by Frankie Love
Great, earlier it was my father, and now him.
Geoffrey: Dad said he called. You coming home, for reals?
Me: Checking my schedule.
Okay, that isn’t true. One, I have no fucking schedule; I’m my own man. And two, no way in hell am I coming home to watch Geoffrey be crowned king of the Diamond empire.
Geoffrey: Look, don’t get Mum’s hopes up. We both know you’ll flake out. Don’t put her through the disappointment.
I know our father is going to give it to Geoffrey. He’s the responsible son, the reliable son, the really fucking boring son.
Geoffrey: Don’t be an ass. Everyone knows you’re Mum and Dad’s favorite. But when you let Mum down, and don’t show, it screws with my life.
Me: Oh, I’m screwing plenty of things, but your life isn’t one of them.
I pocket my phone, every muscle in my body tensing from the exchange.
Why do I let Geoffrey get under my skin so easily? Why do I care so much that I might disappoint our mum? Again.
Maybe because, as much as I think Geoffrey is a complete prick, he also has that little, nagging thing everyone seems to want. Their parents’ bloody approval.
I’ve avoided that typical sentiment for years, but Dad’s voice today on the phone, the tinge of sadness he expressed over the idea of me not coming through for him, proving my worth somehow, made me want something I don’t think I’ve had for over a decade, possibly longer.
Not that me showing up at the family estate in Hertfordshire is going to somehow vouch for some personal awakening. Because I haven’t had one.
But Geoffrey just being handed the family business, as if he’s entitled to it, rubs me the wrong way.
The elevator door slides open and I walk into Ace’s foyer.
“What’s up, motherfucker?” Ace calls from the kitchen. I walk in and McQueen fist-bumps me, and Jack hands me a beer.
“What, no hot cocktail waitresses tonight?” I ask, taking the drink.
“Fuck that,” Ace says. “The den is all set up for us. Emmy thinks if another hot waitress works the game tonight one of you bastards might find a woman.”
“I don’t want any woman, not for a long time,” Jack says as we make our way into the dining room where Ace’s dealer Carla has set up the poker table. A waitress in fishnets is setting up the wet bar in the corner. But I’m not interested in her. She looks nothing like Claire ... which, fuck? Why am I even comparing them?
“What happened now with Ashley?” McQueen ask warily.
“After the wedding, she got pissy again about me not proposing yet. She kneed me in the fucking balls. It was bad.”
“And are you still together?” I ask.
Jack shrugs. “I don’t know what we are. But we’re meeting in L.A. for brunch in a few days. She says that’s what real couples do.”
“Fuck that,” I say, taking a swig of my IPA. “My parents say the same fucking thing. Apparently my brother and his girlfriend are royalty because they go to the country club on Saturdays for Bloody Marys and golf.”
“Meanwhile, we play hard, all night.” McQueen says, laughing, as Carla deals us a hand.
“Not Ace, not anymore,” Jack reminds us. “How was the honeymoon, bro?”
While we play several hands, Ace fills us in on Tahiti and I keep getting texts from my brother.
He won’t drop the whole thing about letting Mum know I’m not coming, and I’m sure his girlfriend Fiona is just feeding him the obnoxious texts.
“Dude, what the fuck is going on over there?” Ace asks, as I pull my phone out once more.
“It’s my brother.” I explain the phone call with my father earlier, how he’s willing to give his company to either Geoffrey or me. In a week.
“Holy fuck,” Jack says. “He’s just gonna give The King’s Diamond to one of you? Just like that?”
I sigh. “Shit, I guess. My parents are old school, but the good kind. You know how some people actually have their priorities in check? That’s my mum and dad. They don’t care about fame or fortune. They want to wear their old sweaters and go on walks with their dogs and grow old together.”
“Pretty fucking sweet,” McQueen laughs. “And you come from them?”
“Right?” I shake my head.
“Do you want to fight Geoffrey for it?” Ace asks. “Would you even want the company? If you could have it?”
