Already Designed (The South Haven Crew Book 1)

by Xavier Neal

  Here’s a little secret. I can only recall one other time a woman refused to date me because of my profession. What? No. We’re not gonna talk about her. But I will admit she was the only other person I felt a real connection to in the love department.

  “Aside from the shit actors say to get women in the sheets, you typically treat them with the same respect you do used condoms. Once you’re done, you flush ‘em and move on. For most of you monogamy is nothing more than a front for the press or in some cases nothing more than just a cruel joke with a shitty punch line.”

  My level of irritation rises. “You think if this turned into something I wouldn’t be faithful?”

  She grows a smug smirk. “Not at all.”

  Okay. So maybe Calen is right. Maybe this is some sort of fucked up self-challenge, ‘cause I swear the more this woman pushes me away and claims I’m just another asshole, the more I wanna prove her wrong. The more determined I am to prove her wrong. The more I will do everything I possibly can to prove her wrong. Hm. Is a momentary vow of celibacy too much? Perhaps a chastity jock strap? What? No, this shit between us is just like surfing. I’m gonna go hard or go home. If I’m bringing out my board I’m not leaving the water until maximum high of the action is achieved. And yeah. I’m prepared to wade in the water all fucking day for the perfect wave to arrive.

  Kadence continues to create unpleasant currents, “You’re not the Hugh Jackman type.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “He’s been with the same woman for like forever.” She wraps her lips around her straw and my mind instantly wishes it was my cock.

  It would work equally well at shutting her up about her asinine theory concerning men in the movie industry. Not to mention it would probably feel fantastic.

  “Alright.” I push my drink to the side. “I’ll play along with this little outrageous analogy. I assume you are the Hugh Jackman type-”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Making me more of the…?”

  “Justin Timberlake pre Beil.”

  “He’s not even an actor!”

  Kadence tosses her head back in laughter banishing the indignation yet again. Completely captivated by her smile, her lips, the way her hair dangles in the position, I do my best to casually adjust my cock and gain my composure.

  Seriously. What the hell is wrong with me? Do I need a good slap to the dick? There have to be at least ten women in this tacky decorated bar alone who would trip over themselves to have a drink with me, but I refuse to leave the one who can’t stop rejecting me? Fuck, this feels strangely similar to the days my boys used to bitch at me for staying in the water when I knew damn well it was too calm for anything good. Yeah. I guess you could call me stubborn. No. Not stupid. Stubborn.

  When her chuckling has finally run out of fumes, she argues, “Technically JT Lake is a singer and an actor.”

  “Why did you shorten his name like you’re on a best friend’s basis?”

  “How do you know we’re not?”

  Unsure of how to counter the question, I fumble my way around until I bite, “I’m not like him.”

  “Because you can’t sing?” The joke receives a harsh glower, which prompts her to roll her eyes again, humor right on the edge of her expression. “Why are you taking this so hard?”

  “Because I know you’re wrong.”

  “About your lack of faithfulness or about how you run through women like gym shorts?”

  “Being faithful.”

  “But you do just sleep with woman after woman?” Before I’ve a chance to answer, she angles her body to the side and braces her leg on the booth seat. “Humor me. When’s the last time you had a second date?”

  Spring delivers our dip, napkins, and plates before explaining the wait for clam strips is due to a backed up kitchen. Directly after, she dismisses herself, which is when Kadence scoops up dip and has an immediate bite.

  I allow her a moment to enjoy the delicious treat; enthralled with her euphoric reaction as much as being relieved she’s finally getting the opportunity to eat something.

  Didn’t think a drink would somehow force her to skip dinner.

  “Do you even remember what a second date is?” She reaches for a napkin to wipe her hands. “It’s the one that comes after the initial booze and schmooze to help get her out of that teeny tiny designer dress.” Her chiding continues without hesitation. “The one that requires you to use your overly manicured fingers to call her again.”

  I shift in my seat extremely uncomfortable by the interrogation. “I don’t have an exact answer.

  “Ballpark me.”

  “Probably four or five months ago?”

  Her brown eyes sadden despite her best efforts to stop them. “And the last time you just hooked up?”

  “Four or five days ago.”

  “Wow, you’re slutty.”

  Appalled and impressed at her bluntness, I slightly chuckle. “Did you just call me slutty?”

  Are you saying it too?

  Kadence shakes her head in disgust. “That’s….Wow.”

  “What’s the big deal? I like to have a good time!”

  “And I like not being just another nameless ass up in the air.”

  Thoughts of her ass backing into me have me rushing to proclaim she wouldn’t be.

  I plan to write my name on much more than her sweet ass. Huh. Good point. Probably not the most romantic phrasing.

