Torrid Love: Friends to Lovers Romance (Bad Boy Studs Book 1)

by Scarlett Avery

  It’s not like I can deny it, but her snarky tone annoys me. She’s been throwing those digs at me since before she left. I thought we were past that.

  “How was the training?” I divert.

  “There are no words to describe how amazing it was. I’m now armed with even more cutting-edge skills. My head is filled with ideas. I can’t wait to put them all into practice. Thanks again for pushing me to apply and…” she clears her throat, “thanks for helping me get there.”

  I detect a touch of shyness in her voice. Even after all these years, Dom doesn’t accept gifts easily.

  “It would’ve been a shame if you had missed out,” I tell her.

  “Yeah, well, it cost an arm and a leg.”

  I paid for it.

  I didn’t care how many times she protested. She was going to be part of that group of eight.

  “It was worth it?”

  “Absolutely!” I hear the joy and contentment in her voice.

  “That’s all that matters.”

  “Thanks again.”

  Dom is so freaking talented, it’s ridiculous. She makes good money, but she’s still a freelancer and she doesn’t have a previous multi-millionaire career to fall on. When the opportunity came for a handful of professionals to be part of an advanced month-long video production program offered by Pepperdine University’s Communication Division, I pushed her to apply. Since the training started in LA—New York was next—and ended in London, I nudged her to stay in Europe and play tourist. She didn’t fight me.

  “How was it seeing your mom and cousins?”

  We’ve been relying on text since she left because the time difference was challenging. I’ve also been catching the highlights of her trip on social media, but it doesn’t compare to hearing all the details from her.

  She lets out a long sigh. “I don’t miss living an ocean apart from my mom.” No chances my mother would’ve ever won a Mother of The Year award. Neither would Dom’s. “Seeing my paternal grandparents is always weird. Are they still family when your father abandoned you as a kid?” It’s a rhetorical question. “It was awkward. The language barrier doesn’t make communicating easy since my German is rusty. And how many times are they going to apologize for my father’s behavior? Their only son and he turns out to be a disappointment.”

  “Parents aren’t always biological, Dom. You and I both know it.”

  “Isn’t that the truth,” she sneers.

  Despite all the rotten and shitty things she’d gone through in her childhood, she’d always managed to maintain a cheerful facade. She knows how to keep her pain buried deep. I, on the other hand, was a hellion growing up. Some called me the devil’s child. With good reasons. I wore my anger on my chest like armor. It scared the shit out of most people. Not Dom. She’s always accepted every part of me and she always knew how to turn my foul moods around… well, until recently that is. Lately our bickering gets me all riled up.

  “You turned out great,” I remind her.

  “Thanks to you. And so did you.”

  “Damn right I did.”

  “Roderick Wolfe. Always Mr. Humble.”

  “I’m a Leo and a former rock star. I don’t even know how to spell the word.”

  “No, you don’t,” she laughs.

  I love it when she’s lighthearted like this.

  Maybe we’re back to being Dom and Rod.

  “Other than family reunions, what kind of wild and reckless adventures were you on? European men must be grieving your departure.”

  Don’t ask me why I’d dig my own grave by poking into her love life. It’s not like I want to know she’s been with other guys.

  “Reckless adventures? As in vacation flings?”

  “Yeah.”

  She laughs.

  “What’s so funny?” I ask.

  Dom hasn’t been in a relationship in so long.

  The last idiot was a dickless mama’s boy. I guess, in many ways, I should be grateful because I don’t have to worry about some jerk disrespecting her or treating her badly. She’s yet to date a guy worthy of her.

  Shame.

  Dom is gorgeous. Her jet-black hair and blue eyes against her luminous complexion is every man’s dream. Her full lips could drive a guy wild. Other than for a dye job, she’s all-natural. She wears a minimum amount of makeup. And in a sea of silicone, her breasts are real. Bonus, she never uses her body as if it were her only asset. She doesn’t have to.

  She’s super smart, too—in high school, she could solve complex math equations that stumped some of her teachers. To this day, she’s still a math whiz. She’s also vivacious and fiercely loyal. She’s the whole package. Not that I’ll ever tell her, but I’ve harbored a secret longing for my best friend for a while now. That said, I have no intention of screwing up what we share with sex. Crossing that line could potentially be lethal.

