Hooker (L.A. Liaisons Book 2)

by Brooke Blaine

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Synopsis

  Also by Brooke Blaine

  Dedication

  1 How I Lost My Pants on the Red Line

  2 Rockin’ the Cradle

  3 Single in the City

  4 Meals for One

  5 Viva Las Vegas

  6 Ace in the Hole

  7 Rock Out with Your Cock Out

  8 Jam Out with Your Clam Out

  9 Well, Aren’t You a Right Bastard

  10 Hot Diggity Dog

  11 Do You Accept This Rose?

  12 It’s Not a Date without a Concussion

  13 The Motherfuckin’ Leak

  14 Does This Beard Make Me Look Fat?

  15 Hair Full of Secrets

  16 Juggling Balls

  17 Superman and Spandex

  18 Be My Valentine

  19 Cheesetastic

  20 Pervy Pete

  21 Rally the Troops

  22 Erase and Rewind

  23 New Dawn Breaking

  24 Fuck You Very Much

  25 Pull up Your Big-Girl Panties

  26 Meals for Two

  Epilogue

  Thank You

  Special Thanks

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2016 by Brooke Blaine

  www.brookeblaine.com

  Edited by Arran McNicol

  Cover Design © By Hang Le

  Formatted by Ella Frank

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Whoever said singles were missing out by not finding true love and getting married before the age of thirty had never experienced the sheer pleasure of nightly romantic comedy viewings in their underwear while eating one of Licked’s famous Crazy Cat Lady sundaes. Because life just doesn’t get better than that.

  At least, it doesn’t for Shayne Callahan. It didn’t take more than a handful of broken hearts after college to solidify that she was better at pairing up those around her than herself. As a matchmaker at the elite HLS—Hook, Line, & Sinker Matchmaking Company—in the City of Angels, she has a knack for finding the other halves of even the most eccentric clients:

  Sugar daddy with a foot fetish? Gross, but no problem.

  A severe case of nudophobia? Match made before lunch.

  But even the most happily independent of women can find their best-laid plans screeching to a halt when they meet that guy. For Shayne, that guy comes in the form of boyishly handsome, suspender-lovin’, dimple-poppin’ Nate Ryan on a pantsless (we’ll get to that later) Metro ride.

  Of course, relationships can never be easy. Before the destined lovers can ride off into the sunset, they must overcome a power-hungry and sexual-punning boss, a celebrity scandal and cover-up, and let’s not forget Shayne’s dreadful foot-in-mouth disease—with which there can never be a happily ever after.

  Will fate throw Shayne a freakin’ bone? Or will she be destined to live out her life as sexy(ish), single(ish), and L.A.’s finest Hooker (upper)?

  Also by Brooke Blaine

  L.A. Liaisons Series

  Licked

  Romantic Suspense

  Flash Point

  A Desperate Man Series

  Co-authored with Ella Frank

  A Desperate Man: Volume One

  A Desperate Man: Volume Two

  A Desperate Man: Volume Three

  A Desperate Man: The Complete Series

  To one of my favorite hookers—my Jordan.

  Thank you for letting me oh-so-casually insert myself into your family. Stuck with me, you are.

  CHAPTER ONE

  How I Lost My Pants on the Red Line

  “TAKE YOUR PANTS off!”

  The war cry from the naked man streaking down the sidewalk didn’t do much to ignite the crowd gathered at the corner of Hollywood and Highland, but then neither did the way he bounced around the pedestrians like a pinball.

  Living in L.A., I was used to dodgy public displays for attention, which were usually in the form of someone golden-showering the sidewalk in broad daylight as I passed—I know. Sweet, right?—and it was best just to ignore them and not engage.

  Poor tourists, on the other hand…

  Gasps from a pair of female fifty-somethings to my right caught naked man’s attention, and he dashed through the crowd in their direction, waving his spindly arms up in the air like one of those inflatable dancing-man balloons.

  Oh Lord. Here it comes.

  As my friends and I watched the train wreck happen with sympathetic stares, naked man reached the tourist duo—their fingers still white-knuckling their pearls—and then a maniacal grin crossed his face. Quicker than they could react, he dacked them.

  Oh, sorry. Dacking is what Americans would call pantsing. As in pulling their loose trousers down to their knees to expose all the gloriousness that is hiding underneath. Err…or not, as it were, unless faded, flowery granny panties were in fashion. And I seriously doubted the hipsters were trolling vintage shops in search of those right now.

  Groaning, I wondered how I’d let myself get talked into this. And by this, I mean the annual Pantsless Metro Ride, not the voyeurism I was currently engaged in. And yes, you read that right—I said pantsless, meaning those poor grandmas weren’t the only ones walking around half-naked.

  Nope, dozens of bodies around me sported various undergarments as they headed to the Metro station around the corner. Apparently, this annual event took place at over sixty cities around the world every January. I couldn’t even tell you why the hell it was a “thing,” since, at least in L.A., it seemed like just another way for the whacked-out to completely lose their minds.

