Hooker (L.A. Liaisons Book 2)

by Brooke Blaine

  “Almost,” Quinn agreed.

  Ryleigh shrugged and grabbed her half-empty drink off the bar. “Pretty much. Although…”

  “What?”

  A faint blush appeared on her cheeks. “We’ve talked about it. The whole moving-in thing—”

  High-pitched shrieking cut off her words as we all jumped off our barstools and surrounded her, asking questions a mile a minute. Ryleigh laughed and put her hands up.

  “Guys, I haven’t said yes yet.”

  “But you haven’t said no,” Quinn said.

  Paige hopped back on her barstool. “Just so you know, I refuse to wear salmon-colored anything, so keep that in mind when you’re picking out your wedding colors.”

  Ryleigh’s mouth fell open. “Wedding? Let’s not get crazy over there. And when the hell would I ever gravitate to anything salmon-colored? Really, Paige, it’s like you don’t know me at all.”

  Laughing, I planted my ass back on the stool and looked up to see Mr. Gorgeous’s eyes moving back to mine as if he could feel the moment I looked his way.

  I’ll be damned. Hot train guy was all about…me.

  “Okay, can we please get back to the guy giving Shayne here mad fuck-me eyes?” Quinn kicked my shoe with her boot and bit down on her straw before saying, “He’s seriously cute. Go talk to him.”

  I whipped around to face her. “What? I’m not going over there. He can come over here.”

  “You’re a matchmaker, and you believe the guy still has to make the first approach?” Paige put her hand over her heart in mock disgust. “Such a disgrace.”

  “No, I don’t believe that, I just…well, I…” I tried to come up with some sort of good excuse because the truth was that I did believe that. Call me old-fashioned, but I still wanted the whole “guy courting the female” thing to happen. “I’ve just had a lot to drink, and I’d probably end up ass over face. Not to mention I’m in my underpants and—” Looking down, I saw that my leg had started bleeding again, bright red rivulets running down my shin.

  “Oh hell,” Ryleigh said before grabbing a stack of serviettes from the bar and thrusting them in my direction. “Maybe you should go rinse it with cold water in the bathroom?”

  “Um…probably a good idea,” I said, sliding off my chair and bending over to pat down my leg with the serviettes.

  Quinn’s hand shot out to steady my back as I stumbled. “I’ll go with you.”

  “Are you implying I’m clumsy? I’ll be fine. I’m just gonna clean off so I’m not such a bloody mess.”

  “But—”

  “You could order another round of those nutty shot thingies while I’m gone.”

  Quinn’s head tilted to the side as she thought it over for about two seconds and then nodded. “Yeah, okay. Coming right up.”

  “You’re just gonna break the seal while you’re in there. Loserrrrrrr,” Paige called out.

  Resisting the urge to flip her off, I carefully made my way to the back hall where the bathrooms were, though the crowd of people didn’t make that feat easy without stumbling more than a few times. I was never the most graceful person, even sober, so add alcohol in the mix and it was surprising I didn’t have more cuts and bruises all over my body. My mother called me Gracie for a reason.

  A wave of dizziness had me teetering as I reached the back of the line, and my hand slapped against the wall to steady myself. Damn alcohol. I was used to shots mingled with boozy shakes, not just shot after shot after shot. I’d be feeling it tomorrow, but for now, I needed to focus on not falling on my ass. My pantsless ass.

  I could feel a warm stream of blood flowing down from my knee again, and I reached down with a serviette to wipe it away. Only this time, I lost my balance completely, and as if in slow motion, I began to tumble to the floor. Just before I went splat, a strong arm caught me and lifted my upper half straight again.

  “Good catch, thank you,” I said as I turned to face my hero. “I think that last shot might’ve—” Oh fuck me.

  It was him. Mr. Gorgeous, a.k.a. hot train guy. Up close and freaking personal.

  “Uhh…” I lost my train of thought as his hazel eyes pierced mine, causing my head to spin and my brain to short-circuit.

  The hand on my waist gave a comforting squeeze, and I hadn’t, until that moment, realized it was still there. It had felt natural, like a part of me that had been there all along.

