by Lauren Rowe
Maddy bursts out laughing at that one.
I laugh with her. It’s hard not to do—the girl’s got an infectious laugh. “Think about it,” I continue. “It’s the perfect antidote for all that ails you.” Oh man, I’m a runaway locomotive now, feeding off the sparkle in Maddy’s eyes and the bloom in her cheeks. “First off, you’ll have fun, which is reason enough. But, second off, it’ll get your confidence going, which, in turn, will attract even more alpha-type hotties, which will create a viciously awesome cycle of awesomeness, until one fine day, when you least expect it, Mr. Emotional-and-Physical-Connection will waltz straight into your life unannounced, behold your newfound swagger, and say, ‘Oh, hey there, baby doll. Sorry I kept you waiting—I was outside, parking my white horse.’”
Maddy shakes her head. “Maybe that’s the way the world works for you, Ball Peen Hammer, but it’s not quite like that for the rest of us. We mere mortals can’t all jump in the sack willy-nilly with our pick of pickles.”
“You don’t think you can bag any hot guy you want?”
The look on Maddy’s face tells me she doesn’t.
“Bullshit. Look at yourself. You’re gorgeous. Smokin’ hot. You could get any guy you wanted—you just have to believe in yourself a bit more. Although it certainly wouldn’t hurt if you’d show off your merchandise a bit, for fuck’s sake.”
Maddy’s eyes dart from the road just long enough to glare at me. “And here I was about to say ‘thank you for calling me gorgeous.’”
“Aw, come on, Madagascar,” I say. “You must know you look like the fucking sun in that billowy yellow shirt—and I’m not saying that in reference to your bright and sparkling personality. What the fuck are you doing wearing a flowing yellow shirt that makes it impossible for any guy to figure out what you’ve got going on under there? Dude, I’d bet dollars to doughnuts you’ve got a slammin’ hot bod under there and guys can’t make out hide nor hair of it ’cause your shirt’s so damned billowy.”
“Keane, I know you don’t like this word, but you really are a pig.”
“I’m just saying what everyone orbiting the sun is thinking—and, bee tee dubs, when I said ‘the sun’ in that sentence, that means you.”
“Pig.”
“Would you rather I think it and not say it?”
“Yes. Most definitely. Pig.”
“Bah. Honesty’s a good thing. It’s how we learn and grow, sweetheart.”
“Well, guess what? I don’t need to ‘learn and grow’ because I don’t dress to give guys a peep show. I dress for me.” She glances down at her shirt. “And I happen to like this shirt. A lot.”
“Well, great. Glad you like looking like a fucking planet.”
“The sun’s not a planet, Steve Sanders. It’s a star.”
“Oh, well, aren’t you a fancy-pants college student. You think that little lesson in astronomy makes your shirt any more attractive? Because it doesn’t. Okay, fine. Good for you, Galileo, you’ve made yourself look like a giant ball of gases. Happy?”
Maddy can’t resist chuckling. “You’re so mean. Your momma should have named you Mean Morgan instead of Keane Morgan.”
“I’m not mean—I’m honest. But, hey, if I’m mean, then I’m cruel to be kind. You wanna become a man-eater who gets boned by guys who get your motor running from the get-go? Then ditch that fucking horrible shirt and show off what God gave you.”
Maddy sighs. “I can’t believe I’ve agreed to be stuck in a car for two solid days with the most unenlightened human on planet earth.” She motions to the popcorn bag in my lap. “Gimme some of that popcorn, you pig. I need to self-medicate.”
“Knock yourself out, Sunshine.”
Maddy’s mouth is scowling at me as she plunges her hand into the popcorn bag—but her eyes are most definitely smiling. “For your information, I have no desire to waggle my boobs at guys to make them want to sleep with me. All that would do is attract a bunch of pigs like you.”
“’Waggle your boobs’?”
Maddy scowls at me.
“Okay, fine, Sunshine. Stick with attracting ‘nice’ guys who don’t get your motor running at all. Enjoy your ‘icky’ bonin’ all the livelong day. I was just trying to be helpful.”
