by Lindsey Hart
“And they should know how to use their dicks so you can do a little unwinding at the end of a long day. Fingers and tongues aren’t bad either.”
“Tongues? How many tongues does one man have?”
“Just listen. Having good sex could substitute as a daily workout. You wouldn’t have to take up jogging. You wouldn’t have to risk going out there and getting molested every single morning. You could stay home in your nice warm bed and get molested there instead. The good kind of molested. Or after work…or on your lunch break, coffee break, the middle of the day, at work in some sneaky little cleaning closet, in your locked office, on your desk—”
“Thanks, I think I get it.”
“Brad was never giving you a good work out. I could tell because you never had the glowing high that people having good sex have. You never looked sexed-up once. Not. Once. I’m willing to bet you don’t even know the meaning of the word.”
“I’d rather not.” I splash a good amount of cream into the dark coffee. After I pad back to the fridge, I retrieve my cup and bring it to my nose, inhaling the scent of heaven. It’s not the best thing I smelled that morning. My thoughts drift to Aiden’s sensual, masculine, dark, amazing, mouth-watering scent, even though I don’t want to. Fiddlefreakingsticks.
“Five minutes with Brad and I would have offed myself,” Aria declares. Maybe the wine is seriously going straight to her head. “Or started eating carbs. He would have driven me straight to it. His ass probably tasted like ass.”
Yup. She seems a little buzzed, alright. Who in their right, sober mind would say things like that? Oh, right. This is Aria here. If she ever had a filter, I wasn’t privy to it.
“What exactly is ass supposed to taste like?” Cassie snorts. She tries to smother a laugh, but a strange-sounding snort comes out anyway.
“I don’t know. Like…like—crème brulé or something. Like the best cheat dish of the week. Think sugar. Lots of sugar. Or salt. Something sugary and salty at once. And deep-fried.” Aria turns a wicked grin my way. Her eyes flash with amusement, and I can tell she’s beyond enjoying herself. “I bet Aiden’s ass tastes like that. Like deep-fried ice cream with caramel sauce and pralines.”
“There’s a distinct possibility that you two are the worst friends on earth.”
Aria just snorts while Cassie blushes. She sips at her coffee so she can hide behind her mug. She knows I don’t mean it. I never mean it. Even if they were, they’d still be here because they’re my best friends.
“Give the guy a bone,” Aria says. She drains another quarter of her cup and smiles deviously at me. “Or let him give you one.”
I take a big gulp of my coffee, nearly scalding my lips off just so I can fake composure. When my voice comes out, there is just the right amount of dryness. Maybe since I just scalded my throat with second-degree coffee burns.
“Umm, this is supposed to be fake, not the real deal. If something happened, I would feel like I’m paying him to have sex with me or something. That’s just seriously disgusting.”
“You’re paying him for the runway stuff and the shoots,” Aria corrects. “He agreed to do the rest for free.”
Sometimes I wonder why I tell them anything. I stare down at my creamy coffee and let out a sigh that is perfectly real. I can’t hold back, even though I wish I could keep my thoughts bottled up inside where they belong.
“Brad was the only guy who noticed I had a va-jay at all. Most men just ignore me. It’s not like there’s a lineup of guys beating down the door to date me. There wasn’t before Brad. There won’t be after. Seriously. I’m not the kind of woman that guys are into. I’ve made my peace with that. I’m okay with not having regular workouts. I can take up jogging. I don’t need a guy to be fulfilled. I have my work, and I’m going to make this new line, and that’s—that’s enough. Honestly. And I have you both. The best friends in the world.”
“Stop,” Cassie protests, but she has a shy smile for me.
“Yeah. Stop.” Aria drains the rest of her wine and sets the wine glass down on the counter. Hard. She skewers me with a lethal look. “If I hear you whine about yourself like that again, I am going to… to—well—I don’t know what I’m going to do, but you’re not going to like it.”
“I already waxed my box,” I declare with absolutely no sense of humor. “I’m not sure what could get worse than that.”
