De La Porte Fashion: The Complete Box Set

by Mj Fields

  “Not sure. Do you have Snapchat?”

  He laughs. “Snapchat?”

  “Why’s that funny?”

  “It’s info you give out when you don’t want to give your number.”

  I nod. “We’re a hook-up, Eric. It’s not like—”

  “Understood.” He turns around and grabs his shorts, pulling his underwear out of them. “StixandStars1, the number, is mine. Snap me if you’d like.”

  “AutumnsSeason is mine.” I hurry past him to get to my shoes, my phone, and to get the hell out of here.

  “Thanks for the fuck,” he calls from behind me.

  “You, too,” I counter.

  Picking up my pace, I get to my sandals and red sling bag. I shove my feet into them as I dig in my bag for my phone.

  Hurrying toward the parking lot, I hit the Uber app and order a car.

  “What the fuck just happened?” he asks from behind me.

  “Well, we exchanged orgasms, and now it’s time for me to go.”

  When he steps in front of me, arms crossed, shirt slung over his shoulders; I only look up briefly.

  “We exchanged more than that.”

  I nod, still not looking up at him. “And Snaps. We exchanged—”

  He takes one step, closing the distance between us. Then he snakes one arm around me, pulling me tight against his body, cupping my chin with his other hand and lifting my face to his. He’s a cross between angry and shocked...and smoking hot.

  “I thought you weren’t a hit it and go kind of girl.”

  I shrug and cast my gaze to the stars, because as beautiful as they are, they can’t make me lose my mind. “I have rules.”

  “We already broke one. Let’s break more.”

  I bite down on my lower lip to stop the schoolgirl, giddy grin from spreading, still avoiding his gaze when I see another shooting star.

  “Oh my God.” I point up.

  “Oh my God, indeed.” His grip on my chin tightens a bit, and then...then he kisses me slower, softer, needier. And yes, I kiss him back just the same.

  When he pulls back and pins me with his eyes, I attempt a smile.

  “Give me a real one.” So I do.

  “Now give me your number and let me take you out on a proper date tomorrow night.”

  “I have plans.”

  “Break them.”

  “I know we don’t know one another, but I have issues.” He smirks, and I roll my eyes.

  “I have issues with letting the people I care about down.

  I have plans—”

  “Squeeze me in after.”

  “I’m not sure—”

  “Quit overthinking this and do what feels good.” I look away.

  “Autumn, I know damn well we feel good together, and obligations are obligations, I get it, but let’s get together after.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’m serious.” His tone is a warning.

  “Serious men don’t wear men’s bikini underwear.” He laughs and...God, I love his laugh.

  “If they looked as good as I do in them, they would.”

  “You have a point.”

  “I had a long drive, and I like my business close to me, not bouncing around in my shorts.”

  “And such a gentleman wanting to give them a bath when I was seconds away from doing so with my tongue.”

  His eyes sparkle. “I like you, Autumn of Queens.”

  “How do you know—”

  “It’s a skill. Orgasm-induced truth.”

  “You should work for the CIA.”

  “I’d rather work on you.”

  “I’d ask if that line works for you, but I know it does.”

  When lights approach from behind him, I suddenly wish I hadn’t called the cab. I wish I had taken him up on his offer.

  “It’s not a line, gorgeous. I’ve enjoyed my time with you more than I have any other woman in a long time.” “I’d say the same, but apparently, I’m a virgin.” “Not anymore you aren’t.” He winks.

  I can’t stop the smile. “Well then, thank you for taking my virginity.”

  He nods. “Thank you for giving it to me.”

  “My ride’s here.”

  “I could have given you one.”

  “Aw, but I don’t really know you, and now that I have your Snap, I can properly internet stalk you in hopes of making myself feel better. I mean, you could be married with five kids and just run amuck at night, stealing V-cards.”

  “You do that. You’ll see I’ve been happily single for years.” Pulling me tighter, he bows his head and kisses me again softly, sweetly, leaving me wanting more which, by the look on his face when he pulls away, is exactly what he’s going after. “Until tomorrow.”