“Dad would never give it to me. Although he says he wants me to show up and prove my worth, the truth is that I’ve got nothing on Geoffrey. He’s has Fiona, has been working for the business for five years. Meanwhile, I’ve been....”
“Fucking pussy and gambling your inheritance,” Ace says, laughing.
“Exactly. There’s no point in sugar-coating the truth. I’ve been playing hard for years. Can’t make that up in a week.”
“But would you want to?” Jack asks. “If you could?”
I look around the room at my friends. The fuckers who showed up, and stayed put. The guys who, for some reason, decided that even if I was a complete bag of shit they had my back. If I can’t be honest with them, I can’t be honest with anyone.
“If I could have it, I’d take it,” I admit. “Granted, I have no fucking clue what owning a company means ... but part of me wants something to work for, fight for. It’s why I’m still negotiating for this property in Vegas. Sure, life is good. But is it great? I don’t think so.”
“Fuckin-A. This got heavy,” Jack says, laughing, as he folds his hand.
“You gotta go for it, man,” Ace says, taking a whiskey neat from the waitress. “Shit, show them that you’re what they want.”
I narrow my eyes, knowing this is not an easy task. “So I just need to show my father I’m something besides a fuckup. I need to show him I’m responsible and a fucking family man. Right. Easy.”
I take a drink of beer, suddenly tired of being reminded why I can’t have what Geoffrey has. I’ve spent too long fighting it to try and get it back now.
I don’t want to feel like a fucking failure tonight, I want to feel like a King.
Just then, Emmy, Tess, and Claire walk in the room.
And seeing Claire is just what I need.
CLAIRE
After Ace texts Emmy a quick reply telling her that no, Gwen is not in the building, we are completely sidetracked from my near-gush about Landon and me hooking up.
Which might be for the best, seeing as there would have been a dozen questions that followed my big reveal. Such as, why the hell did you leave before you screwed?
I don’t want to make up even more lies, so I decide it’s best that the topic got dropped.
We eat dinner and listen to Emmy tell us ridiculously fantastic details of her honeymoon. The sex on the beach and the candlelit dinners and the couple’s massages in their little cabana overlooking the South Pacific.
It is utterly drool-worthy, and I fight off any feelings of I-wish-that-were-me by drinking the bottle of Prosecco. By myself.
When we enter the penthouse post-dinner to look at Emmy’s wedding pictures, I’m more than a little tipsy.
“Hey, boys,” Emmy says, sashaying into the den like she owns the place. It takes me a moment to remember that she actually does.
Ace didn’t even ask her to sign a pre-nup. Because they are totally and completely the real thing.
“Hey babe,” Ace says, pulling her to him. She falls into his lap effortlessly, and I look away, because all I can see when I look at them is bliss. That amount of perfection is a little hard to swallow.
When I turn, though, my eyes fall on Landon.
And, shit, he looks amazing.
His shirtsleeves are rolled up, revealing the tattoos on his forearms. He looks me up and down as if something is on his mind, because he tips his head ever so slightly, a slight grin on his face.
When I left the condo tonight, sleeping with Landon was nowhere on my mind … but now it’s all I want.
I want to finish what we started.
“You boys almost done?” Emmy asks.
“Almost,” McQueen says, eyeing his piles of chips. “I’ve schooled this table.”
“Too bad JoJo didn’t come, after all, to see you win tonight,” Landon jokes.
“McQueen, you have a girl?” Tess asks, eyes wide, always wanting to know the scoop. “When did that happen?”
“No, I don’t.” McQueen shoves Landon in the arm. “Don’t start rumors. Tess is susceptible to believing anything she hears.”
“Be nice,” Emmy says. “I’m gonna show the girls the photos, and then we’ll all have a drink, okay?” She plants a kiss on Ace’s mouth. The kind of kiss you can only get away with when you’ve just returned from your honeymoon.
Sitting on her sofa, she opens her MacBook and scrolls through hundreds of gorgeous shots. She and Ace really do look like they belong on the cover of a magazine.
