by Lauren Rowe
It’s a true statement... technically. Because my dick has never been inside Aloha and the common understanding of the word sex is fucking... right? So what if, God willing, my statement won’t be true before tonight is over; it’s still true now. Sort of. But either way, whether the statement was technically true or not, I suddenly realize I shouldn’t have said it. Because even if I had fucked Aloha last night with my big ol’ cock, even if I had pounded her to within an inch of her life Lionel Richie style, then I sure as fuck wouldn’t be apologizing to Barry for it this morning. Because whether I fuck Aloha or not is none of Barry’s business, as long as I do it in a safe, secured location. Indeed, the only person allowed to have an opinion about where my dick goes in relation to Aloha’s sweet pussy is Aloha.
Barry’s hard gaze is unreadable to me. “I didn’t mean to imply you’ve been doing stupid and reckless shit with Aloha. The tabloids have been saying you have, but Brett and Crystal have both confirmed all the crazy stories are false and that you’ve been nothing but professional throughout the tour. I was just talking generalities—telling you what I’ve observed as a cautionary tale.”
I shoot Brett a look of gratitude, thanking him for whatever he said to Barry when asked about my job performance, and Brett nods in reply. But Brett ain’t no fool. He might have told Barry I’ve been professional on this tour, but he’s gotta believe I’ve been secretly banging Aloha like a drum every night behind closed doors. Brett’s seen the way Aloha and I interact on a daily basis. He, along with the entire world, has seen those workout videos of Aloha and me. And he knows I’ve raced up to Aloha’s hotel room to “watch movies” in every city of the tour. Yeah, I know Aloha and I have actually been watching movies all those times—other than last night—and that I hadn’t so much as kissed Aloha until about eight hours ago, but Brett can’t possibly believe that to be the case.
But, see, unlike Barry, Brett doesn’t give a fuck what Aloha does in private, as long as she’s physically safe. Because Brett, unlike Barry, doesn’t have some fucked-up, bizarre notion that Aloha—a twenty-three-year-old woman—shouldn’t have a normal sex life. I mean, shit, Brett’s been sleeping with Aloha’s tour manager, Crystal, since night one and nobody’s batted an eyelash, least of all me! Why shouldn’t Aloha and I be able to do the same thing behind closed doors?
Barry rubs his face and sighs. “I’m sorry, Z. I’m sleep-deprived and worried about Aloha. You’ve got strong feelings for her, but you’re strong enough not to act on them. I respect that.”
I swallow down the urge to confess my sins. “No offense taken,” I choke out. Oh, shit. I suddenly wanna purge my soul. Because, fuck it, I’ve done absolutely nothing wrong and neither has Aloha. I clear my throat. “Actually, in the interest of keeping it one hundred with you, Barry...” I clear my throat again. “Rest assured, I take my job very seriously. When I’m on the job, her safety is my only concern. But I firmly believe my job as Aloha’s bodyguard has nothing to do with what I might do with her in private... as a man. If something were to happen between Aloha and me behind closed doors, it’d be between two consenting adults, and only when I’m sure she’s safe and secure and away from iPhones and long-range lenses. And if that were to happen, it’d be something private and special and sacred between my woman and me—and nobody else’s business. Not even yours.”
Brett’s eyebrows shoot up.
But Barry’s face remains impassive. Scarily so.
I wait, watching the vein in Barry’s neck throb in and out and his jaw muscles pulse.
The corner of Barry’s mouth twitches.
His nostrils flare.
Finally, he says, “So it’s like that, huh?”
My heart is clanging. I can barely breathe. I clear my throat. “It’s like that.”
Barry looks at Brett for a long beat, his dark eyes blazing... and when he returns to me, I think I see the slightest glimmer of a smirk on his lips. Or, shit, maybe that’s just wishful thinking. Maybe it’s the smile of an executioner unsheathing his sword. “You done spilling your guts now, Zander?”
“I’m done.”
“Good. Get your head in the game, man. It’s time for us to tell Aloha the bad news about the sicko who broke into her house.”
Chapter 32
Aloha
I’m on edge.
Jittery.
Anxious.
