On to plan B. I try to remember the last time I watched a dirty movie. Aaaand still nothing. Except Ava’s beautiful, fuckable tits in my mouth.
Note to self: watch more porn. You never know when it might come in handy. Like now, because I need to get what just happened between me and Ava out of my system before I can go out in public.
A Guns N’ Roses tune echoes off the walls of the small bathroom as I rack my brains to find a muse. I wash my hair and soap up my body. My hand slides over the Checkmate logo tattooed on my ribcage. I realize Ava’s never seen my ink. She knows it’s there, though, because she designed it. My sudsy hand lingers over the black knight chess piece. A stallion, its mane flowing as if it’s in a full gallop. The word Checkmate Inc. artistically angles through the base.
Me, Oz, and Leo were still dumbass punks when we started the company, and back then I still thought of Ava as Leo’s kid sister. She was already showing talent for computer graphics, so Leo asked her to design our logo. On our way to celebrate with tequila shots, we stumbled across a parlor called Tattoo Charlie’s. Since we were each getting the same tattoo, Charlie himself suggested we choose different locations on our bodies. He said three dudes getting the same tat in the same spot wouldn’t be cool. Guess the glasses gave away our inner geekster.
Or maybe it was the Star Trek shirts. No idea which.
The water streams over me, and my fingertip traces the outline of the tat. Riding her to her very first real climax has been playing through my filthy mind. I keep thinking it would mark her as mine, something else besides the nickname that she only shares with me. But now the tables are turned, and I can’t help but feel like I’m the one that’s marked.
It’s not just the tat. Her mouth on mine, her hand cupping my dick, her dirty words…they’ve all marked me. No other woman turns me on like she does.
My dick throbs harder. I can’t help it. Finally, I give in to the images I’ve been trying to fight off for days. Ava completely naked. Better to fantasize about it than to act on it, right? I soap up my hand and wrap it around my shaft. I close my eyes and let my head tilt back as my hand starts to work its magic. Truth is, Ava is my muse. How fitting, since she named her web design firm 5 Muse Designs. That can’t be a coincidence.
I take her up on her offer and slide my swollen cock into the deep valley between her tits. She’s sitting on the edge of my bed, and I’m standing in front of her. Both of her hands mold around the sides of her breasts to push them tight around my shaft. Her manicured nails curl over the top of those luscious tits.
And hell fucking yeah, her nails are painted cherry fuck-me red to match the heavy lipstick she’s wearing. It is a fantasy, after all. I might as well add black stockings and a garter belt too.
I let that picture form in my mind.
Oh hell yeah. Go big or go home.
My grip tightens and picks up speed, and I pretend it’s my hips pumping up and down between her tits. The water slides over me, keeping my skin moist and slick. The first ache of orgasm burgeons somewhere deep in my core and spreads through my limbs. My muscles flex and tense, and I brace my free hand against the shower wall.
In my fantasy, my fingers slide into her silky hair as my hips thrust harder. My skin is on fire, and I don’t know if it’s the hot water or the flames of lust burning through me. Ava’s not a rookie in my fantasy. She’s confident and sexy and beautiful as fuck as her gaze locks with mine, and she smiles up at me. I’m about to drop to my knees and sink my tongue into her pussy because I’m certain it’s wet with arousal and ready for me to take her. But my fantasy acquires a mind of its own, and Ava dips her head, wraps those red painted lips around my swollen dick and begins to fuck me with her mouth.
Eddie Van Halen rips through the chords of Eruption as release crashes into me, tearing a muffled noise of satisfaction from deep in my chest.
Long live rock and roll.
I brace both hands against the shower wall with the water pounding onto my chest, my neck, my face. It takes a few minutes, but my breathing returns to normal, and I feel like I can think with the right head again.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m dressed in Tom Ford from head to toe. Black custom-fitted pants, matching vest, white dress shirt cuffed up my forearms, and a tie. No matching jacket. Just a black wool pea coat, which is slung over the sofa arm until we leave. I slick back my damp hair so it doesn’t hang in my face, and the length barely grazes my collar. I pace the length of the den and wait for Ava to finish getting ready.
