer pleasure to my core.

  Cade Hill is the most amazing kisser. He pulls my top lip between his teeth for a gentle bite before that delicious tongue sweeps inside again to curl with mine. I’m on my tiptoes, holding him, my body burning as I strain into his chest.

  His large hands squeeze my arms, pressing my softness against his hard. They move from my shoulder blades down to my narrow waist, farther down to cup my ass. “You feel so good,” he murmurs, pulling me flush against him.

  I can feel his length straining in his pants, and my knees are liquid.

  “Oh, God,” I gasp as his mouth moves into my hair, hot breath sending chills skating down my body.

  I can’t resist. I slide my hand to the front of his pants and rub it up and down over that amazing muscle. I remember riding him. I remember him stretching me, filling me, blowing my mind.

  He releases a low groan, and it seems to get bigger.

  “We need to go to my office. Now.” His hand is on my breast, cupping and squeezing it through the thin fabric. “I want these perfect tits in my mouth. I’ve wanted them for three days . . . even more since I saw them at six o’clock.”

  “I had no idea . . .” I try to speak, and he kisses me again. Tongues collide, and I grab his shoulders, holding on through the electric swirl of sexy Cade Hill. Tipping my chin up, I moan as he kisses my neck, that luscious beard scuffing my skin. “You fell asleep on me last time.” It’s a breathless tease.

  “Trust me, it will not happen again.”

  I start to laugh—it’s more of a purr—when I hear a voice that throws ice water all over everything. Marv is speaking loudly and he’s headed our way fast.

  “Shit,” I hiss, pushing out of Cade’s arms and turning fast to where our leftover plates sit on the counter. Scooping everything up, I run to the sink and crank up the hot water full blast.

  “You don’t have to—” Cade starts, and I look over my shoulder at his rumpled shirt, his sexy waves all mussed from where I’d just run my fingers through it.

  “Smooth your hair,” I say, and he reaches up to comply.

  Come on . . . come on . . . Finally the steam starts to rise, and I lean forward, hoping to mask the flush on my cheeks and the bright red scuffmarks I know cover my neck.

  “Yes, I talked to her about it,” Marv says. “It was clearly an accident. I appreciate that. It’s just bad timing on top of . . . I’ll call you back.”

  He’s in the room, and I keep my back turned, quickly opening the dishwasher to load it. “Cade,” he says. “Savannah said you were back here. You still here, Becks?”

  “It’s my fault,” Cade jumps in. “We were . . . discussing the Deadrick story and possible ideas for coverage. I guess I lost track of time.”

  “Don’t spend too much time on that.” Marv’s voice is dismissive, and his lecture this afternoon in his office echoes in my mind. Viewer complaints . . . Indecency during the family hour . . . One more screw-up and you’re out.

  I have a hard time breathing through the tightness in my chest. What happened at the zoo today was clearly an accident, and my contract is still in effect—breakable only by gross misconduct or negligence on my part,
which will never happen. He can’t fire me. Still, he can put me on the bench, give me all the shit stories, and take me out of the running for an anchor’s seat, effectively sinking my chances of ever doing anything more than being a reporter, the lowest of the low, one step above being a camera guy.

  “You forget, I choose the stories I spend time on.” A definite edge is in Cade’s voice, and I sneak a glance in their direction.

  Both men’s brows are lowered, and the muscle in Cade’s perfectly square jaw ripples back and forth. I have got to get out of here.

  “Either way, we need you in the newsroom. Vicky wants to do a quick rundown of the ten o’clock show. We’re shuffling stories around in view of this afternoon’s . . . mishap.”

  “I’ll be there in a few minutes,” Cade answers. “I’d like to finish up what I’m doing here.”

  Flipping the door closed on the dishwasher, I scamper to where I left my purse and jacket. “It’s okay. I’ve got to get home.”

  “Probably for the best,” Marv says. “Goodnight, Rebecca.”

  “Wait—” Cade is moving in my direction, and his tone twists my stomach.

