Chore Play (Dirty Truth Book 3)

by Piper Rayne

  A few nurses glance my way as I pass by them again. It’s the expensive suit that’s tailored for my body. I’m not sure why, but experience has taught me that a good suit is like an aphrodisiac for some women. I can only pray that Quinn is one of them.

  Sipping my coffee, I walk back into Marisol’s hospital room, finding her alone, her smile replaced with a frown now.

  “Where is Quinn?” I ignore the panic my body is feeling.

  “She said she had to go. You just missed her.”

  I place the coffee on the side table. “I’ll be right back.”

  I race from the room, the click of my wingtips sounding closer together as I increase my pace down the hall. I press the elevator button, and the doors that were about to close open back up and I can’t even attempt to wipe the smile from my lips.

  “Running scared?” I cock an eyebrow at Quinn.

  She shakes her head, no trace of amusement on her face. “I have work to do.”

  I step in, facing her. Her eyes focus on the numbers going down until I press the stop button.

  “It’s a hospital. You’re going to get in trouble,” she says. I shrug, and she rolls her eyes. “Let me guess, you’re a Kale, so you don’t give a fuck.”

  I tilt my head, wondering what’s stoked her anger in this particular moment. “Why are you mad? From what I remember you weren’t the one who fell on a dick harder than granite.” I stalk toward her and she retreats until her back is pressed firmly against the wall.

  “Give it a rest, Jagger. You just want me because I don’t want you.”

  “You don’t want me,” I scoff. I place one arm above her head, leaning in close.

  Her breathing hitches and her gaze stays fixed on my chest. Placing a finger under her chin, I force her to lock eyes with me. “You don’t want me?”

  A small shake of her head.

  “I think you might be lying.” I corner her with my other arm, caging her in with my body. I bend down, my lips mere inches from her, and she sucks in a breath. “I think if I kissed you right now, you’d kiss me back.”

  Her gaze hasn’t left mine. “I wouldn’t.” Maybe in her head she’s cool and calm, but I can read her body as well as I can the studio heads who say they can’t afford to pay my client another dime—like an expert.

  “Liar.” I lift one corner of my mouth.

  She places two hands on my chest and shoves, knocking me back a few steps. “Stop it. Don’t try to use your sex appeal to win me over.” She crosses her arms over her chest, effectively pushing her tits up. “No! Eyes up here.” She points to her face. “You tried to seduce me last night and it almost worked, but you’re not going to fool me twice.”

  “Twice? Quinn, I explained myself.”

  “Explained that you didn’t even try. You just gave up, Jagger. You have no idea if you could have gone to college and had a long-distance relationship with me. Or the fact I was trying to get into Stanford and would join you in a year. You didn’t even consider it. You didn’t even talk to me about it. You made the decision for both of us.” She reaches over and presses the button to get the elevator moving again.

  “Bullshit. I was a punk kid.” I press the red button again and the elevator shudders to a stop. “I would’ve fucked it up and broken you. That’s what punk kids do.”

  Her hand hovers over the button. “You broke me anyway.” Her voice is small and weak, making me wonder for the first time if maybe the decision I made wasn’t the best thing for her.

  I grip her hand, linking her fingers with mine. “Not this time. This time I don’t break you.”

  She shakes her head. “No.” She fights to get away from me, but I pull her toward me.

  “Four dates. Give me four dates and if I don’t prove it to you by then, I’ll say goodbye…forever.”

  I can’t imagine never seeing Quinn again now that we’ve been reunited after all these years. Not now that I know she still harbors the same feelings for me that I have for her. For years I’ve been pushing them down, telling myself not to compare every other woman out there to her because the truth is that no one ever even comes close. No woman has had the combination of sweet and sexy that Quinn does. No woman has ever been as intelligent as she is and stood up to me the way she did. The way she still does. I’ve never felt like I could really be myself with anyone since Quinn.

  Her body stays in my arms and I feel her fight wavering. She’s intrigued just like I knew she would be.

