by Maggie Gates
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out and quickly glanced at the screen.
Hot Guy from the Gym in L.A.: Still at your prior engagement?
I smiled and quickly texted back.
Maddie: I see you called yourself from my phone so you’d have my number. Pretty presumptuous, Luke.
Hot Guy from the Gym in L.A.: You’re exceptionally beautiful, so I’d be a dumbass not to press my luck and hold you to your word. So how about that drink?
Maddie: Smooth. You know who else was smooth? Ted Bundy. How do I know you’re not a serial killer? This is California after all. Did you know that California has the highest number of serial killings in the country? Over 1,500.
Hot Guy from the Gym in L.A.: Let me paint you a picture, beautiful: You. Me. Coronas, carnitas, and ceviche. Maybe some tostones. The place I go to is open real late. I can meet you at your hotel as soon as you’re done. I’ll show you a good time.
Maddie: You never said you weren’t a serial killer.
Hot Guy from the Gym in L.A.: You willing to take a risk, Maddie? Go out with the handsome stranger you just met on your three-day work trip to Cali. You might just have the time of your life.
Maddie: I’m here for work and you’re distracting me.
Hot Guy from the Gym in L.A.: I dare you.
I groaned and cursed my resolve as I slid my phone back into my pocket. I never not took a dare. Truthfully, I was a bit of a wild child. Live on a houseboat? Sure. Climb up to the roof of my houseboat and jump off? Done. Skinny dipping? Not even a challenge. Taking shots? Pour me another. Sit on the beach and watch a hurricane come in? Yes, please.
The producer started talking about the judging panel, but it was in one ear and out the other. All I could think about were those tattoos that wrapped around his muscular arms. That dark stubble that seemed a bit like a two-day beard. Those brown eyes that looked like rich chocolate. His jet black hair that was both effortlessly messy and totally stylish at the same time. It was clipped short on the sides—just a light buzz of hair but left longer on top. His fade told me that he actually was that tanned. Luke had olive skin that reminded me of light caramel. He had a cocky grin that curved up at the corner of his lips and—God—his thick lashes.
I had never been jealous of a man’s eyelashes, but holy hell—those things were like bat wings. They put my cheapo falsies to shame. Luke was every bit tall, dark, and handsome with a dangerous edge that had my spine-tingling.
Don’t even get me started on the muscles. Today was my lucky day—I was half tempted to go buy lottery tickets because seeing him shirtless and glistening with sweat did all sorts of things to my lady parts. Luke had sculpted arms and a chest that was made for admiring. He had those two hard lines that started on either side of his abs and dipped below the waist of his shorts. And that package I’m almost one hundred percent certain was hard? That thing could annihilate a woman.
I bit my tongue as a string of profanities raced through my head. I yanked my phone back out and stabbed the letters on the screen with an excited fury.
Maddie: Fine. I’ll text you the address of my hotel when I’m done.
Hot Guy from the Gym in L.A.: See you soon, beautiful.
✽✽✽
I pushed the close door button on the elevator over and over again. Finally, the doors slid shut and it began to rise. The meet and greet went smoothly. I couldn’t complain. Charissa and I were cordial, but I knew that tomorrow all those professional manners would go out the window.
I shoved my keycard into the door and practically ripped the handle off as I barreled into my hotel room, leaving a trail of clothes in my wake. I traded my trim trousers and breezy, professional blouse for my denim cut-offs and my favorite concert tank that read, God is great, beer is good, and people are crazy. I tossed my black pumps back in my suitcase and swapped them for the strappy leather sandals that wrapped around my ankles. They were the perfect mix of cute and badass and so worn in from wearing them day in and day out all summer long that I could run a marathon in them if I needed to.
A few layered necklaces, my favorite rings, and a quick smokey eye, and I was ready. I flipped my hair over and doused it in a cloud of dry shampoo and hairspray, just to give my bleach blonde beach waves a few more hours of life.
Just as I coughed and waved away the fog of noxious fumes, my phone vibrated against the bathroom counter.
Hot Guy from the Gym in L.A.: Here. What’s your room number? I’ll come up and meet you.
Maddie: Not a chance, Ted Bundy. See you in the lobby.
