She nods. “Absolutely. I’ve never been. It sounds like fun,” she says, then quickly adds, “I mean, not that we’re going to sightsee. We have work to do.”
“Hey, I’m sure we can find time to ride the rollercoaster or Ferris wheel or whatever you want. Play roulette, see a show. By the way, I meant it the other night when I said you deserve a raise. If this new job comes through, I’m giving you a ten percent pay increase.” I line up the cabinet door. She’s doing the same with the one next to me, when out of the corner of my eye I see the door start to slip.
On a fast track for her face.
In an instant, I’m behind her, my hands shooting out on each side of her, catching it before it swings wildly off the hinges.
“I got it,” I say, gripping the cupboard door in place.
“Shit. That almost whacked—”
“Your head,” I say softly.
She nods, her hair brushing against my cheek. That feels better than it should. Like, too good. “That would have sucked to have my face flattened by a cupboard,” she says, trying to make light of it, but she takes a deep breath, and her shaky voice gives her away.
“But you’re okay,” I say, since now’s not the time for jokes.
“Thanks to you. You moved fast.”
“Didn’t want anything to happen to you.”
My chest is sealed to her back. My crotch presses against her rear. My face is in her neck, and as I breathe in, the scent of Natalie floods my brain. I’ve never been this close to her, and she smells exactly like I’d expect her to. Fresh. Clean. Like sunshine.
Like I’m lying in a hammock in the yard, the grass newly cut, and she wanders over as the golden light of late afternoon halos her face. She slips into the hammock, yanks off her shirt, tugs down my zipper, and we fuck. A lazy, unhurried afternoon screw, with this woman who smells like sunshine.
I inhale her one last time, and her breath catches.
She makes a little sound, a soft oh, and that sound does something to me. Makes me start thinking. Start wondering. Start tripping down the dangerous trail of maybe Natalie’s hot for me, too. Maybe I’m not the only one nursing some lust. I swear I feel a shudder move through her body like a ripple in a lake.
“Be careful,” I whisper, and I’m not sure if the directive is for her or me.
“I will.”
“No face pancakes on the job, okay?” I say, and now I’m the one trying to make light of things.
I lower the cupboard door to the counter and back away. She turns around, looks down, sweeps a lock of hair from her forehead.
Neither one of us says anything more as we finish.
I reason if I can survive a day with her working beside me, I can handle a weekend trip.
What could possibly go wrong on a business trip to Vegas?
4
I’m counting down the days till we leave, but I’ve got enough to keep me busy. Like seeing my little sister and brother on the way to my volunteer shift at the dog rescue the next morning.
“It’s time to nix Elizabeth Lecter,” I tell Josie as I bite into the seven-layer bar she gives me.
Josie’s green eyes widen, and she slashes her hands through the air. “Does that mean you’re done? Like totally done?” She takes a seat across from me at a lemon-yellow table at Sunshine Bakery. This is our mom’s bakery, but Josie pretty much runs it now.
I point at the bar. “This shit is good,” I tell her.
She hands one to Nick, my twin brother, and shrugs happily. “I know. I rock at baking.”
“You might even be better than Mom,” Nick says out of the corner of his mouth, as if he’s whispering. “But don’t tell her that.”
Josie mimes zipping her lips, then points to my phone. The Facebook profile of one fake “Elizabeth Lecter” is on the screen. “You’re really ready to get rid of our pretend friend Elizabeth? Even considering what she accomplished after Sunday night’s episode?”
I slash a finger across my throat. “Time to kill her off, and all the others, too.”
“Go out on a high note,” Nick says, agreeing, as he rips off a chunk of the evidence of Josie’s unparalleled talent in the kitchen.
“It won’t ever get better than this. Look at that.” I point at the phone. I grip my face and drop my jaw open, like Edward Munch’s The Scream. “It’s like my ex is melting from the pain.”
Josie reads out loud the response my ex, Katrina, wrote earlier this week on her page: “Is nothing sacred? Does anyone know how much spoilers hurt? Might as well take a knife and rip it through my chest.”
