by Meghan Quinn
“Nothing to worry about, Georgie. I’ve got this.”
She cringes. “Do you mind calling me Georgiana around these people? Is that too much to ask?”
Smiling at her, I pinch her chin and bring her lips to mine where I press a light kiss on them. When I pull away, I caress her jaw, and she leans into the touch. “Georgiana it is.”
“Thank you.” Clinging to my arm, she says, “Gosh, I’m nervous.”
“It’s just a little afternoon cocktail party. Nothing to worry about, Princess. Plus you have some pretty decent arm candy with you. If anything, you’re going to have to beat women off me with a stick.”
“They will be too consumed with showing off their ‘picture-perfect’ lives.” She grips me even tighter. “Just stay close to me, okay?”
“How close are we talking here? Want to pull my pants down and mount me? We can enter reverse cowgirl style, might be hot.”
“That would not be hot.”
“It was last night.” I wiggle my eyebrows at her, remembering how her long blonde hair floated down her back as she rode me with her hands braced on my thighs. Yup, that was really fucking hot.
“Racer,” she reprimands with a little slap to my stomach.
Chuckling, I pull her into my chest and kiss the top of her head. “What? It was. Remember how hard and fast you came? I do, because you milked my cock so fucking hard.”
“Oh my God.” She buries her head in my chest, probably out of embarrassment. “Please don’t talk about me coming.”
“Who’s coming?” Madison walks up with Spencer at her side.
“No one.” Georgie pops her head up, her cheeks flushed. Well, this isn’t obvious at all.
From above, I point down at her head and mouth, “She was coming . . . hard.”
Madison covers her mouth and laughs while Spencer twists his face in disgust. Catching on, Georgie looks up and finds my pointing finger. “Racer!” She elbows me this time, making me laugh even harder.
“What? My dad always taught me to be truthful. Plus, they should know you couldn’t resist me last night.”
“You lied to me.” Madison walks up to Georgie and flicks her arm. “I asked if you boned and you said no, he slept on the floor and you slept in the bed.”
I raise an eyebrow at Georgie. “You told her I slept on the floor? Harsh, Princess.” I direct my attention to Madison and quickly say, “Spencer, you might want to cover your ears.” He groans and walks away. “There was no sleeping on the floor. In fact, we had sex four times. She came, I would have to guess probably around nine times, and she really liked it when I sucked on her nipples and plowed into her simultaneously.”
“Oh sweet Jesus.” Madison fans her face.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Georgie is spitting fire. One of the many ways I like her. Maybe with her being angry at me, she won’t be so nervous. “What kind of man gossips like that?”
“Not gossip, Princess. Straight-up facts. I pride myself on being an informer. I want to make sure your best friend has all the facts when you talk about me later and tell her I was above and beyond the best sex you’ve ever had.”
With her arms now crossed over her chest, no warm feelings floating in my direction, she says, “You think you were my best.” She scoffs, but I don’t buy it.
I lean toward Madison and cup my hand over my mouth. “I’m the best. Her leg shook like a dog’s when I touched her nipple.”
“It did not!”
“And when I pulled out my cock for the first time, her exact words were ‘hummina hummina, snarffle snarffle . . . mmm cock’.”
Madison claps her hands together and laughs while Georgie looks like she’s about to pull a knife from her back pocket and murder me. But just to push my limits to the max, I throw in one more crucial piece of information.
“And I plowed into her so spectacularly last night that when she got up to go to the bathroom, her legs were just wobbly enough for her to fall into her suitcase, ass up.”
That is true.
A gasp comes from Georgie. “I told you not to say anything.”
“Sorry, beautiful. Can’t have you spreading lies about our night together.”
“You fell into your suitcase? Oh, that’s classic.” Madison laughs some more. “He fucked you silly, G.”
“Straight-up baby fawn legs.”
“You’re dead to me,” Georgie says and then calls out to Spencer. “Spence, come walk me into this event, you’re my new date.” As if she’s punishing me.