Ava’s heels click against the wood floor, and I turn to greet her. Only I can’t speak because she’s so fucking gorgeous. Her hair is swept up in a bundle of curls, a few strategic strands hang loose around her face and neck. Diamond teardrops dangle from her ears, and the only other jewelry she’s wearing are the bracelets I gave her. She’s wearing a red satin halter dress. Yes that red. The one that colored her nails and lips in my imagination a few minutes ago. The dress flows and flirts around the lower part of her thighs. But the mouth-watering icing on the Ava cake is going to be the death of me. The front dips ridiculously low between her breasts to reveal the valley I recently fucked in my shower fantasy.
She hands me a black velvet overcoat. “Can you help me, please?”
She turns around, and I help her slide into the fine fabric. It’s all I can do not to rake my lips from her bare shoulder all the way to the nape of her neck and then place an openmouthed kiss right below the knot that’s holding her dress together.
“Thanks.” She faces me and buttons her coat. “You look nice, by the way. How was your shower?”
I nearly choke. I scrub a hand across my jaw to mask my guilt.
“Good,” I say. “It was really hot.” I cough. “Nice. The hot water was nice.”
And didn’t do a damn bit of good because I still want her. In nothing but that sexy velvet coat, the bracelets, and those heels with her legs spread wide open to welcome me in.
She hooks the last button and stares up at me with shining eyes and shimmering lips. “Are you ready?”
Fucking hell, am I ever.
“Yeah,” I grunt out. My superior vocabulary is alive and well.
“Great,” Ava says, and heads to the door. With one hand on the doorknob, she tosses a look over a velvety shoulder. “And Dex?”
I try to peel my eyes off her toned calves. “Huh?” Really, my mastery of the English language is astounding.
“I know it’s going to be difficult since I’m such a sister to you, but you’re supposed to be my date.” She manages to smile, but not a hint of it shows in her icy eyes. She’s angry. Or hurt. Or both. “Maybe you could…oh, I don’t know…pretend to find me attractive. We have to act like we’re fucking, even though we’re not.”
Ava pushes through the door, and the screen falls shut with a thwack, thwack, thwack. The click of her heels grows dim as she steps off the porch and walks to my car.
I know I’ve fucked up. Jacking off while fantasizing about Ava has only made me want her more. That dress isn’t helping to tame my dirty thoughts or my desire for her either. Truth is, I’m screwed one way or the other.
Chapter Eleven
Ava and I are fashionably late to the homecoming reunion. After a kid wearing a student senate badge takes our coats, we find our way to the school gym where the party is already in full swing. The music is loud, and the room is already heating up from so many people.
The gym has seen better days, but it’s decked out with purple, silver, and white streamers. School spirit is splashed on every wall with banners that say “Monarch Pride!” A fierce lion wearing a crown that tilts to one side of its flowing mane is the mascot, and large, intimidating paw prints mark a path on all four walls.
We make our way toward the refreshments, and I let Ava take the lead. She tries to weave through the ocean of people. It seems impossible, and she comes to a halt in front of a wall of alums. I bump into her from behind, and searing heat burns my skin everywhere we’re touc
hing.
Someone backs into us, laughing. I curl my fingers around Ava’s hip to steady her. Her fingers tighten around mine, and for a second, she leans back into me. We both stop breathing.
She releases my hand abruptly. “Wait here. I’ll get the punch.”
I’m tall, so I can see over the crowd. It parts as she weaves a path through it to the refreshments table.
Two men with red, puffy eyes and obnoxious facial expressions are obviously a few sheets to the wind and blocking the punch bowl. Ava maneuvers around them and pours us two glasses of purple punch.
Jealousy rushes through me as the two drunken asshats turn to check her out, not even trying to hide their leers. I push through the crowd until I’m standing a few feet behind Ava. I shove my hands in my pockets and wait. I don’t have the right to act like a jealous boyfriend, even if I’m supposed to be her date tonight.
Asshat Number One withdraws a flask from his jacket and leans over to speak to her in a drunken whisper that’s louder than the DJ’s music. “It’s better with a splash of this.” He snorts with laughter.
