by Hart, Lane
A honking horn alerts me that the light turned green and I didn't even notice. I accelerate again and make the final turn into Chemistry, the club hosting the event.
"Wow, that’s...that's a lot of cameras," Natalie mutters softly when we pull up to the busy entrance.
"We just have to stand still for a couple of pictures and then we can go inside, okay?"
"I should've dressed up more. I'm not...are you sure you want to be seen out in public with me?" she asks.
I look over at her to judge her sincerity, to see if she's just fishing for a compliment. I know right away that the panic on her face is genuine. She really doesn't know how beautiful she is. How is that possible? If I have to be seen out in public with the same woman for weeks, I want it to be Natalie.
"Why wouldn't I want to be seen with you? Do you own a mirror?" I ask, putting the car in park.
"Even all dressed up I'm still just average compared to all the women you're usually seen with."
"I thought we went through all that yesterday," I say, blowing out my breath in frustration. She’s also getting too close for comfort in the whole reason we’re going out. She is different, she's not a gold-digging slut. "All right, from now on whenever you make a self-deprecating statement I'm going to spank you. Please, keep it up so I can get my hands on your very fine ass. Understood?"
"Uh-huh," she mutters, looking out the window at the roped off group of paparazzi like she's going to be sick.
"Natalie," I say, reaching for her hand and intertwining her tiny, childlike fingers with mine to reassure her. "You look absolutely gorgeous, so please stop worrying."
"Thank you," she replies softly, lowering her eyes.
"Ready?" I ask after giving her another minute, and she finally nods.
Letting her hand go, I climb out of the car. Before I can give my keys to the valet and go around to open Natalie's door, she's already stepping out of course. Her eyes are wide, and she's biting her bottom lip nervously.
"Just keep thinking about me skating circles around you at the Rinky Dink. All six feet, five inches trying to balance on a pair of four tiny wheels," I whisper against her ear, while guiding her forward with a hand on the small of her back. "You know there will be multiple wipeouts and lots of dust biting because I will most definitely fall on my ass."
"Ha!" She laughs and quickly covers her mouth with her hand, but my comment worked. Now she's smiling naturally, the real one that lights up her stunning, green eyes.
"Laugh all you want." I keep teasing her when I grab her hand and pull her the rest of the way to the red carpet. "But if I go down, I'm going to be holding your hand so I can take you down with me."
"Zack! Over here!" I hear various voices in the group calling my name and throwing out random questions. "Who's your date tonight?" a woman asks, and that's one I answer right away. The sooner the good press starts securing my contract the better.
"This beautiful woman is Miss Natalie Adair," I respond, tucking her against my side with an arm around her waist. She's so petite that she barely reaches my chest, but she fits against me perfectly. Screw the six feet tall models in their four inch heels. I'll take this cute little pixie woman over them any day. "Smile," I warn her when the bright lights begin flashing around us.
After a few seconds, I pull her along behind me and don't stop until we reach the main floor of the dark club. Strobe lights dance around the walls and ceiling to the pulse of the upbeat tempo. Unlike most weekends when I've been here, there’s only a few people on the dance floor or sitting around the bar. Guess there aren't that many that can afford an “intimate affair” like this.
The small stage at the front of the room holds microphones, instruments, and amps, ready for the band to come out and play. Glancing around, I see a few Hollywood actors and actresses that look like they are high and it sure as hell isn't on life, several well-known musicians, a few politicians, and the rest of the group is just other random filthy rich individuals.
Since there aren't any cameras around I take Natalie to a secluded alcove with a round ottoman style seat against the wall. Now that the first part of my plan, getting some good PR with Natalie has been successful, it's time for the second part - seducing the one and only woman I can now fuck. I straddle the seat and pull Natalie down so that she's sitting between my legs. Her back remains rigid, her posture stiff.
