by A. J. Lape
Pixie paused. Glanced at Grumpy. Waved for him to get off the phone, and when he didn’t, she flipped him the bird. He returned it. “Okay,” she said, back to eyeballing Grumpy and nibbling on her bottom lip. “I can text. Drive your normal customer route. Do the mall and stuff. But what if Dylan gets all…you know.” She shuddered.
“What do you mean ‘all…you know’?” I asked.
Pixie’s dark eyes sparkled. “You know, like saying pornographic stuff because I’ve overheard the two of you talk. I mean I can…in the call of duty…if the price is right.”
I’d pocketed nearly three hundred dollars working at Ugly Pizza the night before. It was their high traffic night and the money gods had treated me well. “I’ll give you enough cheddar to buy a cute but slutty outfit Grumpy will appreciate.”
Pixie agreed when I dangled that particular carrot in front of her face.
While Grumpy disconnected with Ivy and tied his shoes, I snagged my phone from my duffle bag when he and Pixie started talking. I then texted someone who wouldn’t turn me down as sidekick. I need a favor, I thumbed into the screen.
If it’s not sexual, then ask someone else, he immediately typed.
I gutted him in my brain and sent a text to my second choice. Firing off a lethal serve to Grumpy, no one had to tell me if things went belly-up, it could end my career.
The curtain of night had fallen at a little bit before eleven o’clock, eastern time. Bodhi and I had exited the red-eye sometime before, and after a brief stop at the hotel, we’d parked outside Mudder. Bodhi had been an easy accomplice. Once I’d informed him to the why of my plans, he jumped at the chance to spend the weekend elsewhere. And bonus? He had a travel agent who scored us cheap airfare better than Kayak. Bodhi wasn’t my original choice as sidekick. I’d texted Boozy because I knew his scruples were as iffy as mine, and basically because Bodhi had been kidnapped a few weeks back. I figured he could use a break on the chaos. When Boozy said his services would only come as a result of sexual favors, Bodhi volunteered to take his place when I asked.
Bodhi’s appearance wouldn’t be a problem. Mine, however, would be. I’d frequented the club so much I would stick out like a sore thumb—especially considering what had happened one week earlier. So far, my plan had worked seamlessly. I’d spoken to Dylan before liftoff, and he’d bought the lie I was working all weekend. Historically, I’d been a horrible liar, but I’d gotten very good at constructing some creative lies to my very observant boyfriend—something I should worry about when I had the time.
I’d rented a Nissan Versa because it was basically four tires and a steering wheel. Unfortunately, the POS backfired upon startup…while pausing at stop signs…and red lights. Bodhi had his head up against the window, his face relaxed while he lightly snored. Snatching up the iPhone he’d left in the seat, I thumbed a quick text to Jaws, telling him to expect a FaceTime from me from the same number. When he returned a simple question mark, I figured it to be an A-Okay and clicked the dial button.
While waiting for him to answer, I repositioned the thick black velvet choker around my neck and straightened my red wig in the rearview mirror, making fish lips and rolling on a thick “O” of nude gloss. When he answered on the fourth trill, my mouth dropped wide at what materialized in the screen. Kellan Sutherland was dressed in an expensive suit and silver tie—the black fabric and stark-white shirt highlighting his whiskey-brown eyes.
The man was perilously beautiful. And thank you, universe.
He arched a brow when he spied the red wig. “Good evening, Jester. How are you?”
“Nothing but rainbows, unicorns, and candy corn.” I didn’t have an overabundance of curves, but this dress made me look—eh, I decided to poll Jaws for an opinion. “What do you think?” I asked, taking the phone and panning my body with its camera. “Like girl-you-take-home-to-Mom good? Or slutty-I-want-to-do-the-nasty-with-you good?”
“I would say you nailed the second.”
I pumped a fist in the air. I’d somehow squeezed into a black tube-top-like dress, riding up to the hoochie zone. It did its job but unfortunately bred some massive indigestion and carbon dioxide that came out in spurts. “It’s giving me gas,” I mumbled.
Jaws gave me his serial killer smile. “Context clues tell me you’re up to something. Would you like to tell me why you’ve transformed into the Black Widow with this red wig?”
