“Where’s Raylene tonight?” I ask. Raylene and Rhett met a few months ago and they’re going strong. They’re a Boomerang success story—if you’re of the mind that a serious, committed relationship is the end game.
Rhett shrugs. “She’s meeting me here. Actually, I think I saw her outside as we were coming in. I’ll go find her in a minute.”
Something in his voice makes me focus on him. “Everything all right?”
It’d be a shame if it wasn’t. I’ve never seen the guy so happy.
“Oh, yeah. We’re good. We’re great.” He lifts his banana daiquiri to his lips and lowers it without taking a sip. “I was just wondering how things are going with you.”
I know where he’s heading with this, but I pretend not to. “Good. Big week coming up with Quick Enterprises at the office. We’re ready. Before the year’s over, that money’s going to be mine. It’ll be ours, Rhett.”
“Yeah, no doubt. We’ll get Quick on board. They’ll be begging us to invest.”
“Damn right.”
“Right.” Rhett scrapes a hand over his buzz cut. “But I was talking about you, not the company. You know, because we’re coming up on the holidays and everything.”
I take a sip of my whisky, buying myself a moment.
Like Cookie, Rhett’s been with me since the beginning, four years ago, when I was a nineteen-year-old kid starting Boomerang out of a storage unit in Oxnard. He was twenty-eight, not my head of HR yet. Back then, he did whatever needed to get done. Creating Boomerang kept me sane after Chloe, but I was still struggling in those days. And Rhett sees everything; he always has. He learned more than he should have, which makes him the only person this side of the Mississippi who knows something about my past.
“All fine, Rhett.” Then I tip my chin to the bodies grinding to the music. “Hey. Go have a good time, Tarzan. Your girl’s probably waiting for you. Go trick or treat with her or something. If you get a choice, choose treat.”
“Okay, Adam,” he says, smiling. He knows I’m done with this conversation. “I will. But you have fun too, okay?”
When I smile back, my Zorro mask digs into my cheek. “Of course.”
Rhett’s eyes narrow like his lie detector just pinged, but he heads outside.
I watch him thread through the crowd toward the patio doors.
He’s right. I should make an effort, but darkness is creeping in on me. I need a few minutes to let it fade.
You know, because we’re coming up on the holidays and everything.
I shake my head.
Yeah. I know.
Across the room, I spot Mia and Ethan, my ex-interns. Mia’s dressed as Marilyn Monroe, her rack spilling out of the white gown. Ethan’s in a vintage Yankees uniform—Joe DiMaggio—and they’re all over each other. Ethan can barely keep his hands off her, which is understandable. She looks incredible.
Seeing them together makes me happy for them. Then it makes me hungry for a woman’s body.
Sex, like surfing, is always a good thing—and exactly what I need.
I slip my phone out of my pocket, scrolling to Julia’s contact info. She uploaded her acting headshot as her photo, and she looks good. All shining red hair and red lips. She looks better than she does in real life, but she’s a knockout either way.
She’d over come if I texted her; she always does. But something stops me. Maybe I’m getting a little bored. Or maybe it’s her jealous streak—a recent complication. I’m not up for dealing with it tonight.
I like to keep things light. At fun-level. Sex level. As soon as a girl tries to claim a drawer at my place or asks for the security code on my phone, which Julia recently did, it’s the beginning of the end. I’m not interested in anything deep or lasting or even . . . real.
Chloe ruined that for me. She destroyed the part of me that ever wants real again.
Damn, I need to get laid.
Looking around the room, I consider Army Girl again until I see that she’s doing some Irish Riverdancing. While she’s taking a shot.
Hilarious, but she’s not for me.
I look toward the door and stop.
Stepping into the living room with a whip in one hand and a tail gathered in the other is the epitome of my every fantasy.
I don’t know where to look first. There’s just too much I want to focus on. Her long legs. Narrow waist. Perfect breasts. The way her hips roll as she weaves through the crowd. The girl’s got everything. Everything about the way she looks is perfect.
Catwoman.
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About the Author
NOELLE AUGUST, the pseudonym for renowned editor and award-winning writer Lorin Oberweger and New York Times bestselling YA author Veronica Rossi, the masterminds behind Boomerang.
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Also by Noelle August
COMING SOON
Rebound
Credits
Cover design by Julia Gang
Cover photography: © by MBI/Alamy;
© by Johner Images / Getty Images
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
BOOMERANG. Copyright © 2014 by Wildcard Storymakers, LLC. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
FIRST EDITION
Designed by Diahann Sturge
ISBN 978-0-06-233106-9
EPUB Edition July 2014 ISBN 9780062331076
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