I absorb what he’s saying, my mouth agape as I shake my head. “How the hell did you even land this job?”
“Dumb luck,” he laughs. “About six months ago, I had a gig with my band in Hollywood when one of the guys came by. He grabbed one of our download codes, listened to the tracks, then played it for the rest of the band. After doing a bit of research, they found out I wrote all the songs. Their manager called to see if I was interested in helping on their next album.”
“So you’re… What? Writing their songs for them?” I press, giddy with excitement over the prospect that I’m talking to the man responsible for the songs Fallen Grace will be touring the next few years. My boss would lose her shit if I got an exclusive with Asher, considering this new album is probably the most anticipated one of the year. Those magazines would fly off the shelves, even if Fallen Grace fans aren’t exactly our target demographic. But their mothers are.
“More or less. Some of them write their own stuff, too, but I’m helping fill in the gaps and produce the record.” He smiles, a hint of nostalgia in his eyes as he stares into space, his expression thoughtful. “Before I got their call, I was months behind on my rent and facing eviction. I was ready to throw in the towel, tell my parents they were right and I should never have left my teaching job to bust into the music industry. It goes to show that sometimes good things happen when we least expect it.”
He looks from me to Izzy, admiring all five feet, seven inches of her slender physique, which is now on display in just a black bikini and sheer coverup. She pulled her dark locks into a messy bun, a pair of oversized sunglasses pushed up onto her forehead.
His Adam’s apple bobs up and down in a hard swallow before he returns his attention to the burgers, his hands shaking slightly. It’s adorable how nervous she makes him. I guess that’s all any woman really wants. To know she affects a man in such a way as to completely fluster him.
“So…” He clears his throat. “What can I get you to drink? Beer? Wine? Cocktail? You name it, and it’s yours, unless you ask for something strange. I may not have all the ingredients. But considering the parties the guys throw here, I’m pretty well-stocked.”
I lean toward Izzy, whispering into her ear. “He certainly is, isn’t he?”
She slaps me away, hushing me. “I’m happy with a beer.” She looks toward the rear wall that consists of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the pool area. “It’s a beer kind of day.”
“A woman after my own heart,” he comments with a wink, causing the blush on her cheeks to build even more. Then he lifts his eyes to mine. “Chloe?”
“Beer’s fine with me, too.”
With a nod, he turns toward the refrigerator and opens it, taking out two Coronas, popping the top off them. “Lime?”
“Yes,” we answer simultaneously.
He retrieves a couple lime slices from a bowl on the island, sticks them into the neck of the bottle, then slides the beers toward us. We get to work pushing the lime past the neck, plugging the bottle with our thumbs, and flipping it so the lime sinks toward the bottom.
“Here’s to making the most out of a canceled flight.” Izzy raises her beer.
I mirror her movements. “I’d much rather be here than stuck at the airport.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Asher agrees, bringing his beer toward ours. We clink bottles, then tilt them back, taking a sip.
“Is there anything we can help with?” Izzy asks.
“I have it all under control. You ladies are guests here. Just relax and enjoy yourselves. Come on.”
He grabs the plate of burgers and starts toward the open French doors. We follow him, emerging onto the back patio area, the aroma of burning charcoals filling the air. It smells like summer, the scent reminiscent of the neighborhood backyard barbecues of my youth. I miss those days of not having a care in the world.
“Lincoln!” Asher calls out as he strides toward the grill off to the left, leaving the plate on a table beside it. “Get off your phone and be social.”
I scan the pool area, following Asher’s line of sight. A tall man with dark hair holds up a finger, not looking in our direction as he walks toward a fence beyond the pool, leaning his arms against it as he admires the view of the Vegas skyline from this vantage point on the outskirts of the city. It is quite impressive. I can only imagine how incredible the view must be at night. As much as I hate Vegas, I can certainly appreciate the beauty of it, especially from afar.
“He’ll be done soon, I hope.”