“Cool, huh? It was a solid find at a party store for fifty bucks. Now that I think about it, maybe red wasn’t the best choice. My aunt has red hair, and we kinda look alike.”
Jaws gave me his patented stare like I hadn’t thought the process through. “Answer the question, Jester,” he ordered, but I said nothing, giving him my best shot at a sociopathic grin. Jaws propped his phone on something and straightened his tie, using both hands. “That pause of yours does not inspire a relaxed state,” he murmured, a slight irritation in his voice. “What in God’s name did you do?”
“If you think really hard, you can probably fill in the blanks.”
His serial killer grin turned deadly, and Jaws went full-on Chernobyl. “You’re in Florida. Doing your own surveillance,” he snarled.
He knew me too well. I rolled on another coat of gloss, second-guessing if I should’ve gone for a perkier shade. “You’re a really good guesser. Maybe we should team up for charades or something? I bet we could win the World Series of Charades if there is such a thing.”
Dropping two F-bombs, his square chin lifted stubbornly. “Listen, I have to be somewhere in…” He dropped his gaze to his wrist. “…fifteen minutes ago. May I call you back in about two hours? Can you lay low until then?”
“Nope. Just because I’ve pieced things together, I still have to get the information to Detective Battle, so he can have the victory lap. Can I tell you how much it makes me mad when others get the victory lap when I’m doing all the work?”
“What the hell. Whatever you’re doing, don’t do it until I hear the thought process. I need—”
I interrupted, giving him a sixty-second soundbite of everything I’d learned in the past twelve or so hours. He didn’t ask who’d provided the information. The twist in my chest said he knew and didn’t need it verified. “I’m going to fly to LA just so I can kill your source,” he hissed.
“Aw, don’t worry, buddy. He isn’t as good or satisfying as you are.”
Jaws laugh was sharp, all edges. “Of course, he isn’t as good or satisfying as me. I’ve never had one female complain. In fact, they all come back for seconds…and thirds.”
The air was suddenly supercharged. The conversation had gone carnal. Oh, my. My-ma-my-my-myyyyyy. His eyes began to smoke, and my vision doubled.
I’m seeing double. God bless America.
“Baby?” I heard. Hmmm. Annnnnnd just like that, the smoke disappeared. Whoever she was had a soft, silky voice…and per usual, it was a different voice from last time. Jaws never introduced her, but I caught a glimpse of her billowy silhouette anyway. Thin and brunette, she had a model-thin body that made me a tad insecure.
“Hot date?” I said, and he could tell by my smirk I didn’t think his “baby” was all that smart. Pity because Jaws’ face and mind were a work of beauty…not to mention his body.
I couldn’t help but fantasize about the curves of his body underneath that expensive suit. If he wasn’t such a philanderer, Jaws ticked every one of a woman’s boxes: he was tall, dark, broad shouldered, and built with a mountain of solid muscle. And point for him, he was the protective type, and every good feminist had one dirty, little secret she kept close to her vest—she wanted a man who could protect her, who she could be proud of if crap ever hit the fan.
A slow smile illuminated the dark sexiness of Kellan Sutherland’s face. Gah! He knew what I’d been thinking. “Stay out of my brain,” I grumbled.
“It was written all over your face, babe. I’ve got your arrest report, by the way.”
“Don’t need it. I probably know more
than you do anyway at this point.”
He frowned. “Then do this for me. Take pictures. Lots of them, and get names when you can. I’ll run them through my system. Call me. I don’t care what time it is, understood?”
I saluted him and killed the call, jarring Bodhi from his short siesta. “We’re ready to roll,” I said, placing his phone in his palm.
Out of the blue, my car door clicked and swung wide, and a male voice started speaking. My stun gun was stashed underneath the seat. In one quick motion, I retrieved it and flicked the switch to fire him up with fifty thousand volts of kiss-my-ass. While the thing zipped and buzzed in my hand, I gazed into the laughing mug of Boozy White.
