Ruckus

by L.J. Shen

  “Because you’ve already dipped your sausage in my family gravy, and even though I know it’s a secret recipe everyone wants more of, I’m afraid you’re all out of luck.”

  “I love it when you talk culinary sex with me.” I took a step toward the island, placing my forearms on it with a heated gaze.

  “Maybe it’s because we’re Coca-Cola, and you always settle for Shasta.” Her eyes wandered to the direction of my bedroom.

  Every muscle in my torso tightened as I let out a genuine laugh. My noticeable V-taper, veiny arms, tight abs, and prominent pecs didn’t escape her, and her newly peach-colored cheeks admitted that, even if she never would.

  “I want you,” I said simply, unapologetically—vulnerably, even—because I did.

  “As you did my sister.” Baby LeBlanc gave a curt nod. “Are you planning on screwing your way through our family tree? Should I print out a copy of our ancestry.com profile?”

  “Please, when you get the chance.” I served her some sass back. “Though I have a feeling you can keep me busy just fine.”

  “You’re too stubborn,” she coughed, as she did every other minute, taking another long sip of her cup of Joe.

  “Yeah. Not lacking in that department. Or any department, for that matter.” My smirk widened as my eyes slid down to my groin. We were engaging in a battle of will. That was fine. I was bound to win. I always got what I wanted. And what I wanted was sitting in front of me, waiting for my verdict about her rent.

  Kennedy and Natasha appeared from the hallway. They were roommates, so I wasn’t surprised when the latter told her friend the Uber they called would be downstairs in three minutes. Sharing a cab was smart economy. They needed to watch their spending after snorting their rent’s worth in coke. Good for them.

  “Bye, girls.” I waved.

  “Bye, asshole.” Kennedy hurled her heeled shoe at me with an arm swing that made the quarterback in me want to whistle in admiration. I dodged it, ducking my head down fast. The red heel flew across the kitchen, passing next to Rosie’s shoulder and crashing against the fridge.

  It made a dent. At least she had that going for her. No woman had managed to do that before.

  Rosie took a tentative sip of her coffee, reeking of indifference. “Hmm,” she said. “This tastes good.”

  She didn’t mean the coffee. She meant watching the side effects of me being a manslut. But she did that little moan thing. Again.

  This is so on, Rosie LeBlanc, I thought. I’m going to drag you by the hair to the dark side, and you have no fucking clue.

  “Let’s cut to the chase, sweetheart. You’re flying with me to Todos Santos on Friday.” I fished the scoop of the whey protein from its container, mixing up the powder with fat-free milk. You don’t get to look like me from scarfing junk food all day. I made things happen. No matter the price. At the gym, at work, at being a sweet, perfect son. Everything was calculated and earned the hard way. No shortcuts for me. It’s been like this from a young age, but I didn’t know anything different. To them—to Rosie, her sister, my friends—I was this lucky asshole who was born with a silver spoon shoved so fucking deep in his mouth, he never had to lift a finger and work. I let them think that. No harm in being underestimated.

  I heard Rosie shuffling on the high stool by the island and knew she wasn’t going to go down without a fight. For a sick girl, she was feisty as fuck.

  “Millie has already asked me. The price difference is two hundred bucks for a ticket. It’s just the rehearsal, dude. It’s not like I’ll miss the actual wedding.”

  The actual wedding was on Sunday, but most attendees—Jaime, Trent, and me included—were flying into Todos Santos on Friday, staying a full week and a half and cramming a rehearsal dinner, a bachelor/bachelorette party, and the wedding into one, out-of-control escapade. We were a tight-knit group. Abnormally so. Whenever we could spend a good chunk of time together, we jumped on the opportunity. Rosie was strapped for cash by choice. Her sister was marrying one of the richest men in America. I appreciated how Baby LeBlanc wasn’t the type of girl to leech on someone else’s purse—she did get the nearly free apartment and amenities, and also got her meds paid for—but she worked hard for everything else. And made the time to change dirty diapers and greet guests at a children’s hospital a few times a week. She was a keeper, but I didn’t need a reminder of that.

