He says, “I’ve only got guy soap and shampoo. But I should have some moisturizer under the sink. Do you need anything? Like razors or whatever? I can get them at Rite-Aid on my run.”
“Oh, uh, sure.”
“Be right back.”
He closes the door before I ask if he needs money.
I have no idea how long he’ll be gone. I turn the water on in the shower. When it’s warm, I climb in and let the water fall all over me. Wow, I’m tired. I’m running on fumes at this point. It’s going to be a long work day, but I’m too wired from Kellan and everything else to sleep. I’ll have to have a gallon of espresso every hour on the hour, or I’m never going to make it through the day.
For now, I’m going to relax in the shower. I make do with Kellan’s manpoo. Err, somehow, that’s not a good name for man shampoo. Maybe I’ll skip my hair. I washed it yesterday. I think I’ll just relax under the hot water for awhile…
…and fall into a steamy daydream. Kellan is the leading man. Everything is misty. We’re outside in a jungle somewhere. He’s shirtless, but not wearing those stupid running shorts. He’s got jeans on and his thick hair is swept back, a lone lock dangling above his manly brow and burning brown eyes…He looks really good. He lays me down on a bed of rose petals. My arms are over my head and I luxuriate under his warm caress as he squeezes my breasts in his manly hands and his tongue slides down my tummy. He lingers on my navel, his tongue probing, slick and demanding, tickling and teasing, then he slides down the rest of the way, to my heat, to my wetness, to my—
Knock! Knock! Knock!
“Yo, Gigi!”
My eyes snap open. I realize my fingers are between my legs. I guiltily flail my arms up in the air like somebody just shouted “Stick ‘em up!” and almost slip in the tub and crack my head wide open.
“Hey, Victory!”
“What!” I scream.
“I bought you a razor and lady’s shampoo. And some antiperspirant. Unlock the door and I’ll set them on the counter.”
“I thought you went for a run!”
“I did.”
“Didn’t you just leave?”
“I left a half hour ago. Have you been in the shower the whole time?”
Oh, wow. How long was I in that steamy jungle with Kellan? “No!” I lie. “I just started.”
“Oh good. Then you can use the razor. Unlock the door and I’ll leave everything on the counter.”
What am I going to do? I look around and realize the door opens toward the shower, so he can’t see me. But, despite the pattern on the shower curtain, it’s mostly transparent. If he sticks his head around the door, he’ll have a clear view of me.
I lean out of the shower and unlock the door. “No peeking!”
He opens the door and I see his hand reaching in, holding a bulging Rite Aid bag.
“No peeking!” I warn again. I can’t see his face in the mirror, which means he can’t see me, but I’m not taking any chances.
He sets the bag down and closes the door.
I step out of the shower with one foot, dripping water all over the floor, grab the bag, and pull it back into the shower. I stand away from the shower head and look into the bag. It’s filled with different razors, two shampoos and three conditioners, antiperspirant and deodorant, and several types of lotion. He bought half the store.
“Thanks!” I shout.
“I wasn’t sure what you wanted,” he says through the door, “so I bought different stuff. Hopefully something in there will work.”
I’m touched. Scott never bought me anything. I always blamed it on us not having any money. But a bottle of shampoo or a deodorant isn’t exactly expensive. Scott knew what brands I used, or at least I assumed he did, but he never bothered to buy me any.
This Kellan character is turning into a regular Prince Charming. Who needs glass slippers or diamond rings when you have your choice of body lotions?
Chapter 42
VICTORY
There’s already three people waiting outside the Blue Daisy Cafe on Wilshire when Kellan and I walk up to the front door ten minutes before eight, but we manage to snag a table outside under the awning.
I order an Eggs Florentine crepe that includes a mixed organic greens salad with walnuts and a tangy dressing that reminds me of spiced oak and nutmeg, in a good way.
Kellan gets smoked salmon Eggs Benedict and apple bacon with zucchini hash browns.
