Screwed

by Kendall Ryan

  Footsteps approach, quiet crunches on the asphalt. I look up to see Hayden The Playboy standing right in front of me.

  Chapter Three

  Hayden

  My first thought is that she’s not from around here. Her skin is pale and creamy, not bronzed with the golden tan most of us natives maintain year-round without any effort. Long dark hair hangs down her back, and she pushes it out of the way as she takes another look at the clipboard she’s holding.

  I can’t help but introduce myself, even though there’s no purpose for it. I merely own the building; I’m not involved in the day-to-day of running it. If Emery needs help or has questions about her new condo, she’ll work with our building manager in the office just around the corner.

  The truth is I just wanted to see those curves up close. And holy hell, the view just gets better the closer I get.

  That firm, round ass needs a good spanking for making my dick so hard. Generously sized tits, smooth and shapely shoulders, and now that I can really see her features, my gaze focuses on her face. A small, pert nose, high cheekbones, full lips, and thick black eyelashes that rest on her cheeks as she looks down. I tower over her petite frame, but nothing about her is diminutive. I suspect there’s a robust self-confidence just beneath the surface. Her shoulders are pulled back, and she stands tall and proud. I notice that she doesn’t have any problem telling that moving guy to keep his eyes off her tits. My kind of woman.

  As if sensing my presence, Emery glances up when I get near. Her eyes are captivating, two wide-set pools of blue filled with curiosity. She’s a deep thinker. A thoughtful girl, if my hunches are correct.

  “You’re new here,” I say, my tone confident and direct as I treat her to full-on eye contact. Women love that shit. And I couldn’t look away right now, even if I wanted to. Jesus, she’s pretty. Like spring an awkward erection and come way too soon pretty. I’m in deep shit here. Momentarily speechless, I tuck my hands into my pockets and wait for her to respond.

  “What gave me away?”

  I expect a friendly smile or at least a sly grin, but Emery is watching me with a wary expression and guarded eyes. Her tone is flat and emotionless. Damn, that stings more than it should.

  Extending one hand toward her, I attempt a warm smile. “I’m Hayden Oliver. I own the building, and I live upstairs. I just wanted to introduce myself and see if you needed anything.”

  “I’m Emery. And I’m a little busy, if you’ll excuse me.” She looks down at her clipboard once again.

  No way, sweetheart. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.

  I hold up both hands, my smile widening. “I’m harmless.”

  “That’s not what Roxy said.” Emery looks up at me as she says this with no warmth in her features.

  That’s what I was afraid of. “I’m a pussycat. I promise.” I treat her to a wink, and Emery dissolves into a fit of laughter. It’s not the reaction I was expecting.

  “I’m sorry.” She holds up a hand while trying to get herself under control. One more hiccup and she’s there. Lowering her hand, she grins at me. “Do lines like that actually work for you?”

  Ignoring her question, I attempt to regain the upper hand. “Where are you moving from?”

  “Michigan. I just graduated from law school, and I have an internship at Walker, Price, and Pratt. I start on Monday.”

  “I heard you were a lawyer.”

  She shakes her head, and there’s a faraway look in her eyes, as if she’s thinking about something unpleasant. “I’m not a lawyer. Not yet. I’m a legal intern for the summer.”

  I nod. Even a blind man could see this job opportunity is important to her. She’s moved across the country for it, and I’m guessing she has to prove herself this summer to be hired on full-time.

  “Walker, Price, and Pratt . . . that’s downtown, right? Near Pershing Square?”

  She nods. “I think so. At least that’s what Google Maps said.”

  I nod. “It’s not hard to find. And there’s a great sandwich shop within walking distance. It’s called Louie’s Lunch Shack. Just avoid the tuna salad, and you’ll be golden.”

  I’d made the mistake of ordering that once. Never again. I shudder just thinking about it. I spent the next twenty-four hours in the bathroom, and my good buddy Hudson had to play nursemaid, restoring me back to health.

  “Thanks for the tip.”

  “Anytime. That’s what I’m here for.” What am I here for? Why am I standing here talking to this beautiful woman who I know I can’t have?