  “You’re telling me if I go out with you on four dates, you’ll let me go afterwards? No more pushing me to sleep with you?”

  “That’s what I’m saying.”

  She shakes her head. “You’re so cocky. You’d agree to almost anything because you believe you can win me over by then.”

  I shrug, not about to argue with her.

  “I’m not sleeping with you.” She backs up, my hands falling to my sides.

  “I’ll agree to that stipulation. But I want hand-holding and goodnight kisses. Maybe a make-out session or two.”

  A hollow laugh falls from her mouth. “Should I have a witness sign a contract for us?”

  Girl after my own heart, but probably a bad idea.

  “Listen.” She raises her hand. “I’ll give you four dates. That’s it. We’ll see about kissing and stuff as it goes, but if I were you, I’d prepare for us to be platonic.”

  Yeah, she’ll lose that fight.

  “Great. I’ll pick you up tonight at seven. Be ready.”

  “I’m not going out with you for the next four days straight.”

  “I’m not saying that, but we’re going to get this started because…” I let my eyes sweep greedily over her. “I want you under me sooner than later.”

  I press the red button to get the elevator moving again. Our eyes remain locked until it reaches the main floor and the doors open.

  “You’ve got your work cut out for you, Mr. Kale.” She walks out of the elevator, never looking back.

  “See you tonight, Miss Ryan,” I call out after her.

  A crowd of people swarm in, mumbling their displeasure over having to wait for the elevator for so long, and I ride back up to Marisol, my smile unable to leave my lips. Mark my words, she will be under me again.

  9

  Quinn

  I read the text Jagger sent this afternoon again and toss my phone on the couch cushion next to me.

  Jagger: Jeans and a t-shirt. Of course, I wouldn’t mind a casual dress if you’re in the mood. ;)

  Joke’s on him. I sprawl my jean-clad legs on the table, thumbing through a book on plotting that I usually would’ve finished if not for the distraction that is Jagger for the past couple days.

  I shouldn’t be doing this. I should be holed up in my office, working on the book that’s due to my editor. Note to self—call editor back tomorrow before they retract my book offer. If I don’t get my book to them soon it’s not going to matter how well my first book did. I push the thought of my first book to the back of my mind.

  The small part of me that’s agreed to this damn four-date deal admits it’s because Jagger’s always been the one for me. You know, the guy you placed on the highest pedestal and no matter how many times you tried to convince yourself of his flaws, every other guy couldn’t reach him. They couldn’t even touch his damn toes. Why couldn’t I have met him when I was eighty, after the passing of a subpar husband? No, it had to be at thirteen, in the infancy of my teenage hormones surfacing.

  My doorbell rings and I toss the book on the table beside me and stand to go answer it.

  As soon as the door’s open, I roll my eyes.

  “I think I should’ve put a clause in our agreement that included you smiling.” He holds out a bouquet of wildflowers. “Your favorite,” he says while I turn on my heels without taking the flowers and head for the kitchen.

  “Were my favorite. When I was sixteen and thought it’d be cool to like something that wild and free and beautiful. I’m more of a rose person n
ow. You know—predictable, color-coded for meaning, and warns you with its thorns not to get too close.”

  He chuckles, leaning against the archway. As expected, he looks completely edible tonight. Does this guy never have an off day? His tall figure is highlighted in his jeans, a t-shirt that hugs his broad shoulders and lean muscles and a pair of flipflops. Wait, flipflops? That’s not Jagger.

  “Where are we going?” I ask, taking the flowers from him and dropping them into a vase and wiping my hands on a dishtowel.

  He admires me the entire time with a grin of amusement. He can just turn that smile off now because it has no effect at all on me. It doesn’t wet my panties even the littlest bit. Honest.

  “The movies.”

  “The movies?” I repeat back, exiting the kitchen and leaning over the back of the couch to grab my phone and my purse.

  “Yeah. Cinespia. Outside.”

