Sin & Tonic

by Tessa Layne

  “Is there anything else you’d like?”

  “A baseball team, those six orgasms you promised… Oh, and for my newest venture to be a wild success. My needs are small.”

  I know she was being a smart-ass, but what if I wasn’t? Six orgasms. Check. Baseball team. What if… what if? I do a quick Google search and spend the next five minutes scanning everything I can about the Kansas City Kings. I’m not a baseball nut the way Luci is, but I follow… sort of. Enough to know the Kings suck sweaty locker room balls. Enough to know that they should be getting way more from their payroll, and that their manager needs to be sacked last week. I also know what kind of revenue they bring into the city. Not only to the East Bottoms, which has experienced a renaissance thanks to the ballpark the Kings built there five years ago, but the whole city. Because, let’s face it. People love baseball, even if it’s only part-time. Or only enough to visit every ballpark in every state. And I’d bet after analysis, it would be clear that even with a shit team, the city still benefits — and stands to lose a lot if they leave.

  I’d never put all my financial eggs in one basket and buy them outright, but I would put together a team made up of key stakeholders in the city, and who have the skills to direct management to recruit some better players. The prospect of that excites me, for the obvious reason of endearing myself to Luci, but also for the challenge of rebuilding a shitbag team. For three years running they’ve fought for last place. Pathetic. But the team of businessmen I want to put together are anything but losers, and we’ll work night and day to turn around a losing team. Or company. It’s what we live for.

  I shoot off an email to a couple of the guys in my boat — my buddy Harrison, CEO of Steele Conglomerate, his CTO and CFO as well as their lawyer, and my buddy Zack Forte, who makes my fortune look like pennies. This is exactly the kind of shit they’ll eat up. I attach a preliminary spreadsheet, and copy my lawyer, who’ll have an agreement drawn up before we land. If they like it, then we can work out the details of an offer in the morning. After Luci and I have fucked six ways to Sunday.

  Chapter Eight

  Luci

  T he first place Mason takes me is a Brazilian hole in the wall in the corner of the River Market. “This is one of my favorite lunch spots,” he tells me as he pulls out my chair.

  At the moment, I’m so hungry, I could eat a horse, and then maybe a cow. High altitude sex and nonstop making out in the car from the airport seems to have done wonders for my appetite.

  Mason leans forward. “Have you ever eaten here?”

  I shake my head. I’ve forgotten how much good food is in the River Market. It’s a microcosm of the globe — a French bakery, New Orleans gumbo and beignets, Vietnamese pho, Ethiopian stew, barbecue — I could go on and on. “No, but I’ve never had a bad meal down here.”

  “See? You could do a month of videos on the tiny mom and pops in the River Market alone. Not to mention the West Side, Crossroads, West Bottoms, the food trucks in front of the ballpark.”

  “Pitch me more.”

  “You could do a sub-series on all the farmer’s markets. Or another on all the ranches surrounding Kansas City. Even Prairie.”

  “Hmph.” His ideas are good. Really good. And it would be easier to get something like that off the ground here, as opposed to Mexico, simply because I have more connections.

  “But what if I’m going to Mexico for reasons other than food?”

  His eyes narrow. “Should I be concerned?”

  I scoff. “Not about that. Jeezus.” He looks relieved, which I find totally endearing. “Nooo, it’s more about hoping a change of scenery will help me find a different kind of success. Doors keep shutting for me here.”

  “Maybe you haven’t knocked on the right door.”

  I cock my head. “Are you saying that accepting your proposal would be knocking on the right door?”

  “I’m saying you’re incredibly talented, and with the right team in place, whether here or in Mexico, success is inevitable.” The sly grin I’ve come to adore tilts up the corner of his mouth. “So why not stay here?”

  He’s got a point. Emma will blow my social media following out of the water — regardless of where I start. And timing this to start next spring, just as the show airs, is genius.

  A server brings our food, and I’m momentarily distracted. The beef skewers with chimichurri are perfectly charred, and they melt in my mouth. “Ohmygod,” I say between bites. “I’m having a foodgasm.”