  “Goodnight!” I say brightly, not looking back. I’m moving so fast, it’s just short of running, and I don’t even stop as I pass through the newsroom, not even for Vicky calling out to me. I only wave. “Chat tomorrow!”

  I’m out the door, snatching off my heels and full-out sprinting to my Prius. I can’t take a chance Cade might follow me. It’s a matter of survival, of holding onto my plans. Marv appeared at just the right time to keep me from making another huge mistake. Getting mixed up with my coworker, getting my heart smashed into a million pieces by the Killer, on top of everything else that has happened, it would be the third strike.

  I am not going out.

  Not without a fight.

  “And the hits just keep on coming!” Chas holds a martini glass in one hand, and with the other she does a large swoop straight over her head.

  I’m curled on the couch in the fetal position with a pillow tight over my head. “You have absolutely no idea,” I moan.

  “Cheer up, buttercup! Your breast made prime time! If I were Lady Diana Ross, Miss Mahogany herself, I would give you a tit-check like she did Lil Kim at the VMAs.”

  “Don’t talk about it. I never want to see another petting zoo as long as I live. Or a monkey.”

  “Then you’d better stay off the Internet for the duration. You’ve already racked up three million hits on Youtube, and it’s only been four hours. You’re hotter than that little girl who sang like a tree frog.”

  “Stop looking at it!”

  “I wish I could, but it’s like one of those car wrecks, or a drive-by shooting—a drive-by boobing.”

  Slowly pushing up on the couch, I smooth my hair. “It’s one of the hazards of doing live coverage . . . like being a reporter in a war zone. Sometimes bombs go off. I was simply doing my job, and the wildlife got out of control.”

  “Mm-hm.” Chas takes another sip. “I keep telling you no children, no animals. These are very basic rules of show business.”

  “It seemed like a fun idea!” Leaning forward, I rub my hands over my face. “How was I to know Pixie was an octopus? A hairy, brown, pink-bow-wearing date rapist.”

  “She’s a mon-key!” My roommate drags out the syllables. “Didn’t you hear about that woman in New York whose pet monkey went nuts and nearly ate her face off? You took your life in your hands holding that thing.”

  “Good lord, Chas!” Frowning, I look up at her. She’s wrapped in a hot-pink satin robe and on her head is a cream-colored turban.

  “Oh, sweetie, really with that frown. Think of your forehead.”

  Lifting my eyebrows, I shake it off. Just then our enormous flatscreen TV returns from commercial, and Cade Hill fills the frame in all his sexy, dark-brown, blue-eyed deliciousness. I fall onto my side again, hugging the faux-mink pillow against the ache in my stomach. “Pixie’s not the half of my problem,” I whimper. “I’m doomed.”

  “Shew! That is one sexy sportscaster. That’s gotta be great for ratings.” Chas fans a hand in front of her face. “Tell me what’s got you so doomed.”

  It’s no use covering this up. Besides, if anybody can help me out of this bed I keep trying to fall into, my roommate tops the list. “I can’t keep my fucking hands off him.”

  “Him . . .” Cade’s dark eyes move to the side then a huge, white smile splits her cheeks. “HIM! Oh, yes, you know that’s right.”

  “No! It’s not right! Marv almost caught me climbing him like a tree this evening.”

  She’s bouncing in place, laughing. “Once you get a taste, there’s no going back.”

  That makes me sit up fast. “Stop bouncing—I have to go back! I have to stop this. It’s the perfect ammunition Marv is looking for to kill my shot at the anchor chair.”

  “Why would he do that? You’re the most experienced reporter up there.”

  “He wants to give it to Savannah Winston.”

  “Savannah Winston!” Eyes, mouth, Chas’s whole face is an O. “That little blonde airhead? You know I heard her say loof-leaf instead of loose-leaf paper during a back-to-school story?”

  In spite of it all, I snort. “You did not.”

  “I did!” Chas shouts, but I’m skeptical.

  “You’re just making that up, or she got tongue-tied. Nobody says loof-leaf.”

  “Well, she did call the poor citizens of Ghana Gonorrheans on a live broadcast.”

