by Mia Madison
Zayum Zaddy
Mia Madison
Contents
Also by Mia Madison
1. GiGi
2. Zane
3. GiGi
4. Zane
5. GiGi
6. Zane
7. GiGi
8. Zane
9. Ginger
10. Zane
11. GiGi
12. Zane
13. GiGi
14. Zane
15. GiGi
16. Zane
17. GiGi
18. Zane
19. GiGi
20. Zane
21. GiGi
22. Zane
23. GiGi
24. Zane
25. GiGi
26. Zane
27. GiGi
28. Zane
29. GiGi
30. GiGi
31. Zane
32. GiGi
About the Author
Also by Mia Madison
Forever My Lady
Bossy Christmas Party
My Dad’s Boss
My Filthy Fireman
Touch & Taste
Tempting Tonio
Marcus Mine
Latin Spice
1
GiGi
I tapped my fingers contemplatively against the oak table. I’m sure if a writer were to picture the scene, he or she’d take note of my brown eyes watering over in boredom.
I was scouring car ads. There were so many cars for sale, and plenty were gorgeous, but none were in my measly $3,000 budget.
Nothing attractive, at least. There were ’95 Honda Civics, Infiniti J30s, and plenty of other hoopties. Things all fit for a throwback episode of Pimp My Ride, yet nothing I’d ever be caught dead in.
“Lord,” I sighed. “I shouldn’t have spent so much shopping.”
Despite having worked at one of the busiest Hooters restaurants all summer and making almost $7,000, I had only managed to save a little over $3,000.
(Who knew bikinis, school clothes, and makeup could cost so much?)
Granted, $7,000 was a lot of money. It was easy to make when you were slim, leggy, and big-breasted – as I was. Most customers were your run-of-the-mill 9-to-5er or college student. Lots of smiles and pleasant service were the key to getting paid, so long as your assets were tight.
I’ve been told I reminded men of Jennifer Freeman, the brunette beauty who played a starring role on My Wife and Kids.
We were both biracial, black and white. The only difference was that I was much bustier than my celebrity lookalike. My generous bust made my tiny 24-inch waist seem even tinier. Coupled with slim 34-inch hips, I was a friendly brown girl with a pearly white California smile.
If you let them tell it, I seemed to be nearly every man’s dream.
Indeed, this summer at Hooters was really good for me. I was a soon-to-be college sophomore, but a lot of the money I’d made was gone. I shopped way too hard, completely sure that I’d have enough left over for the semester.
And I would have, if Cashmere hadn’t died on me.
My 1998 Malibu had kicked the dust mid-summer. I was getting in my car after a long night’s work, and she wouldn’t start. One of the regulars even jumped my car and everything. Nothing worked.
After getting an Uber home, and towing her to the shop the next morning, I learned that Cashmere needed a new transmission. Not only would that have drained my account, but it wouldn’t have been worth the price, given the value of the car.
My mom and stepdad, Parker, informed me they would foot the bill for school expenses the first year. My car, which I received at 16, had lasted for over three years, but I was on my own for a replacement.
Therein lied the problem. I couldn’t return all those purchases I made this summer. I needed a car for school and work. It didn’t have to be a top of the line, fresh off the lot selection, but I needed something, and fast.
Cashmere and I weren’t initially love at first sight. She was a stuffy champagne color with bland cloth interior. (I’d always fantasized about driving something sexy and sporty, like a red Porsche). But Mom purchased Cashmere from one of the employees at her job. The gentle woman had faithfully driven the car to and from work every day until she retired. Once she no longer needed it, she used the modest price it was purchased for as a cushion for the down payment on her new BMW, which sat proudly in Cashmere’s former place.
Despite her boring appearance, Cashmere was good to me. I had grown accustomed to her pretty little champagne sedan, and would miss her dearly. She’d been junked out just a few days ago, and the tiny $250 I received was a drop in the bucket for my budget.
As I scoured Craigslist, feeling antagonized by my prospects, the click of the door signaled company. Parker walked in, his Maui Jim shades perfectly perched on the bridge of his nose.
“How’s it going, sunshine?” He set his briefcase on the table. Parker wasn’t Parker without that thing. It carried his MacBook Pro and appointment roster. With his athletic looks and model stature, only Parker would find a way to make a briefcase look cool. Other men only looked like dweebs.
“Bah.” I sighed. “Still can’t find a decent ride. I’m on Craigslist, and it still sucks.”
“Craigslist?” He balked. “Is it that bad? What happened to all the money you made this summer?”
“I put most of it in my school account. I spent the rest shopping.”
He sighed. “You women and your shopping.” He gestured around. “We have more than enough, don’t you think?”
His exasperation wasn’t so much with me, but with Mom. A real estate agent, she was always picking up new home gadgets with the excuse that they’d be good for “staging” her clients’ apartments. Thing was, she co-owned a staging company for that, and these items almost never made their way to the office.
We were well off. Parker was a sports agent. His clients were all professional athletes in the NBA and NFL. He planned on being an athlete himself until an injury knocked him out of the running. Being an agent afforded him the trappings of the life without the physical exertion necessary.
