I want to find out more about Eden. Like where she’s from? I’m pretty sure Blythe lives in New York, which means we’re both in the same city. It shouldn’t be too hard to find her once I get to a computer. The fun of being a computer prodigy is I can find out basically anything I damn well please.
A man stands on a stage in the front of the hall, tapping a microphone. He asks everyone to take their seats. The president will be giving a speech. I make my way to my designated table. There’s only one seat left. Fuck! I would rather take off than sit beside Carter and his wife. With all eyes on me, I let out a quiet breath and force myself into the seat. Leaning back in my chair, on the brink of boredom, I listen as the president talks about the importance of technology to America …
My mind wanders to Eden Howard and her feline eyes, her sexy spine, her long blonde hair. Without thinking, I turn my head and scan the room. She’s sitting at the table behind me. Our eyes meet and my pulse quickens. What the fuck? She gives me a heated glare. I spin around fast. She’s clearly drunk. That’s all this is. Or is it more? The president finishes his speech and a round of applause pulls me from my Eden-induced reverie. Our table engages in conversation while some appetizers are being served. Carter has the whole table intrigued by one of his idiotic stories. I take the opportunity to excuse myself and make my way to the men’s room. When I finish my business, I leave the restroom just as the door to the women’s restroom opens. Eden exits, her long gown flowing over her lean body. From this angle I can see how tall and strikingly beautiful she is. She pauses and her lower lip falls.
She waves. “Hey there, Dick.” Her voice is sweet, low and raspy. Get your shit together, man.
“Hi, Eden,” I reply in a deep, steady voice. What I really want to do is place her palms on the wall and take her from behind. No talking, just fucking. Wait! That’s not true. Holy hell. I want to talk to her. I want to find out what makes her tick. Shit! This cannot be happening. I’m one of New York’s most eligible bachelors. I’m a sure thing in the O department, I remind myself. We stand staring at each other. It’s actually kind of uncomfortable, like we both don’t want this moment to end. This is my chance to make a move. She pulls her gaze a way and turns to leave. Fuck no!
“See you around, Dick,” she mutters.
“See you, Eden,” I answer, as she turns to walk back toward the dining hall. I take a few quick steps to catch up to her. She gives me a sideways glance, and then her heel slips …
I catch her in my arms. If I believed in love, or even fate, I’d say this is one hell of a scene for a romance movie: she’s in my arms and I’m supporting her entire body while gazing into her eyes. As my heart beats wildly, I notice her heavy-lidded eyes staring back at me. A transparent force pulls us together as my lips slowly drift toward her. A man’s voice clearing his throat interrupts the moment. It’s Blythe. Being with a married woman has never stopped me before …
“Hey, Blythe. Eden just lost her balance,” I say nonchalantly, helping her straighten.
He doesn’t breathe a word as he stands with his lips pursed together. He then extends his arm to his wife, who is clearly flustered and straightening out her dress. She obliges him, of course.
I straighten myself and watch as they walk off … This isn’t over, Eden Howard. Not by a long shot!
As the Escalade makes it way down the streets of Manhattan, I sit in the backseat watching the rain fall in sleek silvery slits from the sky. Another fundraiser. Another lonely night. My husband sits in the seat beside me, only he isn’t here with me. His mind is a million miles away. The gloomy weather suits my mood. These last couple of weeks have been filled with gala dinners and a film festival. Summer is always a busy time of year for Blythe. Soon my son and I won’t be seeing much of him. At least not until Christmas, when he’ll need his arm candy at another round of dinners and events. After playing the role of doting wife for nine years, to a man that rarely shows affection, I feel like a woman drowning in a sea of loneliness. I know what to expect from him. I also know his limitations. It doesn’t mean I don’t dream of more. Like every little girl, my mother read me the story of Cinderella. A girl who came from a comfortable family, only to lose everything and become a maid until Prince Charming found her. Thinking of my mother makes my heart ache. When I was younger she spent time taking care of me, cooking me meals, playing with me. Then we left Manhattan and moved to Williamsburg for my father’s business. My mother began to slowly slip away from me, and with her so did my hope. Until Blythe. I thought he’d be my prince charming when we met. He was good-looking, smooth—when he wanted to be—and he was affectionate. A bubble of laughter almost escapes me as I think about how affectionate he was. Luckily I contain myself, because the man sitting beside me is cold and frugal, and an unnecessary burst of laughter might grant me an eye roll. I know an eye roll isn’t really a big deal to most. To me it is. When you receive only eye rolls, without any positive encouragement or affection, your insides begin to rot and wither away. Hope gets bottled up for another place and time, and all you have left is an old twenty-eight-year-old, sad and damaged beyond her years.
