I look Denise in the eye. “I’m guessing your husband probably wouldn’t want you mentioning that.”
Denise takes a breath, then says, “Can I tell you something private?”
She’s blushing and looks fucking adorable. Damn, this chick is cute. Too bad she’s here with her man.
I wait, and she eventually parts those beautiful lips to speak.
“You’re on my celebrity list.”
I don’t immediately recognize the term and give her a blank look, which gets another blush in return.
“You know, the list of five people your spouse has agreed to let you sleep with if you ever see them in person?”
Holy shit. This is getting interesting.
“Is that so? Who are the other four guys? My competition.”
She smiles and says, “Liam Hemsworth, Zayn Malik, Usher, and Daniel Radcliffe.”
“The Harry Potter dude?” What the fuck?
“He was the first guy I was attracted to in that way, so I had to include him. After I saw the Body Issue picture, I added you to my list.”
This is not a joke. She’s serious about this shit.
“Who’s on your husband’s list?”
She leans a little closer.
“Does it matter?” she asks.
“No, I don’t suppose it does.”
“He laughed when I told him to get his ass over here because you were in the hotel,” she says with a devious smile. “I don’t think he believed me. My work is close by, and I told him I saw you on the street and followed you to the hotel bar. The truth is I did some research to find where the Lakers were staying tonight, then waited in the lobby for a couple of hours until you came down. That’s when I called my husband, and he got here in fifteen minutes and was shocked to see it was really you sitting here.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“I promise you I’m not.”
There’s an awkward pause.
“Am I the first person you’ve met on your list?”
“You’re the first either of us has met.”
“Are you telling me you actually want to do this?”
She smiles demurely. “Yes, if you do.” Now she’s blushing again.
“And your husband’s okay with this idea?”
“When we made our lists, we agreed that it was real and we would actually have permission to go through with it if we ever met one of our five. And he honestly thinks he’s going to get to meet Rihanna one day. I just now told him I was going to come over and ask you.”
“Let me get this straight: You just asked your husband if you could fuck me. Tonight. Here at the hotel.”
She grins. “I told you I really like that picture. I like the look in your eyes. And your stomach. And he can’t say no because we both agreed. I actually think he gets off on the idea. Right before I walked up to you, he told me if I do this he wants to hear all the details.”
I’ve heard that some married couples are pretty damn freaky, but never encountered it directly until now. I look at Denise’s body again.
“How old are you?”
“I’m twenty-two,” she says. “We’ve been married a year and a half.”
Jesus, she’s not making this easy on me. I would love to fuck this hot young chick, and she’s practically throwing herself at me. But this husband thing is just weird.
“Denise, I’m flattered by your generous offer, and you are a beautiful woman, but this is a little too strange for my taste.”
She looks deflated. I suddenly get the mental image of being upstairs in my room, fucking this girl hard while her husband waits here in the bar for her to finish. I’m bizarrely turned on.
“You sure your husband is on board?”
She nods. I wish she’d breathe, because I’m getting nervous just looking at her.
I look at those hips again. Yeah, I want this chick. “Bring him over.”
Her grin is back. She returns to her booth and they have a brief conversation, then the two of them approach. He’s short himself, maybe five seven, and also young. Stocky, with short brown hair and an embarrassed look on his face. I’d be embarrassed, too, if I were him.
“Marcus, this is my husband, Brandon.”
I shake the dude’s hand.
“Tell him, Brandon,” Denise prods.
He kind of laughs. “I can’t believe I’m doing this, but we have an agreement.”
“You’re down with this?” I ask.
“Are you?” he counters.
Denise hadn’t bothered to ask me. She gazes at me expectantly.
I nod. “Sure, what the hell. Hey, I’m on her list, right?”
Brandon takes one look at Denise’s pleading eyes and gives in.
“Okay, baby. Just this once. Never again, though.”
Without taking her eyes off her husband, Denise wraps her arm around my waist and snuggles against me. Damn, this woman is tiny. I doubt she weighs more than a hundred pounds after a big meal. I don’t think I’ve ever fucked a woman this small.
There’s a very awkward pause, then he says, “I’ll wait here.”
“How long do I have?” she asks. This is getting stranger by the minute. If she weren’t so hot, I’d probably bail out.
“Do what you gotta do,” he responds, then reconsiders. “Is an hour enough?”
“Two?” she asks, almost begging.
Brandon looks at me. Even still seated at the bar, I’m a lot taller than him.
“Sure. I’ll wait here.”
Denise looks up at me with a smile. I stand, towering over her and her husband. I’m six eight, and I’d guess I’m at least twenty inches taller than she is.
“Hey, Marcus?”
Brandon gestures for me to step to the side for a private conversation.
“She’s my wife. Treat her with respect, okay?”
I nod. “Yeah, of course.”
Then he says, “I’d like to talk to Denise for a moment first.”
As they have a brief discussion, I tell the bartender to put whatever Brandon orders on my tab. Denise kisses her husband on the lips and they look into each other’s eyes, then he sighs and turns her toward me, releasing her. She comes back over to me and I take Brandon’s wife by the hand and lead her out of the bar toward the elevators.