In Bruno Mars fashion, Bodhi was drippin’ in finesse, wearing frat-boy chic clothing of khakis, boat shoes, and some beachy shirt that fit in perfectly with Florida life. A ball cap hid hair as black as night, shielding hazel eyes that could cut a person to the core. Boozy, however, was Boozy. Having a sneaker collection to rival a rapper’s, he had dyed his hair pink and dressed like he’d just come from Compton—a white T-shirt, baggy jeans below his hips, and bright pink underwear his accessory of choice. How did I know he wasn’t a serious gang banger? The fuchsia underpants. No gangbanger wore fuchsia underpants with a glitter elastic band that said “Tap dat ass.”
Boozy punched his head in the car, giving my body a slow up and down appraisal that made my blood boil. “Babe, you look lit. Maybe you should dress like this more often. One day, Dylan’s gonna dump you if you don’t show off that hot bod more often.”
“Your little ray of sunshine attitude can kiss my can, Boozy,” I snarled, clicking my stun gun off and placing it back underneath the seat.
Boozy snorted. “All it’s gonna take is you asking, babe,” he flirted. “And don’t get mad. I’m your best friend. It’s my job to tell you these things.”
Here was the thing. We weren’t best friends.
“You’re a dumbass, Boozy. Just shut up,” Bodhi hissed.
Boozy doubled up on the snort. “Subtlety is not one of my strengths, and it hurts my feelings I was so easily replaced.” He then made an exaggerated sniff toward the ceiling. “Your ride smells kind of assy.”
We exited the car, not inquiring further why Boozy decided to come on his own and definitely not inquiring about his familiarity with an assy aroma. Evidently, a guy in the automobile next to us overheard part of the exchange because he chuckled loudly. Boozy wheeled around, getting up in his grill. The guy’s eyes popped wide when Boozy hissed like a snake, his chin doing the tango with his. “You find something funny?” Boozy said. “Or are you laughing at my best friend? Let me enlighten you how this best friend thing works. I can laugh at her…you, however, cannot.”
The guy leapt backward like he had accidentally stepped into a den of rattlesnakes.
Oy. Vey…sorta.
The place was in full party-mode when we slid into a booth at Mudder. A penny was on the tile floor. Tails side up. Bodhi leaned down and flipped it over, so someone else could pick it up on heads instead of the “tails, you lose” thing. Boozy frowned curiously as though he’d never considered anyone’s good fortune other than his own. Surprising since he’d practically invented the phrase “bad penny.”
The three of us were fried from our long flights. The server immediately brought us cups of coffee to jumpstart the evening. I cautiously nursed my drink, swallowing past the bruise still coating my throat. I must’ve made a noise because both gazed at my neck and the thick black choker hiding most of the offense. Bodhi swallowed. Boozy showed no emotion whatsoever. “So what’s new?” Boozy asked. “Other than your surprising appearance and YouTube fame, you look good. What did you do? Lose a few pounds?”
I wanted to punch him, mentally clicking my heels together to get back to proverbial Kansas before someone arrested me for assault.
“Shut the hell up,” Bodhi said tenderly. “Are you okay?” he then questioned me, reaching for my hand.
Of course, he would. He was that guy. I squeezed his fingers like I had every other time he’d asked me about my mental state while on the plane. “Nothing but hearts and roses here. Don’t lose any sleep over it. Anyway, we’re here for a job. And when I get what I need, then all will be right in this crappy world.”
I had this theory in life. When it was your time, it was your time. I could live conservatively and take no chances, or I could go full-force at the things I felt like I’d been placed on the Earth to do. None of those things involved having a permanent relationship with Boozy White. Bodhi, yes. Boozy, however, was a speed bump I needed to get over and vow to never cross again.
Boozy then did something I wasn’t prepared for. He teared up, his voice cracking as he apologized for inadvertently getting me shot a few weeks back and inadvertently causing Bodhi to be collateral until he paid his gambling debt. “It’s just,” he said, palming both eyes with his hands, “after seeing what happened in 7-Eleven…I owe you an apology. Both of you. The moment I turned you down when you phoned, I made my own reservation to fly here. I owe you both at least that.”
Boozy had gone for a softer approach, a precept lost on some guys. But it had been my experience it was hard to un-asshole an asshole. I assured him he’d been forgiven anyway while secretly questioning if it was a permanent fix in his personality to not be so self-absorbed.
A lull in conversation drew by, and Bodhi ended it first. “So how bad is bad?” he asked, and I knew he referred to Dylan and the others and the cosmic shakeup happening in their lives the same time one happened in mine.
