by Rie Warren
I turned on the lamp and perused the room service menu, chuckling when Nicky cursed me a new asshole. The fucking, the shut-eye, the boyfriend moment made me hungry. I needed food.
When he sat up, his cheek was creased from the pillowcase he’d mashed over his face. “When was last time you ate something?”
Besides Leelee’s sweet pussy? “Donuts at the Writer’s Widows thing?”
Nicky grabbed the phone and dialed. “Jesus, you’re gonna waste away, and I’ll never hear the end of it from Gigi when I bring you back, looking like a bag of bones.”
At two-hundred-ten-plus pounds of pure muscle, I wasn’t likely to turn into a skeleton overnight. I listened to Nicky order room service, letting him foot the bill because of write-offs, whatever.
An hour later, after wolfing down two breakfast entrees, I sat back, patting my belly. “What’s the deal for today?”
“An outing, it’s a slow day.” He checked his watch. “We’ve gotta meet the Hens in the lobby in forty for the shuttle.”
I perked up like Viper when her leash was jingled for a walk-run-race around the hood. “The Hens—will Leelee be there?”
His eyes met mine. “She’s part of the group, so, yeah. But you’re gonna be a gentleman, right?”
“Absolutely.” Not.
I blitzed through a shower, buzzed down my stubble, stumbled to my suitcase with a towel dipping off my hips.
Nicky quirked a grin at me. “Your phone’s been going off.”
“Ma?” I dried the last of the water from my hair and chest.
He made jazz-hands at me before tossing the cell over. “Nope.”
“Lemme guess, the knuckle bust crew?” My jeans and a T-shirt pulled on, I had second thoughts about taking a look at the latest from my mechanics who seemed to think they were Comedy Central material.
“Bingo.” Nicky rolled his shoulders into a vintage button down and waited for his morning entertainment.
I braced myself. What came up was the Stone’s Auto Service homepage with me plastered all over it. I wasn’t just famous for my ass anymore. Smartass tech-nerd Javier had cut and spliced the video of Leelee and me dancing the tango. But that wasn’t all. He’d added a Stone’s garage spin at the end with a one-of-a-kind graphic that read: Stone’s: At Your Service. Hell on Wheels & Hell in High Heels.
I put a call directly in to the office, and Ray answered, “You saw it?”
“Get me Javier.” I chomped through the words like they were beef jerky.
Bossman ain’t laughin’, Javier, I overheard Ray.
Javier got on the horn and started blathering in Spanish, but I barked right over him, “Take it down!”
I hung up.
Then I hung my head. Nicky glared at me and I stared at Leelee’s book. I didn’t need his silent disapproval to know I’d been a first class dickhead all because I was a cranky bastard over Leelee. I just thanked Christ I hadn’t lost my temper with JJ instead of Javier. Javier was easy to soothe, while the kid required a million hugs, a trillion kisses, and promises of puppy dogs—the cuddly kind—and pony rides.
I redialed and asked Ray to get Javier for me, please and thanks.
When I heard the phone exchange hands and Javier’s skittish, “Sorry, boss,” I sighed, “Jesus fucking Christ, boy.”
That was my form of apology, one the guys were acquainted with.
“Mierda, I thought you were gonna fire me. We already got new followers on Twitter and likes on Facebook. Las muchachas like it. You’re a big hit with your woman.”
“Leave it up, son. You done good.” Putting on my leather jacket, I joined Nicky at the door. “Just no more mule-packin’-asshole pics, please.”
“You got it, jefe.”
****
I prowled the lobby as we waited for the Hens to gather. They finally showed, admiring each other’s hair or outfits or yadda yadda, yip-yip. Leelee stuck to the fringes of the group while we trudged outside to the muggy May air to board the bus. I stood to the side, letting everyone pass as a perfect gentleman should. Janice kissed my cheek and pinched my glutes. Her glasses were rosy, her outlook less so.
“Red sky at night, sailor’s delight. Red sky in the morning, sailors take warning.” She left me with the ominous proverb, bangles jangling in her wake.
Missy wore three strands of pearls tight around her neck, like a collar, I presumed. I’d since done my BDSM research. “I would dearly love to have you bent over and at my mercy in a dungeon one day, Stone.”