  “That’s your department, Rod,” she says. I guess I spoke too soon. She still has a bee in her bonnet. “After all, you’re the self-indulgent bad boy who still—after retiring—gets women to drop their panties on command. I’m a good girl. Thank God I don’t have a dick between my legs dictating my every thought.”

  What can I say? There’s an abundance of gorgeous and willing women in LA. Add the former rock star factor and getting pussy is a joke. That’s why I subscribe to the ‘once and done’ school of thought. It’s best that way. Women can put too many expectations on a relationship and that screws everyone up. Mom was a prime example. But coming from Dom? It slices.

  “Is that your way of saying you got zero action in Europe? Because it sounds like you’re still a bundle of nerves.”

  If she wants to go there, I’m game.

  “Fuck off, Rod.”

  I let out a strangled laugh laced with irritation.

  “Is that any way to talk to your best friend?”

  “That’s low even for you,” she retorts.

  I jam a hand through my hair in frustration.

  “I was hoping you would’ve worked out some of the tension you’ve been carrying so you can stop being so short with me. I guess I was wrong.”

  Silence.

  She shuts me out. Again.

  “Dom?”

  Nothing.

  “For God’s sake. Are you still on the other end?”

  “I am! No need to shout, Rod!”

  That’s it?

  I don’t get the woman. I swear I don’t.

  One minute hot. The other cold as ice.

  I didn’t think anyone could be worse than my mother, but for the past few months, Dom’s erratic moodiness is putting Mom to shame.

  I let out an impatient exhale. “Why don’t I let you go? I’m sure you have a million things to do. I’ll see you at Zoe’s party.”

  “All right,” she says.

  Two fucking words?

  “I won’t stay too long because the guys will be waiting for me at the Quintus—”

  “You mean Dark Compulsion?”

  She’s talking about a private adult club that caters to Hollywood’s Who’s Who annexed to the Quintus. I’m a member.

  “No, Dom, I mean the Quintus Hotel,” I correct.

  “Surely you’ll stop by Dark Compulsion… unless you hook up with a girl on the yacht.”

  “What kind of statement is that?”

  Now I’m really pissed off.

  “I’m just sayin’.”

  I let out a loud exhale.

  “Are we fighting again, Dom?”

  “We aren’t fighting,” she retorts. “Why don’t you just come out and say it?”

  “Say what?”

  “After Eddie’s party you’ll find an eager fuck buddy for the night––like you always do––which is why you’ll only pop in and out of Zoe’s birthday party.”

  Her bitter tone jabs at my heart.

  “This conversation is heading south. Fast. I called to find out how you were doing after an extended absence from LA,” —and because I missed you— “I
didn’t call for us to be at it like cats and dogs. I thought our time apart would cool things off between us. Not that I know why the sight of me––or the sound of my voice––repulses you so much, but clearly it does. I’ll catch you later.”

  With that, I hang up.

  What the fuck?

  CHAPTER 2

  Dominika

  “Wow, this lasagna was amazing, Holly,” I say, dropping my knife and fork on the plate. “I can make a mean deluxe grilled cheese sandwich and I’m good friends with the barbecue, but not much more. You, on the other hand, have skills.”

  Holly Dunham singlehandedly prepared her best friend Zoe’s birthday meal. Everything was delicious.

  “Being a makeup artist on Food TV has its perks,” Holly says, combing her bleach blonde hair behind her ear. “Firstly, the hours are way more decent than when I used to work on movie sets. Secondly, the free cooking lessons are a perk. Waiting around in the dressing room and watching the show as it’s being recorded comes in handy,” she laughs. “Although right now, I feel a little gypped since I was stationed in LA while you were off to Europe and my bestie here was in the Big Apple.”

  “It’s all about the right connections,” Zoe winks at me.

  “It was nothing,” I shrug.