"Relax," I say against her ear. I love knowing that one word from me is all it takes to make her sexy, little body shiver. Maybe this is going to be easier than I originally thought. With that sort of reaction, I bet she'll be begging me to fuck her before the night is over, especially since she's got a soft spot for the whole charity deal. After that she'll be wrapped around my little finger and will jump at the chance to go out with me again.
"Kind of hard to relax knowing how much you paid...and these people are all—"
"Forget them," I tell her. Grabbing Natalie around her slender waist, I tug her to me until her back is molded against my chest. I keep my arm looped around her to ensure she doesn't try and make a run for it.
When a server comes by with a tray of drinks, I pass but hand Natalie a glass of champagne. A little alcohol should help the woman mellow out and loosen up.
"Hey, Natalie?" I ask, bending down to her ear, so she could hear me over the current beat. There's something I don't understand and can't quite figure out. I wanted to know why it seemed like after our kiss in college she disappeared. "Why didn't I see you cheerleading after the Virginia Tech game?"
"Because I dropped out of school a few days later," she responds over her shoulder.
"Oh." I wasn't expecting that. "But why?" She's too smart and innocent, so I'm sure it wasn’t that she had partied and flunked out. Maybe she couldn’t afford it? Is that why she freaked out about the money thing earlier?
"I moved back home," she says, which doesn't answer my question.
The time for conversation is over, though, before I can ask follow up questions. The opening band comes out on the stage and starts playing a few of their unknown songs, warming up the small, mostly quiet crowd.
Finally, about an hour later, Tri-Polar hits the stage infusing the building with energy. Their music is a mixture of rock, rap, and pop, which is probably why they're so popular. Just about everyone under the age of forty listens to their shit.
The lead singer, Cain Blevins, is a tatted up dude, going shirtless to show off the colorful artwork that covers both of his arms. His jet black shaggy hair matches his eyeliner, not that anyone would make fun of him because he's a badass motherfucker. At the top of his lungs he begins belting out what sounds like his soul in the lyrics of their first hit from five years ago, "Broken Down."
Jumping off the small stage during the third song, a slower rock ballad, Cain works his way through the elite crowd, stopping periodically to serenade individuals.
I wasn't prepared for my jaw to try and break itself when the singer's hand reaches out and caresses Natalie's cheek at the same time he gives her a wink. Especially since the lyrics he's currently singing are ones about laying his woman down tonight and burying himself deep inside of her until he sees the sunlight.
Nope, not a fucking fan of that at all.
His little display better just be a part of the show, because the asshole would have to be blind not to see my arm around her and know she's with me. Although, I have heard that Cain Blevins is the Zack Bradford of the music world when it comes to the ladies.
…
Natalie
I'm starting to think it's possible that I died without realizing it, you know like suddenly after an auto accident or in my sleep, because it sure feels like I'm in heaven.
At the present moment I'm cuddled up to an incredibly hot quarterback while a ridiculously sexy bad boy with the voice of an angel sings to me. For several frozen seconds I was simultaneously touched by both Zack Bradford and Cain Blevins.
Maybe this is the cancer gods way of making up for the hell it put me
through. I have to say I'm extremely grateful, it's just all too...surreal.
After spending the last few years basically as a worker bee during the day and hermit at night, I'm surprised and confused by the attention of these two incredible men. I'm sure Cain's attention was just part of his performance, and it's probably just my imagination that while I continue floating on my very own personal cloud nine, he keeps glancing my way.
"So, what did you think?" Zack asks after the band finished their encore and walked off the stage to loud applause.
"It was awesome!" I tell him with a smile, standing up from our seat to face him. This Tri-Polar live and private performance is without a doubt one of the most amazing things I've ever experienced. "Thank you so much for bringing me to something so cool that also helps raise money for sick kids!"
"You're welcome. I'm glad you enjoyed it," he says before getting to his feet. It sounds like he mumbles something about Cain under his breath, but I don't catch it.
"Bradford!" a deep masculine voice calls out.
