I took a deep breath. “Wes, if I shake your hand, will you stop being such an ass?”
He winced. “Mmmmm… maybe?”
“Wes!”
“Shake my hand, Sunflower. I promise I’ll be nice.”
“Promise?”
“Life is full of risks, Chelsea.” He still held his hand out.
Still irritated, I grabbed it and shook it hard before throwing it down. “Happy now?”
“Almost.”
“What do you mean almost?”
He slid his hand casually into the pocket of his slacks. “What are you doing tomorrow night, Sunflower?”
“Nothing with you,” I grumbled.
“I’ve got this thing tomorrow and I sort of need a plus one.”
“Ha! I’m not going on a date with you.”
“Who said anything about a date? I just need arm candy.”
“Arm candy? Wes, are you really this shallow?”
“I’m not. But it’s a thing. I can’t show up alone and I’d rather bring someone entertaining like you.”
I scoffed, “Entertaining?”
“What about this isn’t amusing?”
I snarled at him.
He smiled and shrugged, “If you don’t wanna be my arm candy, I’ve got plenty of people I can call.”
“If you hurry, I’m sure you can take both of the two Chicklets who just got in the elevator. I’m pretty sure they had bubble gum for brains.”
He smirked, “No. Not them. Too common. I prefer gourmet.”
“So call an escort service.” I scowled, “I’m sure you’re on a first name basis with every escort service in town.”
He just smiled.
“Are you?”
He frowned. “No. Do you think I am?”
“Wes, I don’t know what to think. So far the only thing I know about you is that you… you’re…” I narrowed my eyes, trying to think of the perfect comeback. “Wes, you are a dirty riddle wrapped in the dickhole of a mystery inside the asshole of an enigma.”
He chuckled, “Did you think of that just now, Sunflower?”
“I did.”
“I’m impressed.”
“At least one of us is.”
He chuckled again. “See? This is why I’m asking you out for tomorrow.”
“I thought you said it wasn’t a date.”
“It doesn’t have to be.”
“You just want to torment me all night, right?”
“I’ll make you a deal. If you come as my plus one, I’ll torment you all evening. If you come as my date, I’ll just make you come. But no more than three times. We won’t have time for more than that.”
“Wes, I don’t—” I spun my head in a circle and rolled my eyes and made the tiny mistake of glancing at his crotch. If I wasn’t mistaken, he was hard. Which was funny, because I was 99% sure I was wet. And had been for at least the last five minutes. My body was loving every second of Wes’ dirty innuendos and arrogant male bravado. I was completely disappointed in myself. I coughed out a laugh. “There will be no coming under any circumstances, Wes.”
“So that’s a yes?”
“I didn’t agree to anything.”
“Yet.”
“Would you stop?!”
“Not until you say yes.”
“Fine!” I threw my hands in the air, completely exasperated. “I’ll go with you! To your thing! But no coming!”
“Deal.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Give me your number and I’ll call you tomorrow morning with more details.”
Chapter 17
After leaving Wes, I went back to the Promenade and ran into Victoria’s Secret to buy some new bras and panties. If I was going out with Wes tomorrow night, I wasn’t doing it wearing a sports bra and baggy granny panties underneath everything. Then I hopped in my car to go look for jobs in a less corporate setting. I drove all over Santa Monica and West LA, hitting up every non-corporate store I could find. Restaurants, coffee shops, health food stores, delis, furniture stores, yoga studios, anything I could find that wasn’t a giant national chain.
Several hours later, I gave up and went home. Nobody was hiring and I was ready to drop.
My keys jingled as I walked along the balcony and approached my front door. I was surprised to discover it had been sanded and patched. It wasn’t painted, but it was halfway to being fixed. Had Brodie done it, or had Petrak taken the initiative? I’d have to ask.
Thuds echoed inside Brodie’s apartment and his door swung open. He leaned his head out, “Hey, Chelsea.”
“Hey, Brodie.” I said with an irritated sigh.
“How you like the door?” He leaned against the thin column of wall between our two doors, muscled arms folded across his chest and bulging proudly. He wore no shirt. It was nearly impossible not to stare.