Nick mimes wiping tears from his eyes. “Wah, wah, wah.”
I lean back in the chair and stretch my legs out in front of me. “This might have been our greatest accomplishment ever. I’m quite proud of our factory of fake Facebook profiles. But I’ve got to hand it to little Miss Elizabeth. She really owned it when it came to her Game of Thrones final episode spoiler.”
Josie holds up one finger. “But let’s not forget our made-up friend Emma Krueger’s spoiler. Remember when she posted about the Hold the Door death? Katrina’s tears were all over her wall that night.” Josie high-fives me for that one.
“Only to be topped by Elinor Bates’s epic message that Jon Snow was alive,” I add, pride suffusing me at the memory of that greatest hit. “But even so, it’s time to say good-bye. Our work is done.”
Josie runs a hand through her pink-streaked hair. “Should we embrace a moment of silence before you kill them off?”
I affix a serious expression to my face, and the three of us bow our heads. A few seconds later, I look up and delete the profiles that rained sweet revenge on Katrina.
Elizabeth Lecter, Elinor Bates, and Emma Krueger are all made up, plucked from the names of Jane Austen heroines, Josie’s nod to her literature degree, then paired with last names of some of the greatest movie villains of all time.
Some might wonder why I’d punk Katrina, a seemingly harmless ex-girlfriend who’s also my former website designer. As in, really former. As in, I didn’t date her while we were working together, I swear up and down. Sure, I’d thought she was cute, and she’d clearly felt the same about me, since she’d asked me out a couple of times while on the job. But I’d already learned my lesson not to get involved with someone connected to my business, even though the first time it had happened, with my college girlfriend, Roxy, she wasn’t even properly connected to my business. She just wanted to be.
Anyway, once the website work was done, the log-in changed for better-safe-than-sorry reasons—thanks to my friend Chase’s reminder to change passwords as often as you change underwear—Katrina and I had dated for half a year.
Now, allow me to explain how six pleasant months of dating could lead to this sort of fall-out. Mind you, during those six months no one cheated and we even enjoyed picnics in the goddamn park, and if there is one thing I’m not it’s a picnic guy, but she liked them and I went along to make her happy. Alas, I didn’t want more from Katrina, and I swear it had nothing to do with the picnic torture, so I’d ended things. Amicably. Like a nice guy.
Then Katrina went full mental nutcase on me and used her web skills to hack my company site and delete all my files.
Out of the blue.
Even after the passwords were changed.
Like a total lunatic.
Yeah, it was shitty. It cost me business. I’d even had to hire a lawyer to deal with the mess left behind. The problems it caused were among the reasons I’d needed help from someone to get organized again.
So I’d hit Katrina, an avowed hater of books and lover of all things Game of Thrones, right where it had hurt her the most. Josie and I had made up fake profiles of women who might potentially be clients for Katrina’s web services, friended her on Facebook, and then posted spoilers every Sunday night on Katrina’s wall, live and in real-time as each episode aired. Our prank only worked because Katrina’s been on a job out of the country since the season started, and she can�
�t find an Internet stream right away to watch her favorite show in the universe.
Boo-fucking-hoo.
It’s pretty much the trolliest trolling ever, and one of the best-deserved paybacks, too. I mean, the chick fucked my business with an unlubricated Phillips-head screwdriver for no reason, which might, just might, be why I’m a tiny bit cautious of getting involved with anyone work-related.
But all good pranks come to an end, and it’s time to say good-bye to this one. I close my Facebook app, then I clasp a hand over Josie’s. “Mom and Dad would be proud you learned from the best. Right, bro?” I say to Nick, since the two of us are the kings of pranks, and we’ve passed on some of our top tips to Josie.
“It really is impressive what we’ve done with the brains they gave us,” Nick says. “We use them for good, don’t we?”
“Completely.” I pop the rest of the seven-layer bar into my mouth, then stand up and brush one hand against the other. “We need to head to Little Friends to walk the dogs. Oh shit, that reminds me. Nick, can you handle the dogs on Friday? I’ve got to go to Vegas for a gig.”
