I already knew that, right? I’d read it online.
But that wasn’t the same as hearing it from his mouth.
“You’re telling me you’re… gay?”
“Nope,” he said, smoothing his hand down my stomach to my hip. “Not strictly speaking.” His hand gripped my hip and his thumb traced the curve.
“Oh. Um… Way to scare a girl.”
He snickered and bit my shoulder lightly. “Sorry.”
“For future reference, right after you eat a girl out is not a great time to drop that fact bomb.”
He chuckled a little. “I know when I told you about that three-way relationship I had, I probably let you assume it was with two women. It was with a guy and a girl. I like girls, too.” His hand squeezed my hip. “A lot.”
“I see.”
“I wasn’t actually with the guy. We were both with her. But I’ve been with other guys. I thought you should know that. Since we’re… you know… getting to know each other.”
“You’re bisexual?”
“I guess that’s what you’d call it.”
“What do you call it?”
“I don’t know. Me?” he said. “I’ve never been a real fan of labels.”
I stared at the dark shape of the picture on the wall, the beach photo I’d had framed for him. I knew I should be trying to process this, but it really wasn’t all that hard to process.
I wasn’t exactly shocked. He hadn’t mentioned it to me before, but it made sense. And not just because I read it online.
Had I seen him checking out guys? I wasn’t sure.
I really hadn’t noticed him checking out anyone else when we were together.
“Have you been in love with a man?” I asked him.
“Yeah.”
“And with a woman?”
“Yeah.” His thumb continued tracing the curve of my hip. “Have you ever been in love?”
“I think so,” I said. “A couple of times. I mean, I felt like I loved a couple of guys I dated. It was nothing… Earth-shattering, though, if that makes sense.”
He tugged on my hip, rolling me back against him. I turned my head to see his face in the near-dark. “That douchy ex of yours?”
I smiled. “No.”
“Thank fuck. I really would’ve had to judge you for that.”
“Yeah, that’s fair. I’m sure all your former loves have been Nobel Prize winners.”
He grinned. “You ever been in love with a woman?”
“No.”
“You’re straight?”
“Yeah, I guess that’s what you’d call it,” I said, quoting him. “So far, all the people I’ve loved, that way, have had cocks.”
“How many times have you fallen in love, Danica Vola?” he asked me.
“Twice.”
Three times. Maybe… three times, I kept thinking. If I counted what was starting to happen right now…
“Ever been in a relationship with two men at once?” he asked me, his thumb continuing its lazy rhythm, back and forth… dipping a little lower each time, drifting nearer my pussy… which tingled at his near-touch.
“No,” I said.
“Ever thought about it?”
I considered that. I’d really never had a guy ask me that before.
“No. I mean, I’ve had kinky fantasies about being drilled by more than one guy at once… but doesn’t every girl have those fantasies?”
He laughed. “Uh… no. I don’t think so.”
“Really?”
“I don’t know. I guess we’d have to take a poll.”
He drifted his hand up my body to my neck, where his thumb smoothed over my jaw. “I like you,” he murmured.
“Good,” I murmured back. “I think I like you more.”
His lips curved in a smile. “Is it a competition?”
“Yes,” I said, “and I win.”
He chuckled again.
“Hey, Ashley? I have questions.”
“Ask away,” he said.
“Have you ever been in a relationship with just one woman?”
“Yes.”
“Have you ever fantasized about spending the rest of your life with one woman?”
“Yes.”
“What’s the longest relationship you’ve ever had with a woman?”
“Two years.”
I considered that. It was a little longer than I’d ever been in a serious relationship.
A dark and comfortable silence enveloped us. And I wondered who he’d spent those two years with. Summer? Someone else? But now didn’t seem like the right time to summon the names of past lovers.
This conversation wasn’t about them.
It was about us.
I closed my eyes. I was drifting, my brain lured by the thought of sleep, even if my body wasn’t.
Ashley pressed himself tighter against me and kissed my neck. “Hey, Danica.”