  “You’re the maid of honor.” I turned to face her, leaning a hip against the counter. Her eyes were fixed on my bulging bicep as I shook my drink. It moved back and forth like a tennis ball. She licked her lips, shaking her head, probably to get rid of the mental image of me slapping her ass with the same muscular arm.

  “I understand the gravity of the role, and I’m perfectly capable of walking in a straight line in uncomfortable shoes for two minutes while holding her dress. You do realize that’s the only thing my part entails, right?”

  “What about a bachelorette party?” I rubbed my naked abs to try to make her moan or lick her lips again, tossing back my head and taking a gulp of the cookie and caramel drink that tasted nothing like cookies or caramel and everything like rotten ass.

  “What about it?” She challenged, her gaze hard on my face.

  “Who is planning Millie’s? Shouldn’t that be the maid of honor’s role, too?”

  “It’s under control, and it’s going to be epic. Why? Are you planning Vicious’s party?” she asked, surprised. She angled her body forward, her small, perky tits squeezing together inside her bra. I grunted, feeling my cock swelling inside my low-riding sweatpants.

  From the outside, it looked like Vicious and I had a shit-ton of issues. Truth was, our friendship was strong. It was different from the normal brotherhood the rest of the guys had, but it was solid.

  “I am. Jaime is helping, too. We’re doing a weekend in Vegas.”

  “Classy.” Her smile was condescending.

  “Well, we considered not giving a fuck and bailing on our friend’s rehearsal dinner, but then you came and stole our idea. What crawled up your little perky ass, anyway? Are you jelly your older sister’s getting hitched?”

  She spun in her seat, and when I saw her face, something tightened in my chest. Great going, jackass. Whatever I said affected her enough to drain the blood from her face.

  “Shut up, Ruckus. I’m just wondering if what I have planned is fancy enough. I was going for a slumber party of some sort. With a special playlist and all.” Unsure flaky eyes asked for my opinion. It was unlike her. Rosie was usually burning with self-confidence, and it felt like shit to be the one who put her flame out.

  “Slumber party, ah?” I walked past her just so I could brush my fingers against her waist. By accident, of course. “Millie is a low-key chick. Can’t see a reason why she wouldn’t dig it.”

  “I’ll tell you why, because you’re doing Vegas. Now I need to up my game,” she complained, helping herself to a second cup of coffee without asking.

  “You want to be a good sister? You can start by accepting the goddamn ticket I’m going to buy you.”

  “The answer is no,” she drawled, sighing big. “Is English not your native tongue? Should I say no in another language? I don’t speak Asshole fluently, but I can try,” she grunted.

  “Vicious is dead serious about this. He is going to come here and drag you himself. I’m the lesser of two evils, Baby LeBlanc. You’re coming with me,” I repeated. Not that any of them deserved any favors from me, but I was happy for Vicious and Millie. Even happier to spend a week with Baby LeBlanc. I’d been crushing hard on her creamy, round ass for years now. It was time for me to claim it.

  Rosie looked away, folding her arms like a stubborn kid. “Nope.”

  “Yup,” I said in the exact same tone. “And you better pack a fucking bag, because the flight leaves Friday morning, and we both have a busy week ahead of us.”

  She blinked, not answering.

  “Let’s cut a nice deal, shall we?” I got in her face, my elbows on the islan
d. Her body followed suit, gravitating toward me. We were aligned, and she didn’t know it, but we looked like two, sculptured bodies. Made for each other. What she also didn’t know was that we were going to test my theory and see if we were going to match. Soon. Real fucking soon. “I’ll take you to the devil’s den, because you have to come.” I knew how impossible Vicious could be. “But I’m on call if you need anything. Think about it. It’s a good way to get to know each other.” I offered her a dimpled smile.

  “I don’t want to get to know you. Everything I know about you, which is quite a bit, I don’t like,” Rosie said. “If we’re not going to talk about my rent, let me know, and I’ll leave.”

  “Come to Todos Santos with me.” I ignored her last statement.

  Fuck, she was so persistent. Why did that turn me on? Maybe because most women had the tendency to act different in front of me. They were agreeable, extra nice, and flirty. Three things you couldn’t blame Baby LeBlanc for being.

