by Rie Warren
Shaking him off, I looked over at Leelee. She stared at me, mouth agape.
A smirk playing on my lips, I leaned against the wall opposite her. “Still not buying the tough-guy image, babe?”
After dropping Leelee upstairs, I banged through the door of our room. Nicky was in the bathroom, steam pouring from the shower. I reached in and shook the shower curtain. “I’m home, lover.”
He yanked it back far enough to stick out his head. “You smell like a gym rat.”
Perfect. Just the scent I was aiming for around Leelee.
I flipped him off and stalked to the bedroom area where my phone danced on the nightstand, lighting up with missed messages. Janey, Jamie, all the samey . . . plus the chick I’d fucked Friday night. Samantha, that was her name. Delete, delete, delete.
My finger hovered over the screen when I got to an attachment from the goons at the garage. Did I really want to know? I groaned into my hands before squinting at the image that popped up on my iPhone.
Someone—and my best bet was on Ray or Javier—had detailed their picture like they better be detailing the cars. Whoever the ha-ha-so-hilarious fucker was, he’d gotten his Photoshop on. Red flowers ringed every one of the guys’ hairy assholes with the words Stone’s Roses curlicued across the bottom of their butts.
Definitely delete, forever. I was never gonna recover from that picture. I put in a call to the office, trying to perform a mental brain scrub while the phone rang.
“Stone’s, at your service,” Ray answered.
“Next time y’all send me a photo of your fuckin’ puckers, I’ll pluck every single pube out and—”
Ray must’ve had me on the speakerphone because Javier yelled out, “¡Ea diantre! Tweeting that, Stone!”
“Wow, the thought of you tweezing our asses is really disturbing.” My second in charge whispered in a horrified voice.
It truly was. I banged my forehead against the wall and said in clipped voice, “Just get back to work.”
“It’s closing time,” Javier chirped.
“Then close up already ’cause I’m not paying overtime for shits and shenanigans.”
“Sure thing, boss.” Ray replied before I cut him off.
Imbeciles.
Nicky’s head appeared around the bathroom door. “Grease monkeys?”
“They’re fuckin’ evil, man.” Walking over, I lounged against the door. “How’d the rest of your day go?”
“Not bad. I spoke with my editor about the new series—the one with the witches—and shot the shit for a couple hours with some readers.” Dark circles ringed his eyes from our late night and his early morning. “We have to hustle though, the hens are expecting us in the lobby in an hour.”
“Okay, stud.” Moving into the bathroom, I shoved off my loose-tongued sneakers and watched his face. “Never seen you like this, Nicky.”
“Like what?” Foaming his face with one hand, he ran his razor under the tap.
“In your element.” I air-quoted that shit. “It’s kind of cool seein’ you in action.”
“You ain’t seen me in action yet.”
I snagged a towel off the rail and snapped it between my hands. “God, I hope not.”
Whipping the terrycloth against his ass to get him to move over, I braced for the tussle to come. He didn’t disappoint, going for a headlock skull-rub combo before he pushed me away.
“You still stink like a locker room.”
I stripped down and staggered into the shower. The hot water eased my muscles, just not the one in dire need of relaxation. By the time I got out—no tugging, fantasy fucking, or raging hard-on release had—Nicky had shaved, dressed, and dabbed himself in fancy cologne.
“And you smell like a hooker.”
“Get off my back.” He spritzed one more time.
“I thought you wanted me to get on it.” I slapped him, hard, between his shoulder blades.
“I lied, not into hairy bears.”
I toed up to the fogged-over mirror beside him and rubbed the tat on my chest. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You shouldn’t,” Nicky sniggered.
Unzipping the garment bag on the back of the door, I began dressing. “I’m supposed to wear this getup tonight, right?”
“Yeah.” He fingered the silk tie while I pulled out a pressed white shirt and put it on. “Nice suit, man. Tom Ford?”
“Yeah, yeah, I figured I’d splurge for a change, ya know? Not that I know jackshit about Tom Ford, but hey, it’s a Ford one way or another.” The new suit tailored for my big frame was the first I’d bought since my wedding, which had been the first I’d had to get since my dad’s funeral.