“Not a problem.” I lend my arm out to Madison. “I do believe Madison and I have some more catching up to do.” We start to walk toward the party when Georgie separates us and latches on to me.
“I would rather put up with your idiocies than have you two hang out together. That’s just asking for a living nightmare.”
I kiss the top of her head and wink at Madison. “Catch up with you later.”
She does a fake-gun motion at me with a returning wink. “Gotcha.”
“I hate you two,” Georgie mutters.
I squeeze her to my side and whisper, “No, you don’t. You especially don’t hate me because I’m the one who is going to take you back to the bungalow after all this and eat you so hard you’re going to come three times all over my face.”
Her breath hitches, but that’s her only tell as she straightens her spine and guides me into the party.
I’ll take it.
***
“What is your line of work, Racer?”
“He’s a president at a local bank,” Georgie cuts in for the fifth time. Yup, got it, I’m a president at a bank. I don’t need the reminder.
“Is that right? Fascinating business.” Really? Banking is fascinating? Man, I don’t want to know what this guy’s day job is.
“Love those numbers.” I wink and tip my tumbler at him.
It’s been pretty easy to slip into Georgie’s hoity-toity crowd. All they do is brag about the next latest and greatest things they bought, name-drop, and discuss the latest gossip. All three things I’ve had a hand in so far, something Georgie hasn’t been thrilled with, but come on, I’m not going to sit back and listen to all this bullshit. If I have to pretend, then I’m going to pretend the fuck out of everyone. Hence why I’m currently harboring a Dufour Grand Large sailboat back home, waiting to take her out to sea with my very good friend, Stefani Germanotta—aka, Lady Gaga—and discuss the latest happenings of the pop world, most recently the feud between Taylor Swift and Katy Perry. Everyone I’ve told this to has fawned over me for more details but I zipped up my lips and stated my loyalty to Gaga.
Georgie was less than thrilled. I think it’s the reason she keeps answering the questions asked of me before I can even open my mouth.
“Dante, will you come help me over here?”
“Sure thing.” Dante, the man who thinks banking is better than sex, excuses himself and takes off to help out Mr. Salmon Pants with the matching sweater. The dress code here is absurd.
When he’s out of earshot, Georgie turns to me with a not-so-happy look on her face. “Love those numbers?”
I shrug. “I didn’t know what else to say, and I wanted to say something because you keep talking for me. It’s starting to look weird.”
Leaning in closer, she whispers through her smile, “It’s because you started telling everyone you are Lady Gaga’s best friend and helped her pick out the meat dress.”
I chuckle to myself. I did say that. “But did you see the looks on their faces? They were in awe. Now look at you. You’re the cool girl who brought the guy who knows Gaga.”
“But you don’t know her, and when Mr. Fennel comes around looking for the backstage passes you promised him, what’s going to happen then?”
“Feud,” I answer simply. “Gaga and I will be on the break-ups, simple as that. It will be her fault, of course, spilling her wine all over my brand new boat deck. It will go downhill from there. It will be all the rage in Hollywood, a
nd then she will write a song about me, and I will cry every time I hear it on the radio.”
Georgie stares at me for a second, really trying to process everything I’m saying. “There is something seriously mentally unstable about you.”
“Ah, you love it, Georgie.” I wrap my arm around her and bring her into my chest where I place a kiss on the top of her head. “I make things interesting and that excites you. Don’t deny it.”
“I want to,” she mumbles while relaxing in my arms.
“But you can’t. It’s okay. I suck people into my web. It’s what I do best. I bury myself deep and you have a hell of a time getting me out. Just ask Tucker and Smalls, there is no escaping from me.”
“You’re oddly proud.”
“Georgiana Westbrook, what a pleasure to see you.” We are interrupted by a refined voice standing beside us.
Georgie turns and smiles brightly. She holds out her hand to the lady who spoke. “Bitsy, it’s such a pleasure to see you again.”
“Pleasure is all mine.” Bitsy sizes me up with one sneer of her upper lip. “And who is this tall drink of water with you?” There is no way she means that, not by the way she looks like she’s about to stab me with her own handcrafted machete.
