Playboy

by Logan Chance

  She shrugs. “Nah, I’m sure I’ll meet somebody new.”

  And I don’t know how I feel about that. She nibbles on another slice of pear, and all of a sudden, I want a piece. She makes the pear look so damn delicious. I grab a slice and pop it into my mouth.

  “What about you?” she asks.

  “What about me?”

  “Are you always going to be a playboy?” She gives my knee a little nudge with hers and the contact sends my pulse racing.

  “Yeah sure, ok.” For some reason, I don’t like the nickname coming from Chelsea. I’ve had it for as long as I can remember. I think it started when we were in high school. I got to first base with a girl…first.

  So, the guys coined the nickname playboy, and it stuck.

  She holds out a sliver of pear, offering it to me. Like Eve tempting Adam, except with a pear. Without thinking, I lean in and take it from her fingers with my mouth. My tongue grazes her fingertips. I’m not sure that was a slight gasp I heard from her, because my heartbeat is thundering in my ears, but I’m real sure I need to end this conversation and get out of here when she gives a little suck to her fingertip.

  Her eyes drop to my mouth when I lick the pear juice from my lips. “Well, I’m tired.” She rises and cleans up her little pear mess. “See you in the morning,” she says, heading to her room.

  When she’s out of sight, I let out a breath and make a mental note to never buy pears again.

  10

  Chelsea

  A month later, and you know what? Life is good. I love living with Jonah. He’s the perfect roomie, actually. He leaves me alone for the most part. Although, he does try to get me to watch some questionable movies…Lord Of The Rings, really?

  Last week, I went on three auditions but nothing too promising. I just keep hitting the pavement. And in the down time, getting more assignments with Bunny Hunnies. Deluxxx Lingerie wants me for a solo campaign. Date to be determined. If this keeps up, I’ll have money for an agent sooner than expected.

  After the success of cooking up a meal for my ‘man,’ I’ve learned to use a little method acting to help me through each shoot—Stan gives the client’s vision, and I conjure up an entire scenario in my head, so at least I feel I’m doing what I want: acting. Sigh.

  Right now, the setting sun paints the sky orange and pink over the ocean, and Erotic Escapes, a company specializing in role play lingerie, is the client. Apparently, Viking wear is a thing. It’s pretty sexy. I’m a virginal maiden about to be plundered in my white lace-up corset and sheer white panties. Garcia even plaited tiny braids throughout my blonde waves for authenticity.

  Snap.

  I smile sexily for Jonah, I mean the camera, and run my fingers along the washboard abs of my captor, Wayne. The Instagram star. He has big muscles and tattoos all over him. Not really my type, but I can see the appeal. Wayne told me all about utilizing Instagram while he posted selfies for his throng of frenzied followers.

  He wraps his muscular arms around me, and Jonah raises a brow at us.

  Snap.

  “Chelsea, lean back a little. Like you’re trying to get away,” Jonah calls out to me, his voice oozing with sexiness.

  I really am trying to stay in character. In my mind, this is no longer the ocean, it’s the Baltic Sea, and Wayne is going to carry me to his ship set with billowing sails. He’ll take my new-found virginity, because according to Erotic Escapes, men want to claim innocence. “Untapped pussy or barely used pussy” according to Garcia. So, I’m giving them that as best I can.

  “Want to come party with me and a few of my friends later?” Wayne whispers close to my ear. Ugh. That’s not really what a Viking would say.

  Snap.

  I want to tell him I have other plans. Like maybe shampooing my hair.

  I’ve already been warned away from Wayne by a few of the other girls, but, then again, they’ve warned me away from Jonah as well. And in the time we’ve lived together, he hasn’t really been too bad. A date here or there. Ok, four dates. Not that I’m counting. Not that I noticed what time he came home.

  Snap.

  Not that I’m jealous either.

  I don’t want to want someone who doesn’t want me. He needs to get out of my system, once and for all. It’s all making me cranky. It doesn’t help the set today is intense, everyone shouting and moving at supersonic speeds.

  Jonah, the epitome of scrumptious with his perfectly messy hair, shorts, and an ‘I flash people’ with a camera underneath the words, t-shirt, trots over to me. “Here, I got this for you to wear.” He hands me a sarong, and I narrow my eyes, perplexed by the white material.