Zack looks around and gives a nod in greeting to the big, beautiful, dark-skinned man heading our way. Oh yeah, that's Marcus Jones, the Wildcats' running back.
"Jones," Zack says with a smile when the two clasp hands and exchange masculine shoulder pats. "I didn't know you were coming tonight."
"Last minute addition," he says. "And fuck if I didn't miss most of the concert. How was it?"
"It was all right," Zack replies, sounding less than impressed. I guess he didn't think it had been worth two hundred thousand dollars. Oh frick.
My body sways just thinking about giving away that much money. Zack luckily sweeps an arm around me to keep me steady on my feet. It's possible that those three glasses of champagne are getting to me. I'm not a drinker because my doctor suggested only consuming alcohol in moderation, so I'm feeling tipsy just from that small amount.
"Jones, meet my date, Natalie Adair. Natalie this is Marcus Jones."
"Tinker Bell," the big man says with a stunning smile. He wraps me in a hug instead of a handshake after using the nickname he'd given me at the signing event.
"How are you tonight, Mr. Jones?" I ask with my own smile. The man was a riot when we met at the stadium.
"Damn good. How's the auction going? Anything else I can do to help?" he asks, making me love him even more.
"It's going great, and if I think of anything I'll let you know. Unless...are you one of the calendar men?"
"Damn right I am," he says with a wider smile before raising his shirt sleeve to show me his tattoo. It's a big pink ribbon on his massive bicep with "Lena Jones is a fighter" written within. I know from reading up on him that the tattoo is for his mom who is also a survivor. I'm pretty sure the whole autographed merchandise auction had even been his idea several years back before I came to work for the foundation.
"That's great! Thank you so much. I bet your mother is really proud of you, ranking sixth in the league already this season, and you're only going to move up."
He nods and smiles wider even though his eyes mist. "She is, and, Bradford, you better keep this Tinker Bell close, so she doesn't fly away. The woman knows her shit."
I glance over at Zack who has been quiet. He has a perplexed look on his face like he's confused. It's a stark contrast to his ever present cockiness, and pretty damn adorable.
"Yeah, I know," Zack finally says quickly before asking Marcus a question about a play from practice. I zone out as the two men start talking about some plays that need work, and how to try and make them better. I'm a huge football fan, but I don't understand any of their strangely coded, top secret plays they are going on and on about. They even go as far as demonstrate to the other with actual movements. I know better than to ask since they can't risk anyone finding out their strategy.
"Where the hell have you been?" a man's silky smooth voice asks from behind me. I wouldn't have even known he was talking to me if I hadn't felt his warm breath on my neck and caught the scent of what smelled like a sour apple Jolly Rancher.
"Excuse me?" I ask in confusion and annoyance at the stranger's tone.
Turning around I come within inches of a half-naked Cain Blevins. I'm sure my mouth is flapping like a fish out of water. The lead singer is still only wearing pants with a huge studded silver belt and black boots. I guess since his arms are covered in amazing artwork, maybe he doesn't feel as naked as he looks.
Up close, the man whose voice melts women like butter is tall but sleek with a flat stomach. There's an obvious, and very tempting dark treasure trail heading below the waistline of his painted on black leather pants.
I have to blink a few more times to make sure my eyes aren't playing some crazy trick on me. It is sort of dark in the club, and the strobe lights make everything look strange and hazy.
"Well?" he asks with a smirk, his hands on both of his slim hips. His eyes, deep blue puddles of just...wow, stare back at me, waiting. His dark eyelashes and black eyeliner, yes, eyeliner, make the blue orbs even more beautiful.
"Ah, what?" I ask.
"Where have you been all my life?" he asks, his face breaking into a wicked smile.
After a second I realize it's a pickup line. Cain Blevins just used a corny pickup line on me! Holy shit.