“Hmmph.”
“Hmmph yourself. And, bee tee dubs, I’d love a demonstration of how you ‘waggle your boobs’ some time. How else are we gonna know for sure whether it would, indeed, attract pigs like me or make them run away squealing with terror?”
“Ha! In your dreams.” She scowls at me again, but she can’t hide the smile in her eyes.
There’s a long beat as we both chomp some more popcorn and watch the slow-moving traffic ahead of us.
“God, we’re moving at a snail’s pace,” Maddy says after a while. “I wonder what’s going on up there? Do you see ambulances or sirens or anything?”
We both peer ahead of us as best we can, but there’s no way to see what lies ahead beyond the long line of jam-packed cars.
“Naw, I can’t see a thing,” I say.
“God, I hope it’s not an accident,” Maddy says, her voice laced with anxiety.
The anxious tone in Maddy’s voice suddenly makes me remember something Dax mentioned in one of his texts: Hannah’s extra protective of Maddy because Maddy was in a horrible car crash a few years ago.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end at the thought. Was Maddy hurt badly? Was she terrified? Shit. I hate thinking of anything bad happening to her. I study Maddy’s profile for a moment as she scrutinizes the traffic in front of us, her face scrunched with concern.
“Hey, baby doll,” I say. I touch her shoulder gently. “What do you say we get off this parking lot and look for a quiet place to chill for a bit? Have ourselves a little rest-and-relaxation sesh while we let this traffic jam sort itself out?”
“It might clear up quickly, you never know,” she says. “If you want, I can try to find an alternate route on side roads for a bit, if you’re in a hurry to get to L.A.?”
“Meh. I’m in no rush. I gotta be there by Friday night at nine, but ’til then, I’m free as a bird. What’s your timing like?”
“My first class is a week from Monday.”
“Well, all right, then. Sounds like we got some green grass, tall trees, and puffy clouds in our very near future.”
Chapter 18
Keane
Wednesday, 4:03 p.m.
“Can I ask you a personal question?” Maddy asks.
We’re lying underneath a large tree in a grassy park we located courtesy of Google maps, sprawled on top of a blanket we retrieved from the back of Maddy’s car, gazing up at the late-afternoon clouds in the sky. A cool breeze occasionally rustles the tree above us, making its leaves shimmer lazily against the backdrop of the clouded sky.
I’m on my back and Maddy’s lying alongside me on her belly, her chin propped up by her hands; and without meaning to do it, I keep finding myself absently running my fingertips up and down Maddy’s back as we talk.
“Ask me anything you like,” I say. “Personal questions are my favorite kind.”
Maddy shivers as a cool breeze wafts over us.
“Scoot closer,” I say. “I’ll be your pillow and blanket, baby.”
She snuggles into me and I throw my arm across her back.
“Better?”
She nods.
“What’s your question, boob-waggler?” She swats at my shoulder and I laugh. “Your term, not mine,” I say.
Maddy rolls her eyes.
“What’s your question?” I ask.
“Have you ever slept with a pickle you felt zero emotional connection with?” she asks. Her tone is earnest, but the moment she sees the smile unfurling across my lips, she rolls her eyes again.
“What?” I ask, still smiling.
“That,” she says, indicating my mouth. “You just answered my question loud and cuh-lear.” She scoffs. “I can’t believe I just asked you of all people that question in all s
eriousness.”
“Why ‘me of all people’? What kind of ‘people’ am I?”
She pokes my shoulder. “The muscular and highly narcissistic kind.”
“Oh, really?” I put my free arm behind my head, still smirking at her. “You assume because I work out and don’t pretend to be humble about what I see in the mirror, I must be a manwhore?”
“Well, aren’t you?”
“Yes, but that’s beside the point. You shouldn’t assume it. I know plenty of guys at the gym who are way more buff than I am and they don’t sleep around. One guy I know is a twenty-five-year-old virgin, believe it or not. Liam. He’s waiting for marriage.”
“Really?”
I nod. “And Liam’s way more ripped than I am, by far. Dude looks like a god.”