  She just stands there on the sidewalk in the bright sunlight, as if she’s waiting to see what I’ll do next. I’ve never felt quite so unsure of myself. If Hudson hadn’t just given me a verbal lashing, I would have her upstairs in my condo with her panties around her ankles by now.

  “We should grab a drink later, when you’re done moving in,” I say. I’m hoping she’s ready to call it a day now. It’s almost the weekend, and it’s five o’clock somewhere. Maybe alcohol will smooth over this tension between us.

  She chews on her lower lip, thinking it over. “I really can’t. I’m sorry.”

  Taking a step closer, I lean in toward her. “Is this about something Roxy said?” Fucking Roxy.

  Her gaze skitters away from mine, and lands on the moving truck where the men lifting boxes grunt and scurry off for the elevator. “It’s not that, it’s just I’m here to focus this summer. I’ve just come off a bad breakup, and I’m so not looking for anything.”

  “What did she say?” My tone comes out more commanding than I intended.

  “Roxy?” she asks.

  I nod.

  Emery chews on her lower lip again. “That you’re a dirty, dirty man-whore who’s had his fair share of fun. And then some.”

  “True on all accounts.” No use in denying it. I don’t like liars, and so I make it a habit never to be one myself.

  Emery gazes up at me. Damn. Those eyes. It’s like they see straight through me.

  “If liking pussy is a crime, lock me up. I’m as guilty as they come. I like the taste of it, I like the smell of it, and I especially like the way it feels when—”

  She holds up her hand, her cheeks turning bright pink. “Do not finish that statement, Mr. Oliver. I get the point.”

  Shit. Have I just been rambling on about how much I love pussy? I need to get ahold of myself.

  I glance up at her. Her pulse has quickened in her throat, and her face is flushed. She gives me a look that women normally only give when they want to drop to their knees and service me. Or is there something in her eye?

  My dick leaps to life.

  Her gaze drops to the front of my pants. “I have a big dick ahead of me,” she says, and her cheeks flame bright red. “I mean a big day. Day,” she repeats.

  “Are you okay?” I ask as she shakes away that massive Freudian slip.

  She swallows and gulps down a deep inhale of air. “I’m fine.”

  “Listen.” The urge to reach out and take her hand, to physically connect us in some way, surges through me. But I press on. “I’m not looking for a hookup. I didn’t mean to insinuate anything. Honestly. We could go out—strictly as friends—and I could show you around. You’re new to the area. I could help. That’s all I meant.”

  I remind myself: Friends only. I can do this. I can prove Hudson wrong.

  She presses her lips together, and I’m assuming she’s about to shoot me down when she sighs again.

  Chapter Four

  Emery

  Hayden comes trotting over almost the instant Roxy leaves.

  Why do I suddenly feel all tingly? No. That isn’t part of the plan. He does not get to strut over here and make me go all lusty for his dirty, dirty man rod. Especially after what Roxy just told me. Has my vagina no shame? There are probably cooties crawling up and down that overused flagpole.

  I blame my body’s indecent reaction on the current state of my love life. Which is sucktastic, thanks to my dipshit ex
essentially ruining my trust in mankind.

  As I watch that sexy beast of a man head straight for me like a cheetah approaches a gazelle, I give myself a mental pep talk. The plan is to keep my head down and work my ass off so that my aging mom can finally retire, and not fall for a cheating, lying asshole ever again. Period.

  When he flashes me that gorgeous grin and asks me out, I’m unprepared, but I do my best to fend off his suggestive comments.

  He keeps trying to charm me despite my clipboard, my short, bored responses, and my best bitch face. I’m absolutely not in the mood to fend off a won’t take no for an answer guy right now.

  But at the same time . . . dear God in heaven, he’s even more handsome up close. How does that work? Isn’t closeness supposed to ruin the illusion? I guess he traded all his external flaws for internal ones. Or his cologne is some secret mind-control weapon; the smoky spice makes my mouth water, makes me wonder if he tastes anything like he smells. And it’s been so damn long since I’ve had sex—let alone decent sex.

