Changing tactics, she smiled hopefully, “But we had so much fun doing that painting together.”
“You had fun, Tiff.”
“I thought you had fun too,” Tiffany mused.
“You’re kidding, right? I let you micro-manage that painting as a favor to you and your dad. Remember how many times you changed your swimsuit?”
“I wanted to pick the perfect suit. Can you blame a girl for wanting to look her best?”
“Uh-huh,” I said sarcastically. “Remember how many comments you made like, ‘Don’t make my thighs look fat,’ and ‘Show more cleavage,’ and ‘My waist is slimmer than that.’ Remember all that?”
She looked guilty as hell. “Maybe.” Denial.
“Don’t play dumb, Tiff. You may as well have painted it yourself, for all the artistic input I had. I’ll do a copy for you, from the original, if you really want it. But I won’t pose you again.”
She looked slightly chastised, a rare thing. For a moment, she chewed on her lip, unsure what to do. Then, in a little girl voice, she said, “Christos, I really just want you to paint me nude again. Then we won’t have to worry about the swimsuit,” she murmured sensually.
I didn’t like the way she said “we.”
The previous nude of her was the one I’d been finishing up when I’d started mentoring Samantha. I remembered working on it clearly. Every time I’d give Tiffany a break from posing, she’d flirt like crazy, giving me the come-hither bedroom eyes, leaning her exposed breasts into me fifty times a minute. Normally, artists’ models would put on a robe between poses and take some time to themselves. Not Tiffany. She was naked the entire time, and followed me all over my studio, hanging off me like an out-of-work prostitute.
“And I promise,” she said breathily, “no micro-managing. I’ll do whatever you say,” she winked suggestively. “Just you and me in your studio, like last time. I’ll pay for it. Fifty thousand cash, up front. Straight to you, no gallery commission to Brandon.”
She wasn’t trying to buy a painting, she was trying to buy me. “You’re nuts, woman,” I scoffed.
“But it was so romantic. You and me in your studio, the artist and his muse.”
“You’re not my muse, Tiff.”
“But I could be, again. If you let me,” she said demurely.
“You never were. Sorry.”
“Please, Christos?” she begged, reaching out to me again.
“No, Tiffany.”
“No, what?” Brandon asked. Where the fuck had he come from? It didn’t matter. I was happy for the reinforcement.
“Christos refuses to paint me again,” Tiffany whined.
“No,” I corrected, “I’m happy to do a copy of the poolside portrait for her.”
“So what’s the problem?” Brandon asked.
Sensing defeat, Tiffany struggled with herself. Her face contorted angrily. “The pool painting is ruined!” She stomped her feet on the deck of the yacht.
Welcome to Tantrum Town, population one.
“Okay,” Brandon soothed. “Christos already said he’d paint another one.”
“That’s not good enough!” she shouted.
Brandon suddenly looked squeamish, and for a second, slightly sniveling. He was unsure how to proceed.
I stifled a chuckle. Yes, Tiffany could ruffle even Brandon’s unshakable feathers.
“So what would you like, Tiffany?” Brandon asked calmly, having regained his composure.
“I want Christos to pose me for a new poolside painting.”
I’d had it with her manipulations. “Has she paid you yet, Brandon?” I asked. I still didn’t have all of the money from my show, which meant not every buyer had cut a check to the gallery, which was normal.
Brandon chuckled.
“What’s so funny?” Tiffany hissed.
“Why no, Tiffany’s father still hasn’t issued a payment,” Brandon said, a bemused grin stretching over his perfect teeth.
That was news to me. I’d hoped the Kingston-Whitehouse check might be one of the first to come in, considering how long my family had known theirs. Why wasn’t I surprised? Oh yeah, it was the Kingston-Whitehouses.
“Slow pay, huh?” I grunted, looking at Brandon. “It’s been almost two months, Tiffany. You took possession of the painting, and your dad still hasn’t cut a check? Come on. At this point, it’s not even yours. Your dad having money troubles?” I jabbed.
Tiffany frowned.
“No deal,” I said, a tinge of irritation breaking through my voice. “Keep the painting, Tiff. It’s on the house.” I glanced at Brandon.