  I glared as I faced my three best friends, Quinn, Paige, and Ryleigh, who were still watching the chaos running rampant around us. When we’d made New Year’s resolutions a couple of weeks ago to, and I quote, “do stupid tourist stuff and things we’d never usually say yes to,” I had no idea that riding the subway half-naked in the middle of winter would fall into that category. This whole thing was a nightmare for me, mostly because I towered over my friends, which made blending in with the crowd almost impossible. And that meant more eyes on my undies.

  I pulled my jacket tighter around me.

  “You better hurry and take yours off before he does it for you,” Quinn said, nudging me in the side. “I’m sure you don’t want to hear what your horoscope said today about strangers in your life.”

  “No, I don’t. And that’s easy for you to say,” I mumbled. She looked as badass as ever with her glossy black hair trailing down her back, dressed in her signature leather jacket and a pair of black combat boots. You barely noticed she was wearing a pair of faux-leather bikini bottoms for pants. It looked like she’d left the house that way on purpose.

  “I’m not sure why I have to take off my—” My words were cut off as a gust of wind whipped up my coat and had me shrieking. “Fuck, it’s bloody freezing.”

  Paige, ever the showgirl, stepped away from us and made a big show of unzipping her flared jeans. “It’s not that bad,” she said, bending over as she pushed her pants down to her ankles and then stepped out of them. Whistles of admiration from male passersby had her grinning as she straightened and tossed her blond loc
ks over her shoulder. She was positively indecent in a pair of skimpy lace panties that were almost see-through. I was more shocked that it wasn’t a G-string, to be honest.

  Ryleigh laughed as she grabbed Paige’s pants from her and shoved them into the oversized bag she’d brought to hold our clothes. Then she held her hand out to me. “All right, hooker. Off with ’em.”

  I glanced around me, at all the people passing by us all rugged up, and shivered, but this time not from the cold. “Did you know winter cold kills more people than summer heat does? I’m not really up for dying today, and even if I didn’t die from frostbite, it’s a known fact that cold weather increases your appetite, which makes you gain weight, and then your libido drops, and when that happens, it means you don’t feel like having sex, and I just don’t think—”

  “For fuck’s sake,” Paige said as another blast of bitter wind whipped our hair wild and had us huddling together for warmth. “If you don’t take your pants off right now, Shayne Callahan, I’m doing it for you.”

  Oh hell. She used my full name, which meant I had about five seconds before smoke blew from her ears. I decided to push my luck anyway.

  “Tell you what. I’ll hold the bag while you guys parade around naked, how’s that?”

  When a low growl sounded in response, I put my hands up. “Okay, okay. But if this causes me to lose my sex drive, I’m suing you all for damages.”

  Squeezing my eyes closed, I unbuttoned my jeans and hesitated. Just rip it off like a Band-Aid. It’s not like anyone’s watching…

  In one quick move, I slid my pants down, stumbled out of them, and then held them away from me for Ryleigh to grab. When whoops and exclamations rang out from my friends, I opened my eyes.

  “Lookin’ good, hooker,” Ryleigh said with an approving eye before linking her arm through mine as we headed toward the Metro escalator. “I totally need those in my life.”

  “I can’t believe you wore Star Wars boyshorts,” Paige grumbled as she trailed behind us with Quinn. “Didn’t I buy you bitches gift cards to Trashy Lingerie for Christmas?”

  Quinn snorted. “I bet she gets more attention in those than you do in yours. What guy can resist gorgeous and nerdy?”

  “This sounds like a bet,” Paige said.

  “No,” I said, wagging my finger in her face. “No way am I going after numbers dressed like this, and I’m not doing the bend and snap in front of guys to see who can get the loudest whistles either.”

  Paige’s bottom lip popped out. “You’re no fun.”

  After we tapped our Metro cards and walked through the turnstile, we headed down another escalator to the packed platform. As I glanced over the wide variety of people gathered below, I couldn’t believe there were so many willing to strip down to their underwear for no reason at all.

  There were hipsters in their fedoras and glasses with underwear that was trying too hard (a.k.a. not granny panties); there were giggly college kids that hadn’t yet gained what Ryleigh referred to as “their freshmen fifteen,” wearing size-zero jackets and brightly colored, barely there bikinis; a small group of technogeeks sported their vintage Mario Kart boxers; there were the parading glamazons who could’ve rocked the Rodeo boutiques without even putting their pants back on; and then…there were the rest of us.

  The “normal” lot, with our lumps and curves—or stick-straight body with no curves, in my own case—and dressed in our everyday wear, which for most were heavy jackets (it was a freezing-for-L.A. fifty degrees outside), boots, and our nicest cotton underwear—the ones that provided the most coverage. Mine just happened to have a picture of Boba Fett on the ass with the tag line “I have a Boba Fett-ish.”

  “See,” Paige said, smiling broadly. “This isn’t so bad.”

  A shudder went through Quinn, and she wrinkled her nose. “I dunno. I’m all for embracing your body, but some people really shouldn’t be naked in public.”

  I followed her gaze to see a guy wearing Where’s Waldo? boxers and knee-high socks shaking his…Waldo at a few frightened passengers as his friends high-fived behind him.

