by Erin Leigh
The announcer quiets the crowd, speaking quickly and laughing in a girly chuckle that's not quite a giggle.
I give Brady a look. “Are you excited you won?”
He shrugs. “I’ve won way cooler—” he pauses, “—I mean, cool stuff before.”
It makes me laugh that he just called this lame. “Don't be a dick.” I glance around at the people. “This is clearly a big thing for them.”
“Natalie Banks from Inspired Digital for the cover of Sacred Love,” the woman shouts as my art comes up massively on the screen behind her.
“You were taking that picture, and I was thinking about how Mike was going on about how hot and cool you were,” he mutters as the lady announces another artist and cover.
“You were jealous of Mike? I guess the real question is, Mike finds me attractive?” I give him a devious grin. “Interesting.” I cackle and it’s evil, but in the midst the lady calls my name again and the crowd goes crazy.
Everyone starts looking for me.
“I think you actually have to go up there, babe.” Brady lifts me, helping me stand. The spotlight darts around the sea of people before landing on my face as I slip between the chairs and tables to get to the walkway.
Everyone becomes something of a haze out there in the sea of movements and noises. I turn and focus on the lady welcoming me to the stage.
“Hi, dear.” She greets me away from the mic. “Congratulations.” She hands me a giant piece of glass in the shape of a book and nods as everyone claps again.
“Thank you.” I wave and look at the book one more time. “This is just crazy. I didn't even know there were contests for this. Thanks.” I wave and turn, getting a strange look and a laugh from the lady on the stage.
The award weighs a ton, but I cradle it, scared I’ll trip and drop it in front of everyone. The eyes and cheering are too much. I don't like being in the spotlight, especially not for me.
It’s one thing when people want to talk to you because your best friend is a celebrity. It’s another when they’re clapping for you.
Brady is laughing at me, no doubt at the stricken look I can feel on my face when I get to him. “You may not look the part, but you are definitely at home with these cat ladies.”
“Don't call my people cat ladies.” I pass him the award and slump into my chair. “I don't have a cat.”
“You’re one cat short of being one.” He’s being cheeky but suddenly the nattering awards lady flashes the cover again, along with several of the shots I’d taken. Randy must have submitted them. Brady loses his humor and gives me a look of betrayal.
“I didn't do this.” I shake my head. “This must have been my boss. I added the photos to the company’s stock images.”
His eyes widen as she screams his name and his picture flashes again. He’s shirtless and leaning forward, ready to slap the puck with his stick. He looks taut and fit and sexy, and all the cat ladies are appreciating him.
“Go get your award.“ I give him a smug grin.
He stands slowly as the room explodes.
I’ve been able to block most of the nonsense out for the better part of the evening but this is insanity.
He’s like their favorite human ever.
He offers a wave and his boyish grin. It’s the naughty one.
“Come on down, Brady!” The lady is waving and sucking in her stomach and standing taller. When he gets down there she hands him the award and then wraps her arms around him.
He pats her on the back, not sure maybe if he’s supposed to hug back.
I am dying.
He’s being mauled by the people he just mocked.
Several other women rush the stage to get a Brady hug. It’s minutes before he finally makes his way to the mic and leans in, offering us all the fuck-me eyes. “Good evening, ladies.” He smiles wider. “And gentlemen.”
People are frothing, they’re so excited. Maybe because he’s Brady Coldwell, maybe because he’s sex on a stick, or maybe because he’s a fine cover model.
I’d spent two whole days rifling through cover stock and was near hanging myself from a coworker’s tie when I decided on using him. He’s perfect.
“I just need to thank Natalie Banks for doing such amazing art with the photos. So can we give Nat another quick applause?” Everyone claps again. They would do anything he asked. “And I also want to thank Natalie for the opportunity to add male modeling to my portfolio.” He winks and grins and half of the room swoons. I’m in that half.
He hugs the ladies on the stage again and stalks off, holding his award very differently than how I held mine.
The awards continue on but eyes land on us now. Women check him out and give me looks. Maybe they wonder if we’re completely together or not. After the way he treated me for my birthday, I don't know that I’ll ever let him go.
We haven’t had sex since the day in the rain. The day we stopped being roommates. We’ve made out and slept beside each other, but we haven’t had sex. He hasn’t even tried, not even last night. He’s respecting my wishes.
“And that is the final award for the evening. Thank you everyone for coming out. We have drinks and tapas being served in the adjoining room. Please stay and enjoy.” She claps again, maybe for the tapas. I know that's what I’m clapping for.
Brady too. He looks hungry. He keeps licking his lips and staring at the door behind us. I get up with the other people around us and grab his hand, dragging him through the crowd.
“Ready to go?” he asks over the noise of everyone.
“No, I’m starving. I want something to eat. They have food here.”
“We can eat at the restaurant at the hotel.”
“No. My birthday, I decide.” I look back, giving him a look.
He laughs and shakes his head. “Yes, madam. Whatever the birthday girl wants.” He bows and I roll my eyes.
When we get out into the cocktail party I walk straight for the buffet, grabbing a plate and a fork.