  “Until then.”

  Sitting in the Uber, I pull up my Snap app. I haven’t been active in six months.

  AutumnsSeason was the username I gave myself when I decided to take my life back. It was a fuck you to my ex because I couldn’t tell him face to face, or in text, or at all how badly he hurt me. I let him walk away unscathed, while I quietly died inside.

  As my mom said, “He knows what he did to you. He’s done it for years. His baseball career has always come first. This is your season, Autumn; you make sure every season after is yours, too.”

  Fuck him. He will not ruin my night, my weekend, or any more of my life.

  I scroll through the app and look at my pending friends.

  When StixandStars1 pops up, I hit accept then wait for a message, thinking maybe I should send one first.

  Then...then my phone dies.

  Shit, shit, shit, shit...

  Quadruple shit. Angela!

  “Do you have a charging cable?” I ask the driver.

  “Should be one back there, unless someone stole it.” He sighs. “Again.”

  Looking around, I ask, “Happen often?”

  “Every damn night, miss.”

  “That’s awful.”

  “That’s the way of the world.”

  I look up and see his soft brown eyes creased in the corners, the look of defeat shining through. “There are still a few good people left.” He glances up and smiles.

  “Like you and me.”

  He laughs. “I suppose that’s true.”

  I dig in my purse to find money, knowing I can’t leave a tip through the app with my dead phone, and this man, he needs a tip, and he’s going to get one.

  I look through my wallet. All I have is fifties and hundreds. I saved all year for this week and didn’t even spend one-quarter of my budget tonight, so he’s going to get a bigger one than I planned.

  Must be the night for that. I laugh to myself at the thought.

  Eric.

  StixandStars1.

  Swoony McHottie pants...shorts...naked....Gaw.

  Sweet baby J, the man definitely is hot, hot, hot.

  I sit back in the soft leather seat and look out the window at the ocean, which will never...ever look the same to me again.

  Just like locker rooms, but so much better.

  As soon as I’m back to the room and before even bolting the door, I dive across the bed and plug my phone into my charger. It feels like years before I have enough battery to allow me to use it.

  I close my eyes, knowing that if I see a Snap, I’m going to reply, which will make me seem...easy.

  Fat chance of that happening...twice tonight. I laugh to myself.

  I hit the side button on my phone and say, “Siri, call Angela.”

  She replies, “Calling Angela.”

  Angela answers after two rings. “Hey.”

  “I’m back at my hotel.” I can’t help giggling.

  “I’m heading to my room as we speak. How did it go?”

  “Eric was amazing! So amazing that I let go of all my inhibitions and...” I pause, and then it all spills out, “We had sex on the beach. With protection, of course.” Not that I wouldn’t have without it, but I don’t tell her that. It’s just wrong!

&
nbsp; I stand up and look in the mirror to see if anything has changed because I feel like a brand-new woman — a grittier Autumn.

  Laughing, I tell her, “And Ang, I have sand in places Laughing, I tell her, “And Ang, I have sand in places sand should never be.”

  When she doesn’t say anything, I wonder if I have spotty service.

  “Ang?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You didn’t hear a word I said, did you?”

  “You lost me at sex on the beach.”

  I laugh. “You drank a lot tonight, huh?”

  “I did.”

  “We’ll catch up tomorrow.”

  “Absolutely,” she says through a yawn.

  “Chat later.”

  “I’m glad you had a good night. Sleep well, Autumn.”

  “You, too.”

  I feel like a lousy wing-woman, not sticking around to make sure she had a good time. I mean, we both live and breathe this company, and since the founder and CEO passed away, we’ve done nothing much more than work.

  “Tomorrow,” I say out loud. “Tomorrow, I will make sure she has a great time.”

  I roll to my back and hit my home button then hit the app and see StixandStars1 has sent a message.

  StixandStars1: Hey gorgeous.

  - Not replying?