“Oh, I have a few things in my arsenal yet,” Aria promises me. I should know better than to provoke her. She has done things I don’t know the first thing about. I don’t want to, either.
“I wasn’t trying to have a pity party—”
“I should hope not. I’ve told you before, and I’ll tell you again. I’ll tell you as many times as it takes. You’re beautiful. Smart. Witty. Nice. You’re the whole package. Guys are seriously intimidated by you. You know what you want. You have like, massive lady balls. You run this great big company, and you have your own money. That scares the testicles straight off most men. They can’t compete with it, they can’t top it, and it makes them feel completely emasculated.”
“You don’t seem to have any trouble with that.”
“That’s because the hotels aren’t mine yet. I have money, sure, but a lot of people don’t know that. They don’t know who I am. Anyway, by the time most guys find out, they’re long gone. I never said I wanted to settle down or date. I’m perfectly fine with just having fun. Anyway, you’re not like that. People know who you are. One online search is all it takes, and bam! Testicles cut straight off.”
“Thanks for that. I’ll take that image to my grave. Maybe that’s what they should put on my headstone. Rin Allen. Hated her last name. Man emasculator. Spontaneous ball buster.”
Cassie snorts again and nearly spits out the mouthful of coffee she’d just drank. Aria’s smile blossoms into something radiant.
“There you go. Now you’re catching on. Anyway, you can’t wallow in self-pity when the hottest guy in the state, because yes, he’s in Florida now, is within banging distance.”
“Banging distance,” Cassie snickers. “I like that one. I’m going to use that one someday.”
“It was good, wasn’t it?”
I roll my eyes and shake my head. “Banging distance or not, this is just fake. It’s just to make Brad jealous. I’m going over there at two to talk about clothes, the runway stuff, the shoots, and the event coming up next week. Maybe a few possible other outings or something so we can be seen together. That’s it. This was your idea. I feel like I’m just getting swept along in the current.”
“Well, then,” Aria says, her wicked grin sliding back into place, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Let it sweep you along. No one ever said the current couldn’t be sexy.”
CHAPTER 8
Aiden
At exactly two, there’s a knock on the door. And I mean two. As in, the second hand on my overpriced, oversized watch just slid past the hour marker, and a gentle rasp of knuckles against metal floods the granny condo.
I’m standing in the kitchen after an hour-long battle of trying to scrounge up something to eat. You’d think that if the grandma who called this place home took off for Paris on short notice, she would have left something in the cupboards if not the fridge. A can of beans, noodle soup, pasta, a jar of sauce, jam, something. Anything. As it was, her cupboards are bare. Her freezer is empty, and her fridge is worse.
Right before I stalk over to answer the door, I dip my head to the fridge in acknowledgment of defeat. Touché. Well played. A worthy adversary.
I pull open the door, even though in truth, I’m not sure why. Rin has the code. I feel my eyes bulge as I take her in. She’s changed. She’s not wearing what she wore to the airport when she picked my ass up. No. Now, she’s in some sort of tunic shirt thing that is indigo, a color somewhere between blue and purple. The neckline plunges dangerously low and is accentuated with a strip of soft-looking lace. The thing clings to her and defines the fact that though she might be athletically built,
she’s indeed very womanly. She has breasts. Nice breasts. A handful and more breasts. Pert breasts. The tunic outlines the curve of her hips, and wow…where it ends, a set of plain black leggings begin. The inexpensive kind. Soft, cotton-looking. They give new meaning to the word shapely. As in, shapely legs. Long, sexy legs.
“You came back.” I put that out there just to unnerve her in the hopes she’ll be distracted from the fact that I was just looking at her chest like a creep for the past thirty seconds.
“Yeah. At two, like I said I would.” She slowly shuts the door behind her.
“Did you embark on this foul plot just to lock me away and starve me? That’s not really my style. If you want me to lose a couple of pounds, this isn’t the way to do it.” She stares at me blankly, so I indicate the kitchen. “There isn’t a scrap of food in here. Not even enough to sustain a mouse.”
