Breathless (Players to Men)

by Georgia Lyn Hunter

  I barely heard him. Logan coughed, and a light blush stained her cheeks. Her gaze lowered for a moment. She set her glass down and faced the pinup once more, her expression unreadable. All cool, calm, and business-like. One I knew too well. She was hiding her feelings. What the hell had he said to her?

  “You in hibernation or something?” Jack demanded. “Where the hell are you?”

  “Look, I’m a little tied up right now. Can you drop off the Jeep? I’ll text you the address. Leave the keys in the usual place.” I rang off.

  It was a struggle to restrain myself and not glare at the table in the center of the bar like a rabid dog, so I headed outside. Out of habit, I reached in my pockets. Fuck, no smokes. Right, I was trying to give up that shit. Hell, I needed a cigarette to keep my hands busy and this restlessness within restrained. I rubbed my temple and the dull throb there. It didn’t take much to set off the damn headaches. But how the hell could I remain calm?

  A hippy nearby held out his pack.

  “Thanks, man.” I took a cigarette but shook my head at his offer of a light. Raking a hand through my hair, I leaned against the wall and popped the smoke between my lips.

  The bar door opened a few minutes later, more people flowed out in a babble of voices and drunken laughter.

  “All right, then, I’ll see you tomorrow.” At the sound of Logan’s voice, I glanced over.

  “Looking forward to it.” The scrawny wick gave her a brilliant smile, flagged a cab, and left.

  Logan saw me and walked over. Her gaze stilled on my cigarette, distaste flying off her, but she didn’t say anything.

  I straightened, trying to rein in whatever this feeling was that garroted me, and removed the cigarette from my mouth. “Did you get what you wanted done?”

  “Yes.”

  When she added nothing more, I flipped the smoke back into my mouth, frustration choking me.

  “Why do you do that?” she asked. “It’s a dirty habit.”

  “Yeah?” I drawled around the unlit cigarette. Maybe it was her expression, maybe it was her being with the dickweed, but it set me off. I took the hippy’s offer of a light and lit up. Then blew out the smoke. Her mouth tightened. “Here’s the thing; I like dirty. I like getting down and dirty, using my mouth in dirty ways—”

  “Stop it.” A flush darkened her cheeks.

  “What’s wrong, Logan?” I moved closer. “Scared?”

  “I’m leaving.”

  Instead of pushing her for an answer, which would probably blow up in my face, I grasped her hand before she stormed off. “Wait. What did poster-boy tell you inside?”

  “What?”

  “You looked uneasy for a second there before your usual mask fell into place. What did he say?” I killed the smoke and tossed it aside.

  “Oh.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s nothing. He wants a…er, a full painting done on a large canvas.”

  “Shouldn’t be too difficult, so why the caution? If you don’t want to do it, just say no.”

  She bit her lip, cutting a fleeting glance at the noisy street. “He, uh, wants me to start tomorrow.”

  I studied her beautiful face for a moment. Her wariness tightened around me like a noose. “But you can’t with the other guy needing his soon, right?”

  She nodded. Then she squared her shoulders as if ready to face a firing squad. “No matter, I’ll start with the prelim sketches tomorrow. Titus is leaving for some photo shoot for a few days after. I’ll call Gus and reschedule him.”

  Despite Logan’s explanation and her calm demeanor, something felt off; it abraded me like damn sandpaper. Hell, maybe I was overthinking this, because when it came to this girl, my mind was totally fucked.

  Chapter Six

  Ila

  Cars streamed past on the street below my apartment, and each time one slowed, my stomach twisted further. Taking a deep breath, I reached to my back and pulled a lock of hair. The little pain yanked me back to sanity.

  Sheesh, I had to stop watching the street. I straightened the books on the coffee table. Ray was at class, but she’d be home soon, and Max had been out most of the afternoon, something about checking on his friend, War. Grateful neither he nor Ray was around to see how rattled I was. It wasn’t as if I hadn’t done this before, but I’d been in university then. The doorbell pealed. I nearly jumped out of my skin.

  Shit. I rubbed my damp palms down my jeans, hurried to the front and opened the door. “Titus.”