Sorry, dude, but you should never have agreed to let your woman do this. I’m going to fuck her like she’s never been fucked before.
Respectfully, of course.
When we’re alone in the elevator, she says, “I can’t believe this is actually happening.”
“It is now. In a few minutes, you’ll be able to cross one name off your list. What did your husband say to you back there in the bar?”
“You know, that he loved me and that he was only agreeing to this because it was a one-time thing. He wants to make sure I get a picture of you and me. And he told me to ask you if you know Rihanna and could maybe hook him up.”
I laugh out loud. “Sorry, Brandon.”
“He also gave me these.”
She reaches into her purse and pulls out two Trojan condoms. I laugh out loud when I see them.
“What?” she says. “I think it was sweet of him.”
I look down into her brown puppy-dog eyes.
“Baby, those are definitely not going to fit. But it’s okay, I’ve got some in my room.”
Denise grins at me, then her gaze moves downward.
4
Rashida
When I get to the Sunset Grand the next evening, my co-workers are all smiling strangely. Something is amiss. I have no idea what’s going on until I reach my office.
On my desk is the most beautiful flower arrangement I’ve ever seen. It’s massive—so large, in fact, that it occupies a huge chunk of my desk space. My usual clutter has all been pushed to one side to accommodate the newcomer.
There’s an oval planter, about two feet in length and a foot and a half at its widest, filled with perfect white orchids and purple calla lilies.
It’s a truly stunning arrangement, more like something you’d see on a table in a business lobby. And I have no clue what it’s doing on my desk. Obviously, there’s been a mistake, and that’s why my co-workers were all giggling at me.
I sit at my desk and marvel at the amazing creation in front of me. It smells intoxicating, and I almost hate to give it up to its rightful owner, even if I do need my desk space back. That’s when I notice the small envelope, right in the middle of the arrangement at the end of a long metal rod.
And my name is on it.
Rather than be delighted at the prospect of getting flowers from someone, I have a sudden chill up my spine because nobody gives an arrangement this huge without expecting something in return. This lovely monstrosity in front of me must have cost hundreds of dollars.
I remove the little envelope and pull out the card.
Sorry about last night. I’m not always a jerk. —Marcus
That makes sense. Who else could afford this?
I stand there, staring at the card and the gorgeous flowers. On one hand, I’m impressed that he bothered to apologize. That’s unusual for a celebrity of his stature; in my experience, they normally don’t care who they offend. It’s refreshing that he made the effort to show he was sorry for being such an asshole. On the other hand, it’s a gaudy display of his wealth, and his comment to me in his suite in the early morning hours was so far out of line that I’m not interested in his apology. For that matter, I’d be perfectly happy if I never saw Marcus Jennings again.
That’s when I recall that hot body I saw less than twenty-four hours ago, not an ounce of fat anywhere, water dripping down his ebony skin. I had been startled at the sight of a naked man stepping into the suite’s bedroom and gawked at him shamelessly until he went back to grab a towel. Even then, it was difficult to keep from staring. He is among the handsomest men I’ve ever seen, and despite myself, I can’t help but feel an involuntary attraction to that level of confidence.
“Starting a nursery?”
The voice in the office doorway snaps me out of my daydreaming. It belongs to Yvette Reynolds, the Sunset Grand’s event planner and my closest friend. I didn’t know anyone in LA when I moved here to take this job. Thank God for Yvette, as she helped me keep my sanity in this crazy city until I got settled in.
“Can you believe this?” I ask, laughing. Yvette is my hero for never looking anything less than stunning. She’s tall and has luscious layered blond hair, large natural breasts, a thin waist, and long, toned legs. Basically, your typical Hollywood bombshell, only she’s also smart and sweet. I’ve never had a white best friend before, but she and I are beyond that. She’s my cohort and most trusted confidante. Yvette’s only flaw is her horrible taste in men; she prefers handsome airhead-actor types. More than once I’ve gone out with her only to end up having to try to converse with a cognitively challenged male model.
“Who on earth is it from?”
I hand her the card and she reads it.
“Marcus? You never mentioned any Marcus. Are you holding out on me?”
“He’s a guest who I almost had to kick out of a twentieth-floor suite last night. We got complaints and I went up there with Gerald. Nobody answered the door, so we let ourselves in to find two naked women screaming and pulling each other’s hair in the bedroom.”
“Fun,” Yvette says sarcastically. “And this Marcus guy was with them?”
“Not at first, then he steps in from the bathroom, also totally naked and dripping wet. He had no idea I was there.”
“Jesus, what an idiot. What did you do?”
“He put on a towel while Gerald got in between the two women and stopped them.”
Yvette smiles. “Gerald must have loved that.”
“He didn’t complain,” I say. “Then this Marcus guy has the nerve to tell me he’ll send the other two women home and that I should come back and join him in the suite.”
Her eyes grow huge. “Seriously?”
“Yes. I just ignored him and told him to keep the noise down and left. After that, they were quiet.”
“So he sent you these to apologize?”
“Evidently. And now I’ll have to figure out what to do with them. I can’t carry them out to my car.”
