by Rie Warren
I ripped into a gooey pastry, chewing instead of answering.
Her nails struck the table in a faster rhythm. “Was it something Nicky did to you last night? Did he pounce on you as soon as you walked through the door? I always figured him for a freak in the bed.”
I swear, my nuts got smaller and smaller, shrinking from her unveiled interest. It didn’t help any that Leelee barely managed to muffle a laugh behind an éclair.
Finally Jacqueline sat back and crossed her arms. “What good are you? I’m just looking for a little sinspiration for my love scenes.”
Right, the gay male writer.
“’Fraid to say, I don’t kiss and tell.”
“I wasn’t talking about kissing,” she replied glumly. “All right, keep your secrets for now. But don’t think I’m letting you off the hook, Stone. I will get it out of you if I have to get Missy to beat it out of your beefcake ass.”
Fuck, I hope not.
With renewed spirit, she turned to Leelee. “So, what’s your story, girl? You ain’t never said so much as boo in our Facebook group.”
“Who says I have a story?”
“You’re a writer, you’ve got a story . . .”
Touché.
“There’s no one. Just my folks, my friends, and my writing.” Tight face, tight-lipped, Leelee obviously didn’t want to spill.
Jacqueline kept at it like Viper, the princess Rottweiler with a rawhide chew toy—or my boots. “C’mon now, give me something. I swear, if it wasn’t for the fact Stone likes the man-love, the pair of you would be two mute peas in a pod, and all this girl wants is a little story. Took us two years to get Nicky to even breathe a word about this one over here.” She pointed those claws at me. “Are you really gonna make me wait that long?”
Leelee slapped the half-eaten éclair onto her plate and muttered a quiet dammit. “Fine. I’ll tell y’all.”
I felt bad about her being in the line of fire because I hadn’t made up some lusty tale about Nicky and me. “Leelee, I don’t think you need to—”
She held a hand up in front of my face. “You don’t need to stand up for me. Remember, you’re no one’s knight in shinin’ armor.”
I opened my mouth to apologize for being a complete asshole, but Jacqueline beat me to the punch, hooting, “Told!”
“And you can shove it too, Jacqueline. I’ll tell it ’cause I need to get it off my chest, but don’t think I can’t see right through you. You want the lowdown on the new girl, to see if I stand up to inspection with all y’all veterans. I swear. Goddamn writers, sometimes it’s like a hazing ritual.”
Listening to Leelee put the beat-down on Jacqueline was some seriously hot shit.
An approving smile curved Jacqueline’s glossy painted lips. “I’m happy to see you show some balls, Leelee.”
“Oh, I got balls, balls of goddamn steel.”
So do I after that display of utter fucking brass.
“That’s what I thought, girl.”
Leelee sat back and glanced at me. “It ain’t gonna be pretty.”
“Mm hmm, the real stories never are. And that’s why we keep at the romance writing.” Jacqueline gave a little gospel.
I wasn’t all that fond of chick-talk. The most I came close to it was when I caught the boys snorting in the staff room over that Real Housewives train wreck or when they showed up at Ma’s with their women for the monthly Stone’s potluck. But I was all for learning more about Leelee, so I put my listening ears on. Just like Ma always told me to do when she used to give me the what-for.
“I was real serious about this guy, Patrick Waddell.”
I instantly hated the schmuck because she said this guy and serious in the same sentence.
“I thought he was just the most wonderful man there ever was. Successful, smart, sweet as could be. Sweet on me, at least I thought he was.” She twirled one long curl around her finger then snapped up in her seat, pressing her hands together in her lap. “Good lookin’, a real sharp dresser. A total scammer, it turned out.”
“Oh Lord,” Jacqueline breathed out.
“You see where this is going?” Leelee’s head dipped toward the other woman, who nodded in response.
Color me goddamn stupid because I have no clue at all.