He still daydreams about one day playing in a football game, if only for a few minutes.
That being said, coming from well-off stock didn’t mean a silver spoon. Mom and Parker were both bred from working class families. They believed in the power of hard work and dedication, and always instilled in my half-sister, Lily, and I the importance of getting what we want through blood, sweat, and tears.
“Either way,” I said, pulling the conversation back to center, “New cars are out of my price range. Mom doesn’t want me to get anything with a monthly payment. Pre-owned cars are almost as expensive as new cars. Older cars may work, but I’m still short the money I need.”
No matter which way I went, I would end up needing a used car, and those were frustrating to sift through. Every car for $3,000 or less had something wrong with it. There were high levels of cosmetic damage in so many of them. How many people actually thought it was okay to sell cars with missing stereos, cigarette burns, ripped seats, stains or two flat tires?
I lived in Los Angeles. I went to UCLA. I had no reason whatsoever, to ride around in a beat up cast-off.
“Keep looking, GiGi. You’ll find something.” He leaned down and placed a kiss on my forehead before picking up his bag. “I gotta shower. Zane’s on his way over.”
“He is?”
My heart dropped. Zane was one of Parker’s oldest clients, and he was hot. A retired quarterback in his late 40s, Zane was something out of GQ magazine.
“Yeah, we’re going over some cont
racts. Keep an eye out for the door.”
2
Zane
Silence has been comforting, as of late. So comfortable that I didn’t even bother to turn on the radio on the way over. In fact, I didn’t even bother to take my phone off sleep mode.
I needed my solitude. Craved it, actually. And I would let nothing interrupt my solitude when I was in one of my moods.
It’d been over a year since the divorce. My wife decided that she wanted more excitement in her life, so she left me for a younger athlete. He was in the NFL, like I was, but he was known for his gimmicks and life of the party attitude, both on and off the field.
Since then, I made it a point to keep an even lower profile. I knew who I was, and I had my reasons for maintaining my privacy. I gave enough on the field. I gave enough during my press conferences and in my locker room interviews. I didn’t need to give any more of myself when I wasn’t directly making any money from the attention.
I pulled up to Parker Weston’s home. It was a classic, sprawling Beverly Hills home. Average in size to us wealthier folk, but immensely impressive to those who simply coveted the lifestyles of the rich and famous.
If people only knew the cost of living this lifestyle.
Parker was my agent, but over the years he’d become one of my closest friends. He was only a couple of years younger than me when I hired him, but he was ahead of his time in contract negotiation and building relationships. Without Parker, my endorsements wouldn’t have endured the test of time, especially during times I wasn’t so hot in the eyes of marketing companies.
… And he was truly a great friend. When Danielle left me, and scandal rocked the tabloids, he reinforced tighter boundaries around my management, staff, and our circle to protect my name, my brand, and my privacy. God knows the media has no respect for privacy. He also took it upon himself to hold me up when I came close to breaking down over her.
I rang the doorbell, stepping back to allow for my presence to be invited. “Coming!” I heard a voice shout. The door opened and my heart skipped a beat. My welcomer caught me by surprise.
Standing before me was Ginger, Parker’s stepdaughter, and instantly the most gorgeous woman I’d seen in my life. Standing 5’4” or so, with dark brown hair and gorgeous brown eyes.
She also had the most amazing breasts I’d seen in my life. Not that they were on display. She wore a modest tank top and shorts, nothing obscene considering the lifestyle and the time of year, but good lord, she was stacked.
“Hey, Zane.” She smiled widely, pulling my attention back to her gorgeous face. “I haven’t seen you in a while.” Stepping back to provide entry, she ushered me in. The coolness of central AC comforted my skin, which had tanned from driving with the roof down.
“It definitely has been a while.” I extended my hand, my way of creating distance. She was too sexy to touch. Hugging her would be way too much for my hormones.
I followed her into the kitchen. She led the way, allowing me to surreptitiously check out her assets. She had curvy legs, slender but shapely, leading up to a nice pair of hips. Her waist pinched perfectly in the middle before broadening out to a pair of feminine shoulders, just wide enough to support those mouthwatering breasts.
“Parker’s in the shower. He’ll be down shortly.” She grabbed the handle of the double door fridge. “Would you like something to drink?”
“Water’s fine, thanks.” I noticed the laptop on the table. “What have you been up to? Summer school?”
“No.” She had a lighthearted, beautiful chuckle. “School doesn’t start for the next few weeks. I’ve been working this summer. I’m just off today, and I’m looking up cars on Craigslist.”
“Craigslist? Why Craigslist?” Her family was well off. She didn’t need to purchase anything from Craigslist.
“I blew my extra money this summer. Most of it went into an account that gets used during the school year, so I don’t have to work. The rest was spent on having fun.”
“What’s your budget?”
“$3,000.” Embarrassment was as evident in her tone as it was in her skin. It blushed a deep red, reminding me of the pending evening sunset.
I cocked an eyebrow. “Sounds like you’ve got a bit of digging to do, huh?”