  Even remembering all the horrible things Roxy just told me, I still feel a little flip deep inside when he grins at me. And when he leans closer, I can’t even look him in the eyes. Which are a beautiful shade of blue with a hazel starburst in the middle.

  Somehow I doubt his offer is just a “friend date” like he claims. Rambling about pussy kind of undermines that argument. But maybe letting him show me around Los Angeles won’t be so bad. It’s probably best to start off on the right foot with him. After all, he’s this building’s owner, its landlord, and my upstairs neighbor.

  That doesn’t mean I’m ever going to sleep with him—God, of course not. I’m just being polite. Politely ignoring the way he’s already made a total ass of himself. That’s how classy I am. Winning friends, influencing people, all that jazz.

  As I’m weighing my options, he watches me as if he’s never had to wait this long before. Finally I reply, “Okay.”

  There’s that thousand-watt grin again. “Terrific. Just wait . . . I’ll show you where to get the best steak in town.”

  “I’m a vegetarian,” I fire back. When he merely blinks, I smile at him, feeling slightly evil. Just because I’m playing nice doesn’t mean I have to go easy on him. Not right away, at least.

  “Fair enough.” He rubs his chin. “Then I’ll take you to the beach. I know some spots with great views where we can avoid the tourists.”

  I shrug, shaking my head. “I’m not really a beach person. Too many bugs and too much sand in unmentionable places.” Now I’m just having fun with him. Poor guy, he didn’t know what he was in for with me.

  To his credit, he refrains from commenting on my unmentionable places. I’m guessing that takes serious restraint on his part. “Seriously? You moved to Los Angeles and you’re not a beach person? That’s like someone moving to Colorado when they hate skiing.”

  My mouth presses into a firm line. “Or like someone moving to Colorado for work and not for goofing off.”

  Hayden pauses to brainstorm another date idea. I wonder if other women ever make him work for attention like this. No, with other women, I’m guessing all he has to say is: You. My bed. Now. And they shimmy out of their panties and sprint to his bed. I’m not—and have never been—one of those women. Even if my body’s response to him is more primal than I would like.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I notice that the rental truck is empty and the movers are toting my last few boxes up the stairs. It’s time for me to see them off. I paid their fee in advance, so all I have to do now is order dinner, find the box with my pajamas, and call it an early night. I walk over to the stairwell, forcing Hayden to follow me if he wants to finish our conversation.

  “Fine. Then what do you like to do?” he finally asks.

  I think for a moment as I start climbing. Most of my life is work, study, sleep, then rinse and repeat. Well, that and I drink copious amounts of wine. But something tells me sharing a bottle of pinot with this dangerously sexy creature would be a bad idea with a capital B. But there is one thing I do to unwind . . . and I’m curious about how he’ll respond.

  “I like yoga,” I say. These pants ain’t just for show.

  He hesitates, which doesn’t surprise me. What I hadn’t expected was for him to say, “Sure, I could do yoga. When’s good for you?”

  Say what now? It doesn’t sound like he enjoys yoga, or even that he’s ever done it before. But hey, that’s no skin off my nose. If he wants to try it on for size, I could always use a workout buddy.

  “I’m going to be busy unpacking all day tomorrow, so how about the day after? Meet me outside my unit at, say, six?”

  “Six in the morning?” He says morning in the same tone that I might say, “Is that blood?”

  I look over and bite back a smile, feeling evil again at the faint look of horror on Hayden’s face. “Of course,” I chirp as brightly as possible. “Yoga works best when you do it before breakfast. Gives you energy for the whole day.” Unless you’re not up for it? I add inside my head.

  But smooth as silk, he replies, “Sounds great.” He steps ahead and opens the door to the fourth-floor hallway for me, playing the gentleman. “I have to get back to my office now, but I’ll see you on Sunday.”

  Stunned, I step inside, almost sighing aloud at the frigid wash of air-conditioning. Without thinking, I say, “Looking forward to it,” then realize that I actually mean it.

