The Pickup Line

by Louisa Trent

  Never before had he let outside concerns interfere with his ability to do his job.

  He could think of only one thing: he had to get to Blue. He had to state his case for them, and then he had to throw himself on her mercy, agree to whatever she wanted. As along as they could talk things through, get it all out in the open; that was all he'd ask.

  Lou was about to up and leave when Tomas Ruiz strutted by and handed him a cigar wrapped in blue.

  Dropping his private concerns, Lou clapped the new daddy on the back. “Congratulations! How's the new mommy doing?”

  “Better than me. I nearly decked one of the attending physicians for not making the labor go faster. Who'd think seven pounds of humanity would take so damn long getting out?” Tomas shook his head. “I don't know if I can go through that again.”

  “What does Seraphina have to say on the subject?”

  “She made me remember something I once told her.”

  “I see.”

  Despite her diminutive stature, the former missionary was one tough lady; Lou didn't doubt for a minute that Sera would get whatever she wanted from her doting husband.

  Lou said in return, keeping his expression carefully neutral, “You're one lucky man. Give your growing family my fond regards.”

  “I will,” Tomas called back over his shoulder as he hurried for the pink door. “I'm going to the hospital now to check in on them again,”

  “Enjoy,” he called after the proud papa. “Time goes by so fast and children grow up so quick.”

  Luckily, Pete had been a healthy kid. Growing up, his son rarely came down with anything more serious than a case of the sniffles. But on the outside chance that he might get sick or in case of an emergency, Lou knew he could call his regular babysitter, night or day, and she'd pitch hit for him. Combine that safeguard with a strong work ethic inherited from both his parents, and Lou never missed work, not as a cop, not as a detective, not as a manager of a strip club.

  He was missing work tonight.

  After phoning a barkeep to sub for him, Lou walked out the bright pink door.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  At GoCA, the uniformed guard passed him right on through, and that had Lou frowning. Lax security wasn't acceptable. So what, the guard at the desk was the same one from the night before and maybe recognized him: Blue was a woman working alone in a deserted building at night; letting a strange man in without first ID'ing was damn dangerous. What if Lou was a psycho ex-lover? Or an estranged husband with a restraining order out against him? Or just some pain-in-the butt Blue didn't want to see?

  Tomorrow, bright and early, he was paying a visit to the head of security and raising holy heck, Lou decided entering the main gallery on the first floor. Veering sharply to the right, he proceeded through an out of the way utility door he'd stumbled across the night of Blue's opening gala; his plan was to check all exterior doors that led to the artist's studio at the end of the corridor.

  The first knob he tried turned in his hand.

  Son of a bitch! There was no excuse for a breach in protocol like this! All access doors should've been kept locked after hours. This was critical for anyone, but particularly for Blue, as her studio was the most private one in that wing, given to her because of the sensitive nature of her work

  Sensitive nature.

  This was an understatement, considering where her muse had taken her.

  Lou trusted Blue to act professionally, and he'd just have to deal with his jealousy over the subject matter of her artistic pursuit.

  Easy to say, tough to do, but master the green-eyed beast he would.

  A sound, a premonition, something raised hackles at the back of his neck, and Lou peered through the peephole at the top of the studio door.

  There was a man inside the studio. A tall, blond, loose-limbed Nordic type, the relaxed, easy-going kind of fella often featured on magazine covers. Dressed in rumpled jeans and a rumpled shirt half-undone, he was smiling real lazy-like at the floor. Odd, that bemused expression on his kisser...

  'Course, if Blue was about to dip his wick in plaster, the bemused expression made sense.

  His talk with Blue would have to wait, Lou decided. This was not a good time for him to interrupt. He'd just go have a talk with that lax security guard now...

  Lou was about to leave when through the peephole he spied why the guy was looking bemused. Resting on a bunch of scattered black pillows on the floor was someone, a naked female someone, lying with her back turned toward Lou. Her tousled brown head rested seductively on the crook of her arm; her long, long, shapely legs were stretched out straight; her sexy bottom was curved in a mouth-wateringly provocative pose.