She sighed, “Yeah, I do. I’ve got to find something soon, though.” She slid an ice-cold bottle of water across the table. “Here you go.”
Her sweet fragrance wafted into my nostrils. She smelled like melons and sun-kissed oranges. I wondered if she tasted as sweet and juicy.
“Thank you.” I twisted the cap off the bottle, and took a long chug. It satisfied my physical thirst, aggravated by the heat, but did nothing for the increasing thirst in my libido.
I’d seen plenty of gorgeous women in my life. Hell, my ex-wife is still stunning. But there was something in Ginger’s natural beauty that stole my breath and made my cock come to life. It stirred in my pants, despite my best attempts not to focus on her sexiness.
“What have you been up to?” She settled back in her chair across from me. Her brown eyes stared into mine as I drank, their expression drinking in how fast I completed my water. She started to get up and make her way to the fridge for another bottle when I stopped her.
“It’s okay. I’m good. This will hold me over until he comes downstairs,” I offered. “Have a seat. I’m enjoying your company.”
She smiled, flashing those perfect teeth. I remember when she had braces. Wow, time flies.
“To answer your question, not much. Life’s been pretty simple for me these days.”
“I’ll bet it has been. What are you and Parker working on tonight? Another endorsement deal?”
“Eh, something like that. Gillette wants to renew their endorsement deal, and there are some terms in the contract we need to go over first. For starters, the fact that I don’t feel like shaving as clean as they would like these days.”
“I see.” Her eyes followed my hands. I’d subconsciously started rubbing my growing bread, which I’d kept trimmed but clearly visible.
She sighed. “Well, I hope you guys come to a favorable agreement. The beard suits you. It’s the in thing these days, anyway.”
I’d love for it to be in between your legs, I thought. Moisturizing it with your sweet juice.
“Really?” I said, pretending to be unaware of this. “Since when?”
“All the hot celebrities are rocking beards these days. Ryan Reynolds. David Beckham. Odell Beckham.”
“Get outta here.” I waved her off at Odell. “He’s known for that crazy mop he has on his head, not his beard.”
“Well, there’s the blonde hair, yes, but he’s also been wearing a beard these days too,” she countered. “You wear a beard, and all the girls these days go, ‘Zayum Zaddy.”
“They go what?!?” I never understood what the hell kids were saying these days.
“They say zaaaaaayum zaaaaddy.” She drew the words out with more emphasis.
“What does that mean?”
She giggled, causing her tits to jiggle in her plain white tank, which caused my cock to jump in my pants. Those things had to be incredibly luscious to watch bouncing when she rode on top.
“It means ‘Damn Daddy.’ You know how woman tells you, ‘Damn Daddy, you look good?’” She looked at me with a friendly twinkle in her eye.
“Yeah, I know.”
I didn’t know. But I would pretend.
“You just draw out the d and it starts to sound like a z. So we go, ‘Zayum Zaddy, that beard is sexy.’” She smiled, wicked and delicious, her tongue playing in the edges of her teeth.
“Is that what they teach you at Hooters?” I remembered Parker telling me about her summer gig. She certainly had the looks for it.
The blush in her cheeks created a wildfire in me. She was the perfect mix of wild and innocent, but she was so natural. Los Angeles, and fame in general, had brought me across a mixture of women who were anything but.
Parker walke
d in. “Hey man, what’s up?”
I rose to slap his hand and hug him. After fifteen years, you’d think we’d outgrow the frat brother greeting, but it’s never ceased.
“Not much. Enjoying your daughter’s language lessons. Apparently, I have a zaddy beard.”
Parker’s face twisted in confusion. “A what?”
Ginger rolled her eyes. “Zaddy, Parker.” She looked at him like he was the odd one for not understanding foreign language.
“Oh. That Millennial talk.” He waved her off. “Keep it on the old men at Hooters. We two old men have enough to remember.” He grabbed his briefcase, looked at me, and nodded his head toward the office. “Let’s go talk business.”
3
GiGi
Oh. Em. Gee. GiGi, what were you thinking? That’s your stepdad’s best friend!
Working at Hooters taught me how to seize the moment with men of all ages, and be myself regardless of the outcome. I hadn’t meant to flirt with Zane, though. It just kind of… happened.
Zane was always a heartthrob, catching the attention of women everywhere. He had a strong, chiseled face, deep brown eyes, and always sported a nice tan. The athleticism and his long-spanning career only added to his sex appeal.
Working with Parker, Zane was able to leverage his good looks in several marketing campaigns. He was the face of many brands, including Gillette, and allowed his extreme need for privacy to work in his favor. It allowed him to put his name on anything he wanted, without fear of social backlash from a personal scandal.
But as hot as Zane was, he was off limits. He was Parker’s best client; even more, he was a family friend.
A hot family friend.
Zane being a celebrity wasn’t what turned me on. Growing up in Los Angeles, you get to meet and interact with famous people of all kinds. And thanks to mom and Parker’s lifestyle, I went to school with celebrity kids. A few were really good friends of mine who simply enjoyed the money without the status.