by Piper Rayne
“Yeah,” we both answer, though neither one of us is very good, we fail to mention that. Leo’s taught me what Decker taught him and it’s not much.
“Awesome. Let’s head out then.” Jagger downs another sip of his beer. “You guys like tacos?”
Seeing as we’re completely caught up on SOA, we nod.
“I know a great place on the beach. I’ll drive. Give me five to change…if I can find my clothes.” He leaves the beer bottle on the counter and heads out the apartment door.
We both stand in silence for a minute still staring after him.
“I feel like we entered the Twilight Zone. Should we really let him drive us somewhere?” Leo asks, and I can’t help but agree.
“Yeah, I think one of us should drive.”
“Me, too. I’ll suggest it.” Leo grabs his keys, thankfully because I’m pretty sure Jagger Kale wouldn’t want to sit in my old beat up pickup truck.
Jagger returns ten minutes later, looking much more like us in board shorts and a t-shirt. He has no problem with Leo driving, thankfully.
He gives Leo instructions to a taco place on the beach called, Surfing Tacos. The place ended up being our go-to restaurant after a day of surfing. Turns out Jagger Kale is the son of the biggest celebrity agent in L.A. and his dad was teaching him a lesson when he moved him out of a high-end condo to our hole in the wall apartment complex. A lesson to teach him to stop screwing around and make him work hard for the successful career he wanted.
I think even Jagger would agree that the decision his dad made without his agreement, might have been the best decision ever because of the friendship that formed between the three of us. We each had dreams, but it wasn’t until five years later and a hell of a lot of hard work on each of our parts that those dreams took flight.
Chapter Three
Leo
Five years later…
I look around the empty store that once housed someone’s dream of becoming a hairdresser hoping I won’t be the next one to abandon the space and my dream of success.
“The plumbing is already in place for a grooming service,” the Realtor says.
There’s an array of sinks near the back of the unit that the previous lessee left behind. Can’t fit a dog in a single one of them.
“That’s helpful, though I’m hoping not to have to do too much grooming.”
The whole reason I want to be able to include grooming in my repertoire is to make sure that if my doggie fashion business doesn’t take off, I have other services that will help me make ends meet. I really don’t want to fail at the second career I’ve attempted since coming to Los Angeles five years ago.
Acting didn’t pan out. I’m crossing my fingers that a high end doggie designer fashion brand will.
“I looked you up,” she says, her heels clicking on the linoleum floor. “I swear, if I had a dog, I’d be bankrupt with what you charge for your stuff.” She chuckles like it’s funny, but her commission breath is showing. This is the tenth place she’s shown me today, and she knows the longer we go the less likely I am to make a decision.
The problem is, renting a space for a retail shop scares the crap out of me.
“You’ve clearly outgrown the online shopping boutique.” Her red lipsticked lips turn up.
She’s right but I’m not telling her that. I outgrew it a long time ago, but the thought of having all this overhead makes me wonder if I’m fooling myself with this venture. Can a guy—let alone a straight guy—make it in this business?
My overzealous Realtor is right though. The space is the perfect size and the extra plumbing is already installed. It’s located right in the middle of other high priced one-of-a-kind boutiques that L.A.’s extravagant (aka wealthy) people seek out to shop and share their purchases on Instagram and Twitter.
“I’ll take it,” I say with no certainty in my voice.
“Great. Let me go grab the papers out of my car.”
Her heels click as she strides to the door and the ringer left behind by the old tenant chimes with her departure.
I take the opportunity to scour the surroundings once more, trying my damnedest to find something, anything wrong with the place.
Instead of seeing a sign from above not to rent it, my mind takes over and the space comes alive in my imagination with what it can become. I’ve done everything I had on my list before exploring a retail space—I have the inventory to keep the store going for six months, the loan and paperwork for the grooming part signed and ready to be processed, and a rainy-day fund should things be slow at first.
Still, the knot in my stomach won’t unravel. If I go this route, I have to be okay with closing the door on becoming an actor, to put that life aside and put all my energy into this business.
My phone dings in my pocket and I pull it out, seeing a message pop up from my online boutique store.
Clicking on the email hoping that it’s my biggest client, Mrs. Winters, and that she might need something else, I find a message from someone I don’t know.
To be precise, it’s a picture of a girl with a French Bulldog puppy that’s practically resting between her tits as she holds the furry creature. I recognize the swimsuit the puppy is wearing from my latest collection I did for the summer season.
Below the picture it reads:
Doesn’t my baby look gorgeous? I’d love a private look at what else you have… ;)
The door to the shop dings when it opens, and the heel clicks continue, stopping short of me.
Staring at the picture for another second, my decision wanes. It’s great that the girl is hot as fuck and she liked my shit enough to reach out to ask for more. But she doesn’t know I’m a heterosexual male who’s jealous of that dog’s position. She probably assumes I’m a woman, or that I’m gay, like my customers all seem to do.
Deciding once again to put my dreams before vanity and my pride I turn to my Realtor. “Where do I sign?”
“Congratulations!” Jagger and Vance each raise their beer bottles, clinking them together.