“Oh? Did you not find the lead paint to be overly filling?”
This time I blink at her.
“Or the asbestos? I heard it is quite satisfying. Really good if you give it a try.”
“That’s it! I’m ordering pizza!” So, Rin is the kind of woman who makes you regret the day you ever made rude remarks about her choice in living arrangements. Screw it. I turn my back on her and have the second furthest pizza place on order within a couple of seconds.
The second furthest because I think ordering something from a pizza place located in the middle of an industrial area is just dicey at best. The place would probably have a slogan along the lines of, ‘Feed your car, Feed your body.’ They probably sell oil, nuts and bolts, and pizza. Not a mix I’m willing to roll the dice on. The granny shack is enough of a surprise for one day.
I place an order for an extra-large cheese pizza with pineapple. Add extra pineapple. More pineapple. A gross amount of pineapple. Still not enough pineapple. And a side of barbeque sauce.
Rin shudders after I hang up. I slip my phone into my back pocket with a sigh. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those people.”
“What kind of people?”
“One of those. A pineapple hater.”
“I don’t mind it by itself, but on pizza?”
“You have no idea what you’re missing out on. Seriously. Pineapple is an incredible fruit. What other food is good on its own, grilled, chilled, juiced, sauced, sweetened, baked, breaded, barbequed, blended, iced, or mixed with just about any kind of alcohol?”
“It’s still a sin on pizza.”
“Damn it!” I give her a sheepish look when she nearly jumps out of her skin. “I forgot the basil.”
“Are you going to call back?”
“Never. It’s going to be hard enough for them to find the place to deliver it. I don’t need to confuse the order anymore, or I’ll end up with something gross instead like a double tuna or something.”
“I don’t think that exists. And this place isn’t hard to find.”
“Maybe not for you, but not everyone knows that people live in flour factories.”
Rin rolls her eyes. They’re softer, velvety looking, those amber flecks dancing in their depths, whether because she’s amused or just because her indigo shirt looks really good with her complexion and her dark hair, I’m not exactly sure.
“Anyway. You came here to take me up on my offer?”
“What offer?”
“The offer of practice.”
Rin’s nose wrinkles, but two twin spots of pink appear on her cheeks, and I know she’s not as unaffected as she pretends to be. “No. I came to discuss the clothing line. Like I said.”
I inhale sharply just to convey my annoyance in no uncertain terms. “So, you just expect me to show up at this event with you in a week as little more than strangers and expect me to sell it?”
“Uh, yeah? I guess so.”
I give my head a shake and run my hand through my hair in exasperation. “I’m not sure what kind of relationships you’ve had before, but just showing up and faking shit as strangers doesn’t really portray a loving kind of relationship.”
“It’s new. The relationship. People will understand. And like I said, Brad and I—”
“I am definitely not Brad. I never want to be compared to Brad.” It must show that I’m on the verge of barfing because Rin’s face falls. “Look.” I try to cut her a break, realizing I am really not being fair. “I’m not going to demand that you do this. It was more of the other way around. You came to me. I know this wasn’t your idea, and you let your crazy friends talk you into this, but answer me honestly. Do you want revenge? Do you want to stick it to the bastard for what he did?”
Something strange passes over Rin’s face. I’m struck, as the shadows enter her eyes, by how beautiful she truly is. Her thick lashes. The slight upturn of her nose at the end. Her full, naturally coral lips. The gentle slope of her jawline.
“Yeah. Yeah, I do.” She nods. She nods again. She nods so hard her neck creaks, and she brings her hand up to rub at it. “But it’s not what you think. It’s not as petty as what you probably think all of this is. I honestly couldn’t care less that he’s going out with a nineteen-year-old model. I mean, I feel seriously sorry for her. He’s going to use her. He’s not terribly nice. I wish I could warn her, but I know there’s no way she’d listen to me. Brad would just spin it, so I look and appear super crazy and vindictive. She’s kind of a nice girl. I feel sorry for her.”
