“Oh,” he said sounding surprised, but looking at her a half second longer than I would have liked.
“See! You can't take your eyes off of her! Ew, this is all so gross,” I said turning and stepping off the stool to walk away.
King stopped me by pulling me back up against his chest and laughed boisterously, while holding me tight.
“This, Princess, is unwarranted jealousy. You have absolutely nothing to be worried about.”
“Who said I was worried? I’m just sick to my stomach,” I snipped, sounding like a full-blown spoiled brat.
“Baby, all I want is you. All I’ll ever want is you. Do you hear me?” he asked. I could sense the smile in his eyes as he spoke, even though I was facing the other direction.
He always knows what to say to make everything OK again. I took a deep breath and realized how ridiculous I was being. A smile quickly spread across my face and I sighed dramatically.
“I must be PMSing,” I joked.
I sat back down and took another sip of coffee, closing the lid to my laptop so I didn’t have to look at her.
“I guess we’re seeing a new side to Ava; I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you jealous,” Claudia joked, giving me a wink.
“I kinda like it,” King said kissing me on the head.
“OK, enough patronizing me,” I complained. “I don’t like thinking of you with anyone else; you’re mine.” I said, only half joking.
“It’s all in your head, babe. Don’t let it bother you,” King said while he pushed my hair out of my face and smiled.
It’s silly, but I have to admit that I felt off for the rest of the morning. In an act of masochism, I read that article over and over again. It was full of embellishments and “what ifs”, but didn’t contain any facts that I didn’t already know. It was all hype.
…but that didn’t stop me from Googling her. There wasn’t too much out there about her, but I did look through her Facebook page and Instagram posts. What I concluded is that she goes out a lot, has a lot of good-looking friends, and only seems to take pictures with hot guys. Ugh.
“Well, I’ll be back in a few hours,” Claudia said while taking her keys from her bag.
“Where are you off to?” King asked Claudia as I was still searching for information about Layla.
“I finally got an appointment with Chelsea. She had a last minute cancellation, thankfully. My nails are looking pretty bad and I have lots of holiday festivities to attend.”
“You know, there are a dozen salons and nail places within ten minutes of here; I’m sure you can find someone as good as Chelsea,” I said.
“Uh, no…I’ve tried literally every place in a twenty mile radius. No one compares to Chelsea. So yes, I’m willing to drive almost an hour to Olney friggin’ Maryland just to get my nails done. It’s ridiculous, I know…but she’s worth it.”
“I just think you’re crazy and like to complicate your life,” I joked, shutting the MacBook before King made fun of me for still looking up Layla.
“Yeah? You’ve never been to Chelsea,” she answered smugly. She grabbed bottled water and headed out, blowing a kiss to King and I on her way out of the door.
Chapter 6
A week before Christmas I was shopping with Tori and Asli all day in the Tyson’s Corner malls, then stopped by King’s office to wait for him to finish work. We had plans to go for dinner tonight to kick off our Christmas break. My semester ended yesterday and King decided to shut down the office until January fifth—something his staff was thrilled about, as they were all being paid during their time off.
Most of his colleagues have left already, and I was waiting in King’s office, killing time by answering email. He was in a meeting in the glass-walled conference room directly across the sitting area outside his office, and the office door is open so I could see the meeting take place.
I watched him; the way he moves and the utter control he has in every situation of his life is so magnetic. He’s mine already, yet I still can’t help myself from drooling over him.
The meeting was already going beyond its planned end time, and he suddenly seemed disinterested and put his hand out to the man across the table. Good, I’m starting to get hungry.
The man didn’t shake his hand, and he looked like he was trying to keep the meeting going. A few minutes later, they shook hands and the meeting was finally over. King’s assistant walked the guest from the meeting to the elevators, then came back to King’s office to say goodbye before she left for the winter vacation. King ensured the office was empty, and then we left.