  Heart pounding, eye squinted up tight at the peep, sweat breaking out on his forehead, Lou tried to get a better look at the woman the man was walking toward.

  Before he could get a bead on her, the woman laughed.

  Blue! That was Blue in there. That was her mischievous laugh. Those were her long shapely legs. That incredibly sexy bottom belonged to her. She was inside, naked, reclining on those black pillows and the fully clothed man was squatting down next to her and reaching for her bare upper thigh.

  Don't you touch her, you cock-sucking fuck!

  But the cock-sucking fuck was touching her. His hands were all over her. And Blue was laughing merrily.

  The fuck was slowly raising a long white leg now, bending the graceful leg at the knee, gazing at the hidden jewel. Blue's gold hoop had to be twinkling right at him.

  Lou wanted to throw up.

  Bile back-washed into his mouth, gagging him. But like a car wreck, he couldn't turn his eyes away from what was happening inside the room.

  Mumbled voices, more laughter. Blue was letting the fuck ... she was letting him ... touch between her legs.

  Lou was storming the room. He was pulling the fuck off his woman, he was smashing his fist through the good-looking fuck's face, and then he was setting down the law to a certain artist!

  And if he did that, he'd lose Blue.

  Mind-blowing sex didn't give him any rights where Blue was concerned. She was a free agent. He couldn't pull some machismo territorial act; he couldn't go even moderately ballistic. Blue wasn't cheating on him; she had never agreed to exclusivity. Adventure was all she'd agreed to.

  Getting it together, Lou turned the knob, opened the door, entered the studio, crossed the floor to Blue.

  She craned her lovely long throat up at him. “What are you doing here?”

  “Searching for you,” he replied evenly.

  “Well, as you can see, I'm rather busy at the moment so I'm afraid you'll have to excuse us.”

  “I don't mind waiting,” he replied.

  Why was she doing this? Why wouldn't she give them a chance?

  “Suit yourself,” she said with a giggle, then, “Oh, dear! Where are my party manners? If you're staying, the least I can do is introduce you two men to each other. Orion, this is Lou.”

  Blue twitted some more, winked at the fuck, then rolled her glazed eyes back at him. “Lou, Orion,” she slurred. “By the way, in case you haven't guessed, I'm Diana, the Huntress.” The intros were finished with a wobbly flourish of her hand.

  Christ! She was sloshed. Totally shit-faced.

  “In the Roman myth, Diana put an arrow through Orion,” Lou offered, noncommittally. “At least that's the way the story goes. Personally, I've always felt it was somebody else who done the deed.”

  The fuck exchanged a look with him; in the cock-sucker's eye was the glint of challenge. “May the best man win the goddess, Lou,” he said.

  Lou had every intention of winning, because not winning meant losing Blue.

  He was not losing Blue. He wasn't worried about the fuck. A strong woman like Blue would make mincemeat out of that good-looking dildo. No, Lou was afraid of losing Blue to that self-destructive streak she had inside her. He'd do everything he could to make sure that didn't happ
en. But he'd have to play things carefully. He could not afford to screw up. He'd keep his temper, keep everything nice and low-key. He would not rip the fuck from limb to limb like he wanted to do, he would not take Blue over his knee and give her the spanking she richly deserved. Now more than ever, he needed to stay in control.

  “Who's up for a threesome?” Lou asked coolly.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  While Blue watched in utter drunken amazement, Lou removed his suit jacket, folded it neatly, and hung it over the back of a chair.

  He'd just walked in on her posing for an artist, and what does he do?

  He suggests a threesome.

  She wished she could come up with a reason, any reason why a conservative, straight-up guy like Lou would suggest something so completely out of character, so completely inappropriate too, but her head was spinning from the wine and she just couldn't think.

  Jas piped up. “Sure, I'm up for a threesome.”

  “Well, I'm glad you two are so damn fuckin’ amenable,” Blue snapped. Was she in some sort of alternative universe? What was going on?

  Lou straightened his tie. “I'll do whatever you want me to do, Blue.”