Another glance in the mirror and I was good to go. My style wasn’t exactly what you’d call proper. I lived in denim shorts that were shorter than some people’s undies. I preferred band shirts that I cut down to loose tank tops. Miss Jackie, one of my least favorite nurses at my mom’s care facility, once told me to my face that I looked like a tramp and that a nearly thirty-year-old woman should dress like a lady. So I wasn’t joining the Junior League any time soon—sue me. I slung my purse over my shoulder and headed out the door.
✽✽✽
“Damn,” Luke grinned when I spotted him sitting on a couch in the lobby, his ankle was kicked up, resting on his knee. To say he was a big man was an understatement. He stood up and I swear the ceiling raised itself just to accommodate him. He was wearing the same hat he had on at the gym. The Yankees logo was bright white against the navy blue of the flat-brimmed snapback. His white t-shirt hung loosely off his broad shoulders, disguising what I knew was the most jaw-dropping six-pack I had ever seen. His jeans were ripped and faded in a way that said, I definitely paid big money for these. And God, did he smell good. Warm and spicy. I wanted to wrap myself up in him and take a big whiff.
“Hi,” I smiled as I bounced toward him.
“Hey, beautiful. You ready to go?”
“Where are we going exactly?” I questioned as I glanced down at my bare legs, “This is fine, right? Coronas and carnitas made it sound kinda casual.”
“You look like a million bucks,” he said with a cocky grin. His hand slid to the small of my back as he led me out the lobby doors.
“Would you like me to bring your car around, Mr.—”
“No thanks, we’re walking,” Luke said to the valet before the kid could finish his sentence. He took my hand and led me down the sidewalk. I raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say a thing. “It’s not far from here,” he explained. “Besides—I, uh, I kinda figured you wouldn’t wanna ride in a car with a serial killer.” He flashed me a confident smile and winked.
“Ah, so you are a serial killer,” I giggled as he took my hand and led me down the sidewalk. “But hey, if you’re gonna be a psychopath who likes chopping innocent women into tartare a la blonde, at least you’re honest about it.”
“Well, I am good with knives,” he chuckled. The growl of his low timbre sent a zip of excitement down my spine.
“A serial killer with a sense of humor,” I snorted, “That’s new.”
“How ‘bout this,” he halted mid-stride and raised his hands in surrender. “I promise I won’t go all Jeffrey Dahmer on you until after our date. Happy?”
“Well, if you decide to turn me into a skin sweater,” I snapped a picture of him with my phone and sent it to the Poker Club, “At least now my friends will be able to pick you out of a lineup.”
“Fair enough,” Luke laughed, twisting a lock of my hair loosely around his finger and tugging on it playfully. “But, uh, I don’t think the rest of the mermaids will put up much of a fight.”
“I’ll have you know,” I swatted his hand away and resumed our walk, “two of my friends—one being my next door neighbor—are cops.”
“Cops?” He raised an eyebrow and casually shoved his hands in his pockets, “I’m not afraid of cops. Crazy girlfriends, however… let’s just say that I’ve learned that a girl’s best friend is more ruthless than the CIA.”
“Believe me, you don’t wanna get on my friends’ bad side.”
>
“Oh yeah?”
I opened up the group text and handed him my phone.
* * *
THE POKER CLUB
* * *
Hannah Jane: OMG! HE’S HOT! LIKE H-O-T HOT! That’s gym guy? Way to go, Mads!
Steve: Want me to run his photo and see what I can find?
Chase: I’m already at the station. Give me a name and consider it done.
Melissa: Wait! What am I missing? I just got off work. (Btw, I’m on my way over with dinner for Heather, Steve. Leftovers will be in the fridge for you.)
Hannah Jane: Maddie picked up a west coast hottie is what happened! WELL DONE, SISTER.
Steve: I hate this conversation. So much. Be safe, Mad Dog.
Chase: WHAT IS THIS DICK’S NAME?
Kristin: WE DON’T KNOW THAT HE’S A DICK, YET. GIVE HIM A CHANCE! (Especially if he looks like that. YUM. He looks like he has abs. Does he have abs? Can I see a picture of the abs?)