“We were engaged, the wedding date was set. One Saturday we were picking out china at one of those precious little boutiques. And Patrick just started layin’ into me, right there in the middle of the store. He didn’t like the colors, didn’t approve of the patterns I’d pre-chosen, wanted to get right back into the car and go home. It was just china! It turned out it wasn’t the patterns he was worried about at all. The man helping us out, he stepped off a bit while Patrick blew up in my face. But I saw him watchin’ us, his lips pursed like he was suckin’ on a sour lemon.”
Jacqueline reached across the table to lay her hand on Leelee’s shoulder. “Oh, girl, he wasn’t, was he?”
“Yeah, yeah, he was.” Leelee’s head bent low as she sighed.
I was crawling out of my skin. He wasn’t, he was what? The Y chromosome plus a boatload of testosterone meant I missed out on a whole lot of feminine intuition, apparently.
Guarded eyes flew to mine and away. “Patrick said ‘I can’t do china, I can’t do a wedding with you, I can’t do you anymore!’ He shouted at me, but he looked at the other man, the very gorgeous man who’d messed up our order and dropped a few plates and muttered some cutting comments all the while he’d attended to us. And I was just naïve enough to ask Patrick what he was talkin’ about.”
“The kiss of death,” Jacqueline said.
Leelee mumbled, “The kiss of death.”
The kiss of huh?
“My fiancé left me for the clerk while we shopped wedding china in his store. He came out by accident, practically on the eve of our wedding, because he’d been two-timing me with that man!”
Wait, what?
“Now that right there is a second chance love story.” Jacqueline tapped those fucking outrageous fingernails again.
“Oh, trust me, there’s no second chance for Patrick or any man. The wedding invitations were followed by regrets and a cancellation notice.” She flicked her fingers at the éclair in front of her. “My life is worse than a romance novel.”
“That definitely counts for a black moment, baby-doll.” Jacqueline clucked her tongue. She stared at me over Leelee’s bowed head as if I had the feel-better answers to something I’d barely understood.
I held my hands up in an I-got-nothin’ move.
“’Course, as the fates would have it, this all went down last fall when every other huge thing was happening for me. My writing took off and my world fell apart at the same time.”
Jacqueline silently urged me to do something again, her hands spinning furiously in the air.
“I turned him gay,” came Leelee’s suddenly tiny voice. That cut me harder than any knife to the heart . . . or the other woman’s nails.
“Bullshit, Leelee. You can’t turn a straight guy gay, right, Stone?” Jacqueline glared at me for the third time.
Not unless it’s for the purposes of pulling the wool over y’all’s eyes. “’Course not, that’s fucking ridiculous.” I hooked my foot around the leg of Leelee’s chair and pulled her closer. Cupping her face, I did something immensely unadvisable and placed a light kiss on her cheek. Then the other one. Where I lingered much longer than I had any right to do.
From beneath long eyelashes, dewy eyes sought mine. Leelee’s lips quivered. Please don’t cry. I decided right then if I ever got the chance to meet Patrick the dick Waddell I was gonna beat his face all to bloody motherfucking hell.
Leelee pulled herself together and pulled away. I didn’t know whether to be thankful or regretful. Most of all I wanted her back in my arms.
“You must really hate people like me and Nicky,” I blurted.
Jacqueline snickered, “Oh, snap.”
“No!” Leelee patted my thigh, way up high. Dan
ger zone, danger zone. My legs twitched, my cock throbbed, and I fought down the animal inside. “I feel safe with you, Stone.”
Bad move, babe. The side of me that wanted to protect her from pain warred with the part that wanted to prowl all over her body. Safe was the very last thing she should feel around me.
Jacqueline’s chair screeching back hauled me away from the edge of proving just how dirty and dangerous I could be for Leelee.
Jacqueline stood to shout through megaphone hands, “It’s that famous writer, Nicky Love!”
Several heads from the surrounding tables swiveled to watch his approach. Next to him, Janice wasn’t to be outdone. She pointed and waved. “I don’t believe it! The most prestigious male-male author, Jacqueline!”
“What’re they doing?” I mumbled to Leelee.
“No idea.”
Having caused a stir, Jacqueline returned to her seat with a pleased hum. “Oh, we just like to get a little attention.”