  Heady, the way he cared.

  “Sure. A threesome is fine.” She lethargically reached for her glass of wine. Why not have group sex?

  Lou didn't care—why should she?

  Lou crouched down next to her on the pillows. “Don't you think you've had enough to drink for one night?” he asked softly.

  “No, not by a long shot.”

  But Lou removed the long-stemmed glass from her hand anyway, and that really sucked, because some of the wine spilled in transit, a burgundy trail rolling down the slope of her breast, the red rivulet racing to her belly.

  “Hey, no fair. Give that glass back, Lou. The bottle isn't even empty and the wine's a very good year, by the way,” she said, loftily, and then hiccuped the remnants of overindulgence onto her tongue. It left a bitter aftertaste in her mouth; though the regurgitation was not nearly as bitter as Lou's deceit. “Jas already has his wine. Would you like a glass, Lou?”

  “I don't drink.”

  Yeah, right. The guy worked in a strip club and he didn't drink.

  She laughed and pointed a finger at him. “Liar. You're nothing but a liar.”

  “I don't lie, Blue.”

  “You lied to me about what you do for a living. I can't believe a thing you say.”

  He had probably lied about his sex life too. A celibate, indeed! He was most likely involved in all kinds of weird and kinky non-celibate activities.

  “You two obviously have some history,” Jas interjected. “If you want me to leave, folks, I will. I don't want to get in the middle here.”

  Sure, when things got the tiniest bit complicated Jas would bolt; he was only in this for fun and games. While Lou was standing there like both his feet were glued to the oak flooring, like neither heaven nor hell could make him budge. Solid, dependable, fearless, unshakable, unruffled Lou; it just wasn't in his nature to run.

  He'd run from her. She'd make him run. She'd force the issue. She'd send him screaming for the placid serenity of his former life.

  She was careless, and neat and tidy Lou didn't do careless. Straight as an arrow, Lou flew right. He had a son, a place he called home; Lou was even-tempered, levelheaded, orderly. Why would he want to bother with a too tall, too unfeminine, emotionally cluttered, malcontent vagabond like her?

  For God sakes! She lived out of a backpack. She didn't even have a suitcase, never mind a permanent residence somewhere.

  She hadn't always been homeless. For six years, she'd made a happy home for Gil and herself. She'd made sure Gil sat down to three square meals a day. And if he gave her a hard time, she gave him a hard time right back. After all, someone had to remind him to eat. Like many creative geniuses, he was often so caught up in his work that he'd forget to take care of himself and she would have to remind him.

  They could've gotten married. They could have! Many married couples don't have sex. Or, Gil could have made the extra effort and tried for bi-

  But Gil had never tried to be anything but what he was. Gay. Gay. Gay! Happily gay!

  What about her? Where had his fuckin’ happy sexual orientation left her?

  Nowhere!

  When Gil died, she gave up the apartment they shared and drifted aimlessly, from one artist friend's sofa to another artist friend's floor, from motel to hotel. If not for her Key West studio, she'd have no return address for her mail...

  As a self-pitying tear welled up inside her, she ran a finger over the up-tilted crest of her breast. “Do you still want a threesome, Orion?”

  “Not if you and this guy have a private thing going. That's way too much drama for me.”

  She shook her head. “Lou and me? Nope, we don't have a private thing going.”

  She cocked her head and pulled at the ring decorating her nipple, her symbol of sexual freedom. “Right, Lou? You still in?”

  “Right, Blue. I'm in. For keeps,” he added. “There's nothing you do that will drive me away.”

  Oh, he was good! But she knew that phrase for what it was, just another pickup line.

  “So Lou, you want in my cunt or in my mouth? Or maybe I should roll to my side and let you two handsome studs sandwich me? Lou, you want into my butt? I'm not a tight ass, so maybe you'll fit.

  “Whatever you say, Blue,” Lou said. “However you want to do it.”

  She looked down. “Look at me, boys! I'm a fuckin’ mess. I've got wine on my tits, wine in my pussy curls, wine seeping into my cunt. This will never do! Anybody want to clean me up? Make me all nice and proper before we begin our little orgy?”