  “Forget it,” she muttered, hopping down from the stool.

  “Rosie,” I warned.

  “Dean.” It was her turn to mimic me. She rolled her eyes. “Let me know what my new rent is before the end of the month, please. I need to make the necessary arrangements if I can’t keep the apartment.”

  She walked to the door and slammed it in my face before I had the chance to tell her that her rent would stay the same if she came along.

  That was fine, I had patience, as long as things went my way.

  Baby LeBlanc was going to bow down to me eventually.

  Her clock was ticking faster, and I was done letting her waste our time.

  What makes you feel alive?

  Taking a bus with a route I don’t know. Walking the long way home. Feeling my senses heighten as my body becomes more alert to the unfamiliar scenery around me.

  “SICK PLAYLIST, CHICA,” MY BEST friend remarked the following Wednesday, as I plugged my USB into The Black Hole’s laptop. I made an eight-hour playlist of the best of the best, just like I had done on every other shift I had. People came in from all over New York to hear my playlists. Customers said I gave them Williamsburg from the comfort of their Manhattan residency. From French electric pop, anarchist punk to old British rock—my music was like a milkshake. It brought all the boys to the yard and made them pay five bucks for a small latte. So. Much. Win.

  “Thanks, boo.” I winked, moving away from the laptop and wiping the counter in front of me for the hundredth time that morning. Even though I had one hundred percent disability because of my illness, I chose to work. Productivity spun my straw into gold. Working was my saving grace, because when you’re my kind of sick, your whole adulthood is on probation.

  “How is your hot neighbor doing?” Elle asked, her elbows pressed against the counter, her legs tapping to the tune of “I’m Shipping Up to Boston” by Dropkick Murphys that played in the background. “Still mega-rich?”

  “Oh, yeah. Also, still a mega-douche.” I coughed out my answer. I wish my blonde, curvy, gorgeous friend, Elle, hadn’t met Dean last month for two seconds. I didn’t think he noticed her existence as he met us in the elevator and asked if I wanted to come, and when I asked where, he said on his tongue, but she noticed him, all right. And when she found out he was one of the CEOs to the monstrous investment firm Fiscal Heights Holdings on top of being good-looking, all bets were off. She’d pretty much been bugging me about him ever since.

  “We don’t care about that.” She waved her hand around, ignoring a table of desperate customers on the far end of the shop who signaled for her to hand them the check a century ago. They could dance the “Copacabana” and she still wouldn’t notice. Elle was an amazing woman as much as she was a terrible waitress. I rang their order up and printed out their check, walking over to the table and offering them complimentary lemon cakes before returning to a still-oblivious Elle. Even though I was the barista and it technically wasn’t a part of my job, I still covered for Elle all the time.

  “You don’t, but I do. Anyway, he is trying to get me to go with him to Todos Santos on Friday instead of a Saturday. I don’t want to.” I munched on my lower lip, thinking about Mama and Daddy. I haven’t told Elle about my conversation with Dean. She was away all week, visiting her parents in Nebraska. The last thing I wanted was to dump my personal crap on her and ruin her vacation.

  “Screw that, hell no.” Elle waved her forefinger around, her hazel eyes skimming over two young, male customers who walked into the café, foolishly expecting her attention. “Your parents are a drag, and your mom is always on your case. Also, they still don’t know you’ve broken up with Darren, right?”

  Right.

  On top of my parents, I would have to hang out with Vicious and Dean, two of my least-favorite people. The week was definitely going to be challenging. I changed the subject, bypassing the self-pity fest I was tempted to throw for myself.

  “By the way, I need to change my plan for my sister’s bachelorette party. My new one needs to be crazy with a touch of glitter.” I unscrewed one of the jars of chocolate chip cookies that lined the counter behind us, taking two and shoving them into my mouth. “Any suggestions?”

  Don’t say Vegas, don’t say Vegas, don’t say Vegas, I inwardly prayed.

  “Two words: Las Vegas.” She drew an imaginary flashing sign in the air. “Do the Sin City Tour-de-Trash. Male strippers. Booze. A Britney Spears gig. All the guilty pleasures you can pack in, basically.”

  I groaned, throwing my head to the counter with a thud.