  Kadence drags her glass over and gives it her attention as if too disgusted to even look at me. “Look Levi, I appreciate the drink, the food, and the laughs, but I’m really really not interested in having a fling or being flung or flipped. None of that is my future. None of that fits the five year plan. None of that has ever fit into my life plans. Sorry.” The moment her face lifts I know the words that are coming next. “I should go….”

  My hand desperately lands on hers in protest. “Kadence wait.”

  Her bottom lip tucks itself between her teeth preventing a whimper.

  Glad she hates my guts, but enjoys my touch.

  “You sat here and grilled me like an expensive ribeye. The least you can do is stick around to finish your drink, enjoy the great food, and pick the pieces of my soul out of your teeth.”

  Kadence lets the corner of her lip kick upward. “You really think you’re expensive?”

  I chuckle at the retort to the joke and shrug. “I think I’m a good cut of meat. Definitely, good enough to finish your whiskey and coke with.”

  To my surprise, she grabs another chip and scoops up more dip. “Fine.”

  Not quite the agreement I was hoping for, but I’m with ya. Beggars can’t be choosers.

  Silence only momentarily slips between us.

  “What’s the five year plan?”

  “Are you really that slow?”

  Think she’ll always be this difficult?

  “Correction. What’s your five year plan?”

  She runs her finger around the rim of her glass slowly as if in contemplation.

  Anxious to prolong her presence, I push, “Tell me everything.”

  “Okay.” Kadence scoots a bit closer, revisiting her previous sitting position. “In the next five years, I plan to hit these bullet points. I’m gonna move up in my career-”

  “Which is?”

  “I design book covers for romance and erotic novels.”

  Did not see that coming.

  Unfortunately, she soars past the opportunity for questions, “I’m gonna make more money. I’m worth it. I know I’m worth it. I know my boss knows I’m worth it. I just have to continue to play my cards in the right order to get the correct recognition I deserve, which will inevitably deliver a boost to my income.”

  I join her in enjoying the dip. “Totally understand that.”

  “I’m gonna own my own house or at the very least own it with my significant other-”

  “You currently rent one?”

  “Not exactly. One of my best friends owns
it and the rest of us happen to live in it.” Once again the door for questions is shut. “I plan to have a significant other who has his shit together. A stable job. Stable finances. His own place. No previous baby mama baggage, though I’m not opposed to helping raise kids from a previous relationship. He just needs to be prepared to grow that family between us.”

  “And by family you don’t mean like adopting eight cats, do you?”

  The offense receives a snide smirk. “I’m more a dog kind of person. Dogs like to cuddle.”

  “I do too.”

  Her cheeks rosy.

  I take a risk by shifting into the same sitting position she is. Our knees lightly knock, daring my dick to join the already unsteady conversation.

  “Your turn to humor me, Kadence.”

  “Kady.”

  My smile reappears at the invitation to call her by her nickname.

  Maybe my chance hasn’t completely drowned yet.

  “Kady.” After letting our eyes linger for a moment, I ask, “Why was it that fun wasn’t fun listed?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Fun.”

  Her eyebrows furrow.

  “All the stuff you listed was like…boring life textbook style milestones. Expected every day type of bullshit. Why didn’t you mention anything resembling fun as opposed to everything easily labeled as societal obligations?”

  It’s her turn to grow an uncomfortable look.

  “You remember what fun is, right? It’s having drinks at an overpriced bar, but biting the bullet because you like the company.”

  She presses her lips firmly together.

  “It’s trying new shit that excites you while terrifying the hell out of you like rock climbing or cliff jumping. It’s the shit that gets your heart racing like making out during a cab ride in Amsterdam or stealing a kiss in front of the Eiffel Tower.” She glances away, but I use the tip of my finger to turn her attention back to me. The fact she isn’t pulling away from me builds more courage to lean in closer. “When’s the last time you were kissed, Kady?”

  Her mouth cracks open yet an answer never braves its way out.

  Instead of rushing to reassure her with words how attractive she is, how worthy she is of always being kissed, I let my lips do the demonstrating. As soon mine brush against hers the softest whimper is freed.

  I wanna make that shit my ringtone.

  Our tongues lightly collide at the same time my hand glides to the nape of her neck. I keep the pressure soft. The speed slow. The intensity strong, yet sensual. Each time our tongues touch I find myself more and more desperate to have every drop of her.

  I abruptly pull back before things lead down the trail she accused me earlier of being the only one I ever travel. The sight of her slightly swollen lips and rapidly rising chest tempt me to abandon the need to prove her wrong.

  Can’t I prove her wrong by just calling her for a second date? Do I really have to- But- You’re not gonna let me finish, are you? I know. I know. I just need to fucking suit up and take it to the water. Just be grateful to ride that wave whenever it comes. Oh…make no mistake. It will come. Again and again and again until she can’t walk the next day.

