by Max Monroe
Leo grinned. “The K-9’s?”
“Hell yes! Bring in the K-9’s!”
We watched and ate while the cops found a stash of drugs in poor Tommy’s car that apparently wasn’t Tommy’s car. It was his friend’s car. A friend for whom he didn’t have any information. More of an acquaintance, so to speak. Obviously, Tommy had just borrowed the car and had no idea there were drugs inside.
Not to mention, the crack pipe in his pants also wasn’t his.
Poor Tommy was having a real shit night.
But, me? I was having a fabulous fucking night.
All thanks to Leo.
Handsome, playful, hilarious Leo.
The man had my full attention.
Once we finished our food, he pulled his laptop out of his messenger bag, and we dove headfirst into his current assignment.
Surprisingly, not only was Leo a freaking professional football star for the New York Mavericks, but he was also a grad student taking an online course at RIT.
“Explain to me again why you’re even busying yourself with school right now?” I asked with a grin. “I mean, isn’t football your career? Not to mention, it appears you’ve done pretty damn well for yourself in that department.”
Leo just shrugged. “My career in football isn’t guaranteed. One ill-fated injury and it can all be over.”
“I guess that makes sense. I mean, it’s a little doomsday-ish of a mind-set, but I can understand why you’d want to make sure you have some sort of stable future no matter how it plays out.”
“Exactly,” he said. “Plus, I’ve always admired the fact that my dad was a college professor. I mean, his English specialty is a far cry from architecture, but for a long time, I pictured myself following in his footsteps.”
“Your dad is a college professor?”
“Was,” he corrected. “He retired from his position at NYU about five years ago. My parents are sunning in Florida with the blue hairs now.”
I started to respond, and even had a whole bunch of awesome words lined up on the tip of my tongue, but when he reached into his messenger bag and slipped on a pair of reading glasses, I turned stupid.
There was something so incredibly sexy about Leo’s baby-blue eyes behind a pair of glasses that it took all of my willpower not to lean forward and do something weird like lick the side of his face.
The view turned me into a dog in heat.
Panting. Drooling. Cartoon eyes. The whole nine fucking yards.
“Gem?” he asked, and I blinked out of my stupor.
“Yeah?”
He grinned. “Am I boring you?”
Boring me? No.
Horny-ing me up with your big muscles and hot nerd glasses? Yes.
“Of course not,” I said. “I guess I just zoned out for a minute.”
He eyed me knowingly, and I rolled my eyes.
“Fine,” I admitted. “Your hot nerd glasses distracted me.”
He barked out a laugh. “Hot nerd glasses?”
“Yeah.” I nodded toward his face. “Those fucking things should be illegal.”
“You got some kind of fantasy with a devastatingly handsome man in glasses, Gem?” he asked and playfully nudged my shoulder with his. “Because I have no issues obliging.”
I wished I could have called bullshit on his devastatingly handsome man comment, but let’s face it, cocky or not, Leo Landry was exactly that.
“How about we focus on your homework and leave the fantasies for another time?”
“That sounds like a terrible idea.”
I playfully rolled my eyes and concentrated on the task at hand—Leo’s current grad assignment, a practice quiz and a twenty-page thesis on the importance of ethics in architecture and original design.
“What are you writing for the thesis?”
He shrugged. “Fuck, if I know.”
“Why don’t you focus on the ever-growing tension within our world’s political climate and how it should be morally and ethically just for governments to be transparent with each other when it comes to infrastructure advancement?”
“Why do you think governments should be transparent with each other?”
“Because no one government owns more than what is within their country’s borders,” I said. “And whatever is discovered or created could greatly affect more than one country, especially those with high-poverty populations.”
Leo searched my eyes for a brief moment, and I felt a bit exposed underneath his gaze.
“What?” I asked. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I knew you were intelligent,” he said, “but you’re really fucking smart, Gem. You do realize that, right?”
“I mean, I know I’m not stupid,” I said through a laugh. “I just don’t really have my shit together when it comes to knowing what I want to do with my life.”
“How long have you been doing temp work?”
“Over a year,” I explained. “I started when I dropped out of college my senior year.”
“What were you majoring in?”
“I was in the engineering program at NYU.”
“That’s not an easy program to get into.”
“I know.” I laughed. “Trust me, I know. But I just couldn’t do it. Engineering is my grandfather’s and dad’s passion, but it’s definitely not mine. They’re both still pissed at me for dropping out.”
“Do you think you’ll go back?”
“To college or the engineering program?”
“Either one.”
“Honestly, I don’t know,” I said. “I mean, it’s a hard no when it comes to finishing my engineering degree. I just can’t fathom a life where I would be that bored and miserable with my career. But going back to college? The jury is still out on that one.”
“What interests you?” he asked. “Deep down, what’s your passion?”
Music.
I shrugged. “I’m not sure yet.”
He glanced across the room at my desk and took in the messy notebooks scrawled with lyrics and the guitar resting against the wall. My pride and joy, work like a dog, save and scrimp for months, love of my life guitar. He looked at it like I did, and my stomach turned over on itself. “Are you sure about that?”
