by Lila Monroe
“Well, see now,” the cop says, “there are laws about what sorts of activities you can get up to in a public place. And this road is public. And from what I saw, you two were definitely out of bounds.”
My cheeks flare at the thought of what exactly he saw. Drew hangs his head a little shame-facedly.
“Absolutely,” he says. “We got caught up in the moment, and I definitely wasn’t thinking straight. I apologize. We’ll get out of your hair.”
“Can I see your license and registration, please?”
I hold my breath as Drew hands that over. Can he smooth-talk our way out of this? And maybe all the way back to his apartment where we can finish this little adventure properly?
The flashlight bobs back up. “Drew Delaney?” the cop says eagerly. “The Drew Delaney? From Category 5?”
Oh my God. Have we stumbled on a fan? I bite my lip to keep myself from laughing. Maybe we can get out of this unscathed.
“That’s the one,” Drew says with his charmingly crooked grin. “I know, I know—I really should know better by now.”
“I heard you’re producing these days. Is that true?”
“It is,” Drew says. “I’ve just set up shop in a place downtown. Being a contributing member of society and all.”
“You know what?” the cop says. “That’s actually—that’s great. Listen, I do some, like, beats, when I have the time. I’ve done some great freestyles. I’m always writing lyrics and rhymes down when they hit me. You’ve got to, right?”
“Of course.” Drew nods sagely, keeping a straight face.
“I’m ready take it to the next level,” he goes on. “You must have all kinds of connections. Do you think, if you liked my style, you could put a word in for me, like a referral … ?”
Drew looks pained.
“Well, I mean, that’s not the way it usually works in the biz—”
“Look, just give me a listen, all right?” The cop draws himself up straight, chin high. “You’ll see. I’ve got serious swag. And besides, you guys aren’t going anywhere right now, are you?”
Was that a threat?
I blink, but Drew doesn’t miss a beat. “Sure,” he says smoothly. “Show me what you’ve got.”
“All right. All right.” The cop sets his flashlight down on the trunk and shakes out his arms. You’d think he was prepping for an Olympic high dive, the way he’s breathing. He strikes a pose, arms bent and hands clenched, and then bobs to the beat as he spits out a stumbling line of lyrics. I’m bracing myself against a cringe before the first words pass over his lips.
“Dawg, you gotta know
I’m out on patrol
Getting jiggy with the bad girls
Chasing down those crooks
Crooks crooks
Cuz if anyone just looks
They can see I’m packin’
And I don’t mean no toy gun
So if you think I’m lackin’
Smarten up, yo!
Yo yo!”
Oh God, is he for real? I try my hardest not to laugh.
Think of something tragic, I tell myself. Dead kittens. Frozen store-bought cake. Almond flavoring. Drew’s shoulders have gone rigid, and I suspect it’s a good thing I can’t see his face. I think if we looked at each other right now there’d be nothing in the world that could stop us from bursting out in full-blown hysteria.
The cop isn’t done. Oh, no. His eyes widen with apparent passion as he launches into the chorus.
“So these are the things you’ve got to know about me
Line them up, baby, one two three
Don’t mess with the guy with the gun—he can get it
Don’t kick me when I’m down cuz I won’t forget it
And if you roll into town picking for a fight
You’d better turn around cuz I can go all night.”
A snort bursts out of me, and I throw myself into a coughing fit to cover it. Luckily the coughing also gives me an excuse for the tears of hilarity streaming out of my eyes. Oh, hell, this is the funniest and the saddest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.
I lost out on the best head ever for this?
By the time I’ve pulled myself together, Drew is giving the cop polite applause. The guy’s face is lit up so bright I almost feel bad for him.
Almost.
“Wow,” Drew says. “Just, wow.”
“You like it?” the cop beams.
“It sure is … something,” Drew manages diplomatically. “You know, that gives me a really good sense of what you’re working with. Why don’t you give me your contact info, and if something comes up that I think would be a good fit, I’ll pass it on. Just remember that the hard-hitting hip hop isn’t really my area of expertise.”