When I tell her so, she replies, “Oh, actually, Vegas Weekly is featuring us next month.”
“No shit?” I shake my head.
“Look,” Tess says. “See, Claire, you and Landon did look cute dancing together.”
“You really did,” Emmy says. “You know your moves.”
“I was bit obsessed with Pride and Prejudice as a tween. That’s why I learned the waltz. I’m a dork, I know,” I say, feeling lightheaded from the champagne. Lightheaded in a good way. In a way that makes me crane my neck to see if the guys are almost done with poker.
I want to see Landon again.
Another half hour passes, and the guys still haven’t emerged from the den. Realizing my dreams of some hook-up with the hottest guy I’ve ever seen naked aren’t going to come true, I let the girls know I should probably head home.
I have a hall pass from my mother, but no one to use it with.
“Stay here tonight,” Emmy says. “You too, Tess.”
“No, I should get home.” I shrug, knowing the only reason I’d stay out all night was if Landon and I had a chance to reconnect. “Thanks though.”
“Why? You don’t even work tomorrow.”
“Sorry, girls, I’d rather sleep in my bed.”
“Is it nice? Your bed?” Tess asks. “You know, I’ve never even been to your place. Isn’t that weird?” She scrunches her nose up and laughs. For a moment, fear fills my stomach. Are they going to ask to come over? I’ve dodged that bullet for months.
I am being such a shitty friend and, in a moment of vulnerability, I realize something: if they asked right now, I’d let them inside.
I need to be real with the people who have let me into their lives—and maybe showing them my apartment, where the My Little Ponies and the Barbie dolls are strewn about, would be the perfect way to reveal who I really am.
But Tess and Emmy don’t press me. Mostly because we all know this penthouse is a hell of a lot more fun to hang out in than any apartment off the strip.
Ace and the guys walk into the room as I am standing to leave.
“Let me call a car for you,” Ace offers thoughtfully.
“Actually, I’ll help you get home,” Landon offers. “I need to run, too.”
“You sure?” I ask. “I mean, if you have somewhere you need to be?” I squint my eyes, not believing him. Where does anyone need to be at eleven o’clock at night?
“No, it’s fine, I need to stop at the, uh, the....”
“Where you headed, bro?” Jack snorts. “The strip club?”
“I got her,” Landon says to Emmy, ending the discussion.
I don’t argue. This is what I wanted the moment I walked into this penthouse tonight.
Him and me. Alone.
Looking at Landon, warmth spreads through me, remembering his hands on my skin and my mouth on his. It doesn’t take much imagination for my panties to get wet.
Leaning over to give Emmy and Tess hugs good-bye, I can’t help but feel like I could have been a better person a million times over tonight. Truthful and real and an actual friend.
Instead, I’m sorta drunk and leaving with a man I let go down on me two weeks ago.
6
LANDON
Claire steps into the elevator with me, biting her lip in a way she doesn’t seem to realize gets me hard just by watching.
“Did you have a good night with Tess and Emmy?” I ask as the elevator falls to the ground floor.
“Yeah, it was nice to get out.” She looks down at the floor and I notice her scuffed boots in contrast with my leather ones, polished and shiny.
The moment Claire walked into Ace’s penthouse, I wanted her. I want to finish what we started.
“Do you really want to go home?” I ask, stepping toward her.
She smiles, licking her lips and looking back up at me. “Considering last time we were alone together we were naked … no. I don’t want to go home.”
“Well, that was a terrific night.” I wrap my arms around her, pulling her close to me. My cock twitches in my trousers, and the need to take her to my room overwhelms me.
“Terrific?” She smirks. “That’s all it was?” She presses her fingers to her temple. “I should never have drank so much champagne.”
“The night of the wedding?” I ask, remembering her constant glass of bubbly that evening. Perhaps she regretted parting her legs for me. I sure as hell don’t regret it. I just want more, something I probably don’t deserve.