“So, then what happened?” I’m not naïve enough to realize that something didn’t happen if someone who seems as surprisingly sweet as Rin, is willing to take things this far. She doesn’t seem like the kind of person to let her friends run roughshod all over her. She might not exactly be okay with their methods, but she didn’t tell them no outright. She still set up the meeting with me. She still wants this.
“Well—it wasn’t that something happened. Like—you know. I don’t know. I don’t think he even left me for her. He just needed someone else to fund his life for him. He likes nice things. They like to call women gold diggers, but I think if the term could apply to a guy, it would apply to him.”
“I’m sure it applies to dudes too.”
“Anyway, he was a gold-digging jerk. I realized it later, but it wasn’t that either. That’s not why I’m here.”
“Right. You’re here because you want to cut him off at the balls, so it must have been something real aggravating.”
“I think the term is cut him off at the knees. Not the balls.”
“Except, in this case, you came to me because you wanted to cut him off at the balls.”
Rin rolls her gorgeous gold-flecked eyes. “Let’s just say there are a few incidents which stand out in my mind. He once told me that if I broke up with him, no one else would ever date my fat ass. He also used to fat shame me pretty much consistently.”
“I’m sorry, rat shame? What the hell is rat shaming?”
“No.” Rin’s lips press into a thin line. “Fat shame.”
“Rat shame? I’ve never heard that. I didn’t realize Florida had such a terrible vermin problem. I might have to rethink this plan of yours.”
“No. Not rat. Fat.”
“Cat shame? What’s cat shaming?”
Rin sighs.
“Bat? Bat shaming? What’s wrong with bats?”
“F. A. T.”
“Well, fuck me dry. Fat. Not rat. Or cat. Or bat. I would never have guessed because you’re not fat. Why the hell would the guy even say that? Please tell me you don’t believe that.”
Of course, I heard her the first time. I just had to be sure. Because…yeah. Rin doesn’t have a scrap of extra meat on her. I’ve been in the industry long enough to see how she could give credence to something like that. I’m willing to bet her mom had a hand in lending to her belief too. Just because Rin is never going to be a size zero—nature determined otherwise—does not mean anyone has the right to call her fat.
“Of course I don’t believe it. Just because I have too much ass, too much boobs, and too much hips to fit
into anything my company actually makes doesn’t make me fat. It just makes me a woman. I know that. I’m not big on getting on the self-pity train. I’ve made peace with the fact that my mom was totally disappointed at how I turned out. I think if she could have slapped me into a corset at age three, she never would have let me take it off. She would have just kept buying bigger corsets, all in an attempt to get me to be the size she wanted. I made that comment to Brad once, when I was at some vulnerable low point. I never expected he’d use it against me later.”
My jaw nearly hits the floor. Rin has an hourglass figure that most women would kill for. She’s curvy. Curves which remind me she’s a woman, and I am most definitely a male, and I most definitely enjoy what I’m seeing. My dick, balls, and every testosterone filled everything inside of me are in full agreement.
“Brad sounds like a real dickhead. I’m surprised you were ever with this guy in the first place. Wow. He’s obviously going to be at this social we’re going to. Do I have permission to not so discreetly castrate him in some backroom?”
“No! Jesus!”
“You can’t back out now. Too late. I’m not going to let you. I really need to meet this steaming pile of shit—like toxic, asbestos, and lead paint filled shit. He is going to pay for the things he said to you. No one should treat a woman like that. No one should say those things to another person.”
“Seriously?” Rin scoffs.
Why is she the one scoffing at me? She should be in tears. But she’s not. She looks a little peeved, a little hurt, but a whole lot of self-deprecating. As if she actually finds my righteous indignation humorous. I can’t help myself. My mom would castrate me if I ever even thought something like that, let alone voice it.
“Of course! What do you mean, seriously?”
“Look at the industry we work in. Brad is a part of it. He’s an agent, for goodness sakes. Everyone in this industry is about as shallow as it comes.”