by JD Hawkins
We get our menus and order quickly. Idle chit-chat over the appetizers begins to relax us as we work down to the last third of the bottle of wine. Connor tones down the aggressive jokes, Jaime in turn tones down the sarcastic comments—it’s like they’re going out of their way to stay on their best behavior. Pretty soon it almost feels like we’re all friends just there to enjoy a nice meal, but then halfway through the main course Jaime reaches down to her side and pulls out a folder. My pulse kicks up about ten notches and my mouth goes dry.
“So. Let’s get down to business,” she says, pushing aside her plate to open the folder in front of her.
“Okay,” I say, swallowing a forkful of risotto. “What’s your decision?”
Jaime purses her lips as she flicks through her papers.
“It’s a bit more complicated than a yes or no.”
I lay down my fork and look at Connor, who puts a hand on my knee—the gesture supportive, rather than sexual, for once.
“First off, you’re paying too much rent,” Jaime says.
“Pfft. Tell me about it.”
“And your landlord is an asshole.”
“I’m impressed,” Connor smiles, “you can tell all that from her accounts?”
Jaime smiles tightly.
“No. Well, the fact that he made you pay for those plumbing repairs he was liable for several months ago is one thing…” she pauses a second. “And the fact that he made an aggressive pass at me when I spoke to him a few days ago is quite another.”
“Seriously?” I say. “I’m so sorry. He’s kind of—”
“Maybe I should be taking care of this guy?” Connor says.
“Please,” Jaime interjects. “I’m perfectly capable of handling people like him. He won’t be a problem for long.”
“What are you suggesting?” I ask after a little pause.
“Well, I spoke with Scott, and he agrees it makes sense. So…we’re going to buy the studio.”
Connor squeezes my knee, and I stare blankly at the chandelier above me as I let it sink in.
“Buy it?”
“Yes.” Jaime nods. “We’ll buy it at a price that we negotiate, and then we’ll use your rent—which we’ll reduce so it’s comparable for the neighborhood—for the mortgage payment. Of course we’ll have a fixed rate of interest, so you get a more manageable balance, and within five to ten years, depending on the net income for the business, you’ll be able to walk away owning the property. I think these are the most reasonable circumstances for everyone involved.”
I take my time answering, Connor’s gentle stroking coaxing me back to reality.
“Honestly it sounds great, but I know for a fact that David will never sell the place.”
Jaime flashes an almost evil smile. “Then he’ll face a sexual harassment lawsuit. One which will be difficult for him to fight, considering the evidence.”
“What evidence?” Connor asks, leaning forward.
“The security camera footage from the studio that’s stored on Frankie’s hard drive, the statements she and I are both willing to make in court, and the fact that he’s been charged with it several times in the past,” Jaime says breezily. “Taking into account his position as your landlord, we can also add in a claim for sexual discrimination toward his renter. At best, he would lose twice as much money in lawyer fees as he’d lose from our lowball offer. At worst he’ll be completely financially crippled and lose every property he owns. Honestly, I might even make the sale and go through the lawsuit just for the karma.” She throws me a little wink and I can’t help grinning when I realize she’s just made a hippie joke.
Then I look at Connor, whose eyebrows are raised so high it looks like he’s riding a motorcycle a hundred miles an hour down the freeway without a helmet.
“That sounds like a pretty good offer, Frankie,” he says.
“There’s one condition,” Jaime interjects, jumping in a split second before I can agree to her deal. This is the timing of someone who does million-dollar deals before breakfast. She looks from me to Connor.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Connor has to take an active role in the business,” Jaime answers.
I search her face for the telltale sign of a dinner party joke, a quirk of the lips, the glint of an eye, but she’s as serious as bad news.
“What?” Connor says, his attention now fully on her, his brows drawing together in confusion.
Jaime thumbs some sheets of paper in her folder as if we can see them.
“The fact is, Connor’s good for the business. I don’t know if it’s his celebrity, or—” she pauses, her eyes scanning both of us with unsaid thoughts, “or if he’s just very good with kids, but his judo classes brought in a lot of money, and they have the highest return student rates. The promo codes from the flyers he helped design were also the most popular. There’s no two ways about it—you make a good team.”
“Look,” Connor says, leaning forward, broad arms on either side of his plate, “I love working with those kids, and I’m glad to help out, but the thing is, I don’t want to get too involved. This is Frankie’s business, and she’s worked hard for it. I’m not gonna take it away from her. And I’ve got my own career to grapple with as well, so…”
Jaime sits forward, matching Connor’s demeanor. “I understand what you’re saying. And on her own, Frankie can make this work eventually, maybe even expand someday—but with you, she can make this place a huge success, and it won’t take long.”
Connor looks down, but only for a second. That’s all it takes for him to make up his mind. When he raises his eyes to mine again, they’re filled with so much dedication and determination that I know he’ll agree, and I can feel my entire chest expand with warmth.
“I’ll do whatever it takes to make you happy,” he says, pressing his palm against the side of my cheek. He looks back at Jaime. “It’s a deal.