But then I remember her insecurity back in my suite, how she hadn’t slept with anyone in a long while. Maybe those feelings are rising up in her again.
Claire sighs, and in doing so it’s as if she lets down her guard. “No, I mean tonight, I had almost a bottle with dinner, because I’m an idiot.” I want to press her against the elevator wall, and take her right here, right now.
But Claire doesn’t lean into my body; she keeps talking, nervously.
Her words mesmerize me with their honesty.
“I liked everything about the night of the wedding,” she says. “I only wish it hadn’t ended so soon.”
“You wanted more?” I ask, still holding her close. Not letting her go, ready to press my mouth on hers. “More of me?”
Her red lips open as if she’s about to admit something, but the elevator doors slide open and we’re deposited in the lobby of Spades.
“Your room then?” she asks.
I press the elevator button again and we fly back up to my floor.
Grabbing her hand as the doors open, I lead us down the hall. I swipe my key to let us into my suite, not able to move fast enough. I want to push her inside and pull down her panties and finish what we’d started weeks ago.
The moment we’re in the room, she reaches for a bottle of water and drinks it nearly in one gulp.
“Thirsty?”
“Just can’t afford to have a hang-over. I rarely drink so much. It was a bad idea.”
“You seem sober enough now.”
She doesn’t slur her words or seem to be overly emotional—both stereotypical tells of a woman nearly drunk.
“I suppose I am. I had four glasses of champagne over the course of four hours, so I’m pretty good now.” She lets out a deep breath before adjusting her jean jacket.
I don’t know much about Claire, but I can tell she could use some money. She serves drinks for a living, but her shifts are terrible ones, usually during the day, and anyone in Vegas knows the good tips are in the late hours, when there are plenty of drunken men. Working eight a.m. to three p.m. is not a lucrative job opportunity.
“Landon,” she asks, setting down the water and walking toward me. “Can we finish what we started?”
She’s caught me off guard—which is odd. That never happens with women.
I’ve been so preoccupied with trying to understand who Claire is that I haven’t noticed the look of desire in her eyes, the longing.
“Because, right now,” she whispers. “Right now, I need to feel ... more than I am.”
“Oh, Claire, I’ll make you feel more than enough.”
She tastes so sweet. She looks like a vixen, but each kiss on my lips is tender and soft and full of longing. The kisses of a woman who has never been properly loved or properly fucked.
Her hands cup my face, as she pours herself into me. Her tongue finds its way into my mouth, encircling mine as we deepen our connection. The heat rises as she grinds against my growing cock, and I run my hands across her back, pulling off her coat, tugging down the straps of her black dress and her black bra.
I fill my hands with her perfect tits. They aren’t massive and fake—Claire is one hundred percent real and it’s refreshing and fucking hot to be with someone who seems not to be at odds in their own skin.
Massaging her tits, I watch her perky little nipples grow hard. I pull one into my mouth and suck as she pulls her dress off.
“Oh, fuck, Claire, you’re so sexy,” I tell her as she undoes my belt and buttons. We tumble into the bed, and I’m on my back as she pushes my trousers down, off. I pull off my shirt, wanting to feel her skin against my chest.
“You’re so hard,” she moans, taking my stiff cock in her hands as she presses her body on top of mine.
Our bodies are hot, so close to one another; she holds my cock in her hand as our mouths collide again. We kiss hard as my hands push at her panties. I want to touch that soft pussy again. I want to see those pink lips part, only this time I want my cock to spread them.
I want to feel her tightness around me as she swirls those hips of hers above.
She runs her fingers over my cock, massaging her clit with my base as she pushes us against one another. She bites my lip as I slap her little ass, and I love that she’s getting wet as she touches me.
I want to touch her. I push aside her panties, and dip a finger into her juicy folds, wanting to loosen her a little before I plunge my massive rod into her.
Her entrance is so soft and warm, and my fingers flick slowly, wanting her to enjoy every moment of this. Her pussy is so ready for my cock—my hand is sopping wet when I take my fingers out.