Nearly. I inspected the work on my door instead. “Did you do this?”
“Of course I did it. Who else woulda done it?”
“Petrak.”
“Right. Anyway, yeah. It was me.”
I ran my hand over it and smirked at him, “Nice work. When are you going to paint it?”
“You gonna let me take you out for dinner?” His blue eyes did that hypnotic blazing thing. Not going to work on me.
“Paint my door first.”
“The putty has to dry. Can’t paint it till tomorrow.”
“Not my problem.”
“I’ll paint it tomorrow. You want dinner after?” He was trying and I could respect that. I wasn’t a total hard ass. Even excruciatingly gorgeous men deserved a second chance when they showed some effort.
Although I was actually considering letting Brodie buy me dinner (a girl had to eat and he had broken my door so he owed me), tomorrow I had plans with Wes. But it was difficult to think about Wes when this wall of muscled manhood was staring at me with blazing blue eyes that threatened to burn my clothes off.
Brodie rubbed a big hand casually over his abs. Boy oh boy, he was bold.
I scowled, “Must you?”
“What, this?” He kept rubbing himself. He also smelled faintly of musky cologne. Something that made me think of…
Sex.
Sex, sex, sex.
His scent was only slightly intoxicating but it had the potential to be insanely addictive. His cocky smile grew. He knew what he was doing.
“I have to go, Brodie. Talk to me after you paint my door.” I pushed inside and slammed my door behind me. Yes, my heart was thudding. I was human and Brodie was a perfect specimen of raging male sexuality. He was also a tease. Although I wasn’t sure if that definition fit because tease usually implied the teaser wouldn’t put out, but it was obvious putting out was exactly what Brodie wanted to do. Or should I say put in. He’d had that look all over his face.
Let me put it in you, C.C.
Leaning against my front door, I squeezed my shaking knees together and let out a little moan.
“I heard that,” Brodie’s voice vibrated through the door.
“I stubbed my toe!” I shouted. How the heck had he heard that?
“Yeah, right.”
“Will you go away, Brodie?”
“Something tells me that’s not what you want me to do.”
“Go, Brodie!”
His deep laugh rumbled through my door. “Catch you later, C.C.”
After I heard his door close, I considered making a side trip to my bedroom to give myself some much needed sexual release. Between Wes and now Brodie, I was ready to pop. But the idea of masturbating with Brodie right next door was a bit too much. He would definitely be listening for my orgasm while giving himself one. I pushed images of him laying naked on his bed with his fist around his hard-on out of my mind. I would have to take care of myself later, when he wasn’t around.
Maybe you could let him take care of you when he was around.
No way.
I knew trouble when I saw it.
What I needed right now was
(Brod
ie)
food because my fridge was empty and I was starving from job hunting all day. Time to go to the grocery store.
<<<<<<<>>>>>>>
“Nice ass,” some random guy said as he walked behind me in the produce section of Ralphs a half hour later. “How much to fuck it?”
I groaned loudly. I never thought I’d say it, but I was now officially sick of attention from random men. Flirtation from Brodie and all the guys at the Promenade was one thing, but being propositioned like this was a thousand miles past too much.
I spun around and glared at the owner of the foul mouth. “Really? Really? Do you talk to your mother with that mouth?” It wasn’t my favorite witty retort, but it was the best I could think of on short notice when I didn’t give a damn.
Foul Mouth wasn’t a bad looking guy. He was even dressed nice: silver suit, silk shirt, shiny dress shoes. He looked so civilized and presentable. But with an opening like that, forget it.
He smirked, “I fuck with this mouth.”
“Stop.” I hung my head and shook it while pinching the bridge of my nose. “Just… stop.”
“If you need any help squeezing the melons, lemme know.” He winked at me.
That’s when I remembered I was standing in front of the cantaloupe display, holding the cantaloupe I’d been about to put in my grocery cart.
I glared at him. “Would you go away?”
“Not till you gimme your number.”
“My number is 911,” I smirked.