Pulling on the slacks, I rasped a few fingers over my shadowed jaw. “By the way, dude, we’re not doing this when we get back to Chucktown.”
“What? Sharing the john?” Nicky stood at the toilet, shaking off and tucking in.
“No.” I glanced at him. “Talking about clothes and crap.”
He fistbumped me in reply to that, thank fuck.
Buttoning my shirt and tucking it in, I leaned a hip against the counter. “Ma said to tell you Viper’s doing fine.”
“Did you tell her I love her?”
“Yeah, I kissy-faced your pooch over the phone, asswipe.” I started working on the tie.
Nicky brushed my hands aside and I tilted my chin up to let him do the honors. “I meant your mom, you dog hater.”
I wasn’t a dog hater, I was a Cujo hater.
He tightened the knot at my throat and ran a finger underneath to straighten the tie. “There you go, handsome, all set.” He passed me my jacket.
And the fact that we’d just gotten ready in the bathroom together with him fixing my tie didn’t feel weird at all, because we were as close as brothers even if we weren’t wholly embracing the true lovers role. I wandered into the other room to hunt down my shoes.
Nicky called out, “Did you get Leelee to her room all right after lunch?”
“Uh, yeah.” At least one more time than everyone else knew about, too.
“Uh, yeah?” Appearing in the doorway, Nicky’s voice rose and his face dropped. “Aw, shit. I know that sound. That’s the Josh Stone gonna-get-laid sound.”
“I haven’t touched her, haven’t kissed her.” And I’d only eye-fucked her as little as humanly possible. “I’m not gonna mess this up for you, man.”
Walking over to my side of the bed, he poked the lascivious book that lay face up and spine split on my pillow. “Wanna tell me about this, then?”
Frustrated—in more than one sense—confused, and completely out of my mind over Leelee, I swiped up the offending book. “She’s not even my type, Nicky.”
“Since when have you had a type? Your type is pussy.”
“Hot pussy,” I muttered.
He had a point, one I didn’t like to admit at all when I thought about Leelee. The women I went for were easy on the eye, highly sexed, and ready and willing. A sense of humor helped, especially when I showed them out the door thirty minutes after our final fuck on a Friday night.
I slapped Ride against my thigh. “She’s demure and sweet and really funny. Bonus? Her dad’s into cars. She spent most of her childhood hanging out in the garage with him.”
Ass planting heavily onto the bed, Nicky sighed. “Sounds like she’s just your type.”
I shook my head, hard enough to loosen a few brain cells, because I wasn’t ever looking for more than a quick hook-up when the kid was snug as a bug at Ma’s. I didn’t need his heart getting torn apart again. “Nah. It’d take too much work to get into her panties.”
“Especially since you’re gay.” His eyebrow lifted and with it, the corner of his mouth.
“Right.” I sat in the chair opposite him, smoothing my hands over the cover of Ride. “Right. But why does she have to be so damn cute? And how the hell does she write this stuff?”
“You know what they say, practice makes perfect.”
I pi
nched my eyebrows hard enough to blot out unwelcome images of her with other men. “Fuck. I hope not.”
“Did you even start reading at the beginning?” Suspicion lurked in his tone as he squinted between me and the Book of Ball Busting Delights.
Surprise, he’d caught me.
“Skimmed for the sex.”
He started laughing but I added, “Listen to this, man:
Breakfast. With Jase wearing his regulation low-slung towel and nothing else as he sat in front of Avery, watching her every move as she scooped up the delicious omelet he’d made. Nervous from his unwavering attention, she licked her lips. Jase’s mouth dropped open, his dark brown eyes trained on the tip of her tongue. She repeated the same lick on her bottom lip, more slowly.
Aroused awareness buzzed through Avery. She rolled her neck and arched her back. Then she blushed, as timid as a schoolgirl, which was exactly what she was. A shy college co-ed with a cruel, cruel secret she couldn’t confess to anyone, because she’d already tried that, only to be told she was a pathetic little liar.