“Wait,” I say. “You’re an MMA fighter! The belt-holder! You’ve got a whole career to think about. You’ll probably be on the road a lot, and you’ve got your training, and—”
“I’m a man,” Connor says. “And there’s more to me than just fighting…you should know, you taught me that. I’m ready to do this. All you have to do is say yes.”
I look from Connor to Jaime, two sets of eyes focused on me, intent and waiting. This is where it all leads; the proud girl accepting help from people she loves. I take a deep breath.
“Ok,” I say, watching their smiles break out across the table. “Deal.”
Connor laughs and brings me in for a kiss, while Jaime says, “Good. Then I’m going to give Scott a call and tell him the news so he can get the ball rolling on our offer to your landlord. Why don’t you two look over the agreement papers in the meantime?”
She slides a few typed pages toward me and then heads off with her phone. Connor keeps me close when our lips break apart, his hand on the back of my neck, near enough to see the flecks in each other’s eyes.
“Amazing what happens when you don’t give up,” he says.
I laugh. “Are you saying that as a fighter?”
“As a business partner.”
“Another ‘alpha male’ secret, huh?”
“Maybe I should write a book,” Connor laughs.
I shake my head, but I can’t stop smiling. “Sure. And what would it be about?”
Unlike his usual quick witted, smooth-talking self, Connor actually takes some time to think about his answer, gazing off with a distant look in his eyes as he considers it. After a moment he looks back at me, eyes soft but confident in the sexiest possible way.
“How even an alpha male isn’t complete until he finds a woman his equal,” he says, slowly, before leaning in once again to kiss me like the end of something, and the start of something beautifully, magnificently new.
THE END
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Confessions of a Bad Boy! Available on Amazon now!
Prologue
God bless the women of L.A.
Bless the gym bunnies who run their toned asses past the best cafés, bless the tight-dress crowd on a Friday night making beauty seem so effortless, bless the tanned women in bikinis getting high on the sun.
But most of all, bless the woman in those tight, ripped jeans and thick-rimmed glasses browsing in the corner right over there.
I try to peel my eyes away from her ass and remember why I came into this bookstore, but it’s too late. My blood is up, muscles tightening, jaw clenching. Suddenly I’m not browsing in a bookstore on a Thursday evening for the debut novel that an old friend just got published; I’m a man after a woman, and everything else – the bookshelves, the people around us, our clothes – are just unnecessary obstacles.
My target looks up from the book she’s browsing and scans the shop quickly, but her eyes settle on me for a split second longer than anything else. Her lips part just a little, and she quickly looks back at the page. It’s a small sign, the kind of sign most men wouldn’t notice…right before they start complaining that women are a mystery.
I drop the book I’m holding and walk towards her, the curve of her back conjuring up enough ideas to fill a porn series.
“You need some help?” I ask, leaning up against the shelf beside her.
She glances at me and goes about as red as a stoplight, though the quick smile and the way she pushes her dark hair behind her ear makes me wanna run it.
“No,” she murmurs, biting her lip. “But thanks.”
“You sure?” I ask. “I really don’t mind helping you out.”
This time she laughs a little, radiating nervous excitement that’s so obvious I almost feel guilty at how easy this is. Almost. Her eyes travel slowly down from my stubbled jaw to my white tee, then lower, lingering appreciatively, and then back up, lips parting as her green eyes meet mine again.
“Do you even work here?” she says, a little mischief in her smile.
“No. I just really wanna help you.”
She plays with her hair again, a dead giveaway. “I…I’m okay. I’m just looking.”
“I’m not talking about choosing a book.”
This time she giggles so loud she draws looks. She stifles it quickly and clears her throat.
“Sorry,” she says, turning to face me head on, “it’s just…this is crazy. The whole ‘meeting a nice guy at a bookstore’ thing. It’s the kind of cliché I didn’t think really existed.”
“Who says I’m a nice guy?”
She tilts her head a little now, the redness gone, replaced by a sparkle in her eyes.
“What are you then, a ‘bad boy’? Like the guy in those videos?”
I laugh a little more than I should. The comparison isn’t new, but I still get a little kick every time I hear it.
“What’s wrong with being a bad boy?” I say, as she rolls the book she’s holding in her hands tenderly. An unconscious gesture she’d be embarrassed of if she realized she was doing it. “Bad things tend to be the most fun, the most interesting. Food, booze, men.”
“And nice guys finish last, I suppose?”
“Nobody’s favorite is vanilla.”
She laughs a little, nodding, and I gently take the book out of her hands, sliding it on top of some other books on the shelf – I hate to be untidy, but I’ll forgive myself this time.
I keep my eyes fixed on her, an open invitation. She struggles a while, not sure whether to look back, but unable to turn away. You can say a lot with a look – and my eyes have always been my best feature. I can give a girl a look that’ll mean more than most guys can achieve in a year of presents, poems, and pleas. It’s a tragedy that so many women spend so much time on their appearance, communicating the depths of their being in a visual language that’s right there in front of everyone, striving to express themselves fully, yet these same women will spend most of their lives with the kind of men who never truly see them.
But I do.