He nodded, smiling furtively at me. We both knew with all the recent interest in my art, we had far bigger fish to fry than the Kingston-Whitehouses.
“But it’s ruined!” Tiffany shouted.
“Throw it over the side of the boat, for all I care,” I growled. I’d always hated that painting anyway. It was nothing more than hack-work for the all-time, ultimate, pain-in-my-ass client.
I’d already wasted enough time on Tiffany. I turned on my heel and went looking for Samantha.
I just hoped that Tiffany and her family wouldn’t bite me in the ass in the coming weeks, because they were sharks and always struck the second you weren’t looking.
Fucking Tiffany.
My New Year was already looking like a disaster, and I was less than three hours into it.
Could it get any worse?
CHRISTOS
The yacht arrived back in the harbor several hours after midnight.
Everyone on board was tired, buzzed, or completely asleep on one of the yacht’s many cushioned surfaces when the crewmen moored the boat to the docks.
Tiffany hid in her cabin while people disembarked. I think she wanted to avoid me after our discussion.
Samantha and Madison had their arms around Kamiko as they led her along the docks. She was still somewhat hammered. Brandon joined them to help with Kamiko.
Romeo walked over to me and Jake as the seven of us ambled toward the parking lot.
“Christos,” Romeo pleaded earnestly, “I’m so sorry about Tiffany’s painting. None of it was Sam’s idea, it was all mine. I drank too much and Tiffany was being a class-A bitch to Sam. I couldn’t help myself.”
“Dude, no worries.” I clapped him on the shoulder. “You were standing up for my girlfriend. How can I hold that against you?”
“Thanks, C-man,” Romeo said, but he still sounded distraught. “You got all the ink off, right?”
“Yeah. I covered that painting with some old-school Renaissance varnish before I sold it. That shit is bulletproof. It’s as good as new.”
“Are you sure?” Romeo obviously felt terrible.
I didn’t feel like explaining that the painting was now a total write-off because Tiffany was insane and her dad had never paid. I really didn’t care, but it probably would’ve bummed Romeo out to know. “Seriously, dude. It’s fine.”
“Thank you, C-man.” Romeo gave me a fist bump.
“Whoa!” Samantha cried.
Me and Romeo turned around to see what the fuss was.
Kamiko was having difficulty walking, even with Madison and Samantha helping.
I immediately went to help, but before I got there, Brandon swept Kamiko up into his arms and carried her. Compared to him, she looked like a small child.
“Don’t puke on him, Kamiko,” Romeo warned.
“It’s okay,” Brandon said confidently. “I think she’ll be fine.”
“Okay, puke away!” Romeo joked tiredly. It had been a long night for everyone.
When we got to my car, Samantha offered to sit in the back so Kamiko could have easy access to the window in an emergency.
“You don’t have a barf-bag in the glove box, do you?” Samantha asked.
“No,” I smiled.
After we all climbed in, Brandon gently lowered Kamiko into the front seat.
“Look at her love eyes,” Romeo snickered.
Brando
n looked slightly embarrassed. I couldn’t tell if he was into Kamiko or not. He was usually inscrutable when it came to the ladies, with the exception of Samantha, where he’d made himself crystal clear from the start. Who knows, maybe Kamiko would grow on him. She was pretty damn cute.
“Good night, everybody,” Brandon said. “And happy New Year!” He slapped the roof of my Camaro as we drove off.
I smirked to myself.
If this year was going to be a happy one, I was going to need all the help I could get.
Chapter 6
SAMANTHA
We made it back to my apartment shortly before sunrise. Kamiko was passed out. Christos picked her up out of the car.
“Where do you want her?” he asked.
“Oh, I don’t know,” I said. “Romeo? Are you okay to drive?”
“Uhh,” Romeo said nervously.
“You guys better sleep here,” I said.
“Okay,” Romeo said reluctantly as we all walked up the stairs to my apartment. “But only if I get to sleep with Christos.”
“As if,” I said while unlocking my door. “He’s sleeping in my bed.”