Pushing away the past she couldn’t change, Avery focused on Jase, a man she shouldn’t want. She had no interest in her free lay roommate. None. She was sure of it. Baskin Robbins 31 flavors? More like Frito Lay. She giggled as she sipped from her cup of coffee, rich and dark from the beans he ground every morning first thing.
Setting his fork down, Jase elbowed his empty plate aside to put his joined hands on the table. That simple smooth move brought him several inches closer to her face.
“Is something funny, Ave?”
She gulped a little too quickly on the hot java. “No,” she choked out, eyes falling to the fluffy remains of her breakfast and the last bite of toast on her plate.
“I don’t think so either. You know . . .” He crossed his arms behind his head, leaning back in his chair. His biceps bulged, his pecs tensed, and he pulled his lower lip between his teeth before letting it pop back out. “I came all over my chest and belly last night after you left.” One hand drifted down to rub the swath of tan skin and brown hair on his bare chest . . . all the way to the loose knot of the towel where the hair thickened.
Heat prickled Avery’s skin and her mouth opened for a shaky breath. It pushed her breasts against the thin cloth of her top, and Jase hummed, “Nice tits.”
Her nipples pearled to attention. “Jase—”
His voice smoldered from across the table. “So I was thinking. I help you out every morning.” He waved a hand around the kitchen then stood with fingers slowly loosening the towel around his waist. “Maybe you could help me out, every night.”
She shook her head but remained seated and still, waiting to see what he’d do next.
His fingers unclenched, the towel barely held in place. Walking toward her, he hunkered down. The towel parted between his strong thighs, revealing a muscular landscape she wanted to explore.
“A little arrangement, Ave, that’s all I’m talkin’ about. Is that sweet pussy wet for me?”
“No.” Urgency and arousal dripped into her voice no matter how desperate she was to deny it.
“I bet it is.” A dimple dove into his cheek with his gorgeous smile. “I bet it is,” he repeated, sliding away. Turning his back, he started running the water in the sink. “But that’s okay, the lease is for another six months and I like a challenge.”
“Great, hoss, that’s just great. We’re fucked, aren’t we?” Nicky pushed up from the bed, plucked the book from my fingers, and tossed it beside the TV. “I’ll take you to a strip joint, let you get your rocks off there.”
“I don’t want a strip joint.”
“Yeah, I got that. You want Leelee friggin’ Songchild.” Flipping my fedora to me, Nicky held open the door to our room, hurrying me out.
I swatted his ass as I strode past. “Nah. I just want you, babe.”
The whorehouse-princess castle vibe was in full swing when we hit the lobby, only this time it was more dimmed lights, fake smoke, and speakeasy.
A squawking call went up from amid the overflowing chairs and sofas care of Jacqueline, who stood on top of a couch. “It’s Nicky Love and Stone!”
I dipped my hat in her direction, murmuring to my beau, “What’s with the glad rags?”
“They’re videoing the flash-mob tonight.” He one-finger waved at a behemoth male cover model dressed in a zoot suit being mobbed by a bunch of groupies.
“Flash-what?”
“It’s a scene videoed with the Con attendees. It goes on the LitLuv website and YouTube, showcasing this year’s theme.”
I took in the feathers, beads, headbands, and sharp suits all around. “Roaring Twenties?”
“RAWRing Twenties,” Nicky said before being enclosed in one of Janice’s hugs that usually turned into full-on manhandling.
Jacqueline and Missy pulled me between them, but Leelee was missing. I scanned the party crowd looking for her, locking onto LaForge instead. He salivated over a group of readers, distinct with their red lanyards. Ignoring the ridiculous ache in my chest over Leelee’s absence, I scarfed down several slices of pizza Missy plated up from the box in the middle of the table. I chased it with a red Solo cup of wine that made my taste buds burn. But who was I to complain, it was alcohol, and it was free.
The congested room quickly heated to inferno level. I stood to lose my jacket and threw it over a sofa. Preparing for a long, hot night, I pulled loose the tie Nicky had so meticulously knotted, rolled my sleeves up my forearms, and dipped the fedora farther over my right eye.
“Oh holy hell,” Jackée breathed.
“Oh holy Stone!” Janice elbowed between her friends. “Back off, bitches.” She scanned me from hat to toe, fumbling in a hemp bag that crossed over her chest. Tonight she was back to her John Lennon shades, this time tinted purple.