“Who’s he?” I don’t actively follow Fallen Grace, but I don’t recall any of them being named Lincoln.
“Lincoln Moore,” Asher answers, placing the burgers onto the grill. It instantly sizzles, the aroma making my stomach growl even more. My mouth salivates at the thought of eating an enormous, fattening burger. “We went to college together. In fact, he was a workaholic back then, too, constantly studying. He was one of those guys who lived according to the motto ‘work hard, play hard’.”
“I like to think that now it’s ‘work hard, play even harder’.”
When I hear that deep rumble, every muscle in my body tenses, the hair on my nape standing on end. It couldn’t be, could it?
I whirl around, feeling momentarily disoriented as I stare into those green eyes once more, bewildered. Izzy pinches my side, just as surprised as me. I don’t know what to think.
“Chloe, Izzy…,” Asher begins, oblivious to the tension. “This is my friend, Lincoln.”
I stare, seeing him differently now that I know his name. It suits him. Strong, yet flirty.
“Lincoln, this is Izzy and—”
“Dick Girl,” he responds, licking his lips, forcing my attention to his mouth.
“Dick Girl?” Asher looks between us, confused. “Do you two know each other?”
Lincoln subtly nods. “We’ve had the…pleasure.” The way that word leaves his tongue has my nerve endings stirring. There’s no doubt in my mind that my experience with this man has been more than pleasurable, even if we haven’t kissed. “Or perhaps I should say I’ve had the pleasure of experiencing her sharp tongue.”
“Yes.” I offer him a flirtatious smile, extending my hand toward him. “It’s nice to see you again, to formally meet you, Lincoln.” I like how his name sounds when it rolls off my tongue.
He takes my hand in his, raising it to his lips, his pupils dilating as he feathers his mouth against my skin. The touch is subtle, yet it has my stomach doing backflips.
“Likewise, Chloe.” He passes me a devilish grin, then lowers my hand, my skin still tingling. “I didn’t think we’d see each other again.”
“Either did I.”
“Funny how that keeps happening, isn’t it? How we keep…bumping into each other. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think someone, something wants us to keep seeing each other.”
I lift my beer to my lips. “I’m beginning to think I should buy a lottery ticket.”
CHAPTER 7
“God, that was incredible,” I moan, patting my stomach as I lean back in my chair after finishing my burger.
The sun has moved toward the west, casting a glow over the desert landscape unlike anything I’ve been able to experience lately living in New York. This time of year, the city is typically covered with snow, the lack of sun leaving everyone a bit more moody. Even when the temperatures warm up, there’s never a radiance like this, almost as if the sand causes the sky to turn a different shade than we see back east.
“It was exactly what I needed after eating like a dang rabbit this weekend.”
“Didn’t you go anywhere good?” Lincoln asks, cocking his head. “Vegas has some incredible restaurants.”
“I’m sure it does, but unfortunately, we had Cindy with us.”
“Cindy?” Asher inquires.
Izzy and I nod, then simultaneously say, “Cindy.”
“And what does Cindy have to do with you not being able to have a proper meal?” Lincoln brushes his
thumb along his lower lip as he turns to face me.
“She threw a passive-aggressive pity party anytime someone suggested they wanted to order a dish with meat.” Izzy brings her beer to her mouth, then forces her expression into one that resembles how one would appear if discussing a severe illness or death in the family. “‘I’m sorry, ladies,’” she begins, doing her best impression of Cindy, complete with high-pitched, airy voice. “‘I understand you all have your own likes and dislikes, but I can’t be around people who are going to eat meat in front of me. It’s just… It’s just wrong. I can’t go to a restaurant and order barbecued human, can I? So why should you be able to order cow?’”
“Because cow is delicious,” I remark, just as I did when Cindy first pulled this stunt. “If we weren’t meant to eat it, why is it so yummy?”
It’s not that I have anything against people who choose this lifestyle. I went through a period of not eating meat myself. But I never attempted to thrust my choice on everyone around me. Hell, I started eating meat again when I was at dinner and my date ordered a steak. The addictive aroma of an expertly prepared filet was my undoing. I haven’t gone back since.
