by MV Ellis
“Did you just quote a Heartless Few album title at me?”
“Well, since Arlo Jones is more or less your brother-in-law, why not?”
“Wait, what? You’re related to Arlo Jones?” Quincy looked as though King had said I hung the moon.
“No.”
“Yes,” King spoke the same time.
“Okay, so which is it?” She looked back and forth between us as though watching a tennis match.
“No, I’m not related to him. My brother’s best friend is with him, so there’s a connection, but I hardly even know him—I’ve met him like half a time. He pretty much hates my brother’s guts too, so that’s not likely to change any time soon, either. Not that I give a fuck. Waspy Boy over here would drink a cup of his own cum for a chance to meet him, though.”
“Jesus Christ! I’m not asking you to be nice, but can you at least tone down the gross a little, for the love of God? She’s not going to want to work with us if you carry on like this.”
“She can speak for herself, and if you’d bothered to ask her, she would have reminded you that she’s not some kind of vestal virgin. You don’t have to watch your tongues around me.”
I tried not to laugh. King was going all out to impress her with his good-guy routine, and she still looked like she wanted to junk punch him. He couldn’t catch a break.
“See. Relax, dude, and stop acting like you’re some kid bringing home his first girlfriend. Remind me how old you were when you did that. You were a late bloomer, right?” I was having way too much fun playing with him.
“Fuck off.” I was starting to get to him, for sure.
Just then, our waitress arrived with the drinks order, much to King’s obvious relief.
She started placing the drinks on the table—a Bloody Mary for him, vodka for me—but Quincy frowned when her drink was set down.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I think there has been some kind of mistake.” She smiled sweetly at the waitress. “This isn’t what I ordered.”
The server looked confused. “A Jamaican coffee, right?”
“No, I ordered a regular coffee. A latte, to be exact.”
“Right, but after that, the gentleman,” she referred to me, looking my way, “said the order had been changed.”
Quincy looked across at me, clearly pissed.
“Well I’m sorry to have wasted your time and resources, but that’s not true. Can I please have what I ordered.”
“Hey, come on, don’t be like that. Can you just try this one? You won’t regret it, I promise,” I coaxed.
“Famous last words,” she threw back.
“I’m serious. It will ruin regular coffee for you forever.” She hesitated, which was all I needed. I turned back to the waitress, who looked thoroughly confused about what she was supposed to be doing.
“It’s okay, you can just leave that one here, and bring us a latte, also. Thanks.”
She nodded and smiled, then scuttled away, looking relieved to be out of the middle of the odd situation.
When she had gone, I turned back to Quincy. “Seriously, give it a try. It’s simple, but delicious.”
She eyed the drink suspiciously, clearly not ready to trust me with anything at all.
“C’mon. Worst case scenario, you take a sip and don’t like it. Your other coffee’s on the way anyway. No harm done. Best case, you get introduced to a whole new taste sensation.”
“Okay. If it will shut you up.”
“That’s the way.” I couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across my face.
“Just add the cream, and stir.” I watched her as she did as I said, then raised the cup cautiously to her mouth.
She took a small, birdlike sip, surely not enough to even taste anything. I was clearly wrong about that though, as she closed her eyes and tipped her head back, moaning slightly. The sight and sound together were enough to have my dick straining against my pants, and if the way King was looking at her was anything to go by, he was in the same predicament. Not. Cool.
“Wow. Okay. I was not expecting that. What’s in it?”
I smiled. “I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”
“I’m not just going to drink something I don’t know the ingredients of.”
The set of her lips both told me she meant business, and had me imagining them wrapped around my dick. Jesus.
“Rum and Kahlua. And cream.”
“Well, the cream part I knew. The combination is so sinfully good.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Thank you.”
When her standard coffee arrived, she sent the waitress away with it, smiling apologetically again. I smirked not-at-all apologetically, and raised my glass, throwing back my shot. “Budmo!”
Quincy looked confused. “It’s Ukrainian for cheers.” King raised his glass and she hurriedly did the same. They looked at each other and then at me, “Budmo!” they said in unison, before taking a sip of their drinks. I wondered when watching the expression of ecstasy on her face as she drank was going to get old.
I was seeing no sign of that yet. Everything she did fascinated me, but the way she reacted to the drink was something I felt like I could watch over and over—and would definitely be replaying in my mind on repeat while I jerked off.
Better still, I was thinking of a thousand ways I could put that look on her face myself, which sounded like an infinitely better option than fantasizing about her like an oversexed teenager.
Well, the oversexed part was true—probably would be until I croaked, King had been right about that—but I wasn’t some kind of loser who needed to get his rocks off by imagining all the things he wanted to do to a chick, instead of just doing them.
I was, and pretty much always had been, a guy who set his mind on something or someone, then went all out to achieve it, or have them. I saw no reason why Quincy would be any different. It had happened before, and it was just a matter of time before the inevitable happened again.
Chapter 16
Quincy
* * *
Several drinks later, I was getting a little bored with talking in circles with the guys.
“So cut the crap. Tell me about yourselves.”