“Hmm?”
“Go to sleep, okay? I don’t really wanna get on your aunt Madeleine’s bad side. Get the feeling she could kick my ass.”
“She could,” I murmured. “She’s a dominatrix.”
“Huh?” His arm tightened around me a little as he stirred. “What did you say?”
“Mmm.”
“She’s what?”
“Oh… that’s supposed to be private,” I murmured sleepily. “Oops.”
He chuckled a little under his breath.
I smiled. “Just don’t mess with her, okay? I like your balls where they are. I already did enough damage to your dick…” Then I frowned and reached for him, running my hand up his hip behind me. I’d noticed he’d kept his groin from physical contact with my body, leaving a careful gap between us in that area. “Ashley…” I sighed. “Does it hurt?”
He took my hand and placed it in front of my chest, wrapping his arm around me.
The last thing I was aware of was his mouth brushing my neck. “Sleep, babe,” he whispered.
I slept.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Ash
Three days later, I arrived at Danica’s aunt’s house for a family brunch—with Danica and her sister.
Danica had insisted they pick me up, and Daniella had driven the three of us in her car. I’d spent the drive from my place over the Lions Gate Bridge into West Vancouver listening to the two of them bicker in the front seat over every song that came on. We didn’t hear a single one all the way through, though I definitely heard more Drake than I’d ever needed to.
I didn’t really mind.
When you dated someone, you kinda dated their whole family too, and all that shit, right?
Not that Danica and I had been on an actual date, technically, but it definitely felt like we were seeing each other now. I knew this because, as I lounged in the backseat, I was kinda sweating over meeting her parents.
Mainly because Danica and her sister were looking like some fashion spread—and I felt like a fucking slob in my sweatpants.
Danica wore a long, soft-yellow dress with a giant slit that showed off her sexy legs. Daniella was wearing a little ruffled thing, like one of those dresses that’s actually shorts. And both of them were wearing a bunch of gorgeous jewelry that Daniella made a point of telling me Danica had made.
Daniella had her hair up in a perfect, messy ponytail, and Danica… I didn’t even want to dwell on it.
Long, loose butterscotch waves drifting over her shoulders… and the sundress that kept falling off her shoulders.
Unfortunately for me, my dick hadn’t healed yet. I’d actually put off seeing Danica for the last few days, because I knew by now that just being in the same room with her would give me a raging hard-on, and every time I got a hard-on, my dick hurt like hell.
And bled.
The cut wasn’t deep, but since I couldn’t exactly keep it still and untouched unless I was lying flat on my back, naked—which I’d done for most of Thursday, and it was fucking boring—it kept opening back up.
Definitely wasn
’t healing as fast as I expected it to. As fast as I needed it to, so I could go ahead and screw Danica.
The thought of even attempting to put on a condom with an open wound on my dick made me shudder.
I couldn’t figure out any kind of bandage situation that would work, so here I was, about to meet her family for the first time, with a dick wound inflicted during foreplay.
Not to mention that Danica never actually told me we were going to her aunt’s house. I just assumed we were meeting her family at a restaurant.
She also didn’t tell me her family was fucking loaded. Gated drive, giant bronze horse statue in the driveway, and four-car garage with two Aston Martins and a Benz parked in it. Some dude who was obviously on the payroll had the doors open and was hand washing one of them.
Just made me feel more underdressed than I already did in my fucking sweats.
My plan to get through this brunch thing was to move slowly and as little as possible to prevent chafing. Since showing up to meet Danica’s family without any pants wasn’t an option, I’d worn soft cotton boxers and yes, sweatpants, because jeans were out of the fucking question.
Technically, the pants were joggers. They’d cost me close to three hundred dollars at some fancy store that Amber, Katie and Maggie had dragged me to around Christmas to try to broaden my fashion horizons—a.k.a. get me out of my sad post-Dylan-and-Amber funk. But let’s be honest. They were sweats.