Tonight, though, I am feeling bold. I don’t know if it’s because I’m more down than usual, but I need my husband to make some sort of effort where I’m concerned. I deserve at least that. I take care of our home, our son. I cook dinners that he rarely comes home to eat. I deserve some of his attention.
As the Escalade pulls up to our building, the driver exits in the pouring rain. A moment later, he is at my door with an umbrella in hand as he escorts Blythe and me toward the building. I actually hate that the rain never caresses my cheeks anymore. People were meant to walk in the rain. Hell, people were meant to get wild and dance in the rain. You won’t melt in the rain. At least that’s what my mother used to say before she left.
I follow my husband into the elevator, which stops directly in our penthouse apartment. The babysitter comes toward the door.
“He’s sleeping. We played a little and I gave him a bath. He wasn’t too upset tonight.” She shrugs her shoulders as she updates me on the status of my four-year-old son. He has separation anxiety issues, and I haven’t been able to find the right babysitter for him to feel comfortable with. The babysitter tonight is a high school student recommended by one of Blythe’s friends. God knows what that means exactly. She seems like a nice kid, but last time Grant complained she spent all her time on her cell phone and not paying attention to him.
“Thanks for updating me, Shelly. I appreciate you taking care of him tonight,” I reply, while Shelly grabs her sweatshirt and waits expectantly, looking to get paid as she should be.
“Blythe.” I turn to my husband who is still looking at his phone. I wish he would at least show some concern for our son, but he is always too absorbed in the present task at hand.
“Ah … yes, sorry.” He pulls a gold clip with a wad of money out of his back pocket and takes a crisp one hundred dollar bill, passing it to the girl. Her eyes light up like Christmas morning. I can’t blame her. I was once that girl, working to make ends meet and supporting myself. Blythe doesn’t like to let me forget that. I just wish that this particular girl actually earned her keep by paying my son the attention he deserves. Really, I wish I didn’t need to go out at all, at least not for these snazzy gala nights.
The girl leaves and I look over at my husband, thinking how much I miss intimacy. I walk over to him and wrap my arms around his neck. His eyes avert from his phone and stare at me as if I’ve lost it.
“What are you doing, Eden?” he asks suspiciously—as if it isn’t normal to show your husband affection. The truth is, for us, touching is out of the norm. He stopped paying me attention, and I followed suit. Time has been my enemy now, and as the years go by I feel more desperate for his love and affection than I ever have. I guess this is my last chance at hoping he will come around and be the husband I need him to be.
“Blythe,” I whisper as I spread soft kisses along his neck. A
neck I know doesn’t belong to me. A neck, that has probably been kissed by more women than fingers on my hands and toes on my feet. I know of his indiscretions, but I also wish I were enough for him. He wraps his arms around my waist. I hate feeling so needy for him. It’s been a good year since he last touched me. His lips connect with my neck, and I roll it backwards. I know better than to think he will kiss my lips. He won’t. I lift my head back up, and he unzips the back of my dress. Beneath is a black lace bustier and a black lace thong. His eyes roam over my body and his gaze heats by the seconds. He likes what he sees, and I know he’s proud to have me on his arm when we go out. I just don’t understand why that interest doesn’t get transferred to the bedroom. Am I bad in bed? Why am I not enough? I don’t voice my thoughts, though. I’ve done that before and he’ll walk away from me, leaving me feeling cold and pathetic. I can’t handle that now. Not tonight. The darkness is worsening, and I just need to feel. I reach for his shirt and work to undo his buttons and bow tie. I drape my palms over his shoulders and release his shirt, dropping it to the floor. He’s a good-looking man: muscular, tall, intense brown eyes that leave him with a harem of women falling at his feet.