“Or annoy people?” I asked.
“That too.” She grinned.
I stood as Janice, Missy Beat-me, and Nicky approached. Leaning in to nuzzle his neck, I wrinkled my nose where no one could see. “Interesting way to make an entrance.”
“You like that?”
“I had no idea you were such a showman, might have to get you around the gara—I mean around the dealership more often, babe.” I slid my fingers through his hair, working the enamored lover angle to the max.
He spoke just loud enough for those around us to hear. “I’m pretty sure you know exactly how much of a showman I am from bein’ in my bed every night, lover.” Dressed in pinstriped tuxedo pants, a ragged maroon T-shirt and black suspenders, he lowered his voice. “From skirt-chasin’ rogue to queer and en vogue overnight, Josh? I’m impressed.”
“Just makin’ sure we look good and spending some time with the ladies.”
“It’s that last part I’m worried about,” he hissed.
Me too. I was enjoying the ladies’ company—one in particular—a little too much.
Janice shoved Nicky out of the way. I did a double-take. Gone was the hippy peasant look. She was dressed in some kind of kinky Old West saloon-madam get-up complete with a tight corset she almost busted out of. I guessed Nicky wasn’t the only one who dressed the part. She reached up to grab my face for a smack on the lips.
“What was that for?”
“I’m a hugger.” She shrugged.
“That was more than hugging.”
“You can take it.” Janice winked from behind a pair of old-fashioned goggles instead of last night’s John Lennon glasses. A large pendant of what looked like clock gears rested on her bosom.
“So, is this the Steampunk thing?” I asked.
“You got it, hot stuff.” She reached around for a quick squeeze of my ass.
“Hands off the merchandise, wench, he’s mine.” Nicky towed me toward to the table.
They all crowded around, mouths gunning a mile a minute about the big book fair on Saturday, the morning’s epic triumphs and fail moments. Then there were things called flail moments. I was lost again, especially when Missy did a lot of flapping of her arms at me. Maybe she was trying to be a human flogger?
“How about you, hon?” Janice waved her hand in front of Leelee’s face, a burnished antique timepiece replacing her bracelets.
“Oh, I’m just takin’ in the scenery.” And I swore her gaze slid to me before skipping away.
I decided to take in the scenery too, going so far as to angle my chair more toward Nicky and less in Leelee’s direction. I worked my arm around his shoulders, ignoring the chorus of sighs from around the table. While they blazed on about the afternoon’s agenda, I lingered on a woman across the room who danced aimlessly, with no music and no partners.
“What’s her deal?”
Nicky turned to check her out. “Dances to the beat of a different drum?”
I watched the girl awhile longer—her tiny body and face almost completely hidden by acres of flowy shit and incredibly long blond hair. If the kid were here he’d probably ask for her autograph, mistaking her for one of Disney’s cardboard cutout creations. “She reminds me of that chick.”
“Which chick.” He squinted at the nearly fairy princess.
I made sure no one else could hear me. “Angel or Erin or . . . fuck, I can’t remember. The one who used to show up at Stone’s to give me lunchtime blowjobs.”
Snapping his fingers, Nicky said, “Angelica.”
“Yeah, Angelica.” Angelica with the long, long legs and the long blond hair. She was just about addicted to my dick. That’d been a good week.
“She was crazy.”
“A nympho, maybe. Gave some crazy good head though.”
His voice dropped even lower. “You really are a slut.”
“Guys can’t be sluts, can they? I think that makes me a stud.” I pulled him right up to me and bit his earlobe. A love bite, not a sharp punishing pinch of my teeth at all.
“Double standards.” He accused.
“Double penetration.”
“Hopeless case.”
“Yeah.” I raised my voice. “Hopeless for you, babe.”
More sighs from the chickens and a glare-grin combo from Nicky.
“You should join FetLife.” Missy dragged Nicky back into the conversation.
“What the hell is FetLife?” I settled my forearms onto the table.
Nicky pointed to a lady dressed all in leather as black as the hair arranged in a wild formation on her head. “A social board for The Lifestyle.”