“Are those crab cakes?” He sort of nudges me out of the way and puts some on his plate. He puts one on my plate too.
“Don't do the hockey player eating thing, okay? I don't know that they planned on you coming.”
He looks offended. “I don't eat a lot.” He can’t even say it without laughing. “I’m going to make this buffet pay for me not getting a steak.” He winks and starts his journey east, taking some of everything until his plate looks like we’re eating at Bob’s Big Bar.
He stands over to the side, resting his plate on a large table and eating while standing. When I there I share the space with him.
“Lunch was so long ago.” He moans. “Try the bacon-wrapped chicken. It’s amazing and it has a little sauce.”
I take his advice and pop one in my mouth, making my cheeks puff out.
He snorts. “I love that you don't even care that you’re wearing some designer dress and you just got mayonnaise on it.”
I glance down. “Shit!” It doesn't really matter, but I don't like ruining Sami’s clothes, even if she’s worn this one and won’t ever wear it again.
“Let me help you out there, pretty lady.” He reaches across with his napkin and wipes my breast, ensuring he gets my nipple a couple of times, I’m sure.
“You’re a pervert.”
“What? I was helping!” He pulls back and stuffs something else in his mouth. He loosens his tie a bit and sighs. “I’m feeling better.” He nods his head at the buffet. “That was actually not what I was expecting. I thought we might suffer through one of those parties with the servers and the trays. And here you have to essentially take the tray and hide in the corner and eat it.”
“There’s too many of us and we’ve been here for three hours listening to awards. If they didn't drop some sort of awesome spread, I think there might have been a cat lady riot.”
“Don't mock your people.” He laughs and scans the crowd. “I can’t believe you don't know anyone?”
“No. And they clearly al
l know each other.” The room is an energetic ball of delight. They are all doing the compliment each other on dresses and awards thing, but they have obviously met before.
“Are you going to have to go to more of these?”
“Maybe.”
“Great. At least the food’s good.” He starts looking around again. “I’m going to get us a drink.” He doesn’t ask what I want, which is weird.
A lady in a dark pantsuit walks to me, extending her hand straight away. “Hi, Natalie. I’m Jane Stuart, the editor at Penguin Random who commissioned the covers from you.”
“Hi. Nice to meet you.” I smile wide, grateful I know one person now.
“How are you?”
“Great, thanks.”
“I’ve been meaning to try to get over there to Hartford and see you, but it’s been an insane fall. How do you like doing the cover design and photography?”
“I do, I like it. It’s like a fake job. I do something I love and get paid. Like wining the lottery.” A funny feeling tingles inside me as the words all rush out. Why would she be asking this? She doesn't work with my bosses. She contracts us out. She makes me nervous. She’s powerful or her suit is. Something about her screams intensity. She’s one of the few people here that have this going on for them.
But the answer falls from her perfectly drawn lips. “Would you consider taking a job with us directly? No more contract work or living in Hartford? Working here in New York.” Her bright-blue eyes widen, enticing me like a hypnotist.
“I would.” Where the hell is my loyalty? I can’t believe I just answered that but it’s the truth. I would take a job here.
“Excellent. Here’s my card. Send me an email and I will send you a contract, and you can have your lawyer peruse it. If you like it you could start here immediately.” She winks. “I wouldn't use your work email. If they knew I was snatching away the talent, they might hate me.” She touches my arm gently and nods. “Have a lovely evening.”
“You too.” Everything tightens. It’s like a birthday present from God. I can barely breathe when Brady gets back.
“Hey.” He looks flushed and weird. “Who was that?”
“An editor in New York.” I don't tell him, I don't know why. I should but I can’t. I would be moving to New York and leaving him in Hartford, and we’ve been dating for a minute. We wouldn't make it, would we? It’s something I have to think about.
“Did you see those ladies attack me?” He nods to the bar where several women are eyeing him up and laughing.
“No.” A laugh slips from my lips as he hands me the drink he’s gotten for me—a red wine sangria and oddly enough it’s exactly what I’m in the mood for.
“They started touching my arms and asking for photos and then one slid her hand across my ass and the other one tried—she tried to get a feel of my balls.” He looks flabbergasted but somehow it’s amusing.
“Did you try to run away?” I hold back the giggles.
“Stop mocking me. I was assaulted.” He scowls and looks back at the group of them now mauling another model. “I did not see that coming.” He drinks and shakes his head.
“You just got a hand job in the line up at the bar, and you’re the one offended? You, who Clintons unsuspecting women?” I cock an eyebrow, still way too amused that some housewives just touched my man.
“No woman has ever been unsuspecting.” He pauses. “Okay, the first girl because it wasn’t my signature move until that moment. But every other chick after that one knew what was coming.” He loosens up again. “That had nothing to do with being Brady Coldwell and everything to do with being a male model. These ladies think we’re here to entertain them.”
“Oh you are.” I nod my head at the young man with his shirt ripped open. Ladies are laughing and touching his chest for photos.
“Can we go?”
“Yup.” I link my arm in his and let him lead me out. “Never thought I’d see Brady Colwell meet a group of women he feared.”