We both order the Turkish lattes, which are smooth and creamy, and I’m pretty sure laced with speed. I won’t be needing a caffeine refill for at least six hours.
While I slice up my crepe with my knife and fork, I ask Kellan, “So, how’d you get rid of Femme Flakes last night?”
Kellan frowns, pausing his coffee cup half way to his mouth, “What’s a femme flakes?”
I giggle, “Your date at the Promenade? How’d you get rid of her?” I slide a bite of crepe into my mouth.
“Told her I had the squirts.”
I hastily grab my napkin and hold it over my mouth while I laugh really, really hard. I don’t know why that sounds so funny, but it is. “You did not!” I say behind my napkin, my mouth half full of food.
He sets his coffee down. “I did,” he grins. “I made about ten trips to the bathroom while we were inside Monsoon’s having drinks. When she finally asked what I was doing, I told her I had the shits real bad.” Kellan sips his Turkish coffee and smiles cockily, “Chick like her denies that shit even exists. After I told her, she bolted.”
I laugh again. Normally, diarrhea is never my favorite meal topic, but for some reason, Kellan’s story is hilarious. “She left you there?” I gasp
He chuckles and shakes his head, “No. She was decent enough to drive me to her place where my bike was parked. I moaned the whole way there like I was going to let go in my pants any second. She kept asking if she needed to pull over and let me out. Didn’t want me soiling her leather seats. Every time she asked, I grunted, ‘Keep driving! I can hold it! I can hold it!’” Kellan winces and wraps his arms around his stomach like he’s in pain. “She was all over the road, totally panicking, ran at least three red lights.”
I’m laughing so hard, tears are brimming in my eyes.
He continues, “When we pulled into her driveway, she pretty much ran inside her house and never came out. Didn’t even ask if I needed to use the bathroom. Poor thing. I think I traumatized her talking about pooh. Broke her brain. She’s the kind of girl, if she ever has babies, will never change a diaper in her life. She’ll pay someone to do it for her.”
I shake my head, “I know the type.”
“Throw a rock in L.A., and you’ll hit two or three of them,” he chuckles. “Anyway, what the fuck is a Femme Flake?” He takes a bite of his zucchini hash browns.
I shrug, “I don’t know. Just what I was calling her in my head. She seemed like she had about as much personality as a female corn flake.”
He chuckles, “A female corn flake? I didn’t realize corn flakes had genders.”
I throw a leaf from my salad at him.
“What?” he laughs.
I roll my eyes, “You were the one who went out with her.”
He shrugs, “Yeah, but who’d I spend the night with?” He winks.
“That doesn’t count.” I realize I’m feeling vaguely jealous of Femme Flakes, which I shouldn’t, because I’m not going to date Kellan. We’re going to be friends. So it shouldn’t matter who he goes out with. So I can ask all the questions I want and not worry about what his answers are. “How’d you end up going out with her anyway?”
“I gave her my number when you and I were outside The Cobra. She called me up yesterday.”
“You gave her your number? And she called? Isn’t it supposed to be the other way around?” I really can’t believe him.
He shrugs, “For most people.”
“You’re such a cocky bastard!”
He smiles his squirts-eating-grin and says, “Does it bother you?�
�
I roll my eyes, “You love it, don’t you?”
“Who wouldn’t?”
“Kellan, you are so self satisfied it makes me sick.”
He cocks a thumb behind him, toward the front door of the Blue Daisy. “Bathroom’s inside. Make sure they have toilet paper before you unload.”
I shake my head and snicker, “Kellan, what am I going to do with you?”
He grins at me. That stupid, cocky, sexy grin that makes his burning brown eyes sizzle, “Anything you want. That’s why I left the door to my bedroom open last night. I was hoping you’d put the moves on me.”
“I thought you locked it?”
“Naw, I just wiggled the knob around like I was. It was open. All night long…” he says suggestively.
When he says long, I think of redwoods.
Hot. I’m suddenly hot.
Kellan is too much.