“I never did get into D&D.”
“My, aren’t you full of spunk today?” She grinned.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“Well played.” She winked and was gone.
Jacqueline was one class act in a bright dress and new nail art in tri-tone chevrons, a time-consuming process she described to anyone who’d listen. “Ready to have some fun, hon?”
I reckoned fun was off the table unless I could get Leelee to talk to me. Seemed that was off the table too as she cold-shouldered in front of me and hustled onto the shuttle as fast as her fuck-hot red heels could carry her. Taking Nicky’s hand, I settled us in the middle of the crew. The bus took off for destination unknown.
The chatter from the Hens was so loud I couldn’t help but listen. A squabble broke out; they were worse than Ma’s smut-reading circle of blue-haireds for getting into a debate about who-said-who-did what in the last twenty-four hours.
“Did you hear the sounds coming from that woman’s room last night? It rivaled a good old fuck-room bullwhipping.” Peachtree practically choked with glee.
“Word is she was researching for her new Dom of the Dawn book,” Jacqueline said.
More gossip ensued. I listened with half an ear, wishing Leelee were sitting right next to me and not half a bus away.
When their voices lowered, I tuned back in. Janice tried not to turn her head to glance at Leelee. It was like watching a dog trying to itch that unreachable scratch. Likewise, my ears pricked up as Viper’s did when meat or man was headed her way. I was On Command whenever Leelee was concerned.
“You hear about what happened to Leelee?” Jacqueline spoke in hushed tones.
Oh, I knew the answer to that one. I flinched. Nicky winced beside me. I’d screwed her silly—several times—then she’d come to her senses and kicked me out.
“No. What?” Both Missy and Janice asked while Nicky gripped my hand so tight a couple of my knuckles popped.
At a low whisper, Jacqueline said, “She was in the lobby this morning, surrounded by fans when He weaseled up.”
No one needed to ask who He was. Andrew La Fucking Forge. The idea of him even looking at Leelee, let alone approaching her one more time, set my teeth on edge.
The cocoa-skinned beauty continued. “Whatever he said to her made her race back to her room. She didn’t even finish the final autograph.”
“Oooh, it’s soo cloak and dagger. Like a LitLuv cozy mystery!” Janice exclaimed.
There was nothing cozy or cute or cuddly about Leelee being harassed by that fuckwit. Cozy was gonna be my left hook when it hit his kidneys.
“Why’s he so intent on getting to Leelee?”
“LaForge thinks people are sheeple,” Janice answered me.
Missy closed the gap between her seat and mine. “Exactly. Adding her to his stable of writers when she’s been so vocally pro-Indie would be a coup. He’s sure others would follow her lead.”
“Too many folks are taking their businesses into their own hands, drying up the new talent available to agents. He needs fresh blood,” Jacqueline said.
Several seats away, Leelee was pale and the strain in her posture knocked another notch loose in my heart. Right now all I wanted to do was ask her whose ass I needed to kick to make her feel better.
“But you’ll protect her.” Janice squeezed my arm.
Damn right I will.
****
It seemed I needed to protect Leelee from the seedy Atlanta cesspo
ol as we pulled up outside of a cordoned-off club. The exterior flashed with bright lights and neon signs even though it was barely midafternoon. Oooh, aaah, pretty sleazy. The sparkly gold name on the marquee gave me pause: The Golden Banana.
I took Leelee’s elbow and held it tight until all the Hens had packed into the vestibule, paid their entrance, and moved along.
“Let me go,” she hissed.
I did no such thing. I escorted her into the depths of a darkened room where hints of crimson and gold glowed from groupings of furniture in lounge areas. Front and center was a stage, and I reckoned I knew what Golden Banana really stood for.
Nicky tailed me. Leelee glared at me. This was a train wreck in the making, especially when we made our way to the others at a reserved table right in front of the stage.
I held out Leelee’s chair and tucked it in. She looked like maybe she wanted to bite my hand off. I moved into the empty seat between her and Nicky, vaguely listening to the excited whispers as more and more ladies packed in. These people I recognized—writers, reviewers, readers—all from the Con. Slow day or an excuse to spend their dollar bills, I wondered.