“Me either, Nate-Dog. Me either.” He walks us to the lobby and then down the stairs. The card in my hand and the secret it bears are burning a little, but I don't know how to tell him. Or my mother.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Secrets
Brady
I wake with my arms around her and my dick buried right between her thighs. We’re both wearing pajamas but my cock has found its way out of the piss pocket in the front of mine. Her little cotton shorts are no match for what I am rocking.
I pull back a little but it sends shivers up me. I’m ready to go. I’ve been drying humping her and am now ready to come.
Oh my God.
She stirs, moaning and moving a little bit, rubbing against my dick.
Sweat and fear creep across my face as I chant Grandma Coldwell, but it doesn't change anything. I’m going to blow my wad all over her legs, and she’s going to think I’ve just sleep assaulted her.
I pull back a little more, sliding my morning wood from her thighs and fighting the orgasm I am about to have. My balls are aching to Clinton her and when I pull back the covers, I groan seeing her shorts have ridden up and her ass is bare. There’s a seedy place inside me that's desperate for me to just grab one cheek. It’s not a place I’m proud of.
But the other bits of me blame her. All this sleeping together and making out and maybe accidentally rubbing my dick but never fucking is going to kill me. I sneak off the king-sized bed and slip into the bathroom to start the shower. The moment I get into the hot water and give it three strokes I Clinton the shower curtain. It takes a minute for my body to stop shaking and twitching.
Whatever I did to her poor thighs in my sleep was good.
The orgasm is so strong I can barely stand.
I soap up and try to splash water on the curtain, hoping she won’t notice when she takes a shower.
Being her friend and “seeing” her is harder than I imagined it would be.
I just want to screw the fucking hell out of her and make her scream my name. Then I want to cuddle and be pals and let her tell me about her weird dream.
The shower and the soap don't change the fact I basically got off on rubbing between her thighs like a creeper, so when I get out and pull on my clothes, I don't feel clean. I feel dirty, perverted, disgusting. And I don't like the fact I don't want to tell her. I should tell her. In case she already knows and thinks I’m a pervert. I mean, what if she was lying there all terrified as I rubbed one out on her while I thought she was sleeping?
Oh my God.
I feel sick.
She takes a deep breath, stirring even more and opening her eyes. Could she have slept through the entire thing?
Doesn't matter. I’m not keeping this to myself. “Nat?”
She lifts her head and smiles at me. “Why are you sitting in the corner?”
“Something terrible happened. And I have to tell you.” Oh my God, she’s going to think I’m a pervert.
“Oh my God, are you okay?” She looks worried, like I’m the victim here.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I just—” I choke on the words, “—I woke up and my dick was out and I was rubbing it between your thighs, and I was close to coming. But I was asleep and I didn't know—”
She starts laughing. “What?”
“I was drying humping you in my sleep, and I woke up and—yeah.”
Her eyes widen but the laughing and smiling doesn’t stop. “Gross, Brady. What the fuck?”
“I think I’m just so pent up. We make out so much, and I am constantly getting hard and then I’m sleeping next to you this weekend. I can’t sleep next to you after we make out.” I’m making this her fault. “I’m sorry.” I stop myself from saying anything else. It’s only marginally her fault. The rest is mine.
She gets up and walks to me. Her shorts are still tucked up, she is rocking a respectable amount of camel toe, and her tank top is so tight I can see her nipples clear as day. My dick twitches.
She climbs into my lap and
wraps her arms around me. “Brady, I am so sorry. I just thought that maybe we should take a couple of steps back but the reality is we’re adults. I’ve been in a relationship of sorts for three years. But it wasn't ever an adult relationship. And I want this to be adult. I just thought maybe we should get to know each other better first.”
“You know me better than any girl ever has. Except my mom.”
“I know and I guess if we want to have sex from the start of our relationship, then we should just have sex. I miss the feel of you.” She leans forward and brushes her lips against my ear lobe. “I have a confession too. It’s why we didn't just have sex last night. I hate that I kept it from you, but I don't know how I feel about it and you and everything.”
I stiffen and pull back. “What?” My insides are on fire, and yet somehow my dick is still ready for the other party she spoke of.
She bites her lip as her eyes get wide. She’s hesitating; it’s bad news. Fuck! “There was an editor from Penguin Random at the party and she gave me her card and offered me a job here, in New York.”
I sigh and give her a look. “Jesus, Nat. You scared me.” I don't understand the apprehension. “So you’ll have a job in New York maybe?”
“Yeah, I have a job. I’m taking it.” She looks sad.
“Why are you upset? You shouldn't feel bad for the dudes in Hartford. They’ll find someone else. It’s no biggie. And the money in Manhattan is better.”
“I feel bad for us. We’re just starting out, and I’m going to move away and we’ll be a long-distance relationship. I think that's why me and Will never worked out.”
That makes me laugh and hold her tighter. “You and asshat never worked out because he’s a knob. Me and you could live in different countries and I would still want to try.” It’s the truth which maybe scares me more than her. “I don't want to blow this. I don't care if I have to drive to come and see you. It’s like two hours. I would drive as far as I could to come and see you.”