Chase: Any dude with a face like that is a dick.
Bridget: You mean a HOT face?
Chase: I said what I said.
Hannah Jane: I second the ab pic.
Bridget: Lol, Kris- he’s not a doughnut. And he’s Maddie’s. Cool it. But yes. We need photographic evidence of any and all abs. Please and thank you.
Heather: I’m just saying, an ab pic would make me feel better.
Steve: HEY NOW, MARRIED WOMAN. I have abs too! (Well, I used to. IT STILL COUNTS!)
Heather: Love you, Steve. (Draw me a picture, Maddie.)
Chase: We need more dudes in this group. There’s way too much estrogen coming out of the phone and it’s getting all over my uniform.
Luke’s lips went from a frown to a thin line to a cocky smirk. He stepped under a streetlamp, lifted the hem of his shirt and trapped it between his teeth before he held my phone out and–Lord, yes–took a selfie showing off his glorious, glorious abs. Note to self: save that photo and frame it. Pass it down to my daughters and granddaughters. Luke’s abs will be the family heirloom.
I let out an involuntary whine when the fabric fell back down, covering his stomach. Luke’s thumbs flew over the screen before he finally handed my phone back and let me read the text.
Maddie: Contrary to your very beautiful friend’s belief—I am, in fact, NOT a serial killer. I consent to be fingerprinted and DNA tested. Also, yes. I have abs. See below for proof of six pack. -L
“Oh my God,” I cracked up reading the message. “You’re so full of yourself.” We laughed and lingered beneath the streetlamp. Luke placed his hands on my hips and backed me up against the pole.
“Now that your friends know who I am,” he said as his voice dropped into a tantalizing rasp, “Is it too forward of me to kiss you right now?”
I tilted my chin up until I was only a breath away from his lips. “Do you think I’m the kind of girl that kisses on the first date?”
“You make it sound like you’ll give me a second,” his nose brushed the tip of mine as he shook his head. “You don’t strike me as the kind of girl who waits to be courted. You seem like the kind of woman that takes what she wants and doesn’t apologize for it.”
I draped my arms around his neck and leaned in.
4
———
LUCA
The moment my lips met hers, it was magic. They were soft, warm, and tasted like vanilla. Maddie was sugar and spice and everything sexy. I dug my fingers into the curve of her ass, and she plastered her hips to mine. Her ripped-up denim shorts barely covered her round cheeks, and I didn’t mind one bit. My dick tensed against my jeans, and I knew that if I didn’t end the kiss that I’d throw her over my shoulder like a caveman and haul her back to her hotel room. Pulling away was a feat of superhuman strength.
I rested my forehead on hers and grinned from ear-to-ear as our chests heaved against each other. “I do plan on buying you dinner, Maddie. But I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you all day and I couldn’t help myself.” I pressed the pad of my thumb against her lower lip and wiped away the sheen left from our kiss. Her cheeks turned soft pink as she bit her lower lip when my thumb left it.
“Remember that work thing I had earlier?” She smiled and looked up at me.
“Yeah?”
“I hardly paid attention. All I thought about was whether I was going to let you take me to dinner or not.”
“And?”
Maddie leaned in as if to kiss me again and whispered, “I’m starving,” against the corner of my mouth.
I took her hand and kissed the center of her palm. She laced her fingers through mine, and I pulled her down the sidewalk.
We walked a few blocks without saying much of anything at all. Feeling so comfortable with a stranger was odd, but there was something about Maddie that put me at ease. She didn’t strike me as the valley girl type that I was used to meeting—the kind of girl who was on a green juice cleanse to drop five pounds that didn’t even exist. No, Maddie was strong. Damn, she was strong. Her arms and thighs had the kind of muscle tone that only came from hard, backbreaking work—from living the kind of life other people wish they had the courage to do.
She was light and brilliant and warm. I loved her laugh. She had a smile that could drive away a storm. The way she was unafraid to look directly at me was intoxicating, and the depth in her eyes made me want to know everything about her.
“This is us,” I said as I pointed to the row of food trucks that surrounded a neighborhood entrance. People milled around with burritos in hand, and families crowded around picnic tables. Latin music wafted through the air from an old-school boombox set up in the pass-through window of one of the food trucks, and the smell of garlic, chilis, and cumin mingled in the air. I watched Maddie take in the scene.