  Mason beams. “I knew you’d love it.”

  “I need more,” I gush, digging into the rice next.

  “More gasms? Which kind?”

  My eyes snap to his. I freaking love his playful sense of humor. I also love the hungry light in his eyes. Naughty thoughts tumble through my head. “Both,” I answer after a pause, slipping my foot out of my shoe and rubbing it along his lower leg. “I feel like this is just foreplay.”

  “You’ll have to wait and see.”

  My nipples tighten under his intense gaze. “I have to warn you, I’m not the most patient of people.”

  “Ah, but the fruit is sweeter for those who wait.” We linger over our food until the sky turns to gold and lights begin to wink on. He rises and offers his hand. “C’mon. We have another stop.”

  A thrill of excitement runs through me. I haven’t had a day this fun in god knows how long. “Where to, this time?”

  His driver drops us off at the corner of 20th and Wyandotte. Mason sends the driver off with the instruction to drop our bags at his place. Then he leads me down a dark alley, and for half a second I wonder if I’ve made a terrible error in judgment. There’s clearly more to Mason than meets the eye, but there’s no way he’s serial killer material, or some kind of sick psycho that ties women up to torture them. Although, after this afternoon’s escapades, I’d let him tie me up and do all manner of wicked things to me.

  He opens a beat-up door tagged with graffiti and looking very sketch. We turn left down a short hallway lit by an exposed lightbulb, and then down a flight of metal stairs. I count the steps in case I have to make a run for it. At the bottom of the stairs is a foyer of sorts, filled with old-school theater seating, oil paintings of nudes on the exposed brick walls — a lá some kind of 1920’s Paris salon, and a metal door with two old neon bulbs encased in metal. One green, one red. The green light is on, casting the room in a sickly color. Mason raps on the door. After thirty seconds, he raps again.

  The door creaks open, and an enormous — and I mean enormous — bouncer eyes us. He obviously recognizes Mason, because the door swings wide and Giant Joe welcomes us with a wide smile. “Good to see you, Boss.”

  “Nice to see you too, Grif. How’s your family?”

  “Good, good. Mama just had a birthday.”

  “Tell her I said, Hello.”

  “You bet, boss.”

  What the fuck kind of dark and dirty place is this? With green lights and bouncers, and people who call Mason Boss? Furthermore, why should it surprise me? I barely know the man. He gives my hand a tug and we enter the room. It’s small. Smaller than I expected. Less than twenty chairs, tops — most of them velvet wingbacks gathered around low tables lit with candles. A giant black boiler dominates the room. In the corner, two men in suits, one bald, discuss business over drinks. I’d bet money they’re mob. This place feels… illicit. And sexy as sin. In the corner is the bar. The counter looks like a nineteenth-century apothecary. Bottles and vases clutter the counter so that there’s only about eighteen square inches for the bartender to work. And I swear I’ve seen her before — with her big plastic glasses, long wavy blonde hair, and jumpsuit, shaking the container in her hand like a boss. She gives me a wink. “What’s your pleasure, pretty?”

  I scan the specials scrawled on a small tablet — Oval Office Threesome, Six-Fingered Man, Hot Cop, Sinners & Saints. Then I glance back at her. I feel like she’s asking about more than what I want to drink.

  “You filling in for Max ton
ight?” Mason asks

  “I’m Sierra.” She extends a hand across the bar. “Sierra Simone. And she’s tied up in the back,” the woman says with another wink while she shakes Mason’s hand.

  “For real?” I can’t tell if she’s pulling my leg or not. I look to Mason, who fists his hands at his hips with a shake of his head. “Back in the day, this was a place of… ill repute. It’s rumored Al Capone tied up his mistress in the back and had his way with her while the party raged on, here in the boiler room.

  I’m sure my eyes must be as round as saucers. “People do that? In public?”

  A hungry light finds its way into Mason’s eyes. “You wanna see?”