“Huh. Well, good for him. But just to be clear, you’re nothing like Liam, right? Because you, unlike our ripped and virginal Liam, are a total and complete manwhore?”
“Well, yeah.” I grin broadly. “And thank God for that, baby.” I move onto my side and so does Maddy, until we’re facing each other, our bodies stretched out on the blanket, goose bumps erupting on our skin in the cool breeze. “I’m just saying you can’t assume a guy’s a manwhore based solely on appearance.”
“Okay, well, good to know. But, just so you know, every freakin’ thing about you screams ‘manwhore!’, so if you don’t want people thinking that about you, then maybe you should tone down the ‘I’m a total and complete manwhore!’ vibe you’re giving off. Just sayin’.”
I grin at her. The way the late-afternoon sun is hitting Maddy’s hair, it’s this crazy, shimmering shade of auburn, kinda like dark cinnamon (a hair color I’ve always had a bit of a weakness for ever since I made out with Sophie Broughton in seventh grade). “Well, see,” I say. “I don’t give a shit what anyone thinks about me, so I’m good.”
“Yeah, well, I guess a guy can’t call himself ‘Ball Peen Hammer’ and then turn around and give a crap if everyone thinks he’s ‘bonin’ the fuck outta women right and left,’ huh?”
We’re practically lying nose to nose—and up close like this, I’m noticing for the first time Maddy’s eyes are the exact color of Tootsie Pops.
“Okay, first off, sweetheart,” I say, “you can’t get away with saying the phrase ‘bonin’ the fuck outta women right and left.’ You sound like Laura Ingalls Wilder trying to say that. Second off, lemme be crystal clear about something: even though I might ‘bone the fuck outta’ women now and again, I ain’t no fuckboy. My momma raised me better than that. And, third off, you got me all wrong. Ball Peen Hammer doesn’t bone the fuck outta women; Keane Morgan does. In point of fact, being a stripper has cut into my random acts of bonery, big-time.”
Maddy smirks and a lock of her auburn hair tumbles into her face.
Oh man, I shouldn’t do it, but I can’t resist. I reach out and push her hair off her face, and damned if her hair against my fingertips isn’t softer than I expected it to be. “Don’t flash me that snarky look,” I say. “Your face is gonna freeze that way and then where will you be?”
“It can’t be helped,” Maddy says. “You just said being a male stripper has ‘cut into your random acts of bonery’ with a straight face.”
“Hey, I’m speaking the God’s truth. I got laid way more before I became Ball Peen Hammer.”
Maddy rolls her eyes. “Well, first off, sweetheart,” she says, adopting my exact tone from a moment ago. “I think you should leave God out of any conversation about how much you get laid. Second off, I don’t believe you for a New York minute. And, third off, I can’t think of a third off.”
“Oh my God.” I prop myself onto my elbow in sudden indignation. “You think I’m nothing but a paid cock, don’t you?”
Maddy props herself up, too, matching my body’s position, her facial expression quite clearly communicating, “If the shoe fits...”
“You know what, Maddy Milliken? I’m deeply offended. I’ll have you know I’m good at my job—a true professional. Probs the top male exotic dancer in Seattle. Most guys make half of what I do on a good night.”
Maddy snickers. “Yeah, based on everything you’ve told me, I’m sure you’re extremely good at your job.”
“Oh my fucking God. You’ve got it all wrong. Contrary to what you’re obviously thinking, I don’t fuck clients. Ever.” My heart is racing. Has Maddy been assuming I fuck for a living this whole time?
“Really?” she asks, her eyes wide.
“Absolutely. I peddle the fantasy of getting to sleep with me, baby, not my actual cock.”
“Wow. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize—wait, oh.” She grins. “You’re totally pulling my leg, aren’t you?” She snorts. “Oh, you’re good.”
“Maddy, stop it. I’m serious. I don’t sleep with clients. It’s a firm rule and I never break it.”
Maddy sits all the way up, color rising in her cheeks. “Oh. Wow. I’m sorry. I truly thought... Oh.”