  “What for? Did Glenda ask that I wear this?” I wrap the sarong low on my hips.

  “No, but I think it’ll go with the shoot better.” He smiles, teeth oh so white against his beard.

  “Um, ok.”

  Jonah calls me in for the shot, and Wayne steps closer. “Dude,” he balks, “she can’t wear that.”

  “What? It’s a wrap. Looks great.” He gives him a thumb up and positions the camera over his eye.

  Wayne is like my defender or something, my Viking defender. “You can’t be serious. The men reading this magazine want to see skin. Lots of it.”

  “Take it off,” the rest of the crew chants.

  “Shut the fuck up,” Jonah spits at them. “She keeps it on.”

  “It’s fine, really,” I offer.

  Jonah steps over and pulls me by the arm away from the crowd. “Chelsea, please, just wear it.”

  “Listen, I know it may not mean much to you, but I need this job. And I need to do this job well.”

  He steps closer, crossing his arms. “I don’t like this. I don’t like the way the whole crew ogles you. And Wayne with his Popeye arms touching you. It’s gross.”

  “Are you two lovebirds about finished?” Tim calls to us.

  “Not funny,” Jonah shouts back. He shakes his head at me before heading back over to where his camera and equipment sit.

  I lose the sarong and fling it at his face as I pass by.

  Jonah isn’t happy, scowling and barking orders, as he continues the rest of the set. After we’re done, he stops me as I grab the tote with my clothes.

  “We need to talk,” he says, leading me to a set of restrooms out of view of anyone who might be watching.

  “What do you want?” I lift my nose and stare directly into his eyes. “You humiliated me today. Made me feel like my body isn’t up to your standards.”

  “Are you kidding? Is that what you think?” He steps closer, and I back up against the wooden partition separating the bathrooms from the showers.

  “Well, why else would you pull that stunt?”

  Jonah steps back, his eyes raking over my body, and I suck in a breath.

  His eyes flare, like a flame ignited by a match. “It’s definitely not because of your body,” he says in a deep, gravelly growl.

  My skin heats and it isn’t the sun making me hot. “Jonah,” I whisper, unsure of what I even want to say to him. I can’t make heads or tails of what he’s doing to me. I’m so upset with him, like want him to redo the photo shoot and treat me with proper professional courtesy. Not like a kid sister.

  But, right now, with the way his eyes travel down my scantily covered body, I don’t feel like a little sister.

  “I can’t handle it when everyone stares at you,” he whispers close to my ear.

  I bring my hand to his chest and give him a little nudge. “Why? Because I’m Declan’s little sister?”

  “No. I mean, yes.” He steps back and plunges his fingers into his hair. “Fuck, I don’t know.”

  “Jonah.” I touch his bicep, but he brushes it away.

  “I have a date tonight. I won’t be home until late.” He leaves me standing here wondering what the heck that was all about.

  “Well, I have a date, too,” I yell after him. Now I just have to find one.

  11

  Jonah

 
Fuck. Don’t ask me what that was all about. All I know is, I couldn’t handle Tim and the rest of the guys staring at her. Even Randall had that awe expression when she walked onto the set. And don’t get me started on Wayne. I don’t know why it made me mad, but it did. I’m supposed to protect her from the assholes of the world. Not be one. Now, I need to find a date. Get her out of my head.

  Booker calls and saves the day.

  “Hey, need your help,” he says.

  “What’s up?”

  He fills me in, and I rush home to get ready, hoping to not see Chelsea while I’m there.

  Minutes later, I’m out of the house and on my way. I pull my Jeep into the parking lot of one of the coolest joints in LA and jump out.

  Booker’s tall frame waits for me by the glass doors. “Hey, man. Ok, here’s the scoop. There’s a brunette at the bar wearing a green dress. I’ve already struck out with her.” He runs a frustrated hand through his dark hair. “She’s a primadonna princess, so good luck.”

  Great. And here’s the skinny on what Booker does. He has a very unique business. One that gets him into a lot of trouble sometimes. A lot of trouble. Booker started out as kind of a life coach, helping guys get dates, teaching them the so called proper art of flirting. But sometimes, and only sometimes, he goes above and beyond for clients.

