Just a Number (Downtown #1)

by Fifi Flowers

  “He has been accused of being a woman. Part of why he has decided to start doing the book tour circuit. Women either accuse him or want to fuck him. I had to rescue him at the welcome cocktail party last night. After this event, he’s now contemplating a faux wife. He has never had a problem with women, but in masses, he’s finding them difficult to handle.”

  No sooner had we stopped laughing over his running and ducking the night before from readers that her friend joined us with her arm linked through my friend’s large bicep.

  “Let me introduce you to my fiancée Tomasina.” Rex was grinning. “You must be Willow. I’ve heard so much about you.” He extended his free arm toward her.

  “Fiancée?” Willow tilted her head toward her friend before addressing Rex and shaking his hand. “Nice to meet you, Rex Holden.”

  “Women are vultures! I’ve been snapped in more photos with readers than signed books. Then, I got behind due to hand cramps. Next event, I’m bringing pre-signed books where I only have to add the reader’s name,” he had rambled out his case, adding that he needed Tomasina’s protection for the second half of the event. Just like that, it appeared I had been fired. “You’ve been no help. They’ve dragged him into photos, too. Even asked us to take off our shirts and if we were a couple.” We all laughed.

  He was telling the truth. We arrived to the banquet room early in the morning. Watched what other authors were doing, then followed suit: Set up one tall author name banners behind his assigned table, stacked his books, scattered swag that included bookmarks, key chains, pens, and travel coffee mugs. We then waited for the doors to open.

  Rex was the only male romance author signing. Other males present, besides myself and a few supportive husbands, were a group of models. The ladies fawned all over them and us. How I got into the mix, I can’t really remember. As his assistant, I was crazy busy. I quickly jotted down a note to find him a permanent personal assistant for traveling. It was a definite must!

  Kicked to the side by Rex and his new fiancée, I was free to spend time with Willow. No complaints there. “So it looks like I’m available. And, so are you. Interested in strolling around the city? The weather’s nice.” I couldn’t just ask her if she wanted to roll into a rabbit pose and submit to me. Or could I? No, I would have to settle for hand holding. And it allowed me to feel her skin on mine.

  “Sounds good.” She linked her hand with mine. She must’ve read my mind. At least, part of it. Otherwise, we would have been riding an elevator up a few floors rather than exiting the hotel lobby to the street.

  Walking around the city, we stumbled upon a large, open public area. What I usually referred to as a concrete park. Amongst planters of greenery and slab benches made of cement, huge, sculpted, iron structures were on display. Breaking our connection, I watching Willow meander around them. Looking them up and down, she ran her hands along the steel. She was like a bad little kid who was told don’t touch, but she couldn’t help herself and just had to defy authority.

  When she stopped in front of one in particular, my gaze never wavered. Her every move was being recorded in my brain. Around and around the sculpture she went. She tilted her head in various directions. She stood back. She moved forward. Her hands skimmed parts. She seemed to be very interest in the composition. Perhaps moved was a better word, I realized, as I continued to observe her. She wiped her eyes. I wanted to ask her what she was feeling. I was familiar with the piece without finding the plaque mounted on the nearby building across the paved square, explaining the name of the artists and the titles of their work. Without seeing it, what did she think it was? Did she understand the abstract twisted metal before her?

  Remaining quietly in my spot, I waited for her to return to me. Once she was at my side, I had my answer. “That is just so sad. Stunningly beautiful, but sad.” I didn’t want to ask or say anything to sway or validate her words. “Losing a child has to be devastating, even if you still have others. That void? I can’t imagine anything healing that loss.” She turned to me. “I’m sorry. I don’t why that hit me so hard.” She grasped my hand and smiled. I had a sneaking suspicion that her emotions involved more than just her interpretation. Maybe a loss of her own?

  In that instant, I wanted to tell her about the sculpture. I wanted to tell her who created it. I wanted to tell her the story behind it. I wanted to pour my heart out to her. Tell her how it made me feel. I wanted to tell everything about me: my life, my work, my fears, my struggles, my dreams, and my desire to keep her forever. I started to speak my mind. But before too much had spilled out, it was evident by her soft fingertip to my lips and her fucked up words, “no details,” that we were not going to be anything more. Time obviously didn’t make her heart grow fonder. Fuck! I wanted more!

  Taking a few, much needed, deep, calming breaths, I turned away from the painful piece of art and guided her to a cafe bar I saw perfectly placed off in the distance. A few strong drinks sounded good to me at that moment. Seated in a cozy corner window spot, I made sure to keep our conversation light. If she was just looking for a little fun between us, fine. I could do that. If she wanted us to remain as we had been on the island, okay. I could do that, too.

  “Should we be off having fun while our friends are shamming lust-struck book readers? Abusing Happy Hour offerings?” Her giggled questions had a hint of naughtiness to them like a rebellious youth. A bit tipsy one, at that.

  “Perfectly acceptable. Remember, they dumped us.” I took a swig from my intermission-ale. I could only handle so many mixed cocktails before I had to throw in a brewski for good measure. “Do you think you need to go back to the hotel and take care of Thumbe… Tomasina?”

  “Not hardly.” She made a huffing sound. “I think she has assisted me far more times than I have ever helped her.” I could remember one of those times.

  “She’s safe with Mr. Jamesson. The question is, is he safe with her? You did mention she was a fangirl of his.” I truly was not concerned about his welfare.

  “Jamesson?” she questioned.

  “Yeah. I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but his really name is Rex Holden Jamesson. He just dropped the tail end of his full name for his author name.”

  “That’s interesting. Tomasina doesn’t even have to change her name when they marry.” She raised her glass, clicked it to mine and tossed back the rest of her drink.

  “Thumbelina Jamesson?”

  “You’re so funny! Always calling that