  He looked up from his cell and smiled. It seemed to light him up from the inside. No wonder he was such a huge hit with both sexes. He held up a finger. “I’m at an appointment now,” he said into his cell. “Fine. I’ll call you later.” He rang off and walked into the apartment, looking around. “We’re all set?”

  I barely stopped myself from saying “no.”

  “Yes. This way.”

  I opened the door to my studio. As I set up my sketchpad on the easel and selected several pencils I would need, footsteps and the rustling of clothing marked Titus’s movements.

  Ready, I lifted my head and was so damn grateful my mouth didn’t hang open. Titus stood there in front of me. Naked.

  Ten grand, ten grand, I repeated silently like a mantra.

  “Lay down on the futon and choose a pose,” I said cool and calm once more. I’d already pulled the bed to the center for a better view—better view? Heck, I was getting an up close and personal view of his package.

  I blew out a breath, praying my face wasn’t red.

  Titus tried lying down first, but the frown on his forehead told me he wasn’t happy yet. He sat up again in a liquid movement and rested an arm on his knee.

  “No. Lie on your side, raise a knee, and rest your arm on it.”

  He did as I instructed, but it looked too forced. Heck, I didn’t want my painting to look like San Francisco’s top model was constipated. That would shoot my chances of referrals to hell. “You need to relax.”

  His gaze flicked my way. “I am relaxed.”

  Sheesh. Seriously? I crossed to him. “Lie on your side, and move that knee—no, not like that.” I tapped on his one knee, so he dropped it down a little.

  My gaze lowered and, just as fast, shot away from his groin.

  Oh. Man! Was he going to get a hard-on every time we had a session?

  He shrugged, appearing a little sheepish. “Sorry about that. I’m only human. You’re close, touching me…and you’re sexy.”

  Really? In my paint-splashed jeans? Ugh. Yanking a clean sheet off the shelf I used for covering my work, I tossed it to him. “This would work best for the both of us. Drape it over your hips. Trust me, this painting will be more seductive without your, uh, assets revealed.”

  He frowned for a second. “No. No, sheet. I want the nude, but without my penis on display.”

  God, me too!

  He pulled one knee up, blocking Mr. Happy.

  Ten grand, I repeated. And it would ease the burden on the people I loved. With Mom’s medical bills piling up, Dad needed the help.

  Going back to my easel, I picked up my pencil. Titus moved around as he changed positions, so I got various views, but he always brought the knee back up, and at one point, he even draped the sheet over his groin. I nearly shouted hallelujah.

  Once the scheduled time was over, I tossed down my pencil and rolled my tense shoulders. Titus changed and strolled over. God, I hoped he was happy with what I’d done. He studied the series of sketches. Nothing showed on his face as he flipped through the sheets. Then... “They’re really good.”

  Relief nearly had me landing on my backside. He settled for the one with his raised knee. Right then, I didn’t care if it had been a complete frontal. I had the job.

  I walked Titus out to the front. He glanced briefly into the living room. I liked keeping my personal and professional lives separate.

  “Ila?” Ray wandered into the foyer from the living room. “Man, it’s been a crazy day…” Her gaze landed
on Titus, and her eyes bugged out. Of course, not everything stayed separate.

  I introduced my googly-eyed, tongue-tied sibling. “Titus, my sister, Ray.”

  “Hi there,” he said absently, checking his cell for messages. He disappeared out the front door without a goodbye.

  I half expected Ray to faint. No, wait. A miracle. My sister was speechless. Then, a scramble of words erupted. “Was that—was that—”

  “Titus Connor? Yes.”

  “The-the—”

  “The famous underwear model. Yep.”

  “He-he—” She pointed to the floor.

  Snorting, I nodded. “Yes, he was here.”

  Then a hard punch landed on my arm. Ray scowled. “You couldn’t tell me this earlier?”

  Laughing, I rubbed my stinging bicep and walked into the living room. “Why? I didn’t want him to slip on your drool and hurt himself. I’m not insured for things like that.”

  “You’re mean.” She followed, sulking. “You could tell me that doofus Ryder is a model, but not the famous one?”

  “I didn’t know it was him when Pierre told me. He said ‘a friend.’ You’ll get to see him when he comes on Monday since he’s a client now.”