“Come on. Gimme your number. I’ll take you out and treat you right.”
“No, seriously. It’s 911. Call it right now and tell them you need an ambulance.”
“An ambulance?” he chuckled. “What for?”
“Keep asking me for my number and you’ll find out.”
“You’re a tease, you know that?”
I mimicked, “I’m not interested, you know that?”
He made a creepy duck faced smile. “You know what I’d do with you, little girl?”
“Serial kill me?” I scowled, disgusted. “Would you take a hike already?” For a second, I considered throwing my cantaloupe at his head, but thought better of it. I put it back on the stack and walked away with my grocery cart.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. You just watch yourself, little girl. You piss off the wrong guy and—”
I was so mad I saw red. I turned around and whipped out my phone. “Fine. You wanna get to know me? Tell me your name and your phone number.”
“Really?”
“Really.” I arched my eyebrow, waiting.
He wasn’t sure what to do.
“Any time,” I grumbled, thumbs hovering over my iPhone.
“Lester.” The Molester. “What’s yours?”
“Last name, Lester?” I said it sweet, trying to stay calm.
“Clements.”
“Show me your driver’s license, Lester Clements.”
“Why?”
I smiled seductively. “You wanna get to know me, Lester, this is how it starts.”
He snorted a laugh, “I show you my ID, you’ll suck my dick, right?”
I scowled, “Sure, Lester, sure.”
“You a hooker? I was just joking around.”
“No, Lester. I don’t fuck for money.”
“Okay then,” he cackled. “I like free.” He flipped open his wallet and pulled out his driver’s license. He bit his lower lip and grinned while shaking his head in disbelief. “Easiest piece of ass I ever had.”
“You’re not supposed to say that out loud, Les.”
“Right,” he winked.
I snapped a photo of his driver’s license with my phone.
“Why you taking a pic of my ID?”
“So I won’t forget your name, Lester Clements.”
He frowned, “You a cop or something?”
“No, Lester. But you oughta be a detective. Now take a hike and leave me alone.”
He stuffed his wallet back in his pocket, his face growing red. “You’re a privileged little bitch, you know that?”
“Go away, Lester.” I pushed my grocery cart past him, the wheels rattling as I hurried away.
He grabbed my arm hard and squeezed, yanking me to a stop.
“Hey!” I growled, “Let go of me, Lester!” I tried to break free but his grip was too strong.
His voice cut low and dangerous. “You think you can walk around being a cunt and no one’s gonna do nothing about it?”
“You started this, Lester. So back the fuck off.”
He squeezed my bicep extra hard, fingers biting into my skin. He was going to leave bruises. “What’s stopping me from taking you out back and raping the shit outta you, huh, Miss Priss? You think Lester Clements is my real name? You think that’s a real ID?”
Was he bluffing? I had no idea. I had no experience with men like him. Was he a criminal or something? Organized crime maybe? I had no idea. But I knew for certain that my swansformation was now a curse after less than twenty-four hours.
“Answer me, sweetheart,” he grunted. “GULCK!” Without any warning, Lester’s face turned bright red and he suddenly folded over, grabbing for the side of the cantaloupe stand, trying to stop himself from falling to the linoleum floor.
That’s right, I just kneed him in the balls.
You didn’t go through life being five foot nothing without taking a few self defense classes. But I’d underestimated my new 5’9” strength. I could pack a wallop with my knee.
Oops.
Unfortunately for poor Lester, who now sat an his ass, he’d grabbed at the cantaloupes on his way down. A whole pile of them fell on his head and shoulders, bouncing off and rolling everywhere. Several thumped right on his crotch. He grunted each time one landed.
Poor thing.
Not.
I pushed my cart quickly but calmly around the corner of the produce section and left it and my groceries in the next aisle over. Adrenalin flooded my blood. I was crazy scared. Something about Lester said hardened criminal. I ran outside to the parking lot, my heart racing. My hands shook as I fished for my keys in my purse. Where was my car? I searched for it, unable to remember where I’d parked. The lot wasn’t that big. I could see all of it from where I stood near the entrance to Ralphs. But I couldn’t see my car anywhere! After what seemed like five minutes of scanning I finally found it and beelined straight for it.