“This is my boyfriend, Racer. He works in banking.”
“Ah, the man who knows Lady Gaga.” Ha, my reputation precedes me. I’m in the gossip ring. I feel oddly proud.
“The one and only.” I lend out my hand that she takes casually. “Nice to meet you, Bitsy. Great event. Your grounds are gorgeous, appetizers mouthwatering, and the company is superb. Very delightful afternoon.”
Yeah, all that dribbly bullshit just flew out of my mouth. I’m impressed with myself. Looks like I can hang up my construction boots up for a weekend, after all.
“How sweet of you to say. I’m glad you’re having a nice time.” Turning back to Georgie, she continues, “I heard about your shop. It sounds charming. You’re looking to sell Natalie Roman’s dresses?”
“It would be an absolute dream of mine,” Georgie gushes, her eyes lighting up.
“You would be very lucky. I was actually talking with Natalie, who is preparing for the show right now. She’s looking for an assistant. Would you wish to help?”
Georgie presses her drink against my chest and steps forward. I fumble with her glass for a second and watch as she about loses her mind. “I would love to.”
“Good. Let me show you the way. The show is in thirty minutes. You don’t mind if I steal your girlfriend, do you, Racer?”
I shake my head and hold back all inappropriate comments. “I wouldn’t dare stand in the way of my girl and her dream designer.” I give her a wink and watch as Georgie lights up even more.
With a quick peck to my cheek, she takes off with Bitsy, leaving me awkwardly alone. Hopefully we don’t have a sit-down lunch in the next thirty minutes because I would be totally fucked as to what silverware to use.
She wasn’t supposed to leave my side, and yet, I couldn’t be more thrilled for my girl.
My girl.
Yup, that’s exactly who she is. My fucking girl.
***
Well, that was . . . weird.
Who has a fashion show in their backyard for the hell of it? Especially a fashion show featuring bridal gowns when almost everyone attending is already married. From what I gathered, these people don’t have any interest in buying wedding dresses. The only person this event was remotely beneficial for was Georgie, who’s been missing for over an hour now, leaving me to fend off the feisty party goers who only want Lady Gaga tickets.
Guess what? You’re rich, so buy some!
Honestly. I wish I fucking said that. Instead, I owe Gemmey Planks, Russell Mariano, and Mrs. Robichois backstage passes. I gave them my phone number so when they call to pick them up, they’ll be directed to Woo Fong’s Chinese in Greene, New York . . . oops. Hopefully they don’t come after Georgie because she will have my head.
And you would think since I divulged my secrets to Madison about the wild romping Georgie and I took part in last night that she would feel obligated to stick close by me. That’s a no. She’s been hanging out by the cheese display all afternoon bickering with Spencer who’s three drinks past his decency quota. Talk about a hot mess, but then again, as I look around, I start to notice everyone is a hot mess. Drunk, sticky from the humidity, and full from crudités, these socialites have seen better days. The men are drowning in cigar smoke, the women are standing on wobbly legs, lipstick smeared in the corner of their lips, and the staff continues to feed the alcoholic beasts charging this weirdly possessed party.
I top off my lemonade—I stopped drinking a while ago—and place the glass on the tray of a waiter walking by. Pushing up my rolled-up sleeves, I look around for Georgie but still don’t see her. Maybe she’s talking with the designer. I can only hope.
“Do you have a moment?” a voice asks from behind me. Ugh, more Lady Gaga tickets to hand out that I don’t have.
When I turn, my heart hitches in my chest and my stomach bottoms out. This is the last person I expected to run into at Bitsy’s drunk fest.
Georgie’s fucking father.
Oh.
Shit.
I swallow hard and pray to whoever is listening to make me unrecognizable to this man. Let him be so pompous that he has no idea who I am.
“Yes, what can I do you for?” I ask, trying to sound like the banker type.