She pulled out her cell phone and caught me staring at the glasses. “Purple, as a reminder against purple prose.”
“Huh?”
She buttoned my lips between two fingers, and I flailed for a second. “Shh. You don’t need to worry about it, big bad beautiful man. It’s a writer thing.” Releasing my lips, Janice twirled a finger in the air. “Now, turn around for me.”
I pivoted before I thought better of it then rolled my eyes when I heard giggles from the girls behind me and the click of cameras.
“Soooo hot.”
“Le sigh.”
“I’d die for a bite of that butt.”
I recognized the last as Peachtree, and my now fully admired rump clamped tight as I spun around. Janice frantically tap-tap-tapped into her phone.
“Y’all are tweeting my ass?”
“Technically, I don’t tweet.” Missy hovered behind Janice who had dropped into a chair. Dressed in a silvery gray flapper dress with long strands of pearls, of course, she slapped a riding crop—or whipping crop, depending on how you looked at it, fucking semantics again—against her hip, probably just to watch me shudder. “I get other people to do it for me.”
I pressed my palms onto the table, unwittingly giving a great view of my backside to a bunch of brazen women behind me. More smart phones started clicking on my posterior. Posterior? Fucking hell.
“His gorgeous glutes are going viral!” Janice showed her phone around.
“Meat market,” Nicky murmured. Grabbing my hand, he whirled me around and into a dip, his hazy, evening sky eyes dancing above me. “Aren’t you glad you’re off the menu, darlin’?”
There were more claps, more camera flashes. I fought with my dominant side, willing myself to remain docile in Nicky’s arms.
“As long as you don’t drop me, partner,” I drawled.
A young woman marched over as I straightened up. She wore a white feather boa, a scarlet smile, and held a light meter in her hand. “Bravo! Bravo! Fantastic chemistry! Can you do that when we film the scene? A leetle more UST, yes?” She made a square out of her fingers with us inside the box. Backing off, she talked into the mic headgeared beside her m
outh.
“What the fuck was that?” I asked.
“Jules Gem. She scripts this shit all year long. Don’t mess with her. She’ll cut your gonads off and send them home to Gigi in a gingham-wrapped package.”
And here I thought that was Missy Peachtree’s job.
He tugged me back to the circle of sofas where I squeezed between Jacqueline and Janice. All dolled up in beaded ivory, Jacqueline’s mocha-colored skin contrasted with her dress. She turned slightly away to chat with a newcomer. Janice, on the other side, took the opportunity to run her fingers up my thigh.
I dipped the hat even lower over my eyes while I gently dislodged her hand from my leg with a tender there-there nowhere near my groin pat. As the huge lobby grew even more packed, I scoped the area from time to time, hoping to catch a glimpse of Leelee. The talk around me ranged from tweets and texts to something called Pinterest as we watched Jules Gem finalize her staging. When the conversation turned to shop talk—not the greasy, dirty garage shop talk I was used to—but New Adult, Romantica, Regency, and something called mm mmm, I gave up being subtle to stare unblinkingly at the elevators across the lobby.
When I turned back to the group to answer a question from Nicky that sounded like wah wah wah in my ears, I caught sight of a woman crossing the room. A pair of long shapely legs in fishnet stockings ending in spiky black heels filled my vision. I followed the clinging jet-black dress to curvy hips, full breasts, a pouty red mouth . . . and a razor-sharp, midnight black bob. The girl was stacked. Now not only did I feel like I was being unfaithful to Nicky, I was cheating on Leelee, too.
Diving into the brightest green eyes as the woman slinked in front of me, I finally recognized Leelee. She wore one of the many wigs that had spilled from her luggage at check-in. I did a double take and came back for a third round. She looked vampish, not in an Elvira way but in a fuck-hot film noir Hollywood way. All the blood in my body took a southern route to my cock.
I immediately stood up and took off my hat. Ma had instilled southern manners in me from the get-go, and even though I was beginning to see myself as the manwhore my reputation made me out to be, this woman deserved to be treated like a lady. It all came back to me in an instant.