We went to the Capital Grill for dinner because it’s very close to his office and traffic was almost at a standstill due to all of the holiday shoppers and Christmas chaos, so we decided to stay close until it passed. The place was packed, but we lucked out by grabbing a seat at a bar table as a couple was just leaving.
Tori destroyed my appetite before I even ordered; she sent me a text about an ad she saw on ESPN.
WTF? An ad for King’s fight said it’s over a girl—and it’s not you!
I sighed. This again.
“So, is this going to continue until the fight?” I asked him after explaining Tori’s text.
“I’m afraid so. They’re turning a molehill into a mountain to try to drum up interest for our irrelevant little fight. The arena is usually empty for the opening fights—no one really takes their seat until the fights closer to the main event. Lately, they’ve been trying to get people to come early by hyping up the earlier fights, and I’m sure Giorgio is feeding into it. Just ignore it, babe. It’ll be over soon,” King explained.
“That’s easy for you to say. I’d love to see you ignore it if a feud between me and a girl over some hot guy—which partially rings true, by the way—was all over the Internet,” I said, half joking.
I know there’s nothing he can do, or should do, for that matter. It’s the stupid MMA marketing…it just happens to get under my skin. I’ll need to do my best to ignore it until the fight is over. And honestly, after seeing that first ad weeks ago, I’m starting to find it somewhat amusing. Somewhat.
“There’s nothing you can do to make this stop?” I asked.
“Well, I’m sure I could raise the issue, but since I agreed to whatever advertising he and his manager wanted, as long as he signed the contract on my terms, I don’t really care what they write. I’m not involved. This fight is Giorgio’s attempt to go mainstream, so I expected them to juice it,” he explained.
The contract he referred to was an agreement that Giorgio would not contact or come within fifty feet of Claudia, King, or me after this fight. He can’t contact us directly in any way, and he can’t mention our names to press or in any way that could lead to the public. Giorgio signed the contract willingly, clearly having lost some of his hatred for King.
It seems that a career was more important to Giorgio and he realized that he could have quite a future in the MMA. So now, this fight was just his launchpad—and he knew, with the three of them being physically perfect, this was a great marketing event.
“Look, we are going to have a good time in Vegas—before and after the fight. So just ignore the fight stuff; I’m going to. And this will all be over soon, OK?” King said when I never responded.
“OK. We’ll make the most of it.”
“Sorry my meeting ran late,” he said.
“No problem. But out of curiosity, what was it about? The guy you met with didn’t look terribly happy before he shook your hand.”
“He was trying to get a better deal than I was offering, so I said we had no deal and tried to end the conversation. I was willing to back out; he wasn’t.”
“And how did it end?”
“He gave me what I wanted. It’s too bad he’s not a better negotiator; I’d have paid more than he asked for.”
“What an scam,” I said sarcastically, shaking my head.
“It’s business, babe. Sometimes you have to play hardball…why should I pay more than he’s w
illing to give up?”
“I don’t know. It just seems scummy.”
“It’s not. I didn’t lie to him; I didn’t pressure him. He just wanted to get rid of his product more than I want to take it on. It’s just business.”
“Geez. I hope I never have to do business with you.”
“You won’t. I’d do whatever you wanted. You’d win,” he said, smiling.
~~~~
On Christmas Eve, King and I had plans to go to my parents’ for dinner. And for the first time in months, I was going to spend the night at my parents’ house so I could wake up and spend Christmas morning with them, as I have for the past eighteen years. And, to be honest, I was immensely looking forward to that.
I never told my parents that I was moving into King’s place. I sort-of boiled them like frogs…I packed more and more to take to his place, and never returned any of my clothes to their house. I still had a bedroom at their place, but all of the things I need for daily life—clothes, makeup, and bathroom amenities—were all slowly moved to King’s.
We pulled out of King’s garage to leave, and noticed a van on the road at the end of the driveway. It was hard to miss, with satellites on the roof, dark opaque windows, and two guys in the front seat pointing a camera at us. King sped passed it, knowing the dark tints in the Benz would hide us from any cameras.