  A nervous thrill runs through me. I’m totally curious, and more than a little turned on.

  Sierra’s eyes dart between the two of us, and a sly grin spreads across her face. “I think what you need is a Hot Cocklate. And for you—” she turns to Mason. “A KingDom.”

  “Come again?” he asks sharply.

  She flicks her eyebrows. “And again, and again. That’s the point, isn’t it? There’s a room in the back if you two need to take the edge off, because the pheromones you’re emitting scream sex. Otherwise,” her eyes gleam with mischief. “I invite you to make use of the wingbacks over there.”

  And then it dawns on me. “You’re that writer, aren’t you? The one who retold Camelot?” I’ve read every single one of Sierra Simone’s naughty books, and I might be fangirling just a bit. “Are you researching another book? I loved the last one,” I gush.

  She smiles enigmatically. “A writer always researches.”

  Mason leans in, his breath tickling my ear. “Will you grab our drinks? I see a friend of mine.” He nods the direction of the wingbacks. His hand sweeps across my ass as he walks away. I can’t help but stare at his ass as he moves through the chairs.

  Sierra lets out a low chuckle as she starts working on our drinks. “Piece of advice? Take him and run. And when he offers you the moon on a string, take it.”

  I stare at her, unsure of how to respond, and quite sure this is the weirdest conversation I’ve ever had.

  She puts down the shaker. “Look. He’s obviously nuts about you, and he’s got the perfect amount of kink for you. A piece of unsolicited advice? That shit don’t come along every day, so revel in it, embrace it, and trust your heart.”

  I glance back over at Mason, and it’s like he knows I’m staring. His head turns from his friend to catch my gaze. He flashes me a grin full of dirty promise and… something deeper. Something that stirs a place deep inside me that I’ve kept locked off for far too long.

  Chapter Nine

  Mason

  O f course Harrison is here tonight. When I’d talked to his CFO a couple of days ago, he’d mentioned Harrison was between ladies. Again. Nothing new for him. His M.O. has always been love ‘em and Uber home.

  He catches my eye, and once I realize that Luci’s a fan of the substitute bartender, who looks more like a librarian than a bartender, but what do I know? I leave Luci to her fangirl conversation and join Harrison. “Did you get my proposal?”

  He cuts right to the chase. “This has everything to do with pussy doesn’t it?” He side eyes Luci.

  I choose to ignore the comment for the moment. “This is about an untapped opportunity that can make all of us a shit-ton of money in the long run, and earn us the goodwill of an entire city.” Harrison’s no dummy. He didn’t turn his family’s millions into billions by accident. He knows a good risk when he sees it.

  “Jeezus,” he scoffs. “Her pussy must be magic if you’re willing to spring for a baseball team.”

  Her pussy is magic, but there’s no fucking way I’m admitting that to Harrison. Luci’s pussy, and the rest of her, are for me and only me.

  “Not spring for it, but save it. You’ve seen the numbers I sent you — this is an investment that will give us all a better ROI than the stock market. And with the AI your company does, I’m sure you boys can figure out who to recruit so that the losingist team in baseball wins the World Series in less than five years.”

  Harrison narrows his eyes and stares at me over his cocktail. “You’re really telling me your only motivation is the ROI?”

  “Of course not. I know a good investment opportunity when I see one.”

  “I still think you’d be better off giving her a tennis bracelet and a pat on the ass.”

  “Not this time.” Luci’s special. Different. And I won’t be deterred. “So are you in?”

  He nods. “And the others will be, too. Have you approached Forte?”

  “He’s on board.”

  “Next steps?”

  “I’ll have my lawyer make an offer first thing. I wanna make this cut and dried so we can go to the press as quick as possible.”

  “See you on the lake in the morning?”

  I hesitate. I’d planned to make Luci breakfast in bed.

  Harrison’s face falls. “Don’t make me cut you.”

  “I know, I know. You know I’d be there if it wasn’t important.” Nothing is more important than wooing Luci. And if that means I lose my spot in the boat, then I’ll accept it.