“Obviously, I love music,” I said. “But I just don’t see it being an actual career for me.”
“You know, I’ve heard you sing, Gem…”.
“At a goddamn drag show,” I retorted, but he shook his head.
“And karaoke. But the location doesn’t matter,” he said. “Drag show. Street corner. The goddamn bathroom. The only thing that matters is that you’re really fucking talented.”
“You think so?”
“I know so,” he said and set his laptop down beside his hip and got off the bed to grab my guitar.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing,” he said and sat down on the edge of the bed and strummed a few chords and grinned at me. “Will you play me something?”
I shook my head and laughed. “Nice try, Leonard.”
“C’mon, Gem,” he said. “It’s just you and me. No one else. Plus, you already know I love your voice.”
“You do?” I asked and he nodded.
“I do.”
“What do you want me to play?”
“Anything,” he said and handed me my guitar.
“Okay,” I said and took a deep breath as I adjusted the guitar in my lap. “I’ll play you a little something I’ve been working on for the past few weeks.”
“You write your own music?”
“Sometimes.” I shrugged. “When I’m feeling inspired, I guess.”
His responding smile was all the confidence I needed, and before I knew it, I was strumming my fingers across my guitar and playing Leo a song I’d yet to title.
It was about a girl who didn’t know what she wanted. A girl who was trying to find her place it the world. A girl who was me.
Leo just sat beside me, watching with rapt attention as
I sang each word, each verse, and strummed each note with my fingertips.
When I reached the end of the song, nervous butterflies filled my belly as I set my guitar down beside the bed. The scariest part about singing your own songs was that they were a piece of you. Like, you were just handing your soul to someone on a silver platter, without any guarantee they’d accept it with warmth and love.
It was always so terrifying.
I looked at him from beneath my lashes, and I watched as a slow, tender smile kissed his lips.
“And you thought my hot nerd glasses were a distraction,” he muttered, and his smile grew wider. “Good God, Gem, you’re so fucking beautiful all the time, but when you sing, I can’t feel my own body. Everything, everyone…the whole world except for you goes numb. That song was beautiful.”
His words hit me straight in the chest, hard and swift and nauseating, if I was perfectly honest.
They were too much. Too intimate. Too real. Too encouraging on something I’d been trying to tell myself wasn’t an option for far too long.
Tight-lipped from uncertainty, I had the odd urge to shield my face from his steady gaze.
But Leo didn’t need my focus or my words. Instead, he reached out and pulled me into his arms to take what he needed from me himself. “Thank you,” he whispered against my mouth. “Thank you for sharing that with me.”
“You’re welcome,” I whispered back. Little did he know, he’d just given me everything I’d never known I’d needed and more. I couldn’t stop myself from leaning forward and pressing my lips to his.
Full and warm and soft, his lips were the perfect after-dinner treat.
He responded with fervor, and when his hands went into my hair, I moaned.
He just felt so good. He always felt so good.
Before I knew it, we were fused to one another and tumbling back onto my bed.
My clothes, Leo’s clothes—they were a meager memory.
Leo Landry was the real deal. And Leo Landry loving me from the inside out? I’d never known a better, more intoxicating feeling in my entire life.
Cam turned up the radio as we pulled away from the party and smashed his hands in rhythm against the steering wheel.
I laughed as he sang along to “Walking in Memphis” like a drunk college girl, despite being the sober driver of the evening.
We’d been guests at a charity event, along with a select few others from the team—basically, whatever guys weren’t busy—and Cam and I were getting closer by the day.
I’d never have imagined I could be such good friends with a guy like him—that I’d have stuff in common with someone so much older than me—but it became clearer every day that this would be the kind of friendship that lasted a lifetime.
The offbeat, off-key, god-awful sound of his voice only reminded me of the sweetness of Gemma’s, and when he finished belting out the chorus, I reached out to turn the volume knob back down to human levels.
He grumbled good-naturedly, but I dove right into conversation to take some of the sting out of the offense.
“So, how long have you known that Will Chambers guy?”
“Will? The manager at Monarchy?”
I nodded. We’d met him earlier that evening while mingling with the crowd, and Cam was chummy from the get-go. It was obvious they’d crossed paths more than a time or two, and Monarchy was one of the hottest stage-bearing clubs in Manhattan. From what I’d heard, even Ellie Goulding had performed there before becoming famous.
“Yeah.”
“I’ve known him four or five years, I guess. We used to hang out together when we dated girls who were friends.”
I nodded along graciously, like I cared, careful to put off getting to the point until I buttered him up.
“Oh, that’s cool. Seems like a nice guy. Club is really popular too.”
Cam, of course, smelled my bullshit a mile away.
“The best.” He smiled, looking back and forth between me and the road as he waited for me to get to the point. When my carefully crafted I’m-not-after-anything smile went on for too long, he laughed and took over leading the conversation again. “You want me to set you up on a date with him or something? Christ, your questions and the seriously creepy look on your face are freaking me out a little bit.”
I laughed and sighed, shaking my head before looking out the window and then back to Cam. “No. I just…”
Shit, was I really going to admit to all this? Test our relatively new friendship by asking for a favor for my girlfriend?