  She looked at Lou, to see how he was taking her intentional crudeness, but she spoke to the younger man, “Jas? You want to lick me out?”

  At the question, Lou's features set in hard lines. He looked older tonight. The harsh glare of the studio's white lights aged him. The manager of The Pink Flamingo looked a little haggard, a little shopworn, a lot ragged around the edges. Life had kicked Lou in the teeth once or twice.

  The enamel on her own smile had gone through a lot too; she knew all about those kicks in the face. But look at her! She was still laughing, still joking around. Unlike stodgy Lou, she still knew how to have a good time. Lou should take a leaf from her page of poetry. Gather ye rosebuds while ye may...

  Maybe if Lou saw her rosebud, she thought, he might catch on to her philosophy.

  A little dizzy, she stretched out on the pillows. Then rolled more fully onto her spine. “Who wants to serve as my love slave?” She crooked her finger. “Come on, Orion! Do the goddess’ bidding.”

  Giggling hysterically at her own intoxicated wit, she closed her eyes.

  Closed lids would prevent her from seeing dour Lou's look of censure.

  Too bad that Lou didn't approve of her, didn't care for her foul mouth or the subject matter for her art or the fact that she wore boxers instead of panties! Let him leave if he didn't like her lifestyle. Who the hell needed him, anyway?

  Blind to her surroundings, she unbent her knees and opened her legs. Wide. Much wider than her stylized asexual model's pose. No longer portraying Diana, no longer a goddess of myth beckoning to her chimerical lover, she was simply Blue, a flesh and blood, hurting, slightly drunk, imperfect woman who was about to have sex for all the wrong reasons. To escape grief, to prove she was desirable, to shake a dour man out of his complacency, for all the wrong reasons known to womankind, she was about to take a man-or men-into her body. She knew it was a bad idea, a capricious idea, a mistake she'd most likely regret in the morning, and she was about to do it any way.

  The roughness of a tongue took her by surprise. The heat of it swept across her belly, cleansing the wine stain from her skin. When the point of that tongue dipped into her bellybutton to scoop out a wine-droplet, she started to pant. Through her mouth. Spreading her alcohol
fumes around. Gosh, don't anyone dare light a match near her.

  Yes, yes, oh yeeees!

  She barely restrained herself from bicycling her legs and kicking her feet up in the air. Who knew she would respond so rapidly? And to Jas of all men! He'd never had this affect on her before. In fact, the good-looking artist's attentions, flattering as they were, had always formerly left her unmoved.

  She was plenty moved now.

  And moving a'plenty too. She couldn't seem to stay still. Squirming and wiggling, she looked to the side, to the man causing her dance.

  Lou.

  Dour Lou was the one between her splayed and trembling thighs, not Jason. His kisses, his tongue, were exquisitely cleansing the stain of wine from her body.

  Relief and shame warred inside her. Relief, because she didn't like thinking that after responding so devastatingly to Lou she could then respond equally as devastatingly to Jason. Shame, because Lou, a very private man, was getting into some fairly heavy foreplay in front of someone else. On his knees, no less. Think of what the position would do to the crease in his trousers! And what of his precious damned conservatism, his pinnacled respectability-where were they now?

  Gone. This was a man who had dropped all conceit. But how he must loathe doing so! How this private man must hate this open display of sexuality! The undamaged part of her heart bled for him, but the damaged part of her heart had no more blood to let.

  Selfishly, she didn't tell him to stop. He had been the one who suggested the threesome, after all, and her hurt took precedence over his creased trousers.

  Lou's dark head dipped between her splayed legs. He was kissing her intimately between her limp legs, his tongue moistening what was already wet. As he eased the way for intercourse, she reached out.

  To Lou. Only to Lou. As far as she was concerned, they were alone in the room; Jason had disappeared into the woodwork. She was totally Lou's.

  This was not good. This was not what she wanted, not how it was supposed to be. She wanted Lou to lose control while she retained her superiority, remained uninvolved, dominant.