  “Awesome!” She punched the air.

  My phone rang. Shaking my head, I retrieved my cell from my jeans pocket, answered.

  “Ila?”

  “Hey, Dad.”

  “So you girls are all set for next weekend?”

  “Dad, I’m—” Grabby hands swiped my phone away. Smirking, Ray danced back. “Hey, Daddykins—who, Ila? Oh, she had to sneeze. And I wanted to say hi.”

  I lunged for the cell, but the worm slid easily over the couch with her long legs and ducked safely behind the heavy armchair, grinning evilly. “Yep, we’ll be there for the weekend, and I’m bringing a friend along…ugh, no, Dad, he’s not my boyfriend…” Then Ray laughed, evading my reach. “Only when Nicholas Hoult proposes, only then…no, Dad, Liam H. was so last week.” Ray grinned and stuck out her tongue at me. “Bye, Daddykins—love you, and love to Mom, too.” She rang off. “There, all done.”

  “Darn it, Ray,” I growled. “I have Gus coming this weekend. I had to reschedule him to fit in Titus.”

  “You work too hard.”

  “I like my work.”

  “There is life out there, and you’re coming home, even if I have to hogtie you!” Ray promised darkly.

  My stomach churned at the thought of going to Millbrae, of bumping into Devyn. It was bound to occur with me attending the fair.

  Footsteps echoed on the wooden stairs, pulling my focus away from my own demons. Max was back and had obviously showered. He jogged downstairs while pulling on a t-shirt, his muscular, long legs covered in dark gray sweats. His muscular, inked chest disappeared behind the navy tee with a cartoony Mozart charging after a musical note on the front. He ran his fingers through his damp hair, his gaze immediately settling on me.

  He always did that when he first came into a room. Probably so I could suffer high blood pressure at the rate my heartbeat shot up.

  “Maximus, you’ll never believe who was here just now.” Ray shoved the cell back into my hand, her eyes shining with stars.

  He cocked a brow. “So, the dork left?”

  “Why are you calling him names? He’s beautiful.”

  “Must be gay.”

  “He’s not.” Ray glared at Max, who merely shrugged as if unconvinced. “He had a girlfriend, but I read somewhere they broke up.”

  “Yeah, gay.” He ducked her punch and ended up near me.

  “You’re mean, just like Ila.” She pouted.

  His curious gaze met mine. I shrugged. “She’s peeved because I didn’t tell her my client’s identity.”

  “Yeah, mean. So, what are we eating tonight?” Ray asked, seeming to forget about her celebrity crush.

  Instantly, Max lowered his gaze to my mouth.

  Heat washed over my face. Hastily, I looked away. “Something light, I have a ton of work to get through,” I said, slipping past him when his fingers lightly brushed mine, shocking all hell out of me. As if I’d touched a live wire, a jolt shot through my body to settle low in my belly. My hands fisted.

  “How about cheese toast and tomato soup?” I asked. How I managed those calm words, I had no idea. Max, I realized, refused to be ignored…or be put in the friend zone.

  “You’re making the soup from scratch, not the packet thing?” Ray hurried after me. “And with basil and a whole lot of cream?”

  “Cream, yes, but it has to be the packet ones.”

  “Ugh,” Ray grumbled. “No matter. It will do.”

  As we worked, Max stopped at the doorway, frowning at his cell.

  “Did you speak to War yet?” Ray asked.

  He looked up. “I went over this afternoon. He got into another fight.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  His chest heaved as if in a deep sigh. “He won’t say. He has to rein in that temper if he wants to continue playing hockey.”

  “He needs to stop boozing like a fish first,” Ray countered.

  “Fish don’t drink,” Max pointed out, and that started Ray on another exposition. Amused green eyes glanced my way. And there went my stupid heart again.

  Max might be young, but he appeared older than most guys his age. Like he’d lived a lifetime. What had happened to him to cause the changes? He didn’t go home or talk about his family…

  “Logan, bowls?” he asked, pulling me back from my thoughts. I nodded to the cupboard behind him. He got out the dishes as Ray started on the cheese toast. Soon, the piquant aroma of tomato soup drenched the kitchen.