This could be such a big deal for Gemma.
Yes. Yes, I was.
“Do you remember Gemma?”
He hummed and drummed his fingertips on the steering wheel as he pretended to contemplate it. “Hmm. Not your Nonnie. Or Nonna. Or what the fuck ever. Blond or something, if I’m remembering correctly.” I rolled my eyes, and he scoffed. “Duh. The apple of your eye, dude. The dip to your wick.”
I laughed at his crudeness, but he went on anyway.
“Yeah. I remember your girl. Everything still going well with her?”
I nodded at the understatement of the century and locked my muscles to keep from spewing twenty minutes’ worth of compliments and lovey-dovey bullshit. Cam was patient and he was kind, but no amount of bribery in the world would keep him from sharing my love poetry word vomit with Sean if I gave him the material.
“Really well. Couldn’t be going any better, honestly.”
“What the fuck?” Cam yelled. “And you haven’t shared more details? What are we? Acquaintances? You should be telling me everything.”
“Well. Sorry,” I said with a laugh. “I didn’t think you’d want every single detail of my love life.”
“Only the interesting ones. The boring shit, you can keep to yourself.”
“Yeah.” I laughed, knowing good and well I’d be keeping the majority of it to myself no matter what he said. Friendship was great and all, but with a group of guys like them just waiting to peck over my carcass, privacy was even better. Still, this wanting to know more shit kind of played into my hands, so I used it to my advantage. “Okay, well…” I said slowly, “she can really fucking sing.”
“Ah,” Cam breathed. “Now I’m getting it. She’s hounding you, trying to use your connections.”
His insinuation caught me completely off guard, and I jerked my head. “What? No! She has no idea that I know anyone or ever would. She’s just good. And well, after meeting him tonight, I figured…”
“You just figured your buddy Cam could hook you up,” he finished for me with an indulgent smile. I figured he’d be quick to pick up on my motives, but at least he didn’t seem angry or annoyed.
“Yeah,” I admitted with a shrug of my shoulders.
“Say no more,” he said swiftly, pulling up the voice command screen in his truck. “I’ll call him right now.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” he said with a laugh and called out Will Chambers to the voice command. As the phone started to ring, my stomach churned. “You just better hope it’s not your fucking hormones or dick making her sound good. If you get her a gig at Monarchy, she better be able to really fucking sing.”
“She can,” I said confidently. This was a big deal, I knew, but Gemma’s voice had the rawest, realest talent I’d ever heard in my life. There was no way she would let anyone down if I got her the opportunity.
Cam’s schmoozing was fast and effective, and before I knew it, he’d sweet-talked Gemma right into a prime position on Monarchy’s stage next week. My body buzzed with the excitement at how quickly it was all coming together.
Gemma’s passion for music mirrored my passion for football. It ran through her veins and stayed intertwined with her soul. It was who she was. And it was exactly what she should be doing.
I only wanted good things for my girl.
And this opportunity, it was all the good things.
It was a huge fucking deal.
When Cam dropped me o
ff at my place, I went straight to my Durango and fired it up before giving her a call.
This late at night, I didn’t want to show up without notice, but the reason? Well, that was worthy of a surprise.
I had the best news ever. I could not wait to tell her.
And by telling her in person, when the initial celebration was over, we’d have the whole rest of the night to celebrate in even better ways.
“I’m sorry, you did what?” I asked, the roar of blood in my ears making it impossible to tell if I’d actually heard what I thought I had.
He was so happy, so fucking enthusiastic, and I was…trying not to throw up. I’d heard the lilt in his voice, the glee in his tone, the pure excitement in his every word when he called, but I’d naïvely thought…I don’t even know. I guess I’d just thought he was like every man I’d ever engaged with biologically, and that he was just really, truly animated about having sex.
When he’d said he was on his way, I’d turned giddy.
I’d taken a quick shower and gotten so fresh and so clean and even put on my sexiest pair of lace panties beneath my cutest pajamas.
I’d had it all worked out in my mind.
I’d answer the door.
Smiles would occur.
Then Leo would walk inside, and we’d live up to the two-a.m. booty call hype.
I’d never thought it’d be…this.
Good God, what had he done?
“I booked you a gig at Monarchy,” Leo repeated, the exact words I was really hoping I’d misheard taunting me through each and every syllable. “Cam knows the guy in charge of booking acts—”
My heart woke the fuck up at his words and started pounding against my ribs like a hammer. I didn’t have the tact or care to stop myself from interrupting.
“You booked me a gig?”
“I did.” He grinned and bounced on his toes and nodded with pride as I grew a little greener. Part of me didn’t want to believe it was as bad as I could be making it out to be, so I stalled, hoping when I asked for the details I prayed weren’t true, he’d set me free from this hell.
“Monarchy? As in one of the most popular nightclubs in Manhattan?”
“Yep.”
I glanced around my living room manically, trying to focus on something, anything, to slow my heart, but the walls of my apartment were starting to close in around me. I was suffocating—drowning—dying at the very real certainty that he’d pushed me off a cliff I’d been scrambling away from for over a year.