  Cinespia. My heart pitter-patters and I’d sigh if he wasn’t two feet in front of me and expecting it.

  “Psycho’s playing.”

  Fuck him and his trip down memory lane.

  I paste on a nonchalant smile, trying to act like it’s not my favorite horror movie of all time. “Okay.”

  He chuckles lightly, grabs my sweater from the railing leading upstairs and hands it to me. I give him a nod rather than saying thank you. “You’re really going to make this hard on me, aren’t you?”

  “I’m going, aren’t I?”

  He nods, and I snatch the sweater from his hands. “I suppose so.” He leans in, grabbing the door handle before I get to it. “Definitely don’t snuggle close to me tonight, or fall into my arms during the shower scene.”

  “Ha. More likely that you’ll be falling into mine.” I raise my eyebrows in challenge. He must be forgetting when he snuck in my bedroom window one night after a horror movie marathon. Not the other way around.

  “Let’s go.” He opens the door, and I almost feel bad about his smirk turning into a tight straight lip. Almost.

  With my hand in his—only because there are so many people, I fear I’ll lose him—he leads me to a spot with a blanket laid out and a reserved sign placed on top. Of course, Jagger wouldn’t be able to just grab any old spot—he has to have the best.

  “Here.” He sets down a picnic basket and another bag filled with blankets.

  “Victoria can really make a spread,” I say, taking everything in.

  He slips off his flipflops, sits down on the blanket, waiting patiently for me to look at him. “I did it. All of it.” There’s a bite to his tone. A curtness I can remember him using with his parents.

  My stomach tightens because he’s using it on me and for a moment I feel badly that I thought the worst of him. There was a time in my life when I only ever thought the best of him.

  “It’s nice. Thank you,” I say with sincere gratitude.

  The corners of his lips curl up in that smug, satisfied smile of his and I regret my change of heart immediately. “Are you hungry?” he asks.

  “No.”

  Yes, I haven’t eaten since my late breakfast, but a part of me refuses to give in too easy. It feels like if I do it’ll be like saying that what he did to me all those years ago was okay.

  “Humor me.” He pulls out a tray of sushi. “Still love the spicy tuna?”

  “No.” I look away as my stomach clenches with objection.

  “Shame. So, I get the whole tray?” He opens the plastic lid and, grabbing a pair of chopsticks, he breaks them apart, putting them in his hands perfectly like he’s done it a thousand times before.

  Distracting myself, I cast my gaze over the large lawn where couples are cuddled together as the sun starts to descend over the hill. Groups of friends are huddled together, drinking and carrying on for a night of fun. Then there’s the two of us—me sitting on the far corner of the blanket as far as I can get from Jagger while he spreads out the food. Food I’d usually be gorging on.

  “Try this one?” He holds it up to my lips with the chopsticks.

  “What is it?”

  He nudges it closer. “Just trust me.”

  “I shouldn’t.” I fight it and his smile grows. He’s saying nothing but not moving it away from my lips.

  I open reluctantly, and he places it on my tongue, pulls the chopsticks away and sits up straighter to wait for my reaction.

  Spicy tuna. I shake my head, chewing the mound of rice, seaweed and raw fish.

  “Remember the first time you ate it?” he asks, and my body heats. He fed it to me naked wrapped in a blanket on the beach. His brother had left it behind after getting a call to go out with his friends.

  I somehow swallow down the piece of sushi past the growing lump in my throat. “How about we stop going down memory lane?”

  His smile falters and I see a glimpse of the teenager I once knew. The boy who didn’t have it all figured out and who at times seemed vulnerable. “They’re some of the best memories I have,” he says, an octave lower.

  I feel bad, but I can’t move forward while constantly being reminded of the past. Which, now that I think about it, seems laughable given what I’m keeping from him.

  “A lot of good happened during that time, Quinn. I know it ended badly, that you only see that last half hour of time, but our summers together—especially that last one—were the best of my life and I’m going to use these next four dates to make sure you remember exactly why we fell in love.”

  I scoff. “Fell in love?”