“Really? We’ve been hanging out for how long now, and sunk a whole bunch of drinks, not to mention all that research you did online, and you still don’t have us figured out?” King’s voice was smooth, low, and totally alluring.
“You know all there is to know already,” Rome’s equally smooth voice cut in. “Everything you read in the press is pretty much true. Me: angry, edgy, rudely talented, street-smart, ex-performing-street urchin, broken Slavic bad boy. Him: all-American boy, book-smart, straight A student, over-privileged, emotionally repressed wasp. Us: yin and yang, a musical match made in hell, creating music sent from heaven, and the stuff of girly wet dreams.”
I had the strong urge to swipe the smirk from his smug face. “And…?”
“And what?”
“And that is what I read, but I’m smart enough to A, never believe everything I see in the press, and B, know that even if the stories are based on some modicum of truth, the bullshit peddled by the PR machine is never the full picture. When a magician shows you their left hand, look at their right, and all that.”
“So?” King looked faintly pissed off. A sure sign I was getting somewhere. Interesting.
“So, for instance, what’s the deal between the two of you?”
“How do you mean?” The look of suspicion on Rome’s face was almost comical.
“I mean that it’s obvious that the ‘love to hate him’ act that you peddle to the world is exactly that—an act. You wouldn’t have lasted as long as you have if you really couldn’t stand the sight of each other. So, what’s the real story?”
Roman leaned back in his chair and cracked his knuckles one by one before answering. “The opposites thing is true. We are fundamentally different in just about every way. And that does mean that we want to junk punch e
ach other about a hundred times a day.”
“But?” I urged.
“But, somehow, even though we’re like night and day, our shit just works. Always has. Since the day I walked into my first class at the stupid Conservatorium—angry and determined to hate the place and everyone in it—and he called me on my shit straight out the gate, we’ve been as tight as brothers.”
“Tighter, if the brothers in question are you and Marko,” King chimed in.
“Fuck off. We’re tight. You don’t go through what we’ve been through together and not be tight.”
“Yeah, maybe on some level, but on an everyday basis, we all know you can’t bear to be in the same room as each other, because you both hate sharing the spotlight. Besides, there’s usually only room for one wild-haired, wild-eyed, tattooed loose cannon, and both of you want it to be you.”
“That’s just logic. I can hardly put up with my own shit, let alone deal with his as well.”
“Nah, it’s not that. The two of you have always been each other’s biggest supporter and greatest rival. I don’t think that will ever change.”
“You’re right. I hate that bastard as much as I love him.”
“Okay, so back to the two of you.”
They turned sharply toward me, fixing me with intense stares as though they’d forgotten I was there.
“What about us?” No mistaking it, King’s patience was definitely waning. I felt uncomfortable under their heated gazes, but refused to look away. I held my ground.
“How does that dynamic between you play out? I mean, like have you ever…?”
“You’re asking if we’ve ever fucked?” Trust Roman to cut through the small talk and get to the point.
“Yeah. That.”
“Why would you ask?” I was pretty sure I’d offended King.
“Because, the chemistry between you is… off the charts and…” I hesitated, finally looking away from them. “hot as all hell.”
“So you want to know if we screw?” A smile played on King’s lips, and his bright blue eyes twinkled in the dim light of the private club. He looked at Rome, who picked up his train of thought.
“Because it gets you hot?”
“Are you going to tell her, or should I?” King quirked his eyebrow at Rome.
“I will. You’re kind of right about the chemistry. Kind of way off base. Yes, there is a lot flying around right now, but it’s not each other we’re hot for, it’s you. Both of us.”
Oh. Shit.
“We’ve never fucked. We’re not into each other that way. But have we watched each other do the deed? More times, and with more women than I could hope to count. Have we ever shared the same woman? Ditto.”
The sexual tension crackling around us ratcheted up about a thousand percent, and the rush of blood to my face heated my skin to the point where I felt like I needed fresh air.
I looked between the two of them and found them staring at me with hungry eyes. “I’m gonna head off. I think we’ve achieved what we set out to do through the chemistry session, but I doubt we’ll get any actual work done today. Reconvene at the studio at the crack of 10.00 a.m. tomorrow?”
“Why stop now? We’re finally getting to the good stuff. Stay. Let’s drink a little more. Dance a little. That always takes the edge off.” The look on Rome’s face told me he was interested in anything but cooling things down a notch.
“Dance? Here?” I looked around. Yes, the room was dimly lit and intimate, but I was sure it would draw unwanted attention if the three of us got up and started dancing—even in our quiet corner. Not the least of reasons being that there was no music playing.
“I don’t want to put on a floor show.”
Roman threw his head back and laughed heartily. The sound sent shockwaves through my body—the throaty, melodious tinkle hitting all the right chords within me.
Chapter 17
King
* * *
“Not in here. There’s a room next door with music. It’s a lot more… intimate than in here.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea, either, but for different reasons.”
“Like what?” The lust blazing in Rome’s eyes was either going to set Quincy’s libido on fire, or chase her away. I could tell she was hot for us, but on the other hand, she was also skittish as anything, and it could really go either way.