I reach for my ice water and gulp down two big swallows. I can’t fan my face because he’ll notice.
Our waiter walks up right then and sets the check on the corner of the table. He smiles, “You can get that whenever you’re ready. No rush.”
“Thanks,” I smile at him before he walks away.
Before I even notice, Kellan’s wallet is out and he’s sticking money inside the black vinyl check holder.
“Hey!” I holler, “You can’t pay for breakfast! You paid for pizza last night.”
“So?” He closes the check holder like it’s the end of the argument. “Pay me back when you have money. You ready?”
I nod.
We stand up and walk back toward his place together.
When we reach the street leading to his apartment, and we have to cross at the light, his hand brushes mine. Is he trying to hold my hand? He doesn’t seem like the type. Or is he just twisting to check out the woman with the low cut top, inflated boobs, puffed up lips, gold plated hair, and aviator sunglasses waiting at the stoplight in her Audi convertible?
I’m sure to guys who frequent strip joints, she’s gorgeous. To me, she looks like a clown. I mean, not like I care. Kellan can look at any woman he wants.
Even the clowny ones.
Kellan and I are just friends.
We cross in front of Sausage Lips. I call her that because to me her lips look like Kielbasa sausages covered in thick lipstick. She lowers her aviators and smiles at Kellan as we approach her car. It’s impossible not to notice the way she flirts with Kellan with her eyes. Then she nibbles on the tip of her pinky fingernail like some kind of pin up poster girl. I notice she has a bejeweled French manicure. Very classy.
“Is that Angelina Jolie?” Kellan whispers to me.
“I have no idea,” I huff. “Do you know her?”
“Who, Angelina Jolie?” he asks.
Geez, I suddenly wonder if he does know Angelina. She’s probably cheating on Brad because Brad really doesn’t hold a candle to Kellan.
“No,” I scowl, “the woman in the car.”
Kellan shakes his head, “No, I don’t know her.”
“You’re acting like you do,” I hiss. Why am I hissing?
“Hey,” Sausage Lips smiles as we pass right in front of her car.
Kellan says, “What up.”
Sausage lips says, “Three one oh, seven nine seven…”
I hiss, “She is not giving you her phone number.”
Kellan chuckles, “I think she just did.”
I half try to stomp on his foot while walking, but it’s a lot harder to do when you’re dealing with a moving target. Plus, he’s wearing boots, so what would be the point, plus, we’re just friends. So it really isn’t necessary.
As we reach the other side of the street, I’m as cool as can be.
Kellan and I. Are. Just. Friends.
A voice in my head laughs, Ha ha ha.
Bitch.
Chapter 43
VICTORY
When we walk inside Kellan’s apartment, his cell phone rings. It couldn’t possibly be Sausage Lips, Kellan didn’t give her his number. Unless he somehow managed to dial her number while his phone was in his pocket and now she’s calling him back?
I’m going crazy.
I’ve never been jealous in my entire life.
What the hell is happening to me? I just broke up with Scott. I mean, he dumped me. But it was totally like I broke up with him one second before he dumped me, like I knew in my mind, like ESP, he was going to do it, and I beat him to the punch.
Kellan puts his hand over the phone, covering the mic, and says, “I have to take this call.”
I grimace and say dismissively, “Go right ahead.” I walk into the bathroom. It’s the only private place I can go.
I hear him talking through the bathroom door. I don’t even have to pee. But I turn on the faucet and run the water.
I can still hear him.
“Hey, Chloe! What up, girl?” He pauses, then laughs, “Yeah, it’s been awhile…”
Geez, how many women does Kellan have waiting for him? Never mind. I don’t want to know. I flush the toilet to make more noise.
“…Three o’clock? That works…Yeah…” He chuckles. “Did you work on the exercises I showed you?”
I pick up a copy of Guitar World from the rack by the toilet. The guitar players from the Black Veil Brides are on the cover. I try to read while leaning against the sink. It doesn’t help.
I can still hear Kellan.