“Who do you think that was?” I asked.
“No idea, but if I had to guess, I’d bet Giorgio’s manager is paying people to hype up our fight. I’m glad you’re staying at your parents tonight—maybe you should plan to stay there until we leave for Vegas, just to keep away from any bullshit,” he suggested.
“Two nights sleeping without you? I don’t know if I can take that!” I exaggerated.
“You? I’m the one we need to worry about. Not only will I miss you, but I know I won’t get much sleep without you in the bed next to me. The last time we were apart, when you were at the winery with your friends, I was in constant contact with the security guards through the night. Now, I have no one to bug. But it’s better—you don’t need to deal with whatever that van has planned.”
He stayed at my parents’ house as late as possible that night. It was only when my yawns came every five minutes or so that he decided to leave. I tried to get him to stay overnight with me, but he said he had work to finish up and he wanted to go to the gym first thing, so I should enjoy Christmas morning with my parents and he’d come over in the afternoon.
As soon as he sent me a text telling me he was home, I fell asleep. And, as usual, I woke up on Christmas day to my mom shaking me awake with excitement in her voice. She and my dad were so happy that I was home; they wanted to start the day early.
“Good morning! Blue sky and fluffy clouds,” my mom sang to me, just as she has since I was a kid—it was her special occasion good morning to me. She shook me gently and said she and dad would be downstairs waiting for me.
It made me smile; waking up to my mom’s voice was a nice reminder of how great my family is. I stretched and yawned and threw my feet over the side of the bed. I wanted to get freshened up and downstairs as quickly as possible, even though it’s early.
I’m sure this will be the first Christmas that cinnamon rolls and bellinis were prepared before eight in the morning. Ugh. If only they would sleep in.
But how often do I have the chance to spend time with them? I put my selfish want for sleep aside and didn’t complain. And I had to admit that it was so much fun hanging out with my parents all morning. Preston and Julian even came by to say hello and they ended up sticking around for a while, too.
“So what’s the deal with the romance story about your boyfriend?” Preston asked.
“Romance story?” I scoffed. “That’s just his opponent trying to make the fight interesting. In reality, all that happened was King banged Giorgio’s girlfriend before their first fight, which Giorgio won, then King won the next fight…but Giorgio never got over his girlfriend’s infidelity.”
“Well, they’re setting up the story pretty well. Did you see the clip from last night?”
“What clip? Last night?” I stuttered out.
“Yeah, look,” Preston said while he looked up the MMA site and handed me his phone. “They’ve gone Bachelor-style.”
“Tonight, King received his rose. Who will she choose? Watch the fight to see. The rose ceremony will be right after the final bell rings,” a deep voiceover explained during a video of King arriving home last night with a huge red rose taped to his front door.
His car paused in front of the door, but kept driving into the garage. The video ended with King walking to the entrance of the garage and looking around as he hit the remote to close the door. At the end of the video, the camera panned to his now bare front door and then it ended.
It was so incredibly cheesy that I let out a giggle before explaining to the guys what was going on—fully. They seemed to get a kick out of it, and I did too, but in the back of my mind I couldn’t help wondering why King didn’t tell me about this. He sent a text when he got home, and a few this morning, too, with no mention of this at all.
I was actually quite glad when Preston and his boyfriend left; it gave me the chance to call King without an audience to witness how bothered by the video I really was. When he answered, I immediately jumped down his throat, only to have him calm me down quickly.
He explained that he closed the garage door and went inside, knowing it was just a publicity stunt. He woke up to Claudia banging on his door with a report about the video. That’s all he knew. He never took the rose and had nothing to do with any of it, and he didn’t tell me, knowing I’d be upset. He planned to tell me about that, and whatever else he found out about today, when he came over this afternoon.
Of course that makes sense, and I’m sure he’s telling the truth. I just can’t help the jealous feeling I have, nor can I help feeling just a little humiliated that this farce is so public. Everyone who knows us might see this video. How embarrassing.