  With a wide smile, I give the side of her neck a slow stroke. “What do you say, we order another round, enjoy the clam strips that look like they’re headed over, and you tell me more about the things you secretly wish were on your plan, but were banished for being too much fun?”

  A little more redness creeps into her cheeks.

  “And then on our next date, or as you call it the second date, I’ll grill you like expensive ass salmon about why you haven’t been out on a date in….What? A month?”

  “Nine.”

  “Tell me you’re denying my request in German.”

  Embarrassment floods her expression as she shakes her head.

  I plant another kiss on her lips, this one short and sweet. “Definitely on the docket for date two. For now, let’s stick to the stuff that makes you smile.”

  Kady places her hand on my thigh and mine instantly falls to keep it company. “You mean like hanging out with you?”

  With mirth in my tone, I question, “Now who’s running lines on who?”

  We both laugh and she snatches her hand away to give me a playful swat.

  I want a second date with her. And a third. And a seventh. And to kiss her in front of that damn monument. Think I can make my way into her plans, so she’ll let me?

  Chapter 3

  Kadence

  I give the book proofs one last look.

  You like it? Hey, don’t pin the topic on me! I’m not a fan of throwback books with women on desert islands being saved by suave pirates, who for the record spent more time having sex with other men rather than women, but it’s my job to create the covers for them. And well, any other romance novels that land on my virtual desk. Believe it or not I get handed the most unusual covers to create. The one’s that make you scratch your head at the synopsis and think who the fuck would ever buy that. My job has one specific task. Make even the most skeptical wanna stop their browsing whether online or in person to at least learn what the book is about. It’s my job to capture your attention and it’s one I get paid quite well to do. But I plan to one day get paid better and get awards instead of the bare minimums of ‘well done’.

  After hitting send, I shut my laptop, push in my desk chair, and head across the hardwood floor for my bedroom door.

  Hm? Oh yeah. This is the mega mansion I plan to move out of sometime in the next couple of years. It belongs to my best friend, Henley, who is a world famous actress. Don’t get me wrong. I fucking love this place. We all do. Me and my four best friends all have our own rooms, catered to our very different styles, each with their own en- suite bathrooms. As you can see, I’m more of a light browns and chocolate tones type of person. The cream colored sheets, rugs, and curtains make for an incredible contrast against the dark colored headboard, floors, book shelves, and chandelier. I personally think the silver framed playbills hung around the room tie in the quirky chrome bedside lamps I just had to have. Those tacky things are also my favorite. Maybe it’s because the uptight designer cringed when I brought them in? Maybe because my mom helped me pick them out? Maybe because I bought them all on my own….It’s not that I don’t appreciate the fact I get to live like a spoiled princess with none of the real cost, it’s just at some point we’ve all gotta grow up and move on. Living together is logical in many aspects, but longevity isn’t one. However at this point in my life the pros bucket definitely outweighs the cons.

  The moment I round the corner into the upstairs loft, Henley Hopkins, tosses her hands theatrically into the air. “Well, there’s our Global Laundry star!”

  Fucking beautiful and the biggest pain in the ass of us all. Guess that’s allowed when you look like a runway model and sound like a Bond girl. And before you even go there. She’s half Doctenn, not half British. Oh and don’t be fooled by her seemingly fair skin and light freckles. She’s also half black.

  I fold my arms across my Phantom of the Opera t-shirt covered chest. “I don’t get the joke.”

  “It’s not a joke.” Madison Calloway informs from the purple chair she is sitting in.

  Yeah. She’s gorgeous as shit too. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Body easily made to look like Mattel, but it isn’t. Wanna know the best part? She’s the lawyer I mentioned. And she’s a super successful one at that. She looks like an airhead and typically leaves the men she has conversations with feeling like the dumb ones. It’s insanely funny to witness and also the reason she too never dates actors.

  “Is it because of my t-shirt? Was someone wearing this in a picture?”

  “No one should ever be wearing that in public.” Adrianna Patterson scolds, stretching her legs out across the love seat. “Or in this house for that matter. But like Maddie said. It’s not a joke, Nerdalina. You’re Global Laundry’s biggest and brightest rising star.”

  Long pitch-black hair,
honey brown eyes, and despite her unshakable bond with Cheetos, a body to die for. She runs her own luxury car service. A woman who not only plays with the big boys, but wins. Sometimes I would kill to have the confidence she naturally radiates.

  Lani who is sitting at the opposite end of the purple couch from Henley lifts up her phone my direction.

  You met her yesterday. Yeah, yeah, I already know what you’re thinking. Long tight curls. Sun kissed skin. Soft features. A woman this stunning doesn’t belong behind the camera so much as in front of it, right? Well, believe it or not, she’s insanely camera shy, which I know sounds like a shock when you take into consideration her blunt and often callous behavior. But let me put it on record that getting her to slip into selfies is a job within itself.