  He’s a great guy. And will usually do whatever it takes to get the couple together.

  Well, tonight, he has a break up. Let me explain. A guy was dumped and wants the girl back. He’s in love, so Booker is trying to appear like the biggest asshole, so her ex can swoop in and save the day. Ah, true love…right?

  I put my game face on; asshole ready.

  “You owe me, man,” I say before stepping inside. After I scan the bar, making sure I’ve secured the right female, I make my way toward her.

  “Jonah, what are you doing here?” I turn and Chelsea stands next to a potted plant, crossing her arms across her inviting chest. She’s a fiery bombshell in the little red dress she has on. Legs for days that have me unexpectedly imagining them over my shoulders. Her blonde hair is swept into a ponytail along her right shoulder. But, it’s her lips that have me transfixed—bright, red, and very sexy.

  “Hey,” I finally find my voice. “You’re on your date here?”

  She nods. I check behind her, and there he is. The ‘date’.

  He’s nothing special. Mud-colored hair. Beady brown eyes. Some weird skinny slacks and a button down white shirt. Actually, he looks like a nerd. I could easily take him. I arch a brow at Chelsea. “Really? Him?”

  She swats my arm. “Stop. He’s nice.”

  “If you say so.”

  She shrugs. “Have fun on your millionth date this week.”

  I cock a brow. She’s got me in a bad mood, and I don’t even know why. “Millionth and one.” I haven’t even been on many dates. And I don’t dare tell her that I’m here for Booker.

  Let her think whatever she wants.

  They walk away, and I scowl off in her direction. Onto my task of the evening.

  I grab a seat next to green-dress girl. “Hey,” I say.

  She doesn’t answer back. Figures. Should I do the ol’ buy you a drink line? No, too basic.

  She has a red drink in front of her and I lean closer, making my move. “What are you drinking?”

  She examines me. “Hurricane, why?”

  “No reason. Just wondering. Looks fruity.” The bartender steps up, and I place an order for a bourbon on the rocks. Yeah, Booker is so paying for this drink.

  “It is.”

  “Yeah, it’s a great New Orleans drink.”

  “New Orleans, why’s that?” she asks, turning her body a bit closer to me. It’s progress, I’ll take it.

  “The Hurricane. It’s a Mardi Gras original. Lots of rum.” I smile, laying on the charm.

  “That so?” She turns on her barstool and crosses her legs.

  “Yeah, it was created by that ol’ bootlegger, Pat O’Brien. It packs quite the punch.”

  “Well, it is good. And I already feel tipsy from it.”

  I move closer, reaching my hand out to rest on her knee. “Oh yeah? How tipsy?”

  “Very. Are you from New Orleans?” she asks, her voice dropping an octave into a seducing tone.

  “Me? No, I’m a local.” I graze my thumb back and forth along her skin.

  “You sure know a lot about New Orleans. Maybe you’re a bootlegger.” She giggles and my eyes catch Chelsea’s from across the bar.

  She gives me a half-smile, and I return my attention back to green-dress girl.

  And now to drive this sale home. I spot the client of Booker’s out of the corner of my eye and give him a nod. He nods back, so I know I’ve got the right guy.

  He steps closer.

  “Maybe. I’d never tell. So you like New Orleans and Mardi Gras?” I ask.

  “Yeah. I’ve never been.”

  I tilt my head to the side. “Ah, that’s a shame. There’s one thing they love to do there.”

  “Oh yeah, what’s that?”

  “The girls there lift their shirts and flash their tits around.” I lean back. Booker is going to owe me big time for this. “So, go on, show me your tits.”

  She sits up straighter. “Excuse me?”

  “Go on, lift your shirt. Maybe I’ll buy you a drink if they’re big enough.” God, I hope I don’t end up with her Hurricane all over me. In case you don’t know, it stains like a motherfucker.

  She stares at me in disbelief, and for one second I think she might actually show me.

  “You’re a dick,” she finally says.

  Booker’s client swoops in. “Get lost, asshole.”

  Her eyes widen. “Kaden, what are you doing here?” She offers him a soft smile.