I sit up, too. “Well, you thought wrong. I don’t fuck clients. And, like I said, stripping has cut into my sex life, big-time. Really, it’s a wonder I get any no-strings sex at all these days, given my schedule.”
Maddy looks at me quizzically.
I exhale with frustration. “Think about it. I’m always working on weekend nights, which is when ninety-nine percent of all casual hook-ups in the universe take place. That’s my first major hurdle right there, since, like I say, I don’t fuck clients. And then, on top of that, whenever I’m not working, where am I? At the gym with Z. And since I don’t sleep with women at the gym, either, I’m pretty much screwed when it comes to getting screwed. The fact that I still get laid at all is a testament to just how irresistible to women I really am.”
“Why don’t you sleep with women at the gym? I’d think the gym would be the perfect place to find women to ‘bone the fuck outta.’”
“Dude, you gotta stop saying that. You seriously cannot pull that off.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Bone the fuck outta,” Maddy says, a twinkle in her brown eyes.
“Still no.”
“Hmmph. Well, okay. Regardless, I’m just saying it seems like the gym would be an extremely fertile ground for finding yourself some willing fuck-buddies. Everyone’s in great shape and wearing skimpy little workout clothes and—”
“Dude. ‘Fuck-buddies’ doesn’t trip off your tongue any more convincingly than ‘bone the fuck outta.’ Sorry, Laura Ingalls Wilder. Try again.”
“No? Jeez. Okay, well, hmm. How about this: I’d think the gym would be the ideal place for you to find willing and highly attractive playmates.”
“Much better. And, yes, to your point, one would think the gym would be an ideal playground for a guy like me. But, trust me, when you’re not looking for a girlfriend and you start hunting in the same place where you hang out every day of your life, it becomes really messy, really fast. Just trust me on that. Yeesh.”
Maddy makes a face. “It creeps me out when you refer to picking up women as ‘hunting.’ It makes you seem like a serial killer.”
“It’s slang, baby doll—I slanghai’d it from this hilarious dude at the gym. Don’t get yourself all riled up about it. It’s how boys talk when girls aren’t around.”
“I’ve never heard a boy say that before.”
“I just said it’s how boys talk when girls aren’t around, Steve Sanders. If you’re around, then boys aren’t sayin’ it.”
“But you just said it and I’m sitting right here—and last time I checked, I’m still a girl.”
“Maddy, doy-burgers. When you’re with me, you’re not a girl. You’re Maddy.”
Maddy makes a face like she’s not sure she understands the distinction.
“That was a compliment, bee tee dubs,” I say.
“Oh. Well, thanks?” She lowers herself onto her back on the blanket, her arms behind her head. “So has Ball Peen Hammer ever slept with a client, or have you always fol
lowed your no-sex rule from day one?”
“Oh, hell yes, Ball Peen Hammer’s slept with clients—by the truckloads in the beginning.” I shake my head, remembering myself practically overdosing on pussy for the first thirty days of my new career. “For, like, the first month I was a kid in a candy shop. But it didn’t take long for me to figure out banging clients, or their friends, or anyone I met within fifty yards of a gig, was a very, very, veeeeeeeeeeeery bad idea if I wanted to earn an actual living in the game.”
“What happened?” Maddy asks.
A cool breeze wafts over us and we both shiver.
“Are you cold?” I ask.
“A little,” she replies.
“You want me to get your sweatshirt from the car?”
“No, just put your arm around me again and I’ll be fine.”
“Sure thing.” I lie on my back and she scoots extra close, pressing her body into my side and placing her cheek on my shoulder. I wrap my arm around her and hold her close, and, instantly, my body warms against hers.
“So tell me what happened when you had sex with all those truckloads of clients,” she says, draping her arm over my torso. “Tell me the whole salacious story.”
“Oh, you want the whole salacious story, huh? Good word. That’s like X-rated, right?”
“Correct.”
“Okay, I’ll tell you, but don’t judge.”
“No judgment.”
“Promise?”
“I thought you don’t care what anyone thinks of you.”
“Yeah, but you’re not anyone. You’re Maddy.”
She pushes her body into mine in reply and I squeeze her shoulders.