Fighting tooth and nail not to have a full-blown panic attack. It’s the same way I’ve felt throughout this entire meet and greet, which, God willing, is almost over. For the past forty minutes—even as I’ve signed autographs and smiled for selfies and hugged and been hugged by fans—I haven’t been able to stop imagining some faceless, deranged wacko breaking into my house and coming all over my sheets. If ever there was a day when I don’t want to interact with fans, or anyone, for that matter, today is that day. Except for Zander. I most definitely want to interact with him. Naked, preferably. And Barry, too, of course. Although not naked, obviously. But other than those two, I currently feel like I’m done with people forever.
“You okay?” Barry asks from a couple feet away.
I force a smile as the next group of fans approaches. “I’m fine.”
But I’m not fine. I’m shaken. Covertly freaking out. I don’t want to be here. I want to wipe off this makeup and take off this sparkling corset thing and rip the sparkling flowers out of my hair and get into bed. With Zander. I want to kiss his incredible lips. Get licked into a frenzy. And, finally, blessedly, let him fuck my cares away.
Why can’t I have that? In fact, why can’t I ever have what I want? Goddammit! Everyone always tells me what to do and where to be and I just go along with the program like the good little automaton I am. Even Barry, God bless him, arrived today, out of the blue, and just kind of took over without any regard for the way things run now. He didn’t mean to steamroll me. I’m sure he just thought he was taking care of me, like he always has. But things are different now. I’m different now. Barry can’t treat me exactly the way he did back when I was thirteen. I’m a twenty-three-year-old woman. I’ve got opinions. Plans and desires. But did he ask me what I wanted? No. When we arrived at this meet and greet, Barry just assumed I’d want him to stand by my side, the same as he always used to do. He took the wingman spot next to me and banished my Shaggy Swaggy to stand near the entrance across the large room.
And I let him.
Because I’m a flaming asshole.
Why did I do that? Why did I let Barry banish Zander to Timbuktu? Why didn’t I say “No, Big Barry. The wingman spot at meet and greets is Zander’s now. I want him and nobody else, not even you!”? Why didn’t I say that? Because I’m not only a flaming asshole. I’m a wimp, too. Or maybe, more accurately, I’m a cowardly ostrich who was hoping, in that moment, to bury my head in the sand and pretend this morning’s hideousness never happened. Yeah, that’s probably it. I wanted to turn back time for a while, to go back to when I didn’t know there were sickos out there who’d even think of breaking into my house and masturbating in my sheets and shoes, let alone actually doing it. I wanted to return to a simpler time when my only problems were having no friends and no father and not being loved by my mother and having a secretly gay “boyfriend” who was addicted to opioids. Ah, the good old days! But now that I’ve been standing here with Barry at my side for the past forty minutes, it’s clear to me there’s no such thing as turning back time. There’s only the present. And in the present, the only thing I want is to be alone with a certain hot bodyguard who’s standing across the room with his back to me.
I glance longingly at Zander for the hundredth time during this meet and greet. This time, he’s talking to the cyborg. Last time, he was scrutinizing the line of fans waiting outside in the hallway. The time before that, he was chatting with Crystal.
Zander turns his head slightly, revealing his phone pressed against his ear. He shakes his head slightly and my brain instantly supplies the word “No” coming out of his beautiful lips.
And just that fast, my twisted imagination hears Zander’s entire phone conversation:
No, Daphne, Zander says. I’ve only been canoodling with Aloha in city after city to make you jealous.
Well, it worked, Daphne replies. I want you back, Z. Move to New York today! Quit that stupid job and come to me now!
“Aloha!” an excited fan shrieks, jolting me out of my bizarre reverie.
“I love you!” another fan in the group squeals.
“I love you, too!” I say reflexively, forcing a smile.
And away we go.
But even as I interact with my fans, my gaze keeps migrating to Zander. I watch him end his call and motion to Brett. They chat and Zander places another call. Okay, clearly, Zander is handling some sort of official bodyguard business over there, not whispering sweet nothings to Daphne. Of course. Why did my brain imagine him talking to Daphne, of all people? Zander hasn’t mentioned her in forever. It’s always me who brings her up, just to test Zander’s reaction. Because I’m a flaming asshole. And, anyway, even if Zander were inclined to talk to Daphne these days, he’d never do it at a freaking meet and greet while on duty. Because the man’s a pro.