Damn, she was pretty.
“Where do we start?” Maddie nodded toward the row of trucks.
That made me smile—my kinda girl. “I like the way you think. How ‘bout you grab us a table, and I’ll go order.
“I dunno,” she gave me a hesitant look, “I don’t usually trust other people to order for me.”
“You’ll like it. Trust me.”
She held up her hands in surrender and headed toward an empty picnic before pointing at me and yelling, “Better not let me down, Hot Guy from the Gym in L.A.”
✽✽✽
“Oh God,” Maddie moaned as she dragged a tostone through the sofrito ranch sauce and popped it in her mouth.
I know food. Little Miss Mermaid would never admit it, but no palate stood a chance against the delicious mountain of food I’d provided. The wonderful thing about the spot I took her to was that each truck represented a different region of Latin America. We had a little bit of everything at our table: Mexican food, Puerto Rican food, some Peruvian, and a little Columbian.
Maddie let out another involuntary groan of satisfaction. I could watch her eat all day long. Was that a fetish or something? Alright, so I didn’t want to watch her eat in a My 600-lb Life kind of way—I wasn’t a weirdo—but watching Maddie’s pink lips wrap around the mouth of her bottle of Corona was doing all sorts of things to my head. And my dick.
“So,” I cleared my throat and looked away in an effort to relieve the tension in my jeans. It did not work. “What exactly brought you to L.A.?”
“Work,” she mumbled in between bites of ceviche. She stabbed another piece of fish and popped it in her mouth. “This is so good. That prior engagement I had—you know what they served instead of dinner? Charcuterie boards.” She pursed those little pink lips and frowned in displeasure as she pointed her fork my way. “Adult Lunchables is what that is. You know what is not an appropriate offering when you’re told that dinner will be provided? A meat and cheese platter that everybody’s grubby, nasty hands have been all over.”
I finished off my beer and cracked open my second, taking a minute to slide a lime wedge in the neck of the bottle. I raised my eyebrows and smirked, tilting my drink toward her in silent toast. �
��I see you have strong feelings about this.”
“You have no idea,” she muttered between bites. “This is seriously the best ceviche I’ve ever had—and I would never eat raw fish from a truck, so if I get food poisoning tomorrow, I’m blaming you.”
I popped a bite of fish in my mouth. “Well then,” I grinned as I chased it down with a swig of beer. “That’ll make two of us and I’ll just have to come hang out at your hotel until we’re both on the mend.”
“You’re awfully confident, aren’t you?” She giggled and took a sip of beer. Maddie may have sounded like Reese Witherspoon, but she was hell on heels—er—flip flops.
“So do I get a last name, Maddie? Where you’re from? Some grid coordinates to help me track you down when you go back home?”
“What are you, a Navy SEAL or something,” she laughed again and it made me smile. The sound was infectious. “You’re gonna track me down?”
“Nah, nothing that exciting.”
“So what do you do?”
“Acquisitions,” I shrugged, “I oversee business consolidations.” It wasn’t a lie. It was slightly more misleading than the whole truth, sure, but it wasn’t a lie. I’d be traveling to the East Coast at the end of this week to do just that.
I was having one of those days where I wanted to be anyone but Luca DeRossi. Astrid had been all over my case about going out and being seen at events and openings. She was still livid that I’d ended things with my ex. Apparently, my public image mattered more to her than my personal happiness. Astrid’s opinion was a non-issue, though. She was excellent at her job and I had thick skin.
When Maddie came prancing into the gym and immediately showed her competitive side, I was hooked. I liked it when she called me Luke. It felt like the most normal thing in the world. She didn’t see me as a rich guy whose coattails she could ride—by my guess, Maddie had no fucking clue who I was. When she busted my balls for potentially giving her food poisoning, I couldn’t help but laugh. No one except my family had ever ragged on me that way—not in a long time, at least. I would never, by the way. The food truck owner was previously an executive chef at one of my restaurants. He ran such a tight ship that his garbage cans were probably more sanitary than some of the city’s top restaurants.