“Perfect!” Romeo said, “you can share the couch with Kamiko while Christos shares your bed with me!”
“Down, Romeo!” I said. “It’s my apartment, and I decide who sleeps where.”
Romeo rolled his eyes. “Fine. Party pooper.”
While Romeo and Christos took turns in the bathroom, I changed into a t-shirt and boxers.
“Christos,” I asked, “can you pull out the bed in my sofa while I help Kamiko use the bathroom? I’ve got extra sheets in my closet.”
“Sure,” he answered warmly.
“Gaaaah,” Kamiko moaned as I walked her into the bathroom.
Kamiko managed to pee on her own, but I stood watch in case she accidentally slipped into the bowl while flushing and we never heard from her again.
The sofa bed was all made up when I led her out of the bathroom. I sat her on the end of the mattress. Romeo took her shoes off while I pulled her dress over her head. Since it was Romeo, I never thought twice about him seeing her in her underwear. Christos, on the other hand, waited in my bedroom, I think out of politeness.
I removed Kamiko’s bra and slid one of my t-shirts over her head before putting her to bed.
“Nnnnn,” she said when her head landed on the pillow.
I put the wastebasket I kept beside my desk for paper trash next to Kamiko’s side of the bed.
“You’re on puke patrol,” I said to Romeo. “If Kamiko needs to hurl, you need to help.”
“It would be my honor,” he said, tucking in one arm while bowing in a courtly manner. He hung his jacket and pants over the back of my desk chair. While standing and bouncing on one leg, he pulled his skinny jeans off one leg at a time, turning each one inside out. “I forgot how tight these are.” He rolled his eyes. “The things I do for fashion.”
As he lifted up the corner of the covers, he gave me a serious look. “Are you sure it’s okay for me to sleep with Kamiko?”
“What do you mean?”
“I might try to take advantage of her in the middle of the night. Maybe it’s safer if the boys sleep with the boys, and the girls sleep with the girls.”
I folded my arms. “No, Romeo,” I smiled.
He crawled into bed and I shut out the lights.
“Fine, Sam. But don’t blame me if you’re torn from your slumber by Kamiko’s plaintive cries for help.”
“I think Kamiko will be fine,” I said. “But I better lock my bedroom door, for Christos’ sake. You better not try anything,” I warned.
“How about a three-way?” he whispered hopefully. “You won’t even know I’m there. I’ll be in the back, if you know what I mean.”
“No, Romeo! You’re crazy! Now go to sleep,” I pleaded before closing the bedroom door behind me.
Christos was already lying on my bed, stripped to his boxers. His tattooed arms were folded casually behind his head. My bedside lamp shone on him invitingly, casting dramatic shadows over his ripped muscles in the near-darkness of my bedroom. His abs suggested that now was a good time to lick them, no matter how late it was.
“Hello,” I purred.
He chuckled. “Don’t you think you’re being a little hard on Romeo? I mean, can you blame him for lusting after me?”
I smirked. “I’m going to be hard on you, if you don’t stop talking about Romeo.” Seized by newfound confidence, I crawled onto the bed on all fours and dipped my head, licking my way around his abs, loitering around his navel for awhile, which made him moan. I licked my way up his chest, then stopped at a nipple and nipped it with my teeth.
“Mmmm,” Christos moaned.
I suppressed my giggles as my hair pooled over his chest. I reminded myself Romeo and Kamiko were in the next room.
“I heard that,” Romeo said in a low voice from the living room.
I froze in place, the tip of my tongue touching Christos’ nipple.
“Please, Sam?” Romeo begged. “Can I at least watch?”
Christos and I burst out laughing.
“Quiet, you guys,” Romeo said sternly, “I can’t sleep with all that racket.”
I rested my head on Christos’ chest. “We’re going to sleep now. I promise, Romeo.”
“Awesome. I’ll wait until you’re snoring, then I’ll sneak in like a butt bandit. I’ll even be wearing one of those little black bandit-masks with the eyeholes.”
“Good NIGHT, Romeo!” I said.
“Uuuuugh,” Romeo sighed. “Fine. See you guys in the morning.”