“You gotta smile. This is huge!” Vance smacks me on the back from where he sits beside me at Surfing Tacos.
I should be smiling, but I don’t have a trust fund like Jagger to fall back on. Even Vance is banking it after being hired as an executive producer at the hit television show, Abandoned last month. So much so, that he moved out last week. Bought his own condo in a nice place down by the beach.
“Yeah, Vance is right. Life begins at the end of your comfort zone.” Jagger takes a long pull of his beer.
“You’re not getting philosophical on me, are you?” I ask.
Jagger gets laid. And he gets contracts for his clients. One thing he doesn’t get, is philosophical.
“I’m just saying. Look where we all were five years ago. You co-dependent pussies are both finally living on your own. Soon you’ll be out of that hell hole apartment complex like Vance. You’re both making bank.” His glances around at each of us. “We’re all single, hot and getting laid on the regular. What’s there to be so glum about?” He raises those perfect eyebrows my way.
“Speaking of moving out…” Vance intercedes before I can wallow in my self-doubt.
“You have a hot new neighbor?” Jagger leans forward, wanting all the details of whatever action Vance found.
“No.” Vance rolls his eyes. “A place just went up for sale in my building.” He holds his hands up because he knows I’ll argue, but he also knows how much I liked his condo building and its proximity to the beach.
“Lease a building and then buy a condo?” I stare at him like’s he just landed from Mars.
“It has an extra room you can turn into your sewing room,” Vance says and brings the beer bottle to his mouth.
“That sentence is wrong on so many levels.” Jagger shakes his head, flagging down Rachel, our usual waitress. She stops, and he raises his hand with three fingers sticking up. She nods. Rachel’s great and since we’re regulars we don’t even have to or
der. Our tacos will be up in no time.
“Come on. We could surf all the time and Cooper would love it.” Vance brings up my dog because he knows he’s my pride and joy and thinks that will help sway me. I think the move was as hard on Vance as it was for me.
When you get used to living with someone it’s hard to go back to having no one home at night. There’s no one to talk to about the bullshit life threw you that day. Now if I want to surf I have to call him up and meet him there after an annoying drive through L.A. traffic. It was an adjustment when Jagger left the apartment complex, we lost our third amigo. But Vance moving into his own condo was harder if I’m honest, which I don’t want to be because it makes me sound like a pussy.
“Food is on its way,” Rachel comes by, three beers between her fingers and places them on the table.
“So, Rach, what do I have to do for a number?” Jagger asks. “I’ll settle for a few minutes in the storage room.” He waggles his eyebrows.
Vance and I share a look, rolling our eyes.
Rachel holds up her left hand. The lights make her engagement ring sparkle more. “I’m off the market.”
“You call that a diamond?” Jagger asks.
I kick him under the table.
“I’m just saying, if I gave you a diamond, you’d have to condition that finger to hold it.”
“Bullshit,” Vance coughs out and Jagger’s eyes flicker to him.
He’s not annoyed. It’s common knowledge Jagger isn’t going to settle down—most likely ever.
“I have to agree with your friend. My man knows how lucky he is.” She gives Jagger a look that says dares him to say the same about himself.
“Who’s to say I wouldn’t?” Jagger drinks his beer, probably to hide his smirk.
All three of us stare at him. “These two.” She points to Vance and me. “They’ll eventually come to their senses, you…” She shakes her head. “Lost cause.”
“You’re missing out on L.A.’s best kept secret,” Jagger yells out to her departing back.
“It’s not a secret you’re easy, Jag,” she yells back.
Vance slaps the table and points. “She’s got your number.”
Jagger doesn’t care though. Our food comes a second later and he wastes no time in throwing his tie over his shoulder and digging into the tacos he seems to love more than any woman I’ve ever seen him with.
Chapter Four
Leo
A few weeks later, I enter the fenced off dog park, Cooper pulling on the leash. I wonder if I’m doing the right thing meeting the woman who emailed me outside of the store. Not that it’s bad. I run my own company. There’s no HR rules about sleeping with someone who paid for my wares. But I’ve always handled my business with white-gloved hands, so as not to tarnish my reputation.
Add on the fact, most of my clients assume I’m gay and I don’t necessarily refute their assumptions. It’s none of their business either way, besides, it’s just easier to go along with it. I have no idea if it changes my bottom line, but I don’t want anything that’ll put me in the red, so I let the comments go.
A woman walks in with her dog in a carrying case and I recognize her from the photo she sent me. She’s looking around, but I’m fairly sure she won’t suspect that the six-foot-two, two-hundred-pound guy with a boxer is the same man who owns Canine Couture.
I wave my hand, standing from the bench I’m sitting on. Her eyes widen, but she heads my way with a smile. I wish I could hear what’s going on in that head of hers.
Her long blonde hair is pulled back into a high ponytail that’s swinging behind her as she walks across the grass. She’s wearing a pair of short spandex shorts and a t-shirt that’s balled up into a knot at the side.
My dick reacts immediately, twitching in my shorts.
“Alex?” I ask, holding out my hand.