“I love you, Aloha!” an exuberant new voice says, and my attention is instantly diverted from Zander to the teenager standing before me. And off I go again—smiling, posing, signing, and hugging... all of it while thinking about that sick fuck, whoever he is, who broke into my house. And Daphne. And how much I want Zander’s cock inside me. Oh, God, I’m a hot mess.
When the latest group leaves, I glance at Zander again... and this time, glory be, he’s looking straight at me. Leveling me with those sexy, chocolate eyes of his. And, just like that, I’m remembering those chocolate eyes looking up at me from between my thighs last night.
Last night.
No wonder Daphne called sex with Zander “mind-blowing” in her stupid “I am shooketh!” text way back when. I haven’t even fucked the man yet and it was the best sex of my life. I’ll literally never be the same again.
“I love you so much, Aloha!” a woman shrieks, forcing me to take my eyes off Zander’s blazing eyes. And before I can say a word to her, the woman lurches at me and enfolds me in an excited, painful hug.
Barry steps forward and politely reminds the woman I’m made of flesh and blood and she releases her tight grip.
“I’m so sorry!” she says, tears streaking down her cheeks. “I just love you so much.”
“No worries,” I say, even though my arms are throbbing. I pose for a selfie... and away I go again. Twenty minutes later, as the last group is being ushered out of the room, I turn to Barry and whisper, “Thank God that’s over. I don’t think I could smile for one more selfie if my life depended on it.” My gaze flickers to Zander across the room, yet again, and I’m delighted to find him staring at me. And just like that, I can’t wait another minute to be alone with him. “Welp,” I say, clapping my hands together. “I think I’m gonna chill in my dressing room for a while before the show. Don’t worry, I’ll have Zander escort me so you and Brett can—”
“Not so fast, hula girl,” Barry says sharply, stopping my movement.
Crap. Does Barry suspect what Zander and I did last night? Gasp. Did Kiera tell Crystal what I told her... and Crystal told Brett... and Brett told Barry?
Barry continues, “Reed is on his way over here with a group of friends, including a guy named Henn I’d like you to meet. Henn is going to be doing some security work for us.”
My entire body relaxes. Oh, thank God. “Oh. Sure. No problem.”
“Reed should be here any minute, so you shouldn’t have to wait too long to—”
A commotion at the door draws our attention. Speak of the devil. It’s Reed Rivers entering the room with a group of people.
As usual, Reed is carrying himself like he thinks he’s got the biggest dick in the room—a particularly laughable thought in this room, considering Zander Shaw is standing in it.
Reed and his group—four men and five women—greet Brett and Zander at the door—showering Zander, in particular, with effusive affection. And then, all of them, including Zander and Brett, head over to Barry and me for greetings and introductions.
It takes me a while to get everyone in the group straight. But, finally, I do. There’s Josh Faraday, Reed’s longtime friend since college—a dark-haired hottie in a designer suit who looks like he leaped off the pages of GQ. On Josh’s arm is his supermodel-looking wife, a blonde introduced as Kat Faraday whom I quickly realize is Keane and Dax’s big sister, Kat Morgan—the feisty sister Keane said he and his brothers call Jizz and Kum Shot because of the poor girl’s initials.
The second eldest Morgan brother is here, too. Ryan Morgan—the one called Captain. And, wow, Captain Morgan is one sexy, tattooed pirate. Indeed, Ryan Morgan’s every smile and look and movement scream sex, sex, sex! But, clearly, he’s only got eyes for one woman: his smokin’ hot wife, Tessa Morgan, a big-chested, small-waisted, dark-haired Latina who could easily claim the Miss Universe crown, if that’s what she wanted to do. Ryan and Tessa Morgan are so damned caliente together, I can’t help thinking, while politely shaking their hands: I would pay to watch you two have sex.