She’s startled but gives him a quick, polite smile. “No thanks.”
Asshat Number One is either too drunk or too stupid to take a hint. “Jordan Winthrop.” He extends his hand, invading Ava’s personal space.
I take a step closer but restrain the urge to wrap my arms around her from behind.
Asshat Number One is tall—big enough to have been a jock back in the day—but now he’s packed on thirty or so extra pounds, which hangs over his cheap, cheesy belt. I, on the other hand, have packed on at least that amount of muscle since my high school days.
“Yes, I remember you,” Ava says, and shakes his hand. He doesn’t let go right away, and she pulls it free. This time her smile isn’t so polite. In fact, she’s not smiling at him at all.
I want to teach this guy some manners, and I definitely won’t let him get away with much more rudeness. But I know Ava. If I step in too soon, she’ll insist she could’ve managed on her own. So I wait for just the right moment by studying her. I’m so tuned into her I’ll know the exact moment when the hardness of her stare and the strain around her mouth shifts.
Plus, seeing her bring this asshole to his knees like I know she can will be entertaining. Ava is no shrinking violet.
“Really?” Asshat Number One slurps his drink. “I don’t recall ever meeting you.”
Ava keeps that smile in place, like it’s cemented on. “We went to school together from sixth grade until tenth grade,” she deadpans, and picks up both glasses of punch from the table.
“Were you in sports?” Asshat Number Two asks. He snaps his fingers. “Or a cheerleader?”
“Brendan.” Ava stiffens. She so obviously dislikes Asshat Number Two even more than his friend. Her lips part, and I smile to myself because I know that razor sharp wit of hers is about to shave the stupid smiles right off of Team Asshat’s faces.
Before she can respond, a nice-looking brunette walks up to Asshat Number One and slides an arm around his shoulders. They’re obviously together. She’s followed by a bleached blonde. Both are attractive, well dressed, and probably cheerleader material once upon a time. They give Ava a predatory stare like she’s encroaching on their territory.
“Don’t be silly, Jordan,” the brunette says. “Ava was on the science team.” It’s so obviously meant as an insult.
Heated anger singes every one of my nerve endings because I remember what it was like to be mocked for being smart. I just never considered that Ava had been through the same thing. She’s so attractive and funny, and her brilliance only makes her more gorgeous in my eyes.
“Tiffany,” Ava says, like the word scares her. “Gee, um.”
I’m stunned. Ava’s boldness has vanished. She tries to back away from the bullies, but her bottom goes up against the table and stops her.
I can’t stay out of it any longer. I close the space between us, take a glass of punch from Ava’s hand, and pull her close. “Thanks, sweetheart.”
Her eyes flare with something I can’t quite put a name to. Maybe it’s gratitude. Maybe it’s longing.
“Hi, babe,” she says back.
When she calls me babe, I graze a soft, lingering kiss across her lips, careful not to smudge her sexy red lipstick. It seems like the most natural thing, to be kissing Ava like she’s my girl.
She snuggles into my side. “Everyone, this is Dex Moore.”
Asshat One and Two mumble a greeting. Tiffany scrutinizes both Ava and me, and I can’t tell if Mean Girl is thinking we’re both nerds who belong together or if she can tell we’re faking it.
“Jordan and Tiffany were the dream couple in high school,” Ava says to me. “Homecoming king and queen, head cheerleader, captain of the basketball team. Everyone knew they’d get married one day.”
“Six years now,” Jordan says, looking very proud he landed a trophy wife.
Tiffany doesn’t seem quite as impressed with her prize. “It’s seven years, honey.”
“Two kids, and she still looks great, doesn’t she?” Jordan pulls his wife close with a clumsy tug. She wobbles on her skyscraper heels.
That’s when I notice Blondie, Tiffany’s friend, eyeballing me like a hungry shark and I’m the catch of the day. I clear my throat and ignore her, but she doesn’t want to be ignored.
“You look familiar,” Blondie says to me while totally ignoring Ava. She still hasn’t acknowledged Ava’s presence.
“Can’t imagine why.” I take a drink of punch.