Based on his side of the conversation, it sounds a lot like he’s talking about gymnastics routines that involve blow jobs.
“Remember, Chloe,” he admonishes, “I don’t want you hurting yourself like last time. So make sure you’re warmed up before I get there…”
Now he sounds like he’s parenting, which is really gross. But I’m sure all his women have the brains of a breakfast sausage, so he needs to tell them what to do all the time.
“…Yeah, I want you to be loose and relaxed…” His voice has that smarmy quality I’ve heard several times since I met him.
I grimace.
Disgusting.
Warmed up? Loose and relaxed? Is it possible Kellan has naked women waiting for him all over town, lounging on their beds in nightgowns, and he shows up at the appointed time for a pump and dump?
Do I even want to know?
“…and don’t forget the stretches I showed you last time…Yeah. Wouldn’t want you pulling a muscle,” he chuckles.
That deserves an O.M.G. He’s the biggest manwhore I’ve ever met. And I was right about the gymnastics thing.
What a slut.
“…Yeah, I’ll be ready,” Kellan finishes, “See you at three.”
I can’t help myself, I have to say something. I rip open the bathroom door and march into the living room. “How many floozies do you have waiting for you any given day of the week?”
“Floozies?” He’s confused.
I jab my fists against my hips, “Yeah. How many?”
He cracks a slow grin, “Usually just three or four, depending on the day.”
“Three or four! I’m surprised your dick still works!” Why am I so mad? I don’t know, but I’m pissed!
“She’s one of my students,” he smiles.
“Students?! What, do you teach them?”
He nods.
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “Women come to you for sex lessons? Do they pay?”
For a second, he looks thoughtful, then his grin is back, “Every time,” he says confidently.
I shake my head slowly. I’m going to be sick. “You’re a gigolo, aren’t you?”
His eyebrows raise slowly. He grins wider. Then he breaks into laughter.
“You’re horrible!” And I mean it. “You’re a prostitute! How could I not have figured this out before? That’s why Femme Flakes asked for your number! How much did she pay you?”
“You should see your face right now,” he laughs again.
“You’re disgusting! You’re a man hooker, Kellan!”
&
nbsp; He folds at the waist and laughs even harder.
“It’s not funny!” I shout. “And you’re going to see another one of your Janes at three!”
“Janes?” He stands upright, his face red, laughing heartily.
I wiggle my hands, irritated, “Janes, you know, like female Johns? Hooker regulars?”
“Hooker regulars?” he laughs harder.
I fold my arms across my chest, “You are the grossest man I’ve ever met in my life, Kellan. You’re a prostitute, and you’re proud of it!”
He laughs and laughs and laughs, near tears.
I march toward the front door, intent on leaving. He grabs my elbow. I yank it out of his hand.
He chuckles, “Wait.”
“What?!” I bark.
Slowly his laughter subsides into snickers. He shakes his head. “Savannah, my date last night, did not pay me. Chloe, the girl on the phone, is one of my guitar students.”
“What?”
“Guitar?”
I’m shaking my head, not believing him.
He strums an air guitar several times, “You know, the instrument we both play?”
“Wait, that was a guitar student?”
He nods, “Yeah.”
“You give lessons?”
“Don’t you?”
That stops me short. I shake my head, “Not lately.” I really need to round up some students and bring in some extra cash.
“You should get back into it. All these west side Brentwood parents pay a ton for their kids to get lessons from the best in the business. And you’re as good as anyone I can think of.”
“Thanks. I mean, wait,” I wobble my head, “don’t change the subject and try to distract me with flattery. Are you telling me you’re really not a manwhore?” I’m still doubtful.
He shakes his head.
I narrow my eyes, “How do I know you’re not lying?”
He breaks into more laughter. When it subsides, he says, “I think you like the idea of me being a male hooker. I think it turns you on.”
I’m not going to answer that on the grounds that any response will convict me. “I need some air.” I walk out the front door and pace in the courtyard outside until I calm down.
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