  “Wash your mouth out with soap,” Zoe scolds. “Had you told me a year ago, I’d be the makeup artist to a huge star and I’d travel with her to New York because she was selected—out of God knows how many actresses—to cohost a top-rated daytime talk show, I would’ve laughed. Without Dominika, I’d still be applying concealer on people’s butts to make them appear baby smooth. Working on the set of a porn film isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. The stuff you see…” Her face twists in a disgusted grimace. “Thanks to you, those days are behind me.”

  “I just overheard Rory and Roark mention they needed a new makeup artist,” I downplay.

  Until a year ago, Zoe Hagan was a freelancer. Rod’s company has used her on a number of videos I’ve directed and produced. Her attention to detail sets her apart, which is why I didn’t hesitate to recommend her to Rod’s brothers. A few interviews later and she’d landed her big break as the makeup artist for then-unknown Adelaide McAdams. The now megastar is leading the award-winning cast of the smash hit political thriller ‘Pushing the Distance’ on UTV.com—the subscription-based streaming service co-owned by the two eldest Wolfe brothers.

  “If you hear of any more openings at UTV.com, “Call Me Maybe?”” Holly jokes. The reference to the iconic hit song is quite funny.

  “I thought you loved your job?” I say.

  “I do, but New York City? It’s high up there on my list. Believe it or not, I’ve never been. Neither have my parents or my sisters. I’m dying to see the Big Apple.”

  “Why haven’t you been?” I ask.

  “It’s freaking expensive and I’m only a freelancer. I’m still saving,” Holly explains.

  “To her point, New York was ridiculously expensive—”

  “No more than San Francisco,” I interrupt Zoe.

  “Which is why I’ve never been,” both Zoe and Holly answer in unison.

  We all laugh.

  “In any case, the Big Apple was a dream come true,” Zoe says. “Granted, I haven’t traveled abroad, I’m pretty sure there’s nothing quite like it in the world.”

  “I can attest to that. Europe is rich with culture, art, food and fashion, but cities like New York and Los Angeles are unparalleled,” I say.

  “Speaking of fashion, I still can’t get over how amazing you look.” Zoe has been marveling at my new look since I arrived.

  “It was time for a little change,” I say.

  “Little?” Zoe’s head jerks back hard, sending her brown hair flying all over the place. “Had I not been expecting you, I would never have recognized you.”

  “Oh, come on,” I brush her off.

  “You need a new mirror,” Holly states.

  “See? I’m not the only one,” Zoe says. “With the new hair, you could rival any Hollywood starlet. The stunning strapless dress is vavavoom. The heels are so unexpected for a girl who practically lives in Converse shoes. And the more daring makeup is so sexy.”

  “Thank you,” I say shyly.

  “I agree with everything she said,” Holly grins. “What brought on the change?”

  “There comes a point in life where you have to be willing to let go of your shackles,” I say.

  Zoe and Holly frown their confusion, their brown eyes just staring at me.

  “Just before I left Europe, I treated my cousin Johanna to a day of pampering at her favorite spa to thank her for allowing me to stay with her and her husband while I was visiting.” Thank God I didn’t have to stay with my mother. “After six weeks away, I looked like I had jumped out of an eighties music video because my roots were showing big time. Johanna’s hairdresser suggested I stop fighting Mother Nature. I did.”

  “Good call,” Holly says.

  “What I love the most is your willingness to showcase your ink out in the open,” Zoe says reaching out for my arm.

  I pull it away, like I always do. It’s a knee-jerk reaction I can’t seem to help. I’m still not comfortable with the scars.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

  “It’s nothing,” I say. The look of remorse painted on her face fans my guilt, but I’m in no mood for a long explanation. “Cake?” I veer the conversation. “It’s red velvet!”

  “Yes, please!” Zoe and Holly exclaim.

  “Should I top up our glasses?” I ask.

  “Absolutely!” they answer in unison.

  I bought Zoe a nice bottle of champagne from Europe for her birthday.

  “Did you bake the cake?” Holly asks.

  “God, no. I don’t want to poison Zoe on the eve of her thirty-fifth birthday,” I laugh.

  Holly and Zoe join me.

  A few quick trips to Zoe’s kitchen and I’m back.