“Sorry, no New Year’s nookie for you, agápi mou,” Christos whispered sarcastically.
“That goes for the both of us,” I taunted before kissing him on the lips, turning off my lamp, and snuggling up against him. “I’m sure we’ll have ample opportunity later.”
“You mean for that pageant you talked about hosting?” I heard a smile in his voice.
“Yes,” I said. “It will be a very exclusive event. Only the two of us are invited.”
“Mmmm,” he said, “I like the sound of that. If you hear me moaning in my sleep, you’ll know that’s me dreaming about it. Good night, agápi mou.”
“Hey, no fair! How am I supposed to sleep now that you put that idea in my head?”
“You’ll figure it out.” He kissed my cheek and stroked my shoulder. “I’ll be right here. Wake me if you need anything.”
Christos commenced softly fake-snoring.
“You so suck, Christos.”
“I’ve been known to suck things,” he murmured suggestively.
I immediately remembered the universe-shattering oral sex he’d given me only a few weeks ago. I was instantly wet. Great. I was never going to sleep like this. Because I felt his hardness pressing against one of my butt cheeks.
“Is that a steel pipe in your boxers, or what?” I whispered.
“I like to think of it as a lamp post,” he snickered.
Romeo’s voice drifted in from the living room, “I’m writing all this down, you guys.”
My breath froze mid-inhale. Caught.
“I’ll be referring to it later,” Romeo said slyly, “for educational purposes only, of course.”
I winced as Christos blew out a guilty chuckle.
Surprising all three of us, Kamiko roared, “Would you three either get on with your menage a twat, or SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!”
Romeo, Christos, and I all erupted with laughter.
Thankfully, everyone drifted off to sleep not long after.
SAMANTHA
Kamiko was disastrously hung over the next morning.
We had to practically drag her out of the apartment to get brunch. The four of us drove to my favorite breakfast place, The Broken Yolk Café in Pacific Beach.
We parked on the street and had to walk a couple of blocks to get there. I couldn’t believe San Diego was having a heat wave in January. And by heat wave, I mean it was
like, sixty-eight degrees. The weather was absolutely perfect.
Kamiko trudged far behind, head hanging between her shoulders. She wore a pair of movie-star glasses that I’d loaned her to block out the sun, and her rumpled dress from last night.
“Poor thing,” Romeo said compassionately. “She looks like she’s been run over by a garbage truck. I gave her two glasses of water at some point during the night, but I don’t think it made much difference.”
“Somebody carry me,” Kamiko begged. “I’m not going to make it.”
It was one more block to the Broken Yolk, but we all stopped to wait for her. Kamiko’s response, rather than hurrying up, was to sit down on a bus bench. “I’ll meet you guys there, but I’m taking the bus.” She laid down on the bench with her head hanging over the side of the armrest.
“I’ll get her,” Christos said. He literally picked Kamiko up and put her on his shoulders like a little kid.
“Hey! Goliath!” Kamiko groaned. “You better not drop me!”
Romeo and I both chuckled.
When the four of us made it through the café doors, Christos set Kamiko down on one of the padded benches in a sitting position. She immediately fell over onto the cushions and curled into a ball.
The line inside wasn’t too bad, but there was a short wait. Christos gave his name to the hostess, who was none other than Skylar, the girl who’d chatted Christos up at the Student Center the first day of classes last quarter. I vaguely remembered her saying something to Christos about some club named Onyx downtown, kitchen-table sex after, and her unbridled whorish desire for more furniture sex with my boyfriend.
Well, to be fair, Christos wasn’t my boyfriend at the time. I was still calling him Adonis at that point. But still, wasn’t my current BF-GF status with Christos retroactive? Which made the way Skylar was ogling him right now totally inappropriate?
And why was it that practically everywhere we went, we ran into some hot hobot who’d slept with my boyfriend?!
“Hey, Adonis,” Skylar said flirtatiously, thrusting her inflatable pool toys out at him scandalously. Based on the way they strained at her shirt, I’m pretty sure she’d had them pumped up another 40 P.S.I. since the last time I’d seen her.
Reckless Page 8