He said “the lifestyle” like it was in all-important caps . . . and I stared at leather-lady. “Elvira has a lifestyle?”
Cuffing me with a discreet smack to the back of the head, he explained, “BDSM, remember?”
“Maybe that should’ve been in the note cards, never mind all the other shit,” I grumbled quietly. Then I narrowed my eyes at him. “But you don’t write BDSM.”
With a sharp twist to her pearls and an even sharper smile, Missy said, “No, but I do, dear.”
“You practice what you preach?”
One eyebrow arched in my direction. “If you walk the walk.”
Her comment caused alarm bells to go off inside of me. Leaning in, I whispered for Nicky’s benefit alone, “Please tell me she’s not already onto us.”
“Better hope not.” Clasping my hand, he spoke in a loud drawl, “Besides, you know how much you love bein’ called sir, darlin’.”
Hoots and hollers rose from our companions.
Missy and Nicky had both just one-upped me, assholes.
Half an hour later, some guy muscled in from out of nowhere. I didn’t like him on sight, especially when he perched on the arm of Leelee’s chair. His dark hair was slicked back from his face, his grin oily, his palms were probably greased too. Whatever he was trying to sell her screamed used car salesman, and I knew all about that. My territorial instincts went ballistic.
He kept leering down the top of Leelee’s dress while she inched as far away as she could. He droned on and on about his pet bunnies, which I took to mean underage girlfriends. The longer he sat and chatted, the more Leelee looked shaken. A blast of protectiveness came out of left field and rocked me to the core.
Finally I glared at him long enough to scare him off. “Who was that dirtbag?”
“Andrew LaForge, big-time agent.” Janice flipped her hand up as if that explained everything.
“He’s one of those folks out to get you?” I asked Leelee.
“Get to her, sign her, same diff.” Jacqueline leaned in close. “Last LitLuv, he walked away with so much ingénue talent, he could’ve worn a suit made of hundred dollar bills. No one knows how he does it. There’s never been a report made against him, but I guaran-damn-tee there’s some skeletons hiding in his swanky walk-in wardrobe.”
I liked less and less the idea of Leelee the small town hit-it-big girl versus the New York City slicker.
Missy met my eyes. “Mark my words, he’s a shark who can smell fresh blood from a mile away.”
“Well. I feel the need for a long, hot shower after that.” Giving a shaky laugh, Leelee got to her feet.
“Stone’ll take you.” Every single one of them rushed to volunteer me while I bit back a groan.
Yeah, I wanted to take her, in more ways than one. I also did not want to be alone with the woman for one damn second longer than I had to be. But she turned to me with such a weary smile there was no way in hell I could resist.
“It’d be my pleasure.” I placed my hand on the small of her back, guiding her along.
We had to make several pit stops for fans who wanted pictures, so I played paparazzo while Leelee smiled and signed books. With each of her readers, she was gracious and genuine, a true southern lady, showing none of the earlier stress.
As soon as the elevator doors shut us in, she slumped. “I don’t do well with crowds or attention.”
“You could’ve fooled me.”
She blinked and blushed. Silence—the tense kind that was usually the forerunner of clothes being torn off before some outrageous fucking—thickened between us.
I cleared my throat. “So. This is getting cozy.”
“You, me, and the elevator . . .” Her voice lilted along my skin, tightening the muscles in my lower belly with wicked arousal.
I walked her to her room, unlocked it for her, and this time gallantly accepted her thanks. She rose to her tiptoes and slid her lips across my cheek. My groin thumped with heat, but I played it cool, stepping back and dipping an imaginary hat.
“Wait! I’ve got somethin’ for you.” She darted inside. Rushing back, Leelee thrust a book at me then, with a sultry drawl, a saucy wink and a “Happy readin’, Stone,” she closed the door.
I flipped the book over then slammed my eyes shut.
The title? Ride.
The chick on the cover was riding, all right. Naked and back to, she straddled hard-muscled thighs. Her head was thrown back, the curve of one tit showed, and a pair of masculine hands gripped her hips.