The group also includes a stunningly handsome guy named Jonas Faraday, Josh’s lighter-haired fraternal twin who’s here with his lovely wife, Sarah. Like Tessa, Sarah is a beautiful, dark-haired Latina. But unlike Tessa, Sarah radiates a deep-seated kindness that takes my breath away. Tessa seems absolutely wonderful, of course. She comes across as a genuinely warm and wonderful woman. But she’s clearly got a little edge to her, that one. Like, if you were to cross Tessa Morgan, you’d better cover your balls. But this Sarah woman? One look at her and there’s no doubt she’s gentleness and kindness incarnate.
And then there’s sweet and nerdy Henn, the hacker guy Barry wanted me to meet, whose sweet smile made my heart go pitter-pat the minute he said hello. Henn is accompanied by his bespectacled and equally adorable girlfriend, a woman introduced to me by Kat as “Hannah Banana Montana Milliken.” When I asked Hannah if she’s related to my new girl crush and bestie, Maddy Milliken, Hannah revealed she’s Maddy’s big sister. Which, of course, made me squeal and give Hannah a massive hug.
Finally, when all other introductions have been made, Reed guides the woman who’s clearly his date for the evening to me and says, “Aloha, this is Genevieve.” Not “my girlfriend, Genevieve” or “my date, Genevieve,” I notice, so I’m thinking the woman means a whole lotta nothing to him. Annoyingly, Reed’s date, Genevieve, is the only person in the group who asks me for a selfie and then proceeds to fawn all over me in a way that makes me feel like I’m at an official meet and greet, rather than casually hanging out with Reed’s friends. Needless to say, I’m relieved when Zander comes by, physically peels Genevieve off me, and guides me to Barry, Brett, and that hacker guy, Henn, for a quick chat.
I talk to the “security foursome” for a bit, and just as that brief conversation begins to wind down, Hannah glides over and joins the group. She thanks me profusely for the tweet I sent out about Maddy’s latest documentary and informs me that Maddy’s movie just won honorable mention at a big film festival. Soon, the other women drift over, too, and the men drift away, and I find myself in the midst of an animated girl party that sends my heart racing with glee. Just this fast, these women are treating me like one of their own—like I’m a friend of Reed’s and Zander’s, as opposed to “Aloha Carmichael.” I’ve never been part of a female friend group like this, though I’ve seen the phenomenon in movies, and it’s making me feel giddy.
People come and go from my immediate orbit. And I find myself laughing pretty much continuously, no matter who’s standing before me. Soon, no matter the combination of people in my midst, I don’t feel like I’m making small talk with strangers—I feel like I’m hanging out with good friends. My friends. It’s the same instant connection I felt with Keane and Maddy. The same one I felt texting with Zander that very fi
rst night, back when I thought he was a bearded broomstick.
Zander.
I peek at him across the room to find him standing with Kat, Josh, Ryan, and Tessa—and my mouth physically waters at the sight of him. Whew! That man ain’t no bearded broomstick, baby. As I gaze at Zander’s group, Kat playfully punches Zander on his shoulder and pulls an expression I instantly realize I’ve seen before... on Dax Morgan’s face. And, all of a sudden, I realize Kat’s got precisely the same face as Dax, only in female form. Deciding to use this clever observation as an excuse to stand next to Zander, I excuse myself from my current conversation and stride to his side—so close to him, my forearm brushes his.
“Hey, everyone,” I say brightly. “Kat, I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but I just realized you’re the female version of Dax. It’s like God got lazy when he was making your brother, so he pulled out his old Kat Morgan mold and said, ‘Bah, no one will notice!’”
Kat giggles. “You’re not the first person to say that, Aloha. My family has been calling Dax and me the Wonder Twins since we were little.”
Out of nowhere, Zander’s palm rests against the small of my back, out of sight from everyone, and my clit pulses at that simple, intimate... covert touch.
Ryan chuckles. “Wait till you meet our mother and Kat’s daughter tomorrow night. Those two have the exact same face as the Wonder Twins, too. The four of them together look like Russian nesting dolls.”
Zander’s hand drifts down to my tailbone and rests immediately above my ass crack. My breathing hitches, but I force myself to smile breezily at Kat and Josh and say, “How old is your daughter?”
“One,” Josh says proudly. “Gracie Louise Faraday. Little G. Man, is she hell on wheels, just like her fiery mommy.”