  “Caught you just in time.” He smiled, and the room lit up with him.

  I wasn’t prepared for the sheer perfection of what he looked like up close. Light stubble coated his jaw, and this close I could see not only the shallow grooves of his dimples—bloody hell, dimples—but also that one of his front teeth was just slightly ahead of the other. Somehow, though, it suited him perfectly.

  “You sure as hell did,” I said, still dazed and taking his meaning in an entirely different way than he’d meant it.

  “Lucky me,” he said, and then removed his hand from my waist to take my hand. “Nate Ryan.”

  I stared at it for a moment before my brain kicked in and I squeezed his hand back. “Shayne Callahan.”

  “Shayne…I like that.” His warm hand stayed wrapped around mine as we stood there staring at each other for what felt like minutes.

  The sound of a curse and something clattering to the floor knocked us back to reality as a woman behind us fell to her knees to scoop up what had fallen out of a purse she was holding by the broken strap.

  The gorgeous man in front of me bent over to help her catch a few wayward pill bottles rolling away, and when he did, his black boxer briefs pulled tight against his muscular ass, and I got a close-up of the words Wanna see my lightsaber? scrawled across them in bright yellow letters.

  Hot and a Star Wars fan…

  And, evidently, he wanted to show me his ~ahem~ lightsaber.

  Um, check please.

  Crouching down, he picked up all the fallen items and handed them to the woman now eyeing him with a lustful expression. Then his gaze landed on my legs, and I felt the heat of his stare as his eyes paused on my bloody knee before traveling up higher to linger on my panties. I shifted uncomfortably, pulling the edge of my shirt down as if that would help me maintain some semblance of modesty. It wasn’t that his attention was unwanted—it was wanted, and that was the problem.

  As he stood, a sly grin spread across his face. And the dimples. Oh help me, the dimples were back.

  “Those might be the hottest pants I’ve ever seen,” he said, a sexy smirk on his face.

  “Thanks, I really like your ass.” My mouth clamped shut then, as I realized what I’d just said. “Fuck, uh…I don’t mean I like your ass, I meant I like what’s written on it. Not that I don’t like your ass, you have a great ass, I just meant—I mean, not that I was looking or anything. I just saw what was on the back and…um…never mind.”

  He laughed then, the most glorious sound coming from that delicious mouth. He really shouldn’t draw attention to said mouth. Some people—not me, of course—would try to molest it.

  “It was a dare,” he said. “My friends never thought I’d wear this in public, so I had to prove them wrong.”

  “I thought maybe you were just a huge Star Wars fan.”

  “That too. But who isn’t?” His eyes dropped back down to my underwear. “A Boba Fett-ish, huh?”

  “He’s the best.”

  “Boba—” He shook his head. “No offense, but no one thinks that. I don’t believe you’ve watched the movies now.”

  “There’s nothing more badass than a bounty hunter.”

  “I’m pretty sure a Jedi turned Sith Lord would trump that statement.”

  “Palpatine’s little bitch, you mean?”

  He raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “A hot nerd. I never would’ve guessed that.”

  “You’re only saying that because I’m half-naked,” I teased.

  His eyes roamed down my body at a glacial pace, making sure to take in every inch of my skin, and while ha
lf of me was horrified he kept glancing at the freckled toothpicks I walked on, the other half was patting myself on the back for actually shaving and using a light self-tanner to cover the blemishes. You know, the ones from running into benches, the end of the bed post, etc.

  “I won’t deny that,” he said. “But did you get in a fight with a sidewalk today?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Pretty nasty cut you have there.”

  Oh. Oh, that’s right. Somehow in the span of minutes, I’d completely forgotten about my graceful exit from the Metro station. I wasn’t sure if my brain obliteration was from the multitude of shots or the effect he had on me.

  “Well, I didn’t want everyone else to feel bad from all this sheer perfection,” I said, as I tried to play off my embarrassment.

  “Cute, nerdy, and a klutz. An intriguing combination.”

  Now, I knew I should’ve laughed off the comment, but that womanly insecurity flared, heightened by alcohol. I couldn’t stop the irrational annoyance I felt at those words. Whatever happened to beautiful and intoxicating? Those were the words a woman wanted to hear.