  - I feel we’re past playing hard to get, don’t you?

  - Apparently not.

  - Well, sleep well and make sure you contact me when ‘sisters before misters’ time is over. I need between those sweet thighs again. I’m craving your taste like a fat kid craves Reese’s peanut butter cups.

  - If you’re a good girl, I might let you sink to your knees

  - If you’re a good girl, I might let you sink to your knees again.

  - Can’t get that fucking image out of my head.

  - Wasn’t just the sex, though. You and I both know it.

  I read over the messages a hundred times, smiling like an idiot. Thank God no one can see me. Then, after I’ve practically memorized them, I hit reply, but I have no idea what to type. Do I do sexy, sweet, or play hard to get, even though he pointed out the obvious—it’s a little too late?

  StixandStars1: There she is, yet nothing to say?

  AutumnsSeason: How do you know I’m here?

  StixandStars1: It says read, and that you’re typing. I’ll keep going so you’ll see what I mean.

  - Your pussy tastes like candy. Your eyes are bright as stars. Speaking of stars, shooting stars are really meteors, and Uranus isn’t a planet, but I’d Saturn that hot ass with my tongue any day of the week. And if that’s a no-go area, a rule of yours, let’s break that real soon.

  I read his message and laugh out loud.

  AutumnsSeason: It wasn’t on the list of rules, but it is now.

  StixandStars1: Because you want to break it. Totally understand. Will do tomorrow.

  AutumnsSeason: If tomorrow happens, your tongue isn’t going near my ass.

  StixandStars1: Would you prefer my cock? Thinking you may want to reconsider unless you’re into that kind of thing.

  AutumnsSeason: I was a virgin until tonight, remember?

  StixandStars1: That’s my girl.

  My girl. Ugh, the feels. Fucking swoony feels. Butterflies in the belly feels.

  StixandStars1: You fall asleep on me or are your hands as busy as mine?

  He’s masturbating.

  Okay, that’s a no-go for me...but that’s because, before a first meet, I don’t like to open the present before I’ve had time to get acquainted with its giver. In that case, I’m very well acquainted.

  But the thought of him stroking his thick, long cock...

  StixandStars1: I swear I would have let you sleep. I can guarantee you would have slept like a baby. Damn sure I would have. Sleep well, Autumn of Queens.

  Chapter Six

  Eric

  Waking up in the pool house hangover free is a first in many years. And it’s definitely a first for me not having someone next to me when I am forced to be here. It’s not as bad as I always thought it would be, though. It’s pretty fucking amazing that I actually remember a dream for the first time in forever.

  Yes, I’ve dreamt before. More accurately, I’ve had nightmares about being in the car that hit my mom. But she got hit while running in the morning, not at night, like in my nightmares, and I wasn’t there.

  Always fucked with my head. Still does, if I let it, but enough shrinks have told me that it’s fear manifesting itself in my sleep. The fear of loss and not being in control.

  This morning, the only thing fucking with my head is the need to see that woman again. That’s not my norm, either.

  I had to laugh to myself when she said bros before hos. Every chick that I fucked more than once used to get pissed that I spent too much time with my friends, surfing, boating, drinking, partying, just passing time. And once I got my head around the idea of being part of a team, playing lacrosse and spending time at the gym became an out for me.

  I laugh again when I remember she said she hated kids. I happen to be allergic to the little shits myself. The only cure is to stay the hell out of the way around here.

  So pissed that I came back, instead of telling him to stick it in his ass, like he deserves.

  When Father insisted I come back to the Hamptons for the De La Porte Labor Day company picnic, I laughed, thinking he was joking. Hell, I just began my sophomore year at Duke University weeks before.

  I chose Duke for lacrosse. Duke’s Blue Devils men’s lacrosse team is an NCAA division one team. We are already deep in our preseason training of my second season, and I had no plans to fuck up my chance as starting attacker, so putting in the time before the spring season even started was a good way to prove my dedication. Then he firmly reminded me that Jean Paul de la Porte, the owner of the company he had worked for over the past seventeen years, had passed away and that he needed to make a good impression on the new CEO, yet to be named.