“Leo?” she asks back, her voice holding a note of surprising.
“Yeah.” I motion for her to sit down on the bench.
She does and then lets her dog out of the carrying case. It jumps in circles, not really getting anywhere.
Cooper waddles over and watches in amazement because he’d never be able to jump that high. Not at fifty-five pounds and built like a brick shit house. He’s lucky if he can climb the flights of stairs up to my apartment.
“I’m sorry.” She covers her chest with her hands. “I’m really surprised.” Her cheeks are tinted pink. It’s cute.
“Yeah, most clients are.”
“I mean you design clothes for dogs?”
“Yeah.” I lean back on the bench and stretch out.
“I wasn’t exactly thinking you’d be so cute, or so straight?” she poses like a question.
She probably saw me checking her out and for once I’m glad I was so obvious.
“Thank you and,” I dip my head toward her, “Yes, I’m straight.”
She smiles and pulls out her phone, leaning close to me. Her perfume is sweet yet subtle. “Smile,” she whispers and clicks.
“Why are you taking a picture?” I ask, a little confused.
She shoots me her flirtatious eyes and a sweet look. “I think we’re going to be great friends. This will mark the day we met.”
I like the sound of that.
I sure hope it’s not some type of warning.
Six months later…
“I want you to move.” Alex crosses her arms over her ample chest while she takes in my apartment with a disgusted look on her face.
“Why?” I blow out a breath, reaching into the fridge for another beer because I can’t get into this fight with her again. Especially sober.
“Because she obviously wants you. I mean you’ve made her clothes before.”
“Ashley is a friend. That’s all.” I unscrew the top and down half the bottle.
“She doesn’t want to be friends. I mean, you made her lingerie. How could you?” Her small hands ball into fists at her sides. “Not to mention, this place is a pit. You can afford to move.”
I take a seat on the couch and stare blankly at her. I don’t have it in me to fight with her today. “I can.”
I’m not going to mention that I have an offer in on the condo in Vance’s building. They lowered the price and I can’t let the opportunity pass. But Alex doesn’t need to know that because I don’t want that to be the reason she stays with me. Truthfully, I’m not even sure I want her to stay with me.
“So, why stay here?” she asks, throwing her arms up in the air.
As if her three-bedroom place with four wanna be actresses is any better.
“The shop is my priority right now.” I rest my feet on the table and the remote slides up and down in my hand.
“It’s doing awesome. Ever since you got your name in Zoe Ward’s Instagram feed, you’ve been rocking it. There’s absolutely no reason you can’t move and get away from that…that slut downstairs!” she yells.
Here we go. Zoe’s been a customer for five years, but she recently posted a picture and tagged my store after I sent her a flyer about the grand opening. Since then business has been booming and I’ve been able to up what I’m charging for my outfits.
“Listen, Alex.” I sit up and my fingers thread through my hair before I lift my head up to look at her. “Ashley is a friend. I didn’t fit her for the lingerie. She gave me her measurements. It was something special she wanted for her boyfriend. An anniversary. You don’t pay my bills, you don’t have access to my bank account. So, stop telling me what I have and what I should do with it.”
She stomps her foot on the floor. Literally stomps.
“You’re unbelievable. Just say it. You want to fuck her!” Her hands fly up in the air. “You probably already have.”
In a way I feel bad for Alex because someone gave her this false belief that all men cheat, but I can’t stand the constant unfounded allegations I have to defend myself against.
“I haven’t.” I lean back into my couch, stretching my legs back out.
&n
bsp; “You’re hopeless. Are you sure you’re not gay?” She stomps over and stops right in front of me, her hands on her hips. “Because you haven’t wanted to have sex lately either. That’s it, you’re gay.”
I’m half tempted to admit to something I’m not if it gets her out of my life. Finally, finding my breaking point, I stand up.
“This isn’t working.”
“See, you’re getting defensive. You are gay!” She follows me to the kitchen. Cooper’s laying on the floor and though his ears perk up at the tone of her raised voice, he doesn’t bother getting up. Guess he’s tired of her bullshit, too.
“I think we need to break-up.” My voice is monotone, no inflection of the fact that I care for this woman. My mom would slap me on the back of the head if she saw the way I’m acting now. Then again, she’d probably be the first to put Alex in her place over how she’s acting.
“Is that what you want?”
She has tears in her eyes and her bottom lip quivers, but I supress the urge to console her knowing it’ll only give her false hope that something between us could work out.
She starts grabbing her purse and all her shit from the breakfast bar with angry, jerking movements. “I can’t believe you. I can’t believe you’re doing this to me.”
Without warning she grabs the pizza box off the island and tosses it Frisbee style at the opposite wall. The box slams into the wall and pops open, pizza scattering all over the kitchen floor.
Cooper springs up and immediately heads over to eat his fill.
“Asshole. Have a nice life.” She walks out the door and slams it so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t fall off the hinges.
I release the breath I’ve been holding and walk over to the window, watching her get into her car and race out of my life. I should be sad, but I’m more relieved than anything. I’d rather be single forever than deal with drama like that again.