If that rap was hard-hitting then I’m a lethal assassin, but I think he’s got the right idea. The cop grins and jots down his number. He waves us to the front of the car. I do up my seatbelt and sink back into the smooth leather, watching him amble farther up the road, I guess to frighten some actual necking teens.
“Well,” Drew says. “That was … not how I planned this night ending.”
He glances toward me, and my lips twitch. Then we’re both laughing, so hard that after a few seconds I’m gasping for air. My eyes are streaming again.
“It was a bonding experience,” Drew says once we’ve both caught our breaths. “Enduring a horrible trial side by side.”
“Horrible is definitely the word for it.” I exhale. Talk about a way to kill the mood. Even if our rent-a-cop wasn’t on patrol, I don’t think I could get back near my climax if you paid me.
So much for seeing stars. Probably a good thing: after all, it’s technically our first date, and I don’t want him getting ideas about how easy I am.
I.e., very.
“Where to now?” Drew asks, and I should win an award for self-control, because I don’t tell him to ravish me now. I cross my knees demurely—like they weren’t just wrapped around his head—and smile. “Drop me back at my place?”
It isn’t until Drew pulls over outside my parents’ house and I see all the windows are dark that I realize how late it’s gotten.
“Dinner was … fun,” Drew says, giving me a wicked grin.
“And dessert sure was … interesting,” I agree.
He leans in, pulling me into a slow, hot kiss. His hand slides over my bare shoulders, his mouth soft on mine, and the best kind of shiver races through me.
The kiss stretches on, our lips parting against each other, angling deeper. Our breaths mingle as our tongues tangle. I shift over on my seat with the urge to feel more of him against me. His other hand slides over my bare knee, and suddenly I’m outright shaky with desire.
His fingers inch up my thigh—and the living room light blinks on, followed immediately by the porch light. I jerk back with a fresh flush of embarrassment.
“Guess my parents noticed I’m back,” I say. “Probably better to avoid putting on another show tonight.”
Drew chuckles. “We will have to pick this up later. Far, far away from any cops, next time.”
“And parents,” I agree.
“I’ll call you, then?”
It takes all my willpower to peel myself away from him, but the thought of Mom hovering by the window provides excellent motivation. I slink up to the front door, give him a little wave before he drives off.
Mom steps into the front hall the second I’ve closed the door behind me. She stifles a yawn, but her eyes are fully alert.
“Getting home awfully late for a children’s party, aren’t you?” she asks.
“Drew and I went out for dinner after,” I say. “You really didn’t have to wait up.”
“Oh, I was caught up in a book anyway.” She cocks her head. “So it was just dinner?”
“Mom.”
“I assume he at least took you somewhere nice. Don’t I get to hear about it?”
“It was very nice,” I say, although the truth is I don’t remember m
uch about the food, only the delicious anticipation of what we might get up to afterward.
“That’s all you’re going to tell me?”
“Mom,” I say again. “I’m not in high school anymore. I’m twenty-nine! I get to have an adult life where I do adult things without an inquisition.”
“I’m just curious,” she says. Her eyebrow quirks up. “So there were adult things—”
I throw up my hands with a groan. “Good night, Mom.”
She follows me up the stairs. “I do like to know what’s going on in my daughters’ lives, no matter how old you are.”
“Well, I promise I’ll update you if anything momentous happens, okay?”
More momentous than great head, anyway.
She at least respects my autonomy enough not to follow me into the bedroom. I make sure the door is firmly closed behind me, then collapse onto the bed.
I wriggle out of my dress, and the brush of the fabric over my body brings back the memory of Drew’s hands. His mouth, moving over my skin. Mmmm … Heat washes over me. Lying back on the bed, I retrace his path with my own fingertips, down my neck, over my breasts and stomach, and on down to that sweet spot between my legs.