  “This is good,” he said, tasting the soup.

  “Yep, Ila makes it great, even if it’s that dry packet stuff.”

  As we ate, Ray continued speaking. I discreetly studied Max, my gaze drifting over his straight nose, sensual mouth, and intractable chin.

  Since he’d started living with us, he’d lost some of the grim demeanor I’d first noted, but I noticed he often rubbed his temple or the scar on his eyebrow. As he did now.

  “Do you want an Advil for the headache?”

  His gaze shifted to mine. He stared blankly at me for a second then dropped his hand. “I’m good.”

  “Maximus, any news yet about school,” Ray asked him.

  He shook his head. “No. You? How’s prep for finals? Hey, you’ll be done with your first year soon.”

  “Several more to go.” She grimaced.

  Yes, Max was charming, caring, and had a serious side when he wasn’t flirting with me. But he had a reputation when it came to women, too, from what I’d heard.

  Ray had mentioned in passing that she could never understand how The Players “dipped their wick’s” into a different woman every night. I hadn’t paid it much notice back then. I hadn’t known it was Max and his friends. Now, a little pang squeezed my chest. It’s why I had to stay away from him. He was too dangerous to my shaky emotions. After living through the horror of a betrayal, it was best this way.

  Max

  “I’ll let you know, Maxwell.” The president of the Conservatory’s voice droned in my ear, joining the hum of passing cars. The late evening traffic choked the street. Rubbing the dull throb in my brow, I pushed from the wall edging the small garden and paced in front of Logan’s apartment.

  It had been over a week, and Matteson and crew were stonewalling me. I’d finally called president Sedgwick directly.

  “You’ve missed a lot of work,” Sedgwick continued. “It would take a miracle to get a piano reduction done for your finals in three weeks.”

  Seems Matteson had already given his damn opinion. The music director barely tolerated me and was undoubtedly crowing at the easy excuse I’d provided when I lost my shit that day. But it wasn’t an outright “no” from Sedgwick.

  “I’ll make it up.” My gaze flicked back to the studio window. I couldn’t see into the apartment despite it being on the ground f
loor. “About what happened… I’m sorry about the music room.”

  “I’ll confer with Mr. Matteson and let you know, Maxwell,” he said coolly. No indication of either hope or a go fuck yourself. The call disconnected.

  Frustrated to my eyeballs, I shoved my cell in my pocket, wishing I had a cigarette.

  I’d accepted that what had happened was my fault. With the constant pain and chaos in my head, and, struggling with the nightmares of an accident I couldn’t remember, I’d been in a really bad place, and I’d lashed out…

  And here I was, still as screwed up. A shadow appeared near the window. Logan.

  No, not so fucked up anymore, I realized. Because of her. She radiated a warmth that drew me, made me feel like I could breathe again.

  I jogged up the few steps, and entered the apartment. Ray was on the couch, busy with work on her laptop, her brow furrowed.

  With the throb in my skull hiking, it was a struggle to resist the relief I’d find in the bottle in my tote. But I was a stubborn bastard, determined to hold out for as long as I could. Maybe this way, pain would kick loose the fucking memories hiding in the abyss of my mind.

  The smell of coffee brewing drew me out of my dark thoughts and into the kitchen. As I poured some into a mug, I heard Logan say, “Ray, Titus is coming over in a few minutes, send him to the studio would you?”

  “My pleasure.” At the excitement in Ray’s tone, I rolled my eyes. “And I’ll personally escort him there.”

  Coffee in hand, I walked into the living room. Logan’s gaze briefly flicked my way before she hustled off. Since the night we’d had soup, a few days ago, she’d been keeping her distance from me. My gut tightened. It took every bit of willpower not to go after her and demand that she acknowledge she had feelings for me, too.

  “Max,” Ray said, her attention back on her laptop. “Before I forget, Jude said you’re welcome to play any evening you’d like at the bar. The customers loved your performance the other night.”

  I frowned. I wasn’t interested in performing for a crowd. I played because it gave me an escape and made me feel closer to my mother. Just the thought of her, and my heart constricted, agony submerging me in a deluge of guilt.