  “Or what?” I play along.

  “Or I’ll kick your ass,” Kaden threatens.

  I hold my hands up, backing away slowly. “Can’t argue with that.”

  My work here is done. I ease past tables of happy couples sipping wine and probably discussing shallow lies in the hopes of impressing one another. I shake my head, tired of the game.

  As I breeze past Chelsea, she appears uneasy. Her eyes bounce around the bar as her mouth turns down everytime the guy she’s with speaks. She twiddles with the coaster her pink martini sits on, and my eyes slam into hers. She mouths the word ‘help’, and I move in.

  Guess her date’s not as nice as she thought.

  Now it’s my turn to save the damsel in distress from her date. And I’m more than happy to oblige.

  “There you are,” I say, wrapping my arm around her shoulders. “Chelsea, I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” I say so her dipshit date can hear. Her dress is an open back, and I slide my hand down. Her skin is soft as velvet. She shivers beneath my touch.

  “Jonah, what are you doing here?”

  “I’m miserable without you. Can’t sleep, can’t breathe.” The date appears like he wants to murder me, but I don’t care. I was so mad earlier, but now I would do anything to get her off this date. “I want you back,” I tell her.

  “I’m on a date.” She glances over to him. “I’m so sorry,” she apologizes.

  “I think you should go, man,” her date says.

  Chelsea isn’t the only actor here. Women like alpha male macho shit. That’s how I’ll act. I should get an Academy Award for this. “I’m not leaving without my girl.”

  “What? Are you kidding?” Dipshit date narrows his eyes at us.

  “Jonah, please.” She’s a good little actress, too.

  “Give me one more chance, baby.” The term of endearment just slipped out, but it felt good saying it.

  She stands from her barstool. “Mark, I’m sorry. Maybe I should go and talk to him,” she says to her date.

  I’m not sure what comes over me, but I spin her around and plant my lips right on her soft, luscious mouth. Her lips taste so good. I could kiss her all night.

  My hand trails
up her neck, slowly, into her hair. She opens her mouth for me, and our tongues meet. It’s electric. A zap of want courses through me at a needy, lust-filled pace. And now I can’t fucking stop. Not at all. And I don’t want to. I really kiss her, hard and hungry. She wraps her arms around my neck, clinging. Her hands send shivers of desire coursing through me, and I forget where we are for a minute, or two. Passion consumes me, and I tighten my grip on her.

  The dipshit date coughs, and I pull back from her.

  Breaking the kiss, and dropping her arms, Chelsea clears her throat. “Mark, it was nice meeting you,” she says, and I grab her hand, leading her out the door.

  “Cha-ching,” I say passing Booker as he waits outside the club.

  “Thanks, asshole. I owe you,” Booker calls after me, eyeing Chelsea and I. “What are you two doing together?”

  “He rescued me from my date. Like a knight in shining armor.” She shines, and Booker’s eyes shoot to mine.

  I shrug. “Yeah, just helping out a friend.” As soon as I mention the word friend, Chelsea drops my hand.

  “Well, I guess you get the good friend award for the night,” Booker says with a shrug.

  “What does he mean?” Chelsea eyes me.

  “The date in there.” I jab a thumb over my shoulder pointing to inside the club. “It wasn’t real. Just helping Booker with one of his jobs.”

  “Yeah, I owe you one,” Booker says, laughing as he strolls away.

  12

  Chelsea

  He kissed me. I’m still in shock. After the photo shoot my nerves were already on edge about seeing Jonah. But, having him show up to the exact place where my date was…well, it was freaky. I watched him as he sat flirting with that girl, and, well, I felt a little jealous.

  One thing I knew for sure, I didn’t want to be on my date anymore. I’m going to kill Gidget, like murder her dead. I won’t lie, I was a little excited when she hooked me up with Mark the casting director, but no…just no. He kept making lewd jokes about his casting couch. So, when Jonah passed by, I knew I needed his help.

  I didn’t expect him to come over. And I sure as heck didn’t expect him to crash his lips to mine. But, that kiss. Wow. It’s what the stars are made of. It made my knees wobble and my heart soar. I didn’t want him to stop. Ever.