Blondie keeps studying me until her eyes flair with recognition.
Shit.
“You’re one of the partners of Checkmate Inc. Your CEO went to high school here.” She glances at Ava and sniffs, then turns her attention back on me. “I saw an interview of you three not long ago. Kept up with all the press.” I swear her voice is almost a growl of lust. “I’m a reporter for the Albany Times.” She looks at Ava again.
“Suzanna,” Ava greets Blondie.
Blondie’s greeting is a mere nod. “I think I remember you.”
Ava flashes her a million-dollar smile. “I definitely remember you. Mrs. Franks had me tutor you in biology because you were failing.”
I have to cough behind my hand to keep from snorting punch through my nose.
Blondie’s smile turns evil. I half expect her to put a curse on us and fly from the room on a broomstick.
“You moved away during high school, right?” Blondie says. “Because of some sort of accident.”
There has to be a special place in hell for people like Suzanna. Ava’s parents were killed. A tragedy of that magnitude must’ve ripped through a town this size, and all Blondie remembers is there was some sort of accident? Either that or she’s so cold and callous she doesn’t care what such a tragedy must’ve done to her classmate.
“My decision to move to the city instead of Leo moving back to Weatherton was based more on the people here.” Ava keeps a cool, steady gaze on Blondie, who narrows her eyes. “And because I wanted Leo to have his dream. He earned it.”
A switch flips on in the back of my mind. Leo didn’t make Ava move to the city. She chose to. Both because she didn’t fit in here for being a brainiac, and because she didn’t want Leo to put his life on hold for her. So she moved to New York City, and he put her in a swanky school for the intellectually gifted where she could finally be a “normal” kid. The bond between them ran so deep, even back then that they were both willing to give up their whole lives for each other in the wake of losing their parents.
My parents didn’t even help me move into the dorms when I picked Columbia over Princeton. I can’t be the jerk that gets between Ava and Leo after all they’ve been through. Hell, I can’t even understand the kind of selfless connection they have.
I’m about to pull Ava away when the music stops. A fifty-something woman with thick glasses walks up on stage with a microphone. “Welcome home, Monarch Alums!”
The crowd cheers.
“I’m Principal Franks, and it’s time to start our auction. Thank you to all the alumni who so generously donated the items we’ll be auctioning off tonight. All the money raised will go to building a new gymnasium for the next generation of Monarchs, so it’s for a very worthy cause.”
More cheers round the gym.
Several items are auctioned off from local businesses, most of the owners obviously having grown up here. A gift certificate for plumbing services. Unconventional, but okay. Everybody needs a good plumber once in a while. Handmade jewelry from a small boutique. Nice. A set of braces from an orthodontist in the next town over. And many more items that all go to the highest bidders.
“I saved the best for last.” Principal Franks beams at Ava. “I wish the school could afford to bid on it because we need this particular item. It’s a custom website design package from our very own Ava Foxx. Ava is the chief designer and a founding partner of 5 Muse Designs, one of the fastest growing web design firms in New York City. This package has a retail value of ten thousand dollars, folks, so dig deep and let the bidding begin!”
Ooooos and ahhhhs ripple through the crowd.
Jordan lifts his finger to bid on it, which elicits a subtle glare from his wife. Since Jordan is drunk off his ass, he doesn’t notice. “My used car lot needs a professional website,” he slurs.
A used car salesman. Why am I not surprised?
His wife crosses her arms over her chest and sulks.
The bidding continues until Jordan reaches the insulting amount of two thousand dollars, and the bids stop rolling in. Principal Franks looks crestfallen. Ava doesn’t, and I know why. She couldn’t care less how little her services go for. Her heart is so big she’ll do the same quality job for a two-thousand-dollar client as she will for a ten-thousand-dollar client, then she’ll turn around and donate more cash for the gymnasium. That’s just the way she rolls.
Principal Franks says, “Going once…going twice…”
Oh, hell no. No way am I going to let Asshat Number One walk away with Ava’s services, especially not at such a degrading price.
Rookie Moves (A Checkmate Inc. Novel Book 2) Page 7