  Money wasn’t an issue. If I told Vicious, he would shell out whatever sum I needed to make it happen. Even though time in Vegas meant less time with Mama and more time with Millie, it was still not my thing.

  “Any other ideas?” I quirked an eyebrow. Elle had a better chance luring me into a cave full of starving vampires than getting me to consciously spend time in the same Vegas strip with The HotHoles of Todos Santos, AKA the groom’s best friends. Especially Dean Cole. His constant advances and sexual innuendos grated on my nerves.

  “Honestly, Vegas is your best shot, chica. Otherwise, you can go the usual route. Do a dildo-themed party—which you don’t want to do anymore because it’s lame—or a weekend in Cabo. Now, now, no more carbs for the bridesmaid.” She placed a hand over the jar lid when I went for another cookie, shaking her head. “And remember—you can’t be an Annie.”

  “An Annie?” I frowned.

  “Yeah. You know, from Bridesmaids. Don’t let any of Millie’s other bridesmaids outshine you. That shit’ll haunt you for life.”

  Somehow, I doubted that. Millie didn’t have many friends. I was her only bridesmaid. Her expectations were terribly low to begin with, thank God.

  “I appreciate the tip,” I snorted.

  “Don’t mention it.” She wiggled her bony shoulders. “Seriously, don’t. To anyone. I swore off rom-coms when I was sixteen as a part of a bet. I think it’s still going. But I broke it like once or a thousand times.”

  I laughed, because with Elle, you couldn’t not laugh.

  “Seriously, though, Rosie. Vegas would be perfect. Don’t think about what you want—think about Millie. It’s her week. And that’s true about your hot neighbor’s invitation to arrive earlier in Todos Santos, too.”

  I hated it when Elle was right.

  Glancing at the time on my cell phone, I had to walk my neighbor’s dog in half an hour, and the subway was always packed that time of the year with enough tourists to populate a medium-sized country. I tipped my chin down. “Wine and sushi tonight?”

  “Sashimi for me. I’m skinny-bitching this summer.” She ran her hands down her body, tracing non-existent curves before giving me the thumbs-up. Then she paused, frowning. “Hey, who are you going to invite to this bachelorette party, anyway? Your sister is not exactly a social butterfly.”

  That was an understatement if I ever heard one. Other than her high school friend, Sydney, who stayed in Todos Santos, and a random older
chick she met in L.A. called Gladys, who helped her set up her gallery, she didn’t really hang out with anyone. I shook my head, busying myself by rearranging coffee mugs on the counter.

  “Shamelessly milking an invitation. What has the world come to?”

  “Hey, lady, if you don’t care for our world, you’re welcome to move to another planet. And on that note,” Elle fist-pumped the air once, “we’re going to Vegas! High-five?”

  “High-five and a thumbs-up? No, thanks, I think I’ve had a healthy dose of lame today,” I teased.

  “Is your sexy neighbor going to be there, too? Vegas, I mean. He seems like the type to throw a crazy-ass party.”

  “Yes,” I groaned, and as I said that, I realized that I wasn’t just annoyed with the prospect of having Dean around.

  I was also excited.

  Just a tad, but enough to make my stomach do that flip.

  That should have tipped me off. Been the first alarm bell. Because everyone knew one thing—after the flip, comes the boom.

  “Fuck if I care, Colton. We’re dropping that lawsuit on his ass faster than a load of shit after a visit to that all-you-can-eat restaurant on Broadway just to make sure he can’t buy any more stocks until further investigation. Am I clear? Colton? Colton! Goddammit.”

  Oh, crap.

  His voice rushed into my ears a second too late. I didn’t have the time to jump out of the elevator before he sent his arm across the barrier—the one clutching his cell phone—to make the door slide back open.

  Dean walked past the elevator’s threshold wearing his navy blue, three-piece suit and cocky smile, pressing his phone to his ear as he loosened his silk maroon tie.

  “LeBlanc,” he hissed seductively, ending the call. I ignored him, staring at the numbers above my head.

  His body pressed against mine from behind and his lips found my ear. “Do your nipples always pucker when someone enters the elevator with you, or do you save this reaction only for me?”