“Wow,” she says, pushing an invisible strand of hair behind her ear again, “do you do this a lot? Approach women in bookstores?”
“Don’t tell me you’ve never noticed how sexually charged bookstores are?”
She smiles, and I see the challenge in it. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”
“All that stroking of the covers, the fingering of the pages. The intimacy of reading. The idea that there are infinite possibilities contained inside the books, that anything could happen. People indulging all of their fantasies, secrets, and imaginations in the only way they can. It’s sexy.” I watch her blush and subconsciously move her body even closer toward me.
“I can’t say I’ve ever thought of books like that before.”
“Then you must not be reading the right kinds of books.”
She shifts on her feet, angling her hips a little, her head still tilted in a way that makes her seem incredibly coquettish for a girl who says she doesn’t do this kind of thing.
“What’s your name?” she asks, with a seriousness that shows she’s made her mind up.
“No names,” I reply. Her face drops, the first sign of stand-offishness she’s given me since I walked over. I continue, “I’m sure you’re an amazing person. I’m sure you could show and teach me things I’d appreciate for my whole life. I’m sure you’re kind, and generous, and all that good stuff. But that’s not why I started talking to you.”
She laughs a little, the nervous one again, as she wrestles with an entire society’s worth of convention and guilt. “So you just wanted to say hello? You don’t want to get to know me a little better?”
“My idea of getting to know someone is probably a little different than yours.”
“Oh yeah?”
I shrug. “You know everything you need to know about me already. You knew it the second I spoke to you. And I definitely know what I need to about you: that you’re hot enough to make a busy guy like me forget everything he’s supposed to be doing for the next hour. Am I wrong?”
She inhales deeply, brushes her hair back three times in succession, and struggles to pull her eyes away from me again.
“And here I thought today was going to be boring.”
I smile. “It still can be. Just say the word and I’ll walk away right now. You can go back to browsing the shelves and take this whole conversation as a flattering compliment.”
She swings her hips girlishly from side to side for a second, then raises an eyebrow.
“Or…”
We don’t even make it a third of the way to my apartment before she’s all over me in the car, so senseless with lust I can barely keep my eyes forward with the way she’s pulling at the button of my jeans and sucking on my neck. I veer off the road and take the BMW up to the top of an empty parking lot – I could tell myself I’m doing it ’cause I’m a safe driver, but the truth is that I love fucking in the open air.
I stop the car with the L.A. skyline framed perfectly in the windshield, and we both step out, eyeing each other over the hood like bullfighters. There’s a wildness in her eyes that can only come from this situation being rare, new, the complete opposite of her normal life. She’s got the zeal of the new convert, the enthusiasm of a first-timer. We stalk around the car, meeting at the space between the hood and the rail separating us from the open vista beyond.
Our bodies come together in the dimming light of a sunset with the intensity of a car crash. Lips locking tightly, tongues grappling thirstily for the taste of each other. Her body fits perfectly against mine, athletic and tall, but made soft by the swirl of emotions pumping through her.
She’s going fast, her hands tearing at my clothes, her body trembling with need. I let my hands explore the curve of her back that drove me crazy when I first saw her, and push her away from me gently, watching her mouth fall open with a gasp, reluctant to break from mine. I spin her around and pull her back up against me, one hand delving into
the line of her cleavage, my other hand sliding down the front of her jeans.
“Relax,” I say, calm and low into the softness under her ear, “no need to rush it.”
Her breath comes in fast pants, her fingers at her lips like she’s embarrassed to feel this good. I work her fly open with my hand, my cock stiffening quickly against her ass as I see those hips wind back onto me. Her body’s got the sleekness of an animal, the tender beauty of a blossoming flower. I’ve fucked a lot of women, and I’ve got high standards, but right here, right now, I can’t think of a girl turning me on more than she does. I bury my nose in her hair, run my tongue up the side of her neck and take the lobe of her ear in my mouth. The hiss of pleasure she releases is like music for me to dance to.
I push my hand down into her panties, stroking at the slick cleft, and she sucks in air like she’s coming up from water.
“You’re wet,” I whisper into her ear.
She gasps a few times as I roll her clit between my fingers. “So fuck me already.”
“Say please,” I command, just to hear her beg.
“Please,” she moans.
I don’t need to hear it twice. I slide her jeans down past her hips and she wriggles them down the rest of the way, baring her toned ass to me. I pull out a condom as I spin her around and guide her back onto the hood of the car, making sure she’ll have a nice view of the city while I’m pumping inside her. As I hoist her up, she winces a little at the coolness of the metal on her ass, then smiles with delight. She takes the condom from me and tears it out of the package as I do the same with my cock. Her tongue flicks between her teeth as she slowly rolls the latex over my dick with the restrained anticipation of a carefully unwrapped birthday present. Once it’s on I lean over her and she hooks herself onto me, arms around my back, legs pulling my center towards hers.
Her moan is sweet, warm, inviting, just like I know her pussy’s gonna be. Her body’s slender, especially under my wide shoulders and tensed torso, but as I push inside of her I feel engulfed by her. Trapped between her fine legs, pulled by her clawing nails, squeezed by her hot, wet pussy.