I can practically see the wheels turning in Yvette’s mind, and I assume she’s trying to come up with solution to my problem regarding the flower arrangement. Nope.
“What did he look like? Was it a rich old guy?”
“No, he was young. Tall black guy, quite handsome. It’s a good thing I didn’t kick him out; he plays for the Lakers and Weatherford would have been pissed.”
Yvette’s mouth drops open slightly. “Marcus Jennings?”
“That’s him. Arrogant jerk.”
“Wait a minute. You saw Marcus Jennings naked?”
“I did, but it was a weird moment, Yvette. It’s not like I was on a date with him. He just walked in, stood there for a second until he saw me, then stepped back in the bathroom to get a towel.”
She suddenly grabs my wrist and pulls me out the door and down the hallway. She releases me as we enter the lobby and gestures for me to follow her past the front desk to the hotel’s workout room. Inside is a lone woman running on a treadmill, earbuds in place and sweat pouring down—the kind of woman who makes me feel guilty for my own poor workout habits.
Yvette goes to the magazine rack and shuffles through the periodicals.
“It’s still here!” she says, holding up an issue of ESPN The Magazine. On the cover is a naked woman throwing a javelin, her muscular back and butt cheeks proudly displayed.
Yvette flips through pages, then suddenly thrusts it in front me.
“You saw this man naked?”
On the page, I see the same body I’d seen in the early morning hours upstairs. This time Jennings is holding a basketball in front of him, his skin oiled and glistening. I’m entranced by that body; his taut chest, his beautifully carved abs, his sinewy thighs. I obviously remember what else I saw, the part hiding behind the basketball in the photo.
I’m shocked, though, when I look at his smiling face. In his suite, I was so focused on doing my job that I didn’t realize how absurdly beautiful this man is, with his perfectly shaped shaved head, strong jaw and cheekbones, nice full lips and strong nose. His dark eyes look mischievous and supremely confident. It’s easy to imagine him being able to pick up two women even if he weren’t rich and famous.
“Yeah, that’s him,” I respond.
“Tell me.”
“Tell you what?”
“Oh, my God. You know what,” Yvette urges.
I’m honestly stumped for a few seconds, then she taps on the basketball in the picture.
“What’s he like?”
I blush slightly when I understand her question, then roll my eyes at her and push the magazine aside.
“I’m serious!” she says. “I wanna know.”
“What do you want to know about it?”
“You know. Is he big?”
I laugh at her silliness.
“Rashida, tell me!” she begs.
I look at her and can see she means it.
My mind flashes again to my glimpse of him naked, and her question is easy to answer.
“Yes, he is,” I say. “Very.”
Her eyebrows lift.
“Happy now?” I ask.
“Big long? Or big thick?”
Damn, she just won’t drop it.
“Both, actually.”
Yvette looks into my eyes, but her mind is elsewhere. Her gaze returns to the photo again, and I’m certain she’s imagining the appendage in question.
“Damn, that’s hot,” she says. “He’s perfect.”
“Only if you like your men arrogant, immature, and well-endowed. I’m not a fan of the first two, and couldn’t care less about the third.”
“Are you kidding? What woman in her right mind wouldn’t want to fuck this man?” She turns the photo toward me ag
ain, and it’s hard for me to argue—if he weren’t such an asshole, that is.
Yvette looks at the jogging woman, then slips the magazine under her blazer.
“I’m keeping this.”
When I return to my office, I look at the amazing flowers again. The sexy violet, lavender and berry shades of the lilies play off the stately white of the orchids perfectly. Under normal circumstances, I’d be thrilled to get an arrangement a quarter of this size, especially flowers this beautiful. Because they came from Marcus Jennings, though, I can’t allow myself to get excited about them.
I re-read the card a few times, then call the front desk and tell them to send a couple of bellhops up when they’re not busy. Someone’s got to help me put these in my car.
I log into my computer and without stopping to think about it much, I Google “Marcus Jennings ESPN Magazine” and look at the image results. There it is, the same picture.
I click and stare. That body is astounding.
After a few minutes, I realize I’ve moved from marveling at that body to wondering how it feels.
Closing my browser, I do my best to forget about that rich young alpha-male idiot.
5
Marcus
Denise is anything but a typical basketball groupie.
She’s not nearly as slutty as the two women I had in my suite at the Sunset Grand after last night’s game. Despite her coming on to me in the bar a few minutes earlier, there’s an adorable shyness about her, and now that we’re up in my room it’s obvious she doesn’t know where to start. I could just get right down to business, but I kind of like the idea of keeping her nervous for a while first, especially with her husband waiting downstairs. He gave her two hours with me and I want to send her back about twenty minutes late with her face red, like she had to force herself away at the last second.
I ask her if she’d like a drink.
“I think I need one,” she says. “Rum and Coke?”
I open the minibar and retrieve a can of Coke and a bottle of Bacardi Gold, then just before I shut it, I reach back in and grab a second Bacardi. I pour both bottles into a hotel glass, add some Coke, then shut the little refrigerator and grab the nearby ice bucket.
Hollywood Bad Boys Club: Book 3: Marcus Page 3