We were all standing now, after Quincy announced her departure. Rome took a step closer to her. She didn’t back away from him, but she looked like she might at any moment. He reached out and moved a stray curl from in front of her eyes. She stood stock still for a moment, as though contemplating her next move, and at the last second as he began to withdraw his hand, she turned her head slightly to kiss his palm, before looking up to meet his eyes.
Holy. Shit. It was probably the most innocent touch I’d ever seen him share with a woman who wasn’t a relative, but it turned me on more than any other. The look in her eyes said it all. She wanted him. Badly.
“Because—” Her voice was low and husky. “Professionalism. We work together. Best to keep things simple, and not blur boundaries any further than they already are.”
“Sticking within imaginary and arbitrary lines between us isn’t going to simplify this.” He motioned between the three of us. “In fact, it’s going to bring more complications. We do what we want to do now, then it’s out of the way and we can get on with writing.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works.”
“Why not?” Rome looked at her like he didn’t get it. Which he genuinely didn’t. He didn’t equate sex and emotions, and never had.
“It’s complicated. People are complicated. Mixing business and pleasure is a recipe for disaster. This whole thing has fuckup written all over it from the get-go, without adding more confusion into the mix.”
I agreed with her, but then, as Rome would say, being the straight down the line wasp, I would.
I hung back slightly, watching as the conversation ping-ponged back and forth between the two of them.
“That’s bullshit. Things are only complicated if we make them that way, and I personally have no intention of doing so. I’m all about the good times, baby. Nothing more. Nothing less.”
No truer words had ever been spoken. So much so, that I was pretty sure they would be his epitaph. “Here lies Roman Ivanenko. He was all about the good times.” I fought back laughter at the idea.
“Well that’s nice for you. I’m all about living like an adult—not an adolescent.”
“And how’s that working out for you?” His tone was sharp, and he quirked an eyebrow her way.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Her tone was sharper.
“It means that as far as I can see, sitting on your sensible ‘adult’ high horse hasn’t done you a whole lot of good. Meanwhile, I’ve done just fine with my ‘adolescent’ ways. So…”
“How dare yo—”
“Hey.” I realized that if I didn’t step in and mediate, they’d likely tear each other’s eyes out. “It’s just a dance. Nothing to lose sleep over. Let’s dance, and have a little fun. Okay?” I coaxed gently.
This wasn’t unusual, me playing good cop to Rome’s bad. His ‘twenty-four seven asshole’ vibe worked for probably eighty percent of the women we came into contact with. For the other twenty, I was there to smooth the way. I wasn’t sure that my charms were enough to rescue the situation in this case, though. It looked like Rome had completely ruined the vibe. Not that I blamed her. If someone pretty much told me my hard work had amounted to nothing, I’d be hella pissed, too.
I waited it out, watching her closely as she cycled through a myriad of emotions. Just as she looked to be about to tell us no, I leaned forward, and whispered in her ear, while keeping my gaze fixed firmly on Rome’s.
“We’ll dance. Have a little fun. I promise I’ll keep him in line.” When I felt her shudder as my breath grazed her ear, I knew I had her. She looked up, slowly seeking me out, her gray-g
reen gaze earnest and wanting. When she found my eyes trained on hers, she quickly shifted her focus to Rome. I looked at him too. He was staring back defiantly. Jesus, he was a dick.
“Okay. But I call the shots. Any more bullshit from him—” she jutted her chin Rome’s way “and I’m out.”
Instead of speaking, I laced my fingers through hers. She stiffened briefly at the unexpected contact, but then immediately relaxed her hand in mine. I leaned forward again, this time speaking so quietly, there was no way Rome could hear.
“No more bullshit. I promise. Let’s go.”
I led her by the hand through the now busy bar, and out into the opulent hall. A few feet down, I pushed open a heavy wood-paneled door, and led her inside the room.
“It’s like a tiny nightclub, but it’s the middle of the day.”
“Yeah. This place is kind of like a casino in that sense. It’s designed so that you can work, rest and play any time of day or night.”
“Emphasis on the play,” Rome chimed in as the door swished closed behind us, the smile hovering at the edges of his lips leaving no illusion as to what he meant.
I watched Quincy as she looked around, taking in her surroundings.
“Seems like we have the place to ourselves.”
“Perfect.” I gently pulled her further into the room. “You like to dance?”
Her face lit up the room like a firework as she answered. “Like it? I love it.”
No sooner were the words out of her mouth than she’d scooted further into the space, and was swaying to the beat. Seconds later, she’d closed her eyes, and was rocking her hips back and forth in a slow figure of eight.
Chapter 18
Rome
* * *
Holy. Fucking. Shit
As she raised her arms in the air and tipped her head back, increasing the size of the circles she created with her waist and hips, I couldn’t take my eyes off her. She was fully clothed and barely moving her body, really, but I’d never seen anything hotter. Something about the way she seemed so lost in the music, giving herself over to it as though nobody was watching—this time, and in the ballroom after the Sonata Awards—had me wanting to screw her more than any woman I’d ever met.