He raises an eyebrow. “You working in Vegas now?”
“I might be. A client is flying me out. It sounds like an awesome job. Really hoping it comes through.”
“That’s great. Good for you,” Nick says with a pat on the back.
“Yeah, it should be a good trip.”
I’m headed for the light orange door—the bakery is an homage to all things bright and cheery—when Josie says, “Funny.”
I turn to face her. “What’s funny?”
She shoots me a knowing look. “That you didn’t mention Natalie is going along.”
“Why is that funny?” I don’t need to ask how she knows. Josie is Natalie’s roommate, and they both live in Natalie’s sister’s old place. When Charlotte moved out and married Spencer, she rented her old pad to her sister, giving her a break on rent so Natalie could live in the city and teach night classes at a karate studio here. A few months ago, Josie’s lease ran out so she moved in, too.
It’s not weird for me that my little sister lives with her.
I swear it’s not weird for me at all.
“I just find it odd that you didn’t mention you were going with her,” Josie remarks.
Nick shakes his head, laughing. “Dude, that’s a recipe for trouble if I ever saw one.”
“You should know,” I fire back.
“That’s why I said it.”
I press my palms down against the air, the sign for chill out. “It’s work, peeps.”
Josie tightens the knot on her apron, a light blue number with cherries on it. “Either way, Natalie seems excited for the trip and to see Vegas for the first time.”
My ears prick. “She does?” Fuck, my voice just rose at the end, like a ninth-grader rattling around in puberty. I shrug it off with a casual, “I mean, cool.”
My bluff doesn’t go unnoticed. Josie raises a knowing eyebrow but simply says, “Make sure she sees the sights, okay?”
“I will. Vegas sign. A gondola ride. Bellagio Fountains.”
“What’s underneath your zipper,” Nick whispers in my ear, and I elbow the fucker.
“Just be a good guy. Like you always told me a girl deserves,” Josie says as she returns to the counter, and her words tug at something inside me. At my heart’s deepest wish—to be a good guy. Because I wasn’t always. But if I am now, it’s because of Josie. I fucking love that girl like nobody’s business.
She points to both of us. “That applies to both of you as a general rule of thumb. I know exactly what the two of you are like. I grew up with you troublemakers, remember?”
I salute her and bring my heels together, standing at attention. “I’m always a good guy, Josie.”
Nick and I leave, heading for Little Friends dog rescue where we volunteer.
“Do you even know how to be a good boy?” he asks as we walk up Columbus, the warm spring air surrounding us.
I grab my shades from my T-shirt neckline and drop them over my eyes. “Yes. I do the opposite from you.”
“You are going to be so fucked,” he says, shaking his head as he laughs at me. We sidestep a jogger in neon pink leggings while cabs and cars chug along on the avenue. “You’ve had it bad for Natalie since Spencer’s wedding. Remember?”
I wave a hand dismissively. “Nah, that’s not true.”
“Dude, you told me she wanted you when she came over to dance with me at the wedding.”
“She did want me.”
“My point exactly. You only say that when you want a girl.”
I stare up at the blue sky. “Pretty sure I say that all the time. I’m a cocky bastard, right?” I wink, then clap him on the shoulder as we reach the crosswalk. “Relax, cowboy. Even if I once wanted her, I’m a master at self-control.”
He scoffs. “Self-control. Words never used before to describe my little brother.”
I pretend to laugh. “Maybe you don’t know me that well.”
“I think I know you better than anyone.”
“Then, tell me this, oh wise one—how else would I have managed the feat of the century in staying away from her for all these months?” I arch a challenging eyebrow at Nick, waiting for him to give it back to me.
He pushes his glasses higher and nods slightly. “Fine, fine. You have some self-control.” He shakes his head like he doesn’t believe it.
But I believe it.
I have to.
Especially when three days later, I get on a private jet with Natalie Rhodes, temptation made flesh, the All-American black belt with a tongue of iron fire.
As she settles down into a beige leather seat and crosses her legs, she shoots me a smile.