  “Here’s to another milestone,” Holly cheers, lifting her glass.

  “Hear, hear,” I cheer.

  “Milestone? I feel like day-old bagels marked down for a quick sale. Alas, I’m still sitting on the shelf. People––aka men––like fresh. I’m beyond the ‘sell-by’ date,” Zoe complains.

  “Oh, stop with your whining,” Holly scolds. “You still have five hours left before the clock strikes midnight. So technically, you’re still fresh. Shut up and lift your glass!”

  “Cheers!” I shout.

  Zoe and Holly follow suit, clinking their glasses to mine.

  We each take a long sip of our champagne.

  I pull the glass away from my lips and give it an appreciative glance. Zoe and Holly do the same thing.

  “This is exceptional. It tastes expensive. I feel so spoiled,” Zoe gushes.

  “The French know what they’re doing,” I say. “I’m glad you like it.”

  “Speaking of the French,” Holly says, “unlike us, those women aren’t afraid of aging or delving into their sexuality as the years roll by. Several French actresses I’ve worked with in the past have confirmed it. Take a page from their book, Zoe. Your best years are in front of you. You’re stepping into sexual exploration years. Let the fun begin!”

  “All well and good for French women, but I’m struggling with this whole aging thing.”

  “You need to change the color of your lenses. Work with me. What’s left on your sex-bucket list?” Holly asks.

  “God, I don’t know,” Zoe says.

  “If you’re stuck for ideas, I can help,” Holly says.

  “Do we really need to go there?” I ask.

  “Oh, don’t worry, Dom, you’ll be thanking me later,” Holly says grabbing her phone.

  I doubt it.

  “Check this out.” Holly hands her phone to her best friend.

  “Ooohhh!” Zoe’s eyes sparkle.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  Zoe turns the device to me.

  ‘FIFTY
SEXUAL MUST-DOS PEOPLE SHOULD CONSIDER TRYING DURING THEIR LIFETIME!’

  “Got it,” I nod, choosing to return my focus to the cake.

  “So which ones do you still need to cross off your list?” Holly asks.

  “Hmmm,” Zoe hums, tapping her index finger thoughtfully against her jaw. “Well, I have no desire to ever French kiss a girl. Group sex is a no for me. Not sure about sex with someone younger. I don’t feel like being a teacher.” She’s on a roll. “Masturbation? Who doesn’t do it daily?” I’m raising my hand here. “Watch porn alone? Duh! All the time, right?”

  “Right!” Holly chimes in.

  I remain quiet.

  “Blindfold? Absolutely! Anal? Roark is really into––”

  “Whoa, I know the guy,” I lift my hand to prevent anymore over-share.

  “Well, I guess I should say was, since Roark and I are a thing of the past,” Zoe says. “Anyway, to finish my list, a quickie in a skirt? Roark would lose his mind if he saw me walk into their studios wearing a skirt––”

  “Please, stop,” I beg.

  “Ahhhh,” she exhales longingly. “Those were the days. Being single at thirty-five sucks.”

  Roark and Zoe started a heated relationship three months after she joined UTV.com. It was short-lived. Why? At thirty-nine, the middle Wolfe child still isn’t quite ready for commitment. Surprise, surprise.

  “What about you, Dom? What’s on your sex-bucket list?” Holly asks.

  I blink at her in surprise. “Why are you picking on me? I’m not the one celebrating a birthday. I’m only twenty-five. I have plenty of time in front of me.”

  “True, but I’m curious…” Holly’s words trail.

  “What are you curious about?” I ask cautiously.

  “Not that I want to pry, but I’m dying to know something,” Holly says.

  “Okay.”

  “How can you be best friends with Roderick Wolfe? The man is dangerously good-looking. We’re talking sex on legs here. Five alarm fire. Sex-me-up-every-morning-noon-and-night kind of god. An Adonis. Can-I-have-your-baby-please-hunk––”

  “I get the point.” It’s a struggle not to roll my eyes at her infatuation over my best friend.

  “What’s your secret for not throwing yourself at him? God knows I’d make a fool out of myself every time I was near him,” Holly says.