  “She did not!” I’m laughing harder now. “That was a lady from your church talking about a mission trip.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” my roommate nods. “Shirley Faye never was the brightest bulb in the makeup mirror. Still, she’s better than that little girl pretending to be a newswoman.”

  This time, I lean over, placing my head on Chas’s shoulder. “Thanks.”

  “Your boob was totally ready for prime time, by the way. No wonder that sexy sportsman wants to buy everything you’re selling.”

  Taking a deep breath, I do a little growl through my exhale. “How did my life get so fucked up, Chas? I used to have it all together. This is all James’s fault. He threw me off my game.”

  We sit in silence watching Cade on mute. I’m mesmerized by his full lips moving like pink pillows in a sexy sea of brown beard. I remember scratching my fingernails up his cheeks, and every tiny hair on my body rises at the memory of his kisses.

  “Ugh!” I groan, scrubbing my hands over my eyes. “I’ve got to get him out of my head.”

  “James?” Chas is rightfully disgusted.

  “No! Cade.”

  She kicks out her feet and leans forward, scooping up her silver MacBook Air. “Here’s what we’re going to do.” Her long, brown fingers fly over the keys, and I watch the screen as it flickers to life with pictures of couples smiling into each other’s faces, embracing, doing everything but skipping.

  “What is this?”

  “Let’s get started!” Chas says in her best game show announcer voice. “Tell me a little about what you’re looking for in a man.”

  “What. The fuck.”

  “Rebecca Fieldstone.” My drag bestie turns those enormous doe eyes on me. “The best way to get over a man is to get under a new one. We’re going to shake your mind loose from James and Cade.”

  Pushing off the sofa, I start to leave the room. “I am NOT going out with some weirdo you find on the Internet.”

  Chas grabs my wrist, stopping me. “That is a very medieval attitude. Don’t you know that most people who meet on Hookup4Luv.com wind up married?”

  “I do not want to get married!”

  “Sit down.”

  She gives me a gentle tug, and I plop on the sofa beside my satin-clad roomie to see what in the world is about to happen.

  “Do you want children?”

  “No.”

  “Ever?”

  “One day . . . just not today!” Not until I’ve landed th
at anchor spot.

  “What are your political views?”

  “Seriously?”

  “Very liberal . . .”

  “I don’t want to go out with anyone crazy political.”

  “Nonconformist?”

  “That’ll pull up every patchouli-wearing hippie—”

  “Ultraconservative.”

  My eyes narrow, and I watch as my roomie chooses middle of the road. “They don’t have journalism on here as a career option. I’ll choose creative-slash-performance. That nip slip definitely qualifies.”

  “My eyes can’t narrow any more.”

  “Thank heavens for that or you’d definitely need a nip-tuck.”

  I watch, mesmerized as she continues entering information about hair color, body type, activities I like and don’t like, until we finally get to the part where possible matches pop up. A screen of headshots appears, and my stomach sinks.

  “I don’t like the looks of any of them.”

  “We have to go deeper.” Chas is on a mission, but I’m completely skeptical. “Ah, yes. Here we go. What about this? Phil is five-ten to six foot, non-religious. He loves television and is a fan of several series . . .” She nods and raises an eyebrow. “A TV fan is a big plus. Oh, look. He’s pointing to a whiteboard. He does presentations. He reminds me of that Dwight Schrute fellow on The Office.”

  “Gross! Dwight is not hot.”

  “Did I say Dwight? I meant Jim, when he was doing his Dwight impersonation.”

  “That was not a good look for Jim. I don’t like that look.”

  “Stop being difficult.”

  I don’t like any of this. As much as I want to be open, I can’t help comparing Whiteboard Phil to Cade’s deep dimples, wavy dark hair, the beard, the abs . . .”I don’t know, Chassy. I’m not feeling it.”

  My roommate shifts to face me. “You’re done with James?”

  “Yes.” I can’t answer that question fast enough.

  “You can’t go out with Cade?”

  My chin drops, and I don’t answer that question so fast. My fingers twist together, and I feel this weight pulling down from the center of my chest. It hurts. “It’s more like dating him would give Marv another reason to demote me.”