God, the man does know how to make a woman melt. I close my eyes, stroking myself as I remember the smolder in his gaze, and how his mouth drove me crazy, licking me just right.
Right there …
I breathe faster. My clit throbs with that growing need for release, and my body is tight again, climbing back to the edge. It’s not the same as him, nowhere close, but God, I need that release, the itch in my veins driving me on as I try not to moan out loud. My parents are down the hall, my little sister too, but somehow I can’t stop myself from stroking faster, teasing my clit and thinking of him … that mouth … those fingers … that tongue …
My eyes fly open, and there he is, staring down at me from the wall. Twenty years old, with that cocky smile. I must have stared up at it a hundred times. Hell, I must have touched myself thinking about him too. But now I know the real deal, and fuck, it’s so much hotter: memories driving me on, not just fantasies. My heart beats harder, my hand moves faster, and then—yes!—I’m coming, arching back against the mattress as the waves of release crash through me, and Drew keeps watching, safe from his place on the wall.
I flush, feeling like I just fucked a twenty-year old.
No, not weird at all.
From “Got It Bad” by Category 5
You play the good girl oh so well
But I’ve seen the other side
Settin’ off sparks and lighting fires
And there ain’t no place to hide
Oh baby I’ve got it bad
But you’re so good at what you do
Give me more of that sweet sweet lovin’
I can’t ever get enough of you
9
Drew
How’s the genius baker this morning? Have any sweet dreams?
I send off a text, already smiling as I imagine Maggie checking her phone. Maybe I should be playing it cool, but cool pretty much went out the window the minute I got a taste of her last night.
Those scorching lips giving back just as good as I gave. That gorgeous body arching against mine. The moans of pleasure that were just about the best damn sound I’ve ever heard …
You’ve got to hand it to The Point. Sometimes the classics are the best. I can’t say I was expecting the situation to escalate that fast, but damn did it feel right. If it hadn’t been for that pint-sized wannabe rapper cop, who knows what kind of trouble we’d have gotten into?
The kind that blows my mind just imagining it.
I go put on some coffee—not that I need it, with my body already wide awake—and a few minutes later, my phone sounds with a text.
Maybe a few, Maggie writes back. I had some good material to work with.
My grin widens. If that means I starred in them, then I promise I’m twice as good in the flesh.
Believe me, after last night I don’t need any convincing. Actually, scratch that. Feel free to convince me lots more at the next available opportunity.
I laugh. Never mind available, I’m just about ready to jump in my car and go make an opportunity happen right now, but before I can reply, there’s a buzz from the front door.
Damn, I forgot. My sister is visiting. X-rated reunions with Maggie will just have to wait a little while.
I go let McKenna in.
“You’re early,” I complain, but I’m just teasing. It’s always good to see her. At thirty, she’s hardly “little” anymore, just a few inches shorter than me and with a gaze behind those black-rimmed glasses so sharp it can send anyone reeling, if she feels the need to, which I’m glad to say isn’t that often in my case. And I don’t even know half the stuff she can do with a piece of computer code.
“And you’re … awake.” McKenna looks surprised. “I thought I’d be buzzing you for hours. Since when do you crawl out of bed before noon?”
“Hey!” I protest. “I’ll have you know, I’m a productive member of society now. Gainfully employed, punching the clock …”
“As long as you’re not punching reporters from TMZ,” McKenna replies with a teasing grin. She heads inside and promptly steals my coffee for a long gulp. “Ah, I needed that.”
“I guess that’s my cue to put on another pot.” I traipse back to the kitchen to do battle with my way too expensive, way too complicated cappuccino machine. “How did your meeting go? It was a potential investor, right?”
“I thought so,” McKenna sighs, tugging at the neckline on her crisp shirt. “Turns out he was more interested in being a potential ex-boyfriend.”