Oh and look. Whaddya know? The LolliPOP Grrrls. The licker lewdly slurped the sucker out of her mouth and waved it at me. Hoodie-broody girl nodded at me with a leer.
Janice jabbed Missy. “Looks like we’ve got competition for Stone’s attention.”
Leelee huffed and raised her hand to order a drink from a passing waiter. He wore no more than a shiny vinyl loincloth to cover his crankshaft. I seconded the drink order—not the dink order—and the rest chimed in, too.
As soon as the venue grew crowded, the dim lights lowered even more and three spots hit center stage. Strutting from the darkness beyond, a man with slicked back black hair and painted on leathers—I dared-fuckin’-say they were tighter than the pair I’d trashed last night—threw his arms wide.
Women erupted from their seats, leaped onto tables, started throwing panties, money, wads of paper with phone numbers. Janice pounded the tabletop. A small smile flirted across Leelee’s lips. Jacqueline blew a man-hungry whistle through her teeth.
Nicky smirked at me.
“Welcome to ’Lanta, y’all! When we heard there was a group of beautiful”—he thrust his hips once—“talented,”—twice—“freaky group of sexy romance writers in town?” The MC gave Jules Gem a run for her money, rolling his pelvis obscenely, and the ladies threatened to stampede the stage. His voice dropped. “Well, we just had to put on a special show for y’all!” He raised his arms again, shouting, “Welcome to the all-male revue, Magic Mike Night . . . erm . . . make that Noon!”
From every corner of the room, men appeared. Lots of them. Almost naked men. No worse than what I’d gotten up to last night, but then Leelee had been focused solely on me. Now she wasn’t. Her mouth dropped open, her cheeks flushed in that pretty shade of pink—the way they did when she was on the brink of orgasm. Threading through the audience of bloodthirsty demons, aka dick-loving babes, the strippers eventually made it onstage in one piece, without their negligible outfits torn off their bodies.
A few kisses were probably stolen and asses squeezed, I knew, because I’d been on the receiving end of that before.
I sat, glowering.
Nicky snickered at my expense. “Remember? I told you I’d take you to a strip joint.”
My smile was sickeningly sweet. “Lover, if I wanted to see more dongs boing around, I’d still be backstage at Balls and Dicks or whatever the hell Jules called that free-for-all.”
Inside I was not a happy camper, but outwardly I tried to project something other than jilted-lover rage every time I looked over at Leelee. Great. Now I had to watch her drool over the Chippendales. Sausage-fest take two only this time I wasn’t performing and a bunch of limber-jointed, bendy bastards held Leelee’s attention. Joy. They were all waxed to within an inch of their lives. At least I had chest hair like a real man should, thank you very fucking much.
I threw in a few wolf whistles, acting the part.
Leelee strode forward to shove a wad of cash against the wad of the oiled-up asshole doing the wham-bam on his knees at the end of the stage.
I sat and stewed.
Magic Mike day/night or not, there was no magic. I was not feeling the magic. The gigolos grinded, the groupies groped whenever they got close enough. And I had to act gay and salivating when in truth I was so hot under the collar, I wanted to throw Leelee over my shoulder, stalk to the nearest exit and have it out with her. Or have her under me. Either one would do me good.
That’s when the construction worker started dry humping his sledgehammer. Literally. There was so much bouncing going on, someone’s eye was gonna get poked out even though he was still somewhat bridled inside a pair of bright pink briefs cut-out around his ass cheeks. Jesus. I was blinded.
A sailor took the stage next, doing his best Gene Kelly MGM musical moves until he ripped off the pristine white uniform via the wonders of Velcro. He stood there with his sailor’s cap cupped over his cock. The ladies went ape shit. A short, stocky policeman followed. I didn’t really wanna know where he was going to ram his nightstick. This was a white-collar woman’s wet dream about blue-collar workers, and I wanted to stand up and shout I was the real deal. Men at Work? I’ll give them men at work. Just take a trip to Mt. Pleasant and over to Stone’s.
The cop stripped down to his jockstrap and Janice swooned in her seat.
When Missy stood up, the whole table shook and I guarded my beer. She bellowed, “Yeah, beat that nightstick, boy! BEAT IT!”