“Watch where you’re going!” A random woman shrieked behind me.
Over my shoulder, I saw Lester push past a middle aged woman going into Ralphs and lumber toward me, his face a twisted dark smudge, murder or worse in his eyes.
Oh, shit.
I ran toward my Hyundai, fumbling in my purse for my keys, trying to hit the panic button on the remote. I couldn’t find the button so I pulled the whole thing out. Screw the panic button. My new plan was to jump in my car and lock the doors. I fumbled with my key ring and—
Shit!
I dropped them on the ground!
I was so panicked, I ran for it, trying to put distance between me and Lester. He could have my car and my keys. I didn’t care. Not even thinking of calling for help, I sprinted past my car toward the exit and—
VROOM!!
Ran right into a black motorcycle turning into the parking lot. The guy on the bike braked hard when he saw me. The nose of it dipped as he stopped an inch from hitting me. I slapped my hands on the little front window to stop myself from slamming into it.
The tall muscled rider with a tight T-shirt flipped up his visor. “Chelsea?” Familiar blue eyes blazed.
“Blaze! I mean, Brodie!” What a relief.
“What are you doing?”
“Running away from that guy.” I nodded behind me toward Lester, who slowed to a stop ten paces away. Fury fired from his eyeballs as his gaze danced between me and Brodie.
Brodie leaned to the side and scrutinized Lester. “That your boyfriend?”
“No!” I slapped his motorcycle. “He’s some random asshol
e.”
Brodie chuckled, “He looks pissed.”
“You think?” I growled.
“What’d you do?” Amusement.
“I didn’t do anything! Are you gonna help me or are you gonna get out of my way?”
Brodie’s eyes smiled at me. “Get on.”
“What?”
“Jump on my bike.”
I didn’t need to be told a third time. I tried to climb on, but I wasn’t sure where to put my feet. Brodie reached back with his big hand, grabbed my thigh, and basically threw me onto the seat behind him.
“Hold on tight. Really tight.”
Lester stared at us, planning out his next move, which included reaching into his suit jacket. Did he have a knife or a gun? I didn’t know.
Brodie revved the engine. “Ready?”
I wrapped my arms around his waist and squeezed as hard as I could. His entire body was really hard. Having a wall of muscle between me and Lester was exactly what I needed right now.
Brodie revved the throttle and this time the motorcycle sped toward Lester. Brodie wasn’t going to stop! He was going to run right over Lester!
Oh shit!!
WHAM!!!!
I coughed out a laugh, unable to believe what had just happened. As we’d driven by, Brodie had kicked Lester right in the face with the toe of his motorcycle boot.
In. The. Face!
Lester flew backward and landed in a heap with a strangled grunt. He had to be dead after that. I couldn’t imagine him actually surviving. Unless Brodie had kicked him in the chest? I couldn’t be sure.
It all happened so fast.
Brodie blasted the bike across the parking lot. I looked back to see if anyone had witnessed Lester’s likely murder. Not yet.
When we hit the street, the bike leaned way over and I swore I was going to fall right off. I squeezed Brodie as tightly as I could. After that, we went really fast for several blocks and turned about twenty times. I just held on and trusted that Brodie wouldn’t get us killed.
Suddenly, the bike slowed and I lurched forward, whacking my chin against Brodie’s back.
“Fuck,” he grunted.
“What happened?”
BRAA-AAH!!
The sound was the buzzing burp from the loudspeaker of the Santa Monica Police cruiser trailing behind us. It was so loud, I nearly let go of Brodie and fell off the back of the motorcycle. Somehow, I managed to hold on, probably because my adrenalin had spiked again. Why? Because someone at Ralphs had probably already discovered dead Lester the Molester, called 911, and now there was an APB out for Brodie and Clyde, a.k.a. Chelsea, a.k.a., I was now an accessory to motorcycle murder!
If I Were Beautiful (If I Were... #1) Page 14