“I’ve seen you walking around with my daughter today. Are you two together?” His face is lined with angry wrinkles, the ones near his eyes the scariest. He holds his drink to his chest as he speaks and doesn’t falter when making eye contact. He’s probably one of the only people here who isn’t drunk.
Fuck, does he recognize me?
Just play it cool.
“Yes, sir. Georgiana is my girlfriend.”
Casually, as if he’s calculating his next move, Mr. Westbrook brings his glass to his lips, takes a tiny sip, and then nods. “Donald Westbrook.” He extends his hand and I take it quickly, giving him a strong handshake. “Everyone is talking about the charming date my daughter brought here.”
Charming? Ah shucks.
I smile graciously. “That’s good to hear. I’m the lucky one she brought though. I’m honored to be here with her.”
“What’s your name, son?”
Hell, he doesn’t remember me. Do I tell him my name? It’s not like it’s a common name like Michael or Jim. Would he recognize it?
Going for the truth, I answer, “Racer, sir. Racer McKay.”
“Racer.” My name rolls off his tongue and not in a reassuring way, as if he’s trying it on for size. “I heard you were the president of a local bank in Binghamton. That’s commendable. Tell me, is that where you met my daughter, at the bank?”
Fuck. We never went over details of our relationship and the main reason was because we weren’t supposed to be split up. That went terribly wrong. Where the hell is Georgie? I fidget and try not to tell him the truth; he doesn’t need to know I met—and ogled—her at his property while I worked on his pool house under the blaring summer heat. Probably not best to insult him.
Think. Think of something . . .
“Charity event.” I nod, liking my answer. “She was wearing a green dress that caught my eye, and when she turned and I saw those gorgeous eyes of hers, I had to introduce myself.”
A small smile passes over Mr. Westbrook’s face, and I’m unsure if it’s a good smile or a smile that says I caught you in a lie.
“I remember the event, and yes, she looked stunning in that dress.”
Okay, I really had no idea if the dress thing was true, I made that up on the spot, and now I’m confused as fuck because I can’t read this man. Is he playing with me, seeing where I will falter, ready to call me out on my Lady Gaga and pinky-out bullshit, or is he trying to pretend like he knows what his daughter has been doing? Please, for the love of fuck, let it be the latter.
“Smart man.” Mr. Westbrook tips his glass in my direction. “I had a similar meet-cute with my wife. She caught my eye from across the room, and I spent the entire night trying to win her over.”
“Seems like your charm worked.”
He laughs and shuffles on his feet. “That it did. Thirty-five years and four children later, and we’re still going strong.”
“Wow, thirty-five years, that’s quite the accomplishment. Any secrets I need to know?”
Throwing back the rest of his drink, he steps forward and looks around, before whispering, “Keep her in line.”
I scratch the back of my head. Did I hear that right? Did he just say keep her in line? That can’t be right. Can it?
“What?” I laugh nervously.
Acting like we’re buddies now, Mr. Westbrook saddles up next to me and says, “There is something you need to know about the Westbrook family, Racer. The men provide, they lead, and the women follow.” I heard him right. That’s fucking great. Way to be a sexist, misogynistic asshole. Wow! “Mrs. Westbrook is the perfect follower. My son Abe found a woman who falls in line with my wife and eldest daughter, doting, classy, and a devotee to her beloved.”
Waverly? He thinks Waverly is a follower? Hell, she really must put on a good act around her in-laws. I make a mental note to experience that in person, because Waverly clammed up is something I have to see.
Clearing his throat, he leans even closer. “But Georgiana has some work to do. I’m sure you’ve noticed her stubborn personality.” Ha, stubborn, yeah, one can say that. I fucking like it. “She has this idea in her head that she’s going to provide for herself. That her silly business will keep her busy.” He chuckles. “Fairly sure it’s going to turn over in a few months after opening because, let’s be honest, we’re in Upstate New York; it isn’t a metropolis for eager brides.” Man, this guy has some balls. Or perhaps he doesn’t have any, which is why he feels he needs to overlord women. Ass.