  Instead, I was a clumsy ass. Cute. And a super geek. In front of a hot guy. Great.

  “You sure know how to flatter a girl,” I said, moving with the line toward the bathrooms.

  He fell in step next to me. “Those aren’t bad things.”

  “Yes, what all women want to hear—how klutzy and adorable they are. Sounds like you’re describing a six-year-old.”

  Shut up. Shut up now.

  His forehead wrinkled as his head tilted to the side. “I’m sorry, did I offend you?”

  “Of course not. I barely know you.”

  “So get to know me.”

  When I glanced at him, one of his eyebrows was raised in a challenge. Facing him, I crossed my arms over my chest. “All right, Nate Ryan. Tell me about yourself.”

  His eyes dropped to my defensive stance and he exhaled. “Okay, well…I grew up in Orange County, I’ve got two sisters, both of whom wouldn’t know what a lightsaber was if it hit them in the face. I’m an adequate surfer, I can cook the shit out of an omelet, and my favorite color is blue because it’s the only one I can see.”

  Ah, colorblind. “So you can’t tell I’m a redhead?”

  “Oh, I can tell…”

  Huh. Whatever that meant.

  “I’m getting my master’s in fine arts in film and television production at USC, and I intern at—”

  “Whoa whoa whoa,” I said, waving my hand. “What did you say?”

  “Oh no. Don’t tell me you’re a Bruins fan,” he said.

  “You’re still in school?”

  “Oh.” His forehead smoothed out. “Yeah.”

  “So you’re, what, like twenty-five?”

  “Twenty-four.”

  My eyes popped wide. “Twenty-four? You’re twenty-four years old. As in…not even able to rent a car yet.”

  Holy shit, when did I become older than everyone in this bar?

  He frowned. “Is that a problem?”

  “Let’s just say you’re closer to six than I am.”

  With a shrug, he said, “That doesn’t matter. Besides, you look good for your age—”

  “For my age?” My voice went up an octave.

  “Don’t take that the wrong way, all I meant was—”

  “You’re barely old enough to be in this bar!”

  “I’m a few years past that—”

  “I’ll be thirty next year. Wait. No, the year after that.”

  He paused. “And?”

  I let out a tight laugh. “Oh my God. Can this day get any better?”

  “Look, can I help you with your knee? It’s starting to run pretty bad—”

  Wiping at my leg, I said, “Help me because I’m some old, decrepit woman who falls down and may break a hip?” A scoff escaped my lips as I shuffled forward again.

  His fingers ran through his hair and settled on the back of his neck. “I think we got off to a bad start. Can we try this again?”

  “No worries,” I said as the door to the women’s bathroom opened. I went inside and then turned to face him. “It was nice to meet you, Nate Ryan, but I think I’ve had enough fun for today. Good luck in school.”

  And with that, I shut the door.

  * * *

  AFTER SPENDING A good ten minutes on blood patrol—and also kicking myself for being an idiot—I headed back to the girls, thankfully evading Nate. Yeah, I’d overreacted, but guys in L.A. were all the same anyway, and it was better not to waste my time. I was saving myself for Prince Harry and that was that. We redheads have to stick together.

  When I plopped my “clumsy” ass back on the stool, Quinn kicked my foot again.

  “So? We saw you talking to Mr. Fuck-Me Eyes. How’d it go?” she asked.

  I shook my empty glass of ice and sighed. “Not so well.”

  “Uh oh. Spill.”

  “I think…we argued about Star Wars…and some other stuff.”

  Dead. Silence. And then Quinn cleared her throat. “Hold up. I must’ve heard you wrong, because it sounded like you said you argued about a movie.”

  “Um. I did say that.”

  Her head looked like it was about to jack-in-the-box off her body. “What?”

  “How does that even happen?” Ryleigh asked.

  I shrank back and fidgeted with the edge of my shirt. “People get…passionate about things they like. I mean, he tried to say Darth Vader was this deep character when really he was just Palpatine’s minion with a mommy complex, and then he said Boba Fett was this—”

  “Oh my God. Stop,” Paige said, rubbing her temples. “I love you, but my brain will literally self-destruct if I have to listen to this.”