  “A united front, Eric,” he said. Then added, “Or this family could lose everything.”

  I have five half-siblings from Father’s current wife and two ex-wives. I am the oldest. My mother is the only one not collecting a hefty amount of alimony or child support since she died when I was five.

  It’s not like me to bitch or complain about the fact that my father married three women since her passing, and up until Suzi, wife number four, and him were having issues, I used to believe my father and mother were madly in love and would still be together if she hadn’t died because of a fluke accident at age thirty while out for her morning run.

  Stripping me of the ignorantly blissful belief, Suzy made damn sure I knew that Kimmi, wife number two, gave birth to my half-sister, screaming Shelby, within eight months of my mother’s death. Yep, he had been fucking around on my mother.

  Daniel Cartwright was thirty when he married my mother, Erica Simmons-Cartwright and, at thirty-six, he buried her. Then he married Kimmi Whiteman-Cartwright just months later, and they had Shelby.

  The woman is a bitch who didn’t like me one bit. And, well, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. She insisted I was the cause of Shelby’s screaming and that Father send me to counseling. He opted to hire a nanny who was a recent NYU graduate with a bachelor’s in psychology.

  Becki Smith became Becki Smith-Cartwright. Yeah, she was pregnant when Father, then forty-one, married her.

  I liked Becki a lot. She was less abrasive, more chill, fun, and kind...unlike Kimmi. Shit changed when she miscarried, though. She became quiet, withdrawn, and when she started taking graduate classes, which didn’t make my father happy, she wasn’t around as much.

  When I was sixteen, she had Daniel Jr. and Daisy. They weren’t half as bad as screaming Shelby...who still hadn’t a clue as to what an inside voice was until they hit the terrible twos. Now nine, they’re still little demons.

  Becki and my father had a much different relationship than I remember him and Kimmi having. They talked a l
ot, traveled together. She was stronger, much, much stronger than Kimmi, who we still deal with every other weekend.

  That didn’t last long.

  When I started college, he married Suzy; she is only seven years older than me, and yep...she had been pregnant. She had Danielle and Donavan. Donovan was born just a few months ago.

  I spent my entire life watching friends’ fathers and the way they acted with their wives, girlfriends, and kids. The ones who were happiest did things like held doors for them, respected them. Hell, some even—gasp— did things to make them happy that didn’t include spending a bunch of money then bitching about money. They had integrity, morals. They didn’t check out other women while with their woman. And—again, gasp—they didn’t have near knock-down, drag-out fights in front of their kids and their friends. They loved them and showed affection. They respected, not degraded them. They role modeled appropriate behavior and showed the fuck up for the big moments. And some showed up for even the little moments. They didn’t lie. They didn’t cheat. They volunteered, and some even went to church.

  So, this family—my family—is a fucking joke.

  I spent all my damn life avoiding as much of the bullshit as I could.

  I dated a lot. All my relationships lasted a couple of months or more. None were good. Teenage angst and bullshit by the droves. I realized real quick that I was picking the crazies, just like my father always did.

  When Autumn mumbled, “Why do I always pick the crazies?” I wanted to high-five her and be like, same, babe, same. But it’s really not something most people want to draw attention to.

  She didn’t hide that shit, though, any more than she hid that she was an orally fixated, little fuck fiend.

  Again, same, babe, same.

  However, she did ruin pussy eating for me. No cunt However, she did ruin pussy eating for me. No cunt that I have ever licked has tasted so fucking good.

  If I were sticking around, I would be tripping over myself to keep her under my fucking arm. She’s that girl, the one that movie characters say, “You’re so different from all the others,” and you call bullshit when you’re watching with friends. Well, I just got schooled.

  They do exist.

  I’ve learned some shit in college about women. Not just in my studies either. I’m majoring in Literature and minoring in Psychology, so that’s kind of helped answer questions I’ve never been able to ask my father.