I press my hand to his chest, and he falls back onto the couch, quickly getting to work to on his pants and boxers. As he sits before me with lust in his eyes, I hope to win him over so he will want only me, but I’m not a fool anymore to believe he will. Tonight is about my own needs. My own release. He fucks me maybe once a year. I’m a young, healthy woman. I clearly have needs and unlike him, I respect the vows of marriage. I can’t run off and sleep around. I don’t have it in me. Never have. I straddle him without removing my thong. He places his fingers between my thighs and hisses. It truly boggles me. How can he be so attracted to me one minute and not care the next? I push the thought away. He slips his cock inside me and I close my eyes. I startle when Dixon Crawford’s face appears, causing my eyes to quickly flick open. How can I be thinking of manwhore Dick Crawford at a time like this? I close my eyes again and ride my husband’s cock. At least he gives me the control I need to get off. His hands play roughly with my breasts, and I smack into him harder and faster until I come undone. There is nothing earth shattering about tonight. In fact, I’m berating myself for using him and not my vibrator. I guess I was after some feeling or emotion that I’m clearly not going to get. I climb off him. He doesn’t say a word. I need to go clean myself up, but before I do I extend my hand.
“Do you want to come up to bed?” I hate the hope in my tone.
“I have some work to do. I will be up soon.” His response is as cold as he is. I pick up my dress from the floor and make my way to the powder room to clean up before I head upstairs. Before bed, I take a hot shower, needing to cleanse myself. The sex didn’t help at all. It only sends me into a tornado of self-deprecation. And why was I thinking of Dick as I was coming? The thought is unsettling. Since meeting him, I did a quick Google search and wasn’t surprised to see that his rendezvous are top stories for the gossip columns. Models, actresses … you name them, he’s done them. He seems no different than Blythe. I won’t go down that road again.
Driving through Manhattan on a Monday morning is freaking brutal with all the traffic, and even worse when I have two screaming kids in my backseat.
“Daddy, I don’t want to go to school. I’m tired,” Jaden whines.
“Daddy, I spilled my milk,” Macy cries. I turn my head slightly, not wanting to take my eyes off the road, and try to pick up the cup of milk she dropped so it doesn’t make a complete mess on my leather seats. When I have the kids, I drive the Audi Q7 since it’s safe and large, giving them plenty of room. My hand lands on the empty cup of milk. Great! It’s empty … and all over the floor.
“It’s okay, sweetheart. You can get more milk at school,” I reassure her, because I hate when she cries. I swear I think it raises my blood pressure.
“Okay, Daddy,” Macy says with a sweet, sad voice.
“Jaden, my man, is there a reason you don’t want to go to school?” I ask. It’s his second year at this school since it’s a private school and they offer nursery. I thought he would be used to it by now.
“Zack took my toy car yesterday and wouldn’t give it back. He said he was going to take it home,” he explains. I look at him in the rearview mirror and notice his eyes tearing up.
“Okay, well, I’ll come inside and talk to your teacher. What’s your teacher’s name?” I ask. I don’t want to show up to the door looking like I don’t know what’s going on with my kids.
“Ms. Jenkins.”
My ex had them last week, so I missed the first day of school. She doesn’t take them to school anyway. She gets the nanny to drop them off so she can sleep the morning. It pisses me the fuck off. We definitely have the money to afford the luxury of a nanny, but I don’t like that she passes off her duty as a parent. Our kids deserve better. She’s turned into one of these self-absorbed women, only interested in buying another designer purse or fake boobs instead of doing motherly things. My mother left my father and me behind and walked away when he lost his business. He became an alcoholic and left me in the care of our housekeeper. He never looked back. I’m basically consumed by the fact that I don’t want to follow in my parents’ footsteps. Everything I have ever done has been for the sole purpose of protecting my kids from that fate. The money has gone to my ex-wife’s head, and it irks me to no end that she doesn’t fulfill her parental duties every chance she gets. But it affords me more time with my kids. I just wish they had two stable parents to depend on. Growing up, it was all I ever thought about.