  “If you can’t manage it, just tell me. No hard feelings.”

  “I understand. And right now, I can. Just not tomorrow.”

  “Pussy’s that good, huh?”

  “Mark my words, Steele. Someday, a woman’s gonna lock you up tighter than a chastity belt, and you’ll do anything and then some — just to see the look of pure unadulterated happiness on her face.” And Luci’s face, when she learns that the Kings will be staying? I can’t wait. You can’t put a price tag on someone’s happiness.

  Harrison chuckles. “If you say so. But right now, I’m gonna pass on the old ball and chain. My dance card is full.”

  In spite of his comment, he stares avidly at Luci as she weaves through the chairs to us. The urge to throat punch one of my closest friends, then piss all over his shoes, flashes through me with startling intensity. But this is Harrison, I remind myself as soon as the insanity passes, he checks out everyone. Thank god he doesn’t act on it, or I’d have to hurt him for real.

  “She changed your drink,” says Luci with an amused quirk to her plush mouth. “Said you were more suited to a Wild Thang. Something about wild times in your future?” she added with a giggle.

  I wouldn’t object to anything wild with Luci. I accept my drink and take a sip before scooting over so she can share the oversized chair with me. It’s good. Spicy and sharp, yet tangy sweet, too. If that’s what my future holds, I’m down with it. “Luce, this is my good friend Harrison Steele. He’s one of the guys I row with.”

  She cocks her head. “As in Steele Conglomerate?”

  “One and the same. And you are?”

  “Luci Cruz.” She extends her hand.

  “The pleasure’s all mine,” Harrison says with a wink in my direction as he takes her hand. This is his way of needling me, but it won’t work. Luci and I have something magic happening between us, something once-in-a-lifetime. Something I’m not about to give up on. All the needling in the world won’t put me off my game where Luci is concerned.

  Luci sips her drink and looks between the two of us. “Did I interrupt something?”

  “Not at all.” Harrison flashes both of us his million-dollar smile as he stands. No wonder he’s made People Magazine’s sexiest man alive cover. “I was just on my way to another appointment. I’ll be in touch, Carter. And I’ll call your sub for the morning.” He calls out over his shoulder as he departs.

  “What’s tomorrow morning?” she asks.

  Her face is soft in the dim light, and I’m overcome with the desire to see it with sunlight breaking over it, just as she wakes. “Tomorrow’s one of our last training mornings on the lake.”

  “You should go.”

  “I should be in bed, with you wrapped in my arms.”

  She takes another sip. “Seriously, you should go. I don’t want you l
etting down your teammates for me.”

  “They have an alternate when I’m not in town. They’ll be fine. We move into dryland training in another week, anyways.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely. I’m not giving up one hour of my twenty-four.”

  “Even if I’m sleeping?”

  I nuzzle her neck, inhaling the scent that’s imprinted on my soul for life. “Who said anything about sleeping?”

  Chapter Ten

  Mason

  I don’t know how she manages it, but Luci grows more beautiful by the hour. Maybe it’s her sense of humor, or the fun she injects into every place I take her, or maybe it’s just her. After we leave the speakeasy I decide I’d rather get dinner to-go, and take her home and ravish her. “What are you hungry for?” I ask, pulling her close as we head back down the alley and away from the speakeasy.

  “Hmm,” she says throwing a mischievous glance my direction and letting her hand slide down my waist to give my ass a squeeze. “You’re definitely at the top of my list.”

  “Glad to hear that, but if I’m keeping you up all night, we need sustenance.”

  “You know what I want?”

  “Besides me?” I tease.

  “Town Topic.”

  There’s such glee in her voice I have to stop and stare. “Wait. Weren’t you trying to convince me hours ago that you were going vegan?”

  She gives me a sheepish smile. “Well, maybe some things have changed since then.”

  No shit, Sherlock. Everything’s changed. But still, in a city known for its local food movement and farm-to-fork restaurants, I’m surprised she’d pick a greasy spoon. “Are you sure? We can go anywhere you like.”