That was it, I lost the last grip of my composure. I start giggling and then can't stop. I even have to grab onto one of his brightly tattooed biceps to steady myself when I almost fall over. His skin is perfectly smooth and cool to the touch, and I can't help but follow along the contours of the black and red dragon's tail with my fingertips.
"Pretty," I say, and sweet baby Jesus, now I'm actually touching Cain Blevins!
"And you are fucking adorable, sweetheart. Does your daddy know you're out past your bedtime?" he asks all seductive like as he takes a step closer, closing the space between us.
"It is past our bedtime," Zack says from beside me, slipping his arm around my waist and squeezing my hip. I drop my hand from the singer's arm, unprepared for Zack's show of possessiveness.
"Zack Bradford," the singer says, glancing up at the giant quarterback.
How the hell did I get here of all the places in the world, between these two larger than life men?
"Aren't you a little young to be her daddy?" Cain asks with a crooked smile.
"She can call me anything she wants," Zack responds coolly. His clenched jaw ticks, indicating he’s not amused with Cain's teasing comment. Zack, of course, is implying it's a name I call him between the sheets. Maybe he and I both need a reminder that isn't going to ever happen.
"Daddy just doesn't have the same ring to it as arrogant asshole." I cringe as soon as the words leave my lips and Cain barks out a laugh. I want to take the words back, especially knowing Zack paid so much to bring me along to this event. But then suddenly a terrible thought slams into my alcohol hazed mind.
Mother. Fucker.
Was Zack doing this, spending all this money to try to get me to sleep with him? Did he think that in exchange for handing over two hundred thousand dollars to a charity that I'd feel obligated to fuck him tonight? I'm not a whore, even if the money goes to a children's hospital instead of in my pocket. How dare him try and buy me off!
Okay, so now I'm back to meaning my words more than ever before.
The fury in Zack's narrowed brown eyes on mine and the tightness of his clenched jaw are almost lethal as his hand on me falls away.
"What a momentous occasion! Hearing a woman call Zack Bradford an asshole to his face. The fun-size lady has done the unthinkable!" Cain says while he holds his bare stomach and continues to laugh. "I think I'm in love with your girl, Zack. I'm so glad you made such a generous donation and selected her from your long list of conquests to bring with you tonight."
"So tell us, Cain, just how much money did Tri-Polar make from performing at this intimate affair for charity?" Zack asks.
Holy shit, he is such a jerk.
The singer's face goes from amused to pissed of
f in the blink of an eye. "Nothing," Cain practically snarls at Zack, crossing his pretty arms over his chest. "And not that it's any of your fucking business, but our band donated a million to the hospital."
"Wow, thanks, Cain," Marcus Jones says coming up from the other side of Zack. I'm instantly grateful to him for intervening in what was turning into a pissing contest. "That's incredibly generous of you to help our community out in such a huge way. And I bet you didn't know that Tinker Bell here works for the local breast cancer foundation. Natalie's too shy to bring it up, but she's the one organizing the online auction for the signed Wildcats’ merchandise this year."
"Is that right?" Cain asks, his tight expression easing up slightly.
"Um, yes," I say, sounding unsure because of the bizarre situation.
"That's another great cause," he replies. "If you want, I'm sure I can get you some signed Tri-Polar merchandise for your auction, too."
"Really?" I ask in astonishment. "That would be awesome!"
"Sure," he chuckles, pulling out his cell phone. "Let me get your number, so we can coordinate getting you some signed shirts and whatever else we have with us before we fly out tomorrow."
"Of course," I say quickly, rattling off my phone number.
"It's Natalie, right?" Cain asks, glancing up from his typing with a grin.
"Uh-huh, Natalie Adair." I’m shocked that he remembered my name after hearing Marcus say it once.
"You guys were great, but I better head home," Marcus says. "See you tomorrow, Bradford. Nice seeing you again, Tinker Bell."
"You ready?" Zack asks between clenched teeth after his friend walks away. It's the first words he's uttered in a while, which reminds me of his likely ulterior motive.