I reminded myself that this fight is a big deal for King—it’s his first and his last professional fight. He jokes that he’s too old—at the ripe old age of twenty-three—to deal with this bullshit anymore. He doesn’t need the money, doesn’t like the attention, and abhors the fanfare that surrounds a professional fight.
Once he beats Giorgio, which he’s confident he’ll do, he’s done with competitive fighting. All he wants to do is train and fight for points in local competitions. At least that’s what he tells me; I can’t imagine a guy like him isn’t dying to be in a major event, showing his excellent fighting skills to all.
I bet he’s too embarrassed to admit that he really wants this fight. So I don’t want to give him a hard time with all this trivial stuff; I let last night’s events slide without too much complaining.
King came to my parents’ house a couple of hours later, and brought gifts including a case of champagne—his favorite, Salon Blanc de Blancs Le Mesnil-sur-Oger, of course. My parents thought the gift was a bit much, but King easily brushed that notion aside and opened a bottle for all of us to share.
And that wasn’t the last bottle opened. We had a happy Christmas dinner full of conversation and laughter, then King and I sat by the fire while my parents went to a neighbor’s house for a party.
“I missed you last night,” I told him, snuggling into his chest.
This is the cozy area of our house, with a huge fireplace and a stone mantel. We were propped up on large throw cushions, not quite sitting or laying but somewhere in between.
“I know, babe. I hate it when you’re not with me…I hardly slept. When you opened the door this afternoon, I could feel it in my gut; it was like the proverbial butterflies, but almost painful. I don’t know how I’m going to leave you here and go home alone, I still feel off,” he admitted.
“I’d bet you’d feel a lot better if you were inside me,” I flirted.
“Not a chance; we’re at your parents’ house, Princess
. I have to respect that.”
“Well, I don’t,” I said, sliding my hand up his thigh slowly.
“I don’t think this is such a good idea,” he said, but I could tell that his resolve wouldn’t hold out for long.
So I got right to the point. I put my champagne glass down and started to kiss him while slowly rolling my body onto his. He put his hands on my hips and squeezed me. I’m pretty sure I can convince him to ignore that respect he has for my parents’ house.
After missing him so much and having such a great time since he came over this afternoon, it felt so good to kiss him passionately and slowly, and just be alone with him. I took my time, reveling in the heat waves that continued to roll through my body with each movement of his lips and each time I moved my body against his.
I wanted him, but I wanted him to make the first move. I know he’s not big on making love at my parents’ house, but I wanted to see just how persuasive I could be. I moved my lips to his neck and sucked on the spot just below his ear, then grazed kisses lightly over his jaw. He exhaled a breath he’d been holding in—I know that means that he’s trying to resist me.
I moved my lips to his earlobe, sucking it softly, then kissed back down his neck to his collarbone, opening a couple of buttons of his shirt. There was still no movement from King. So I moved my lips back to his to kiss him passionately, while I slowly moved my hand down his chest to rub him over his jeans. He put a hand on my head and kissed me harder, then groaned—I love that sound.
And I loved even more that a second later his hands moved to my ass and squeezed it before he told me to hold on as he stood—with my legs and arms wrapped around him—and walked us to the couch, sitting down with me on his lap. We kissed for a minute while my hips moved against him. I unzipped his jeans and repositioned myself so I could rub my hand on him. Then I felt my thin, cashmere v-neck sweater fall off my shoulder—that was it.
“Fuck it,” he said, standing us up and placing me on my feet.
He quickly removed my oversized sweater and tight, stretchy jeans and then his own jeans, and focused his hands on detaching my bra and removing my panties. I undid the other buttons on his shirt, then I moved my hands over his chest and stomach. It doesn’t take much to turn me on—his chest and stomach muscles do it every time.
Guys Like You: Book 5 of The Young and Privileged of Washington, DC Page 8