“Did she really say that?” Lincoln chuckles. Damn, the man has an amazing laugh. Throaty, deep, electrifying. It makes me want to say more amusing things, just so I can hear that sound again.
“She sure did,” I answer.
“She wasn’t serious though, right?” Asher presses.
Izzy and I simply shrug.
“So what did you do?” Lincoln looks at me, then across the table to Izzy before returning his eyes to mine.
“Started going to dinner on my own before our group dinners.” I smirk, giving him a knowing look.
“Huh.” He stares at me, deep in thought.
“By the last night, I think we were all doing that,” I continue.
“The only one who put a dent in their meal was Cindy,” Izzy offers. “She couldn’t understand why none of us were hungry enough to finish our salads. So this burger…” She lifts it, bringing the last bite up to her mouth, “was definitely needed.”
“So you guys couldn’t eat meat in front of her all weekend?” Asher asks, the ridiculousness of the situation evident in his voice.
“Or any animal by-product,” Izzy confirms. “Including cheese. And you know how much I love cheese.”
“Which was why it was painful not to say anything every time she did yet another Jell-O shot. So not only did I have to deprive myself of eating any meat all weekend in her presence, I had to keep my mouth shut about the fact that there’s animal by-product in Jell-O.” I take a drink of my beer. “Another reason this was the bachelorette party from hell.”
“They should do a case study,” Lincoln comments after a brief silence. “Like how Jane Goodall spent all that time studying gorillas so we could understand them. Someone should study bachelorette parties so later generations could learn from what appears to be a rather interesting ritual.”
“I don’t know if I’d call it interesting,” I say wryly. “More painful than anything else.”
“Oh, look at this beauty,” Asher begins, faking an Australian accent as he channels his inner Steve Irwin. “It’s a woman at a bar, wearing a crown and a sash that says ‘Bride-to-Be’.” He lowers his voice, speaking in hushed tones. “It’s a way to distinguish the one who’s about to embark on this strange ritual we’re about to see unfold before our eyes.”
“An important component of this ritual is the penis,” Lincoln continues in his own interpretation of an Australian accent, his voice deeper than Asher’s.
I find myself mesmerized by this side of him as I watch his eyes shine with delight. Granted, he’s still a relative stranger, but based on my limited knowledge, I assumed he was serious without much of a sense of humor. Again, I’ve been proven wrong.
“There are literally penises everywhere. The females drink out of straws shaped like a penis, blow up balloons in the shape of a phallus. And if the organizer is on the sadistic side, the other female members will be required to roam around with a chain of male genitalia hanging from their necks, alerting all non-members of their status as a member of this tribe, lest there be any confusion.”
“This ritual could go on for a few hours or an extended weekend,” I say, taking over. I’m not as practiced with my accents as it appears Asher and Lincoln are, but I’m able to hold my own, thanks to my mild infatuation with the brothers Hemsworth. “Regardless of the fact that this is a precursor to the mating ritual, linking together one man and one woman for the rest of their lives, men still circle the women like hawks, itching to be invited into the tribe, if only to be present when the time comes for that most magical of moments…” My eyes darken as I look around the table, lowering my voice. “The body shot ceremony.”
“Body shot ceremony?” Asher raises a single brow.
“Oh, yes,” I continue excitedly. “It is, according to some, the highlight of the event. Sometimes, the bachelorettes will pull in a few lucky members of the male species to perform said body shot off a portion of their skin. And just when you think this ritual is about to end, the one in charge pulls out games.”
“Games?” Lincoln’s mouth grows slack. I’m surprised he didn’t know about the games. Then again, women are a different kind of animal altogether. They play games at every important social gathering. Bridal showers. Baby showers. And bachelorette parties. Especially bachelorette parties.