I could’ve just not come, but Danica had invited me, which felt like a major step coming from a girl who, just over a week ago, wouldn’t even go home with me after I got her off in a bar.
Turning down the invitation might’ve sent the wrong message. If I made up some excuse not to come, she might’ve thought I didn’t actually want to come, and if I told her I was afraid of dick bleed, it would’ve just made her feel bad about the whole dick/zipper thing all over again.
So I came.
In sweatpants, to meet her family.
I wasn’t sure I’d ever felt like a bigger asshole as I got out of her sister’s car and stood there looking up at the giant white mansion. I opened Danica’s door for her, and while Daniella headed up to the house, I snagged Danica’s hand and held her back.
“I feel like a dick,” I told her, taking off the cap I’d worn—specifically for eating in a restaurant and hopefully not being recognized.
Danica’s eyes widened. “Why?”
“I’m underdressed. You didn’t tell me your family’s loaded.” Not only was I in sweats, but I was wearing a T-shirt that didn’t exactly cover my tats, because that was pretty much the only thing that went with sweats in mid-summer. At least I hadn’t worn a wife-beater. “Not that I own a tux or anything, but I would’ve made a better effort than this. You know, if I could wear real pants right now.”
Her gaze swept down over me, and her whole body softened. “You look great.” She took my hand. “Your clothes probably cost more than mine.”
“I look like I put zero effort into impressing your family.”
“No, you look like a rock star chilling on a Saturday morning.” She smiled. “Don’t worry about it. My dad wears baggy jeans and goofy T-shirts with bad jokes on them, every day of the year. And my family is not loaded. This is Aunt Margot’s fiancé’s house. He’s loaded. Come on.” She tugged me toward the house.
I sighed and went with her, looking up at the big white columns along the front of the house and rubbing a hand through my hat hair. I wondered if I should’ve buzzed it all off before I came. I wondered if I should’ve taken my tongue piercing out. Or scraped my tattoos off.
Weird. I didn’t usually get so self-conscious about my looks.
Actually, I never got self-conscious about my tattoos or how I dressed at all. I’d pretty much subscribed to the giving-zero-fucks method of caring what people thought about me, ever since I was about sixteen.
But I cared what Danica’s family was gonna think, apparently.
Her sister had disappeared into the house, leaving the front door open, and a woman appeared in the doorway as we approached. She was maybe late-forties, with dark hair in a sleek bob and flawless posture. She wore matching ivory-colored silk pants and blouse with a sash tied at the neck. And pearls.
Yup. I was totally underdressed.
“Aunt Margot,” Danica greeted her, handing her the pretty bouquet of flowers she’d brought, “good morning!”
“Bonjour,” her aunt said.
Margot. Not the one who made the baked goods, then, and not the one who owned the interior design firm. The other one.
Danica had already briefed me that there would be four of them, all sisters—her mom plus the three aunts.
“This is Ashley,” Danica said, just as her aunt’s gaze landed on me. She didn’t smile, but she didn’t exactly not smile, either.
“Bonjour,” she said. “Come in.”
“Thank you,” I said.
She stepped aside to let us in, and Danica steered me into the giant foyer, where we slipped off our shoes. I toed off my Vans, which meant I was now wearing dorky athletic ankle socks with my sweats.
Perfect.
Danica guided me into the posh living room, where a bunch of attractive, well-dressed women were gathered.
“Danica, baby,” one of them greeted her, swooping in to hug her.
“Hey, Marie,” Danica said, returning the hug. Then she turned to me. “Ashley, this is my mom, Marie.”
Danica’s mom looked exactly like the woman who’d answered the door—except dressed totally differently. Long, loose floral dress and long, loose wavy hair streaked with gray. And her posture was way more relaxed.
“Marie, this is Ashley,” Danica said.
Cute, how she called her mom by her first name. And fussed with her mom’s hair, smoothing it back from her face, instead of the other way around. Even though Marie had to be in her forties or fifties, they seemed more like sisters, vibe-wise.