  Ryleigh put her hands on her hips, looking ever so sassy in her vintage pinup top, peep-toe heels, and a pair of hipsters. She’d taken to wearing her long chestnut hair down more often than not when she wasn’t working, and we all knew the reason behind the change—her dreamy boyfriend Hunter Morgan’s preference for running his fingers through it every chance he got. The two of them were so damn cute together, I couldn’t even pretend to hate on them for what would normally be a little gag-inducing for anyone else.

  “I thought we were supposed to pretend like nothing unusual is happening,” Ryleigh said. “Of course L.A. would fuck up the rules.”

  As we reached the bottom and maneuvered our way through the crowd to the head of the platform to wait for the train, we earned more than a few stares and comments. If I were a blusher, my face would no doubt be as red as my hair from all the attention our half-naked bodies were getting.

  I think I would’ve preferred the frostbite. Fuck. Me.

  A fully dressed man chewing on a toothpick stepped out in front of me then, causing me to lose my grip on Ryleigh’s arm. When he gave me a long once-over and raised his thick unibrow in invitation, I skittered away, pulling the bottom of my shirt down as far as it would go—which, unfortunately, wasn’t over my ass.

  Strike that on the fuck me part. Definitely no fucking.

  “The only rule in my book is to come in your naughty best,” Paige was saying as I caught up to the girls. “And if we get a bit of eye candy in the next two hours”—she nodded at a sharply dressed businessman…with bulging grey boxer briefs—“then I’d consider this day a success.”

  Oh God. No doubt there would be more “suit guys” like that one. You know, the hot men from your daily commute that you fantasized about and would finally get to see what was hiding underneath all that stuffy attire. Not that I was looking for that guy or anything. With my freckled toothpick legs bare, I’d prefer not to see that guy.

  A light breeze wafted against my exposed skin then as the train heading for downtown slowed to a stop.

  Quinn took the lead, and as we followed her inside the car already crammed with passengers, she said, “This would make more sense if we were raising money for a charity or to protest working conditions for kids in Indonesia or something.”

  Paige laughed. “Feel free to ask for donations. I’m sure you’d get quite a few dollars stuffed into your underwear.”

  The girls squeezed into the center aisle, grabbing on to the silver bars as the doors closed and the train started moving again. I tried to follow, but a woman with a stroller was blocking my path, so I sighed and gave the girls a shrug before reaching for the bar next to me.

  I rode the train a lot to and from work, but I still couldn’t get used to the bodies crammed on all sides of me. At the end of a long day, the air was always hot and musky with sweat, and though it was still early afternoon, having less train cars on weekends meant it was especially crowded…and steaming. There was no way to avoid physical contact today, and as the train swayed to and fro, the bumps against my arms, hips, and ass had me missing my pants something fierce.

  As the train slowed to the next stop, I tightened my grip on the bar to keep my body from knocking against anyone else, though no one else seemed to have the decency to do the same.

  I’m naked, people. Fucking naked. Please don’t touch my private bits.

  More passengers crammed themselves onto the train, and I sighed, giving up the fight. Ryleigh caught my eye and shrugged as she was pushed farther down the aisle.

  “Excuse me, everyone, may I have your attention?” a male voice coming from a few squished bodies away from me shouted loud enough that his voice had to have carried to the far end of the car. Against my better judgment, I glanced in his direction, and when I did…the most gorgeous pair of hazel eyes met mine.

  Standing just behind the loudmouth was a man who had my lips parting
and my breath catching in my chest. Like me, he was a head taller than the majority of those gathered, with thick brown hair that looked stylishly windblown. And as our gazes locked, I was…speechless.

  Now, I’m a career matchmaker, so I don’t preach the whole love at first sight, “you just know from the moment you lay eyes on someone” spiel that others do. I’ve always said it takes more than a look to know if you’re compatible with someone, but at this moment I’d take back all my words, stuff them into an old suitcase, and toss them out on the side of the PCH. Because that guy…

  I couldn’t even finish the thought. My heart seemed to be expanding in my chest at a rapid rate, all the blood in my body rushing to accommodate the growth, leaving me lightheaded and tightening my grip on the bar so I wouldn’t fall over. A hint of a grin lifted the corner of his mouth, and as I stood there blinking, it slowly grew until a blinding, brilliant smile lit up the car. It seemed to scream several things to me all at once:

  Hello.

  You’re beautiful.

  And I feel that too.

  Still I could only blink, not quite believing the flurry of stars and hearts and flowers exploding inside. The reaction didn’t make sense. I’d never seen the guy before in my life. What if he was a rapist or murderer, or worse…a Republican?

  My thoughts were interrupted as a glass-shattering a cappella rendition of something that vaguely resembled a Michael Jackson song assaulted my ears. Serenades happened on a daily basis on my commutes, and let’s just say this was not New York City, where the casts of Broadway shows made surprise appearances. We’re not that lucky. Because of those pop-up singers, I always made sure my headphones were attached to me, and I was sorely missing them now.

  My forehead wrinkled as I cringed from the shrill sounds destroying my eardrums. Across from me, gorgeous guy’s smile had morphed into a pained expression that matched mine. As he shook his head and rubbed at his ear, I couldn’t help but laugh, which made him smile again.