“Oh, this is where the fun truly begins,” I respond. “It usually occurs when the members of the tribe have consumed sufficient quantities of alcohol to have less inhibitions. These games could range from sweet and innocent to borderline sexual harassment. But it’s all in good fun, according to the leader of the tribe. Popular favorites include Never Have I Ever, Stick the Penis on the Stripper, and scavenger hunts where members are required to seek out certain things or find specific information, such as what the bartender calls his…” I gesture to my crotch area, “member.”
Lincoln narrows his gaze on me. “You really didn’t have to do that, did you?” he asks in all seriousness.
Izzy and I share a look, then announce, “Spartacus.”
After a moment of stunned silence as they fully absorb how ludicrous it all was, we erupt in laughter. I can’t remember the last time I’ve felt this relaxed, an odd sensation considering I’m surrounded by people I don’t know that well, apart from Izzy. Then again, we’ve all spent the past hour talking. Not once have I looked at my phone. It’s refreshing to actually socialize, something our society seems to forget in the age of smart phones and social media.
As the laughter dies down, Lincoln glances at me, the corners of his eyes creased. “You’re funny, Dick Girl.”
“You’re not so bad yourself.” I wink, doing my best to pretend his words don’t cause an electric current to flow through me.
“Well then…” Izzy pushes her chair away from the table, standing. “You cooked, so we’ll clean up.” She starts to collect everyone’s empty dishes, but Asher jumps to his feet, Lincoln following suit.
“Sit,” Asher orders, taking the plates from Izzy’s hands. “We’ll do it.”
“Are you sure?” I raise myself from my chair, gathering a few plates. “Izzy and I don’t mind.”
“I insist,” he replies, his voice firm. “You two are guests.”
“So is Lincoln,” I point out.
“Nah. He’s more like the annoying second cousin you never see except when you’re somewhere fun, like Vegas.”
Lincoln shakes his head, ignoring Asher’s statement. “We’ll clean up. No arguing.”
I open my mouth to do precisely that when he interrupts.
“When I came home with my first serious girlfriend years ago, my father told me two things. One, learn how to cook breakfast. If I can cook breakfast, I’d always be asked to spend the night.” He winks before continuing. “But the most important is to always help clean up. Then you’ll be invited over agai
n. You can’t be asked to spend the night if you’re not there, can you?”
“It sounds like your father’s a very intelligent man.”
“He certainly was.”
“So does this mean you want to be invited back?” I smirk.
Without missing a beat, he nods, reaching for my plate, which I reluctantly allow him to take. “If you’re here, absolutely.” Then he follows Asher into the house.
I take a minute to appreciate the view from behind, something I couldn’t fully do earlier when I watched him walk away from me at the casino. There were too many people there, too many distractions. But here, there’s nothing. Just me. And Lincoln.
And one more night in Vegas.
CHAPTER 8
“Careful. Careful,” I caution, biting my lower lip, my breathing ragged, wracked with nerves. “No, not there.” My voice is frantic as I meet Lincoln’s fervid eyes, his concentration so intense I fear it may be our undoing.
“I know what I’m doing,” he reminds me. “This isn’t my first rodeo.”
“I figured as much, but you have to watch what you’re doing or it won’t end well.” My words come out husky, my body taut with anticipation. “One wrong move and it’ll all come tumbling down.”
“I’ve got this,” he insists through clenched jaws, his nostrils flaring.
Licking his lips, he pauses, the pressure so thick I could almost burst. My chest heaves, the seconds seeming to stretch as I watch his every move. He inches closer and closer and I brace myself, my hands forming into fists.
Then he pushes a finger in, his motions measured and practiced. I exhale, the tension rolling off me.
“See, Chloe.” He meets my eyes, waggling his brows. “I told you I knew what I was doing.”
He waves the Jenga block in my face, jutting out his chest. With his head held high, he barely looks at what he’s doing as he places the block on top of the tower we’ve spent the past hour building. It instantly falls, crashing to the table and the ground, the sound echoing throughout the patio.
Blackout: A Romance Anthology Page 34