That sweet, sexy smile.
Fuck, being a good boy is way overrated. I want to be bad with her.
5
I could get used to this. The leather seats that recline all the way. The impeccable service, including a three-course lunch. A quiet ride in the lap of luxury next to Natalie.
Lila snoozes in her seat across the aisle. She popped a Xanax. Flying makes her anxious, she’d said, so she’s in the land of nod, a black satin eye mask snug on her face.
“Can I get you anything else?” the flight attendant asks us.
I do a double take. For a split second, it registers that she’s pretty. She’s been serving us the whole flight, but it just hit me—her looks. Silky red hair, full lips, and warm brown eyes, along with a tight, trim figure. But then, all thoughts of her fall out of my head. And that’s not just because it would be rude to hit on the flight attendant on Lila’s plane, and it would also be classless to hit on her in front of an employee. But the reality is I don’t really want to get to know her more. I’m kind of interested in talking to Natalie on this flight. Even though we tease each other at the office, and even though we’ve gone to dinner a few times, we mostly chat about work. There’s a lot I don’t know about her.
The attendant clears our Ahi tuna lunch dishes and asks if we’d like to watch a movie. I shift my focus to Natalie, letting her decide. She shakes her head and says, “I think I’ll read.”
But she doesn’t read. She doesn’t break out her Kindle or a paperback. Instead, she nudges me with her elbow and says, “I never imagined working for a construction firm meant I’d fly to Vegas like this. I should have tracked you down long ago. I would never have taken on all the crummy jobs I had before.”
I laugh. “Tell me more about your checkered work history.” I don’t actually know a lot about what she did prior to working for me. Her résumé didn’t score her the gig. Her gumption did.
She arches an eyebrow. “Like the time I worked for a phone sex operation?”
My eyes nearly pop out of my head. Then I school my expression and do my damnedest to act unfazed. “Oh, yeah?”
She nods. “It was kinda awesome. We did it all, but we specialized in furries and feet.”
I do my best to maintain a strai
ght face as sights and sounds of Natalie twirling a phone cord as she purrs huskily about the high heels on her tiny feet, flash like a neon billboard before my eyes. I swallow then manage a dry, “Really?”
I’m not sure if I’m turned on or wigged out. Maybe both. Mostly turned on, though.
She nods several times. “You have no idea how many men have foot fetishes until you do phone sex. They want to hear you walking around in your heels. They like the sound they make on a hard wood—pun intended—floor.”
Damn, I love puns. I’m motherfucking crazy about them. But I’ve got no clue how to react to that one. I scrub a hand across my jaw. This is a whole new side to Natalie. And I can’t help but picture her strutting across the floor in stilettos. She’s already an intoxicating combo of cheerleader looks and tomboy heart—add in heels, and I’d be a goner. For the record, I’m not a foot fetishist whatsoever, but I bet she’d look sinfully sexy in four-inch pumps. Red ones. With her legs wrapped around my waist as I fuck her against the wall.
“And furries?” I ask, doing my best to stay rooted in the bizarre fetish portion of the convo, not the filthy personal fantasy part.
“People who wear full fur-suit costumes,” she explains.
“I get what that is.” I frown in confusion. “What I don’t get is that furries seem to be more of a real life thing.”
She nods exaggeratedly. “Oh, it’s huge in phone sex. You pretend to be wearing a full fox suit. Or sometimes a squirrel outfit. Raccoons were also popular. But mostly a sexy squirrel. That was the favorite.”
I’m trying. I swear I’m trying. But picturing Natalie whispering dirty words like rub your furry tail against me as I store nuts in my cheeks doesn’t compute. “Men called in wanting to get it on with a gal in a squirrel suit?”
She nods. “It’s called yiffing. Crazy, huh?”
I run a hand through my thick hair, a little wavy today. “A bit, but whatever floats your boat.”
She arches an eyebrow. “Admit it. You’re shocked.”
“Nah,” I say, acting all cool. Then I think fuck it. “Okay fine. Maybe a little.”
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