“Ashley,” Danica’s mom said. “What a lovely name.”
I took the hand she offered, wondering if Danica had told her I was coming. “Really nice to meet you.”
“What a beautiful man,” she said, still staring at me, and Danica elbowed her. “Daniella tells me you’re a musician?”
I glanced sidelong at Danica, but she just shrugged. Why was Daniella telling their mom anything about me?
“I am.”
“That’s just amazing, isn’t it?” Danica’s mom said. “I’m a musician, too—”
“You played flute in high school, mom,” Danica said, with a small eye roll. “That doesn’t count.”
“Of course it counts.”
Before I could respond to that, Danica steered me away to introduce me to more ladies. Good thing, because I had no idea how to make small talk with the mom of a girl I was hot for. Not exactly my strong suit.
I just tried to commit all the names to memory as Danica tossed them at me…
“You remember Madeleine, from the office?” she said, taking me over to the aunt in the little black sundress.
“Of course.” The hot one.
“Nice to see you again,” Madeleine said, shaking my hand and looking me over. “I hear Danica finished your condo. Did she make you happy?”
“Uh, very happy,” I said, and Danica kinda blushed. Then she nudged me along.
“You met Margot at the door,” she said, steering me to the next one. “Margot’s fiancé, Jacob, owns the house.”
Margot offered me her fingertips in a weird, snooty handshake. The uptight one with the rich fiancé.
“My pleasure,” she said, putting a weird French accent on the word.
“Nice to meet you… ma’am.” Did I just call her ma’am?
Wasn’t sure I’d ever called anyone ma’am in my life.
“And this is Mireille,” Danica said, introducing me to a tall, dark-haired woman who looked just like all the others. Of course, all their names had to start with M.
Nope. Totally not gonna
remember all that.
“Nice to meet you,” I said.
“I hear you enjoyed my lemon wedges,” she said. The one who bakes stuff.
“You will be quizzed on this later,” Daniella informed me. She was sitting on the arm of a nearby couch, sipping a martini, looking amused with my discomfort.
I didn’t even like martinis, but I’d take one right now.
Unfortunately, no one offered.
“Let me introduce you to my cousins,” Danica said, guiding me along. “This is Mireille’s daughter, Charlotte, and Margot’s daughter, Jolie. You’ve met Jolie. She works at the office.”
Yeah, I remembered her. Super cute chick who kinda-sorta looked like a younger version of Danica, with shorter hair and big glasses.
“Hey,” she said, blushing.
“Hey,” I said.
Charlotte, who was probably in high school, vaguely waved at me and went back to her phone, which seemed permanently glued to her hand.
And that was it. Everyone in the room. Danica’s family. Her mom and sister. Aunts. Cousins.
All chicks.
Not one other dude in the place.
I kept looking around for this tacky-T-shirt wearing dad she’d mentioned, but no luck.
“Where’s your dad?” I asked her as she led me over to a bar in the corner where a bartender was mixing drinks. Apparently, this thing was catered.
“Oh, he’s not coming,” she said. “What would you like to drink?”
“He’s not coming…?”
“He never comes to Vola stuff. He’s on the other side of the family.”
“Huh?”
“My parents are divorced. Did I not mention that?”
“Nope,” I said. “I’ll take a whiskey. Neat.”
The bartender started making my drink. Danica took a glass of champagne, already poured, from a tray on the bar. “Champagne first?”
“I’ll stick with whiskey. Thanks.”
The bartender slid my drink over to me, and I raised my glass to Danica. “Thanks for bringing me.”
“Thanks for coming. Don’t worry, there’s plenty of booze.” She smiled softly, like she was reading my unease.
Yeah, I was pretty uncomfortable, but I wasn’t exactly clueless about why she’d brought me here. She probably just wanted to see how I fit into her world—besides just giving her phenomenal orgasms.
Hot Mess: A Players Rockstar Romance (Players #1) Page 29