About ten minutes later, I pull into the school parking lot. It’s practically empty since most parents have their nannies pick up and drop off their kids at school and most families are in walking distance. Grabbing the two backpacks from my front seat, I sling one on each shoulder. Then I help Jaden and Macy out of their car seats.
“You guys are so big.” I hold on to their hands and cross the parking lot, smiling down at them. We reach the playground, and I give them each a hug goodbye. The bell hasn’t gone off yet. At least we’re on time.
“Love you, Daddy.” Macy smiles but she doesn’t let go of my thigh.
“You go ahead and play, sweetheart. I’ll stick around and watch you guys,” I say, trying to reassure her.
“Okay,” she replies sweetly and releases my leg. I lean on the fence and watch as she hesitantly approaches two little girls. She’s very shy. Sometimes I worry that she’s too shy and unsure, but I tell myself she’s still small, and I haven’t had a chance to mess her up in any way.
“Hey, Dick.” A scratchy, familiar voice pulls me away from my internal thoughts or maybe demons.
“Oh, hey, Gracie.” I force a grin. We had sex a few times the end of last year. She was okay. Nothing special. She’s married to some big criminal lawyer in the city. She’s all dolled up first thing in the morning, wearing some exercise gear that shows off her tight ass and reveals her flat stomach. It’s doing nothing for me right now. It’s been a good month since I attended the presidential gala and met Eden Howard. I can’t get her out of my head. I’ve still fucked around a bit. Problem is, when I’m coming, I close my eyes and picture her feline eyes. It’s totally messed up.
“You doing anything after the kids get dropped off?” she asks, pushing out her fake breasts. I should feel some reaction at a request like that. Nothing happens.
“I have to get to work, Gracie,” I respond politely.
“Yeah sure,” she answers, resigned and a little irritated. I just wasn’t feeling her today. Gracie walks off. I continue watching my kids as the bell rings and the classes line up.
At the beginning of last year, Macy and Jaden started off at this posh private school. I took turns with my ex bringing them to school. I noticed it was mostly nannies dropping off the kids. Some were fucking hot. Of course I couldn’t help myself, so I had some fun after the kids went off to school. After a couple months, some
mothers began to show for pick up and drop off. It was then I realized they were discussing my sexual prowess amongst themselves. I was newly separated and needed to fuck my marriage out of my system. It worked. I even liked the idea of the ladies conversing about me. It was another boost to my already healthy ego.
Jaden turns around and waves to me before running up to the door. I figure he’s good, so I decide to put off the teacher talk for now. I will wait and see if anything else comes up when he gets home. I don’t want him to be that kid who complains about everything. He needs to learn to tough it out. Macy turns around and gives me a small wave too. I wave back and watch as their classes enter the building.
As I turn around to walk away I accidentally knock into a woman. “Oh, sorry,” I apologize. She’s dropping off a boy to the kindergarten class.
“That’s okay. We’re fine.” She smiles. I notice that she’s young, hot, big brown eyes and a dark mane of hair running down her back.
“Bye, hon. Have a good day.” She kisses the boy and waves him off. Not a moment later, and she’s returned her attention to me. I’m not even sure why I’m still standing here. I should get to work. Okay, that’s a lie. I know why I’m still standing here and it has to do with sex. She looks mid-twenties and definitely fuckable.
She extends her hand. “I’m Tina. Nice to meet you.”
That’s when it hits me. She’s heard of me. I like her forward approach. She’s hot as hell.
“Dick, nice to meet you.” I grin devilishly, extending my hand to shake hers. My dimples are on show, and I know how the ladies swoon over them. That’s right, everything about me is a chick magnet.
“So is that your son?” I ask, trying to make conversation since she’s staring at me googly-eyed and it’s a little awkward.
“Yeah, he’s my first,” she replies curtly with the same silly grin. Okay, well then … I give her ring finger a quick glance. I’ll be damned. She’s married. Shocker there. I’m guessing her husband must be playing the field too. Welcome to the land of the rich and famous, at least in this neck of the woods.
Dick (Bad Boys #1) Page 2