  “Well, on the bright side, at least you have something in common, even if you disagree on the specifics.” Quinn gave a meaningful glance to the girls before settling her eyes on me. “Right?”

  “Ugh. I’m pretty sure I just blew that one out of the water,” I muttered.

  As the girls gave me sympathetic looks, I cursed myself, trying not to think about the fact that I’d just gone off on the most attractive guy I’d seen, probably ever. Even if he was younger than me. Damn foot-in-mouth disease.

  Oh, what the hell. He thought I was just “cute” anyway. And he thought a spineless character like Anakin was a badass. What a loser.

  But a gorgeous loser.

  A gorgeous loser with a killer smile. Dammit.

  Nope, I wouldn’t think about those things, nor would I turn around and apologize.

  Another round of shots were pushed our way, and without hesitation I grabbed one and downed it.

  I’d deal with my embarrassment, throbbing leg, and massive hangover tomorrow. At least in a city as big as Los Angeles, I’d never have to see that guy again.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Single in the City

  SIX A.M. CAME way too early the next morning. It was amazing I heard my alarm over the jackhammering in my head.

  No more Nutty Irishmen. Well, at least not in a glass.

  I took the Metro to work, as I tend to do most days if I don’t have meetings outside the office. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind driving, but if you’ve ever had to endure spending an hour and a half in traffic to go nine miles, you’d be a train convert too.

  At least I kept my pants on for the ride this time.

  After getting off at my station, I grabbed my requisite flat white from Starbucks and made my way down Figueroa to the historic building that housed HLS. I say historic, but really, fifty years is ancient here, so don’t go thinking we’re in Rome or something. As much as I loved our previous office on the west side—and missed my daily ice cream fixes from Ryleigh’s ice creamery, Licked—there was something about the hustle and bustle of downtown that always energized me.

  As I pulled open the heavy glass door to our building, a wild gust of wind whipped my long mane into a frenzy, plastering it to my face. Aaaan
d now I was a coffee-drenched mummy. Just gonna go on with my bad self.

  “Good morning, Miss Callahan,” Roberto, our always-smiling, fiercely protective security guard greeted as I stepped inside the warm lobby.

  Pulling the curly strands away so I could see his face, I said, “The ‘good’ part of that statement is debatable.”

  “Rough morning?” he asked, as he reached inside one of the drawers behind the security setup and then handed me a wet wipe.

  I took it with a grateful smile and set my cup on the counter. “You’re the best,” I said, as I cleaned off the remnants of the sweet ’n’ sticky from my skin.

  “There an event going on today that I need to make a note about?”

  “An event? Not that I know of. Why?”

  “Crew’s all here. Been here for—” he glanced at the clock above his head— “’Bout a half-hour at least.”

  My hands stilled. “Even Val?”

  “Mhmm, and from the looks of it, you might have your hands full today.”

  “Fantastic.” I tossed the wipe in the trash and grabbed my cup. “Nothing’s on the books, but I’ll let you know if that changes.”

  After giving his arm a quick squeeze, I headed toward the elevator that led up to our fifth-floor office.

  Everyone is already here? That was unusual. I was usually the first one in, last one out. Something was definitely up, and I hoped my morning so far wasn’t an indicator of how the day would go. I doubted my hangover could manage.

  As I got off the elevator, I could hear a flurry of activity going on just behind the mahogany door. When I pushed it open, a state of frenzy greeted me, something exceptionally hard to do considering there were only four people there. Well, five including me.

  I looked around, bewildered. Nicole, our front desk screening and scheduling coordinator, was running back and forth from her desk to the fax machine, papers scattered all over her desk, and a pencil escaping her loose bun. At the desk behind her, Jenna, head of PR and marketing, was pacing around her desk, talking animatedly to someone on the phone and clicking her retractable pen nonstop. I could hear shouts coming from Val’s back office, as she and our image consultant and dating coach, Xander, seemed to be trying to outdo one another.