“Physically, they’re on the mend. Emotionally?”
Boozy answered the question for me. “Dylan will probably only heal one hundred percent when Kirby York takes his last breath. That was the world according to Domino.”
I blacked out for a moment and involuntarily pushed my cup away, suddenly nauseous. Bodhi groaned and slid it back toward me, encouraging me to drink. Dylan and revenge were not a good combo.
After a few beats to compose myself, I reminded them we needed to poll the crowd about what had happened last weekend—who did what to whom, and did anyone know about the guy who was still on the lam, yada-yada and so on.
I slid out of the booth. “I’m going to take a lap around the place. See what I can find out.”
“Me too,” Boozy said too eagerly, following suit.
I pointed a finger in his face. “No girls. Keep your hands to yourself.” He rolled his eyes and finessed his way into the crowd.
Bodhi watched him stroll away, his jaw clicking. We both feared Boozy would screw things up, but it was kind of like being nine months pregnant and on the delivery table. We were mid-process, and there was nothing we could do about it. “I’ll stay put for a while,” Bodhi told me, “and work the waitress.”
Chapter 10
Was there a Becky-with-the-good-hair I didn’t know about?
I navigated in and out of the crowd like a race car hugging tight curves. I loved club life, and if I missed anything about not going the traditional college route, it was hanging out with my friends while the music blared. I snagged a Coke at the bar while I roamed, watching for anything seedy or suspicious other than hands on the backs of jeans and a few couples cheating on their significant others. Overall, it appeared to be another Saturday night in Gainesville. The place was packed like toothpicks in a box with bodies crashed together on the dance floor. Gyrating. In weird and lascivious ways. Finding a couple of girls checking out the guys in attendance, I parked myself next to them on the tail end of a conversation.
“How’s the diet going?” the blond looker said to the brunette starlet. Brunette Starlet wore a multi-colored crocheted bikini top and jean mini skirt, riding low on her bony hips. Her body mass had to dip below ten percent, maybe five. I felt like a heifer.
Brunette Starlet sighed. “I only had six-hundred calories today. It’s been hell.” Sheesh, I’d had that in snacks on the plane. “Hi,” she said to me. “You work out?”
“Reluctantly, but I don’t look as good as you,” I said, throwing a compliment her way, hoping to spur the dialogue. As predicted, she preened. “Hey, a lot more calm here than last week, huh?” After a slight pause, I added, “Can you believe what happened to Dylan Taylor and his friends?”
Thankfully, they weren’t textbook mean girls and allowed me into their little circle of two. “No kidding,” Brunette Starlet said. “I just about died when I heard he’d been stabbed. What a tragedy that would be for female reproductive organs if that man was taken out of commission.”
I shivered off the thought. “I hear ya. I’ve always had a crush on him…but from afar, ya know?”
She blinked cocoa-colored eyes off into the distance, like she imagined what life with him and her bikini top would entail. “Girl, who hasn’t,” she grumbled. “Don’t you think he’s got the best ass you’ve ever seen?”
I did…and I’d fortunately gotten to touch it. “It’s pretty spectacular,” I agreed, “but I’m partial to his face.”
“That’s kind of a given. Those dimples,” she gushed. She paused adding a shivering giggle, and I wanted to head-butt her. “They kill me every time. Do you know him on a personal level?”
Every red-blooded cell, I wanted to brag. “Not really,” I lied, a little sad I couldn’t shout it from the rooftops. “I heard he’s got a girlfriend anyway.”
Brunette Starlet groaned like someone shanked her in the ribs. “Yeah, it’s Marcy, Marnie…eh, Dolly something? Who cares, right? I mean she’s irrelevant. All I know is she’s one lucky woman.”
It’s Darcy, beeyotch. And I’m definitely relevant.
“Definitely lucky,” I agreed, “but does Dylan cheat?”
My chest pumped furiously, waiting for a reply.
When Dylan and I chose opposite coastlines to live on, infidelity was a thought that invaded my mind on insecure days. And being insecure of what your significant other did behind your back? That dated all the way back to when Adam first gave Eve the side-eye. Did Dylan have lots of friends of the opposite sex? Did he flirt with them? Let the conversations go a little too far?