“Ouch,” I say sympathetically. She’s been hunting for investors for her new tech start-up, and has already banned me from putting in any seed money. Apparently, family and business don’t go together. But even with this latest setback, I’m not worried for her. My sister is pretty much a genius. While I was bopping my way up the chart with synchronized dance moves, she was graduating double honors in computer science and psychology. And while I was crashing my way down the chart with my ill-advised solo career, she was racking up serious credit consulting with big-name tech firms, learning the ropes for when she finally decided to go out on her own this year. “Was he an asshole? Want me to go beat him up?”
She laughs. “Yes. But I think we’re a little old for that.”
“Me? Old? Wash your mouth out,” I tell her sternly.
“Hit a nerve, did I?” McKenna arches an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me your kitty-cats’ affection is waning.”
I groan at the mention of the Category 5 fangirls. “It’s not their affection I’m worried about these days.”
“That’s right,” she says thoughtfully, with a flash of that gaze that spells trouble. “I heard you’ve been hanging out with Maggie Hayes lately.”
Damn, word does get around fast. I guess I might have mentioned Maggie in passing the last time I talked to Mom—or maybe a picture from Evan’s birthday party got put up somewhere and she saw it. No pictures of my favorite part of that party, of course.
“We’ve hung out a few times,” I say vaguely. “Catching up, old times, you know.”
Somehow just saying that brings back to mind sliding Maggie’s dress up her thighs. Okay, for now those memories need to take a backseat—er, I mean, I should put them to bed—oh, fuck me. That woman has gotten a real hold on my head in just one week. And without any actual fucking yet.
McKenna raises her eyebrows at me. “Just ‘hanging out’?” she prods.
“Yeah,” I say, with a carefree air I hope is convincing. “Nothing serious.”
“Are you planning to keep ‘hanging out’ with her?”
“What’s with the inquisition?”
“Well, I can’t help being curious.” Her smile turns mischievous. “And you really could use an upgrade on the women in your life. Have you gotten serious with anyone since Aura? And let’s not
even get into Aura.”
“Aura is very sweet,” I protest. And also probably the cleanest break-up I’ve ever had, even though it involved a divorce.
“Right. I bet she’s still sending you creativity-sparking crystals and organic care packages.” I pause, and she shakes her head. “She is!”
“It’s her way of showing there’s no hard feelings,” I say. “Better that than a bitter ex in the tabloids.”
“True,” McKenna says agreeably, finishing up her coffee. “But you can do better. No offense.”
“None taken.” The truth is I kind of cringe when I think back to my post-fame crash. Sure, it was only natural to want to get away from it all for a while. But clean living did get awfully boring before too long. There’s only so much wheatgrass and quinoa a man can take. No, I definitely prefer to have some dirty in the mix.
And there I go thinking about last night again.
McKenna catches my smirk. “I am going to get all the details of you and Maggie’s little reunion,” she says, wagging a finger at me. “Don’t think you can smooth-talk your way out of this one.”
“I know better than that. But I’ll delay the inevitable as long as I can get away with it.”
We head out for brunch at a little spot down the street from my building. I get McKenna off the subject of my love life and onto the latest company she’s been consulting on the side. A sizeable number of the technical terms go over my head, but I just about keep up.
“And how about you—have you been ‘hanging out’ with anyone?” I ask as the food arrives.
McKenna grimaces. “Nothing worth reporting. But I do have a new idea that might help with that.”
“What kind of idea?”
“Not sharing that yet,” she says. “It’s just in the early stages now.”
“Don’t tell me you’re going to program the perfect man,” I tease. I wouldn’t put it past her to try. And maybe even succeed.
She laughs. “Not quite. You’ll see.”
We’re just digging into the hash browns when my phone rings. I get a surge of anticipation that would be really embarrassing if my sister could see it—I’m pretty sure her laser eyes aren’t quite that sharp. I fish the handset out of my pocket, cool and casual.
“Hi!” a chipper voice says when I answer. “This is Liz Givons from the Dream Faction charity committee. Am I speaking to Drew Delaney?”