I lowered my head to my arms on top of the sticky tabletop. Of course, the clever MC-turned-DJ immediately pumped out “Beat It” by Michael Jackson. Fuckin’ A.
I only opened my eyes, peering through fingertips, when Leelee said, “Would you look at the Jesus crease on that one?”
It was a fireman, of course it was. Coyly flipping his helmet off, red suspenders dangling from his hips, he danced his shiny ass off under the lights. Leelee’s fingertips moved to her lips as she watched the stripper, never blinking.
Nicky laughed like a hyena until I wanted to hit him. “Didn’t know you had it in ya, L.”
Jacqueline’s gaze ran up and down the fireman’s hose. “I’d tap that.”
“I’d hit that.” Missy cheered.
Probably literally.
Janice wiped the steam from her glasses. “I wouldn’t kick that out of bed.” The round robin had reached me, and she asked, “Stone?”
The tableful waited expectantly, except Leelee. She stared past me as she’d done ever since she kicked me curbside in the wee hours of the morning.
“I . . .” I trailed off. Then smiled at Nicky and stroked his arm. “I’m a one-man man.”
“Le sigh.” Almost everyone simpered.
Leelee gave a derisive snort.
Nicky started talking to Robo-Cop, playing it up. “We’re looking for a third for the night.”
Titters and twitters went off like light bulbs sparking.
I almost decked him . . . God, I was gonna murder him, bury his body next to the grease monkeys out behind the garage. Nicky had half a lifeline left before I Godfathered him, and he’d be taking his long sleep goodnight beside a head gasket, not a horse head.
The po-po went to rub up against another stripper pole, and I tanked back my beer.
The DJ appeared through a cloud of smoke. “I hear we have a few famous writers in the house. Is there a Leelee Songchild out there?”
Whoops, hollers, oh hell no.
The fireman with the so-called Jesus crease jumped down. He hunkered between Leelee’s legs and flicked her calve with his tongue. The next thing I knew, his ass snuggled her face and his nuts tapped her chin. She gathered his suspenders like they were horse reins and hauled him in.
Missy hollered.
My knuckles turned white.
If Leelee got one more oily crotch that wasn’t mine in her face, I was gonna blow.
>
I wondered who set that shit up for all of a second until I saw the evil grin Nicky aimed at me. “Payback’s a bitch.”
On second thought, murder was too good for him.
The black-clad host mic’d over the melee as the fireman slid his ass off Leelee’s lap. “Give it up for our birthday girl!”
I ignored the clapping and the catcalling. If any other fucker got close enough to touch his crotch to Leelee’s lips, I was gonna blow a gasket. And, oh no, she was not getting birthday jizz on her face. And it wasn’t even her fucking birthday, for fuck’s sake. I’d Googled that shit.
“Enjoying the show, darlin’?” Nicky asked.
“I hate you.” I was fed up with playing follow the bouncing balls.
“You’re kinda blowing our cover.”
“As long as I ain’t blowing you.”
A waitress in a short skirt and half shirt served fluted glasses full of frothy red liquid. Another fruity cocktail.
“Drink up!” Nicky clanked his glass to mine as Captain Dick took his place on Leelee’s lap.
Drink up or bust the place up . . .
By the time she got free I was seeing red. She excused herself to the ladies. I waited a reasonable amount of time—all of twenty seconds—before I headed to the john.
I had two days left to bring her around. Time-wasting was not on my agenda.
She exited the restroom and I blocked her way. “You want a show, babe? I got it right here.”
Hauling back, Leelee smacked me across the face. “Fuck you, Stone.”
The slap was so hard it stung, but I shook it off. I grabbed her other wrist before she could come at me a second time. “Please do, Leelee.”
“You infuriate me!”
“That makes two of us.” I hustled her into a dark corridor.
When I had her caged beneath my arms and between my thighs, my anger melted away. Leelee the tigress turned all soft kitten.
Her eyes glistened and her lips trembled. “I already screwed my life up by myself. I don’t need to do this dance again.”
“I’m sorry.” I bent my forehead to hers. “I am such a fuckup.” My voice gentled.
She yielded when I clasped her face between my hands, intending only to comfort her. I laid a soft kiss on her cheek. I let her hair run through my fingers a final time.