  Hayden waves good-bye and trots back downstairs. I follow the hall to unit 4B, thank the last few movers on their way out, and lock up behind them. Then I turn and lean against my front door, savoring the quiet. I’m finally alone in my luxury condo. My new home—hopefully for years to come, if I pass my bar exam and play my cards right at Walker, Price, and Pratt.

  Even cluttered with dusty boxes, this place is gorgeous. The furniture is sleek and stylish, but comfortable. All the countertops are granite; all the tables are glass-topped. Although there are only two real rooms, they both feel huge compared to the apartment I shared with three roommates in law school. The kitchen is fully loaded and offers enough room for a dining area. The other half of the unit has a queen-sized bed, a walk-in closet with mirrored sliding doors, and a fifty-inch flat-screen smart TV mounted on the wall above the foot of the bed. Best of all, the porcelain bathtub is long enough to lie down in without concussing myself on the toilet.

  I kick off my tennis shoes, feeling the cool hardwood floor on my hot, tired feet, and stow them in the entry closet. On the other side of the front door is a tiny table, just large enough for a glass key dish and a china vase holding three purple tulips. I gently stroke their velvety petals to confirm that the flowers are indeed real. Then I weave through the stacks of cardboard and slide open the door to my biggest indulgence: the small balcony.

  Even when splurging, my guilty conscience has its limits. I chose a studio model rather than a one-bedroom, and I only ponied up for a furnished unit because it was cheaper than shipping my own furniture over two thousand miles. But the prospect of a balcony—of basking in the sun while I read, sipping wine on breezy evenings, enjoying what feels to me like year-round summer—had been just too tempting. I go outside and drink in the view of swaying palm trees, mansions with blue-green lawns, and Lake Hollywood sparkling in the distance. If I squint, I can even glimpse the blocky white letters of the Hollywood sign.

  I spend almost half an hour just strolling around and inspecting the entire unit. Of course, I knew exactly what it looked like before mailing in my signed contract and down payment. I pored over the property management website, admiring the photo gallery, the floor plans, and the long list of amenities. But now is the first time I’m seeing it in person. All elegant and cozy. All mine.

  Once again, the difference between anticipation and reality hits me—and not just with the condo itself. My landlord isn’t quite what I imagined based on Roxy’s description. But he hasn’t disproved any of that scathing story, either. It’ll take a lot to make me relax my g
uard with him.

  Still . . . if Hayden actually shows up on Sunday, I think I just found a new yoga partner in my building’s man-whore owner.

  This should be interesting.

  Chapter Five

  Hayden

  Why in the fuck did I agree to this?

  I swing my legs over the side of the bed, cursing at myself for this brilliant fucking plan I hatched with Emery—the girl in 4B—who I’m most decidedly not banging. That’s bullshit right there. I should be waking up with my cock in her mouth, not because I told her we’d do yoga this morning.

  Yoga, for fuck’s sake.

  It’s not the best plan I’ve ever had, especially after the amount of Jack I downed last night. My head is spinning like a top as I grab my phone and dial Beth’s number. I know she’ll be up at this ungodly hour.

  “Beth. Help me?” I croak once she answers.

  “What did you do now, you fuckwad?”

  “Jeez. Is that any way to talk to your favorite brother?” I cradle my phone between my shoulder and chin and head into the kitchen to fire up my espresso machine. Make it a double. Why in the fuck had I thought it was a good idea to drink so much last night? Oh yeah, because Hudson laid out all my demons, examining each one in the harsh light.

  “You’re my only brother. Now get on with it. I have yogurt smeared into my couch, and I haven’t had my coffee yet.”

  I should ask why her kids are allowed to bring yogurt into the living room, but I know from past experience that she lets those rug rats get away with anything, so long as they bat their little eyelashes at her. My niece and nephew are three and four years old. To say they’re a handful would be a huge underestimation of their abilities.

  Instead I rub a hand through my sleep-styled hair and lean my hip against the counter. “Do you know of a good yoga place I can take my friend Emery this morning?”

  “Friend?” she asks, choking on the word.