  He slides closer, his cologne breaching my nostrils, and I restrain myself from leaning in and touching him. “I fell in love with you that summer and you never left my heart. Sure, I tried to patch over the mark you made, but you’re still there and that’s why after all this time, after seeing you once, I’m that lovesick teenage boy again.”

  “You want me in bed, that’s all.” I pull my legs up to my body, tightening my arms around them. He’ll seep into the smallest crack if I allow it.

  “I’d be lying if I tried to deny that. I want you screaming my name as I taste the woman you’ve turned into. I want to hold your hands over your head, kissing you as my hips circle and grind in and out of your slick warmth. I won’t deny that, but Quinn”—he grabs a hold of my chin with two fingers and forces me to face him—“I will make you fall in love with me again. Because there’s more between us than just a shit-ton of hot sex. There always was, and you know it.”

  Our eyes lock and my heart picks up pace as I stare into his deep chocolate eyes. I say nothing. There’s nothing to say. Everything he said is true and arguing against it would be pointless.

  “Now, let’s eat the sushi and remember the night you discovered sushi and sex on the beach—not the drink.” He winks and picks up another piece of spicy tuna as if he didn’t just turn everything on its head by telling me how he feels.

  I open my mouth without an objection. He’s taken a bit of my fight within five minutes of our first date. That’s when I know I’m in trouble.

  I bite my lip, knowing the shower scene is coming. Girls around us sigh, some scream and I tighten my grip on the blanket covering both of us. We’re hip to hip, but Jagger has kept his hands to himself. He’s being a gentleman. I’ll admit that I didn’t think he had it in him. After all his verbal insinuations about getting me into bed, he doesn’t cross any lines.

  My pulse increases as we watch the infamous scene, a dark shadow coming in from behind the shower curtain. My fingers knot the blanket in them. The curtain slides across and the woman turns around. Janet Leigh’s scream is drowned out by every woman here. My arms tense. I’m staring as the knife jabs her over and over again and the clear water turns dark, while the snaps of the curtain holders ring out as she pulls it down with her body inside the tub. The part at the end of the scene focused on her eye and just the sound of the shower running has always made chills run up my spine.

  A large hand covers mine, plucking my fingers from the blanket until it’s wrapped in his. I close my eyes at the
sensation of swirling in my stomach from his warm hand on my skin. He doesn’t squeeze, doesn’t ease me into his arms. He holds my hand, offering a silent comfort as we watch one of my favorite scary movies.

  The movie ends, and people laugh at themselves and how scared they were, standing up, grabbing all their belongings. Jagger doesn’t stand and neither do I, our hands still entwined. I look over to him and find him staring down at me.

  “Thank you,” I whisper. Despite myself and our past, I’ve really enjoyed myself tonight.

  His I-just-won-the-lottery smile appears on his lips. “My pleasure.”

  All the animosity I felt for him is gone and a new dread settles over me. That he’s going to drive me home right away and walk me to my door, say goodnight and get in his car and drive away.

  He squeezes my hand in his before letting go and sliding out from under the blanket. “The eyeball thing still freaks you out, huh?” he asks.

  I stand, too, and fold the blanket, then stuff it in the bag. “Weird, right? I think I could watch a scene where an actual knife does get jabbed into the person and it wouldn’t freak me out the way that eye thing does.”

  He chuckles, moving the picnic basket to the grass and grabbing the other blanket from the ground. I take one side and him the other.

  We fold it over. “It unnerves you for some reason.”

  I nod, the two of us meeting with our ends. Our fingers brush as he grabs a hold of my side and finishes the job for us. The line to get out grows and the area around us becomes more sparsely littered with people.

  “Next time you can grab my hand when we watch The Shining.”

  “Whatever, you’ll probably jump in my lap.” I laugh with him, a genuine real laugh.

  “Probably.” He chuckles along with me.

  “You ever find it weird that we never watched romantic movies? Have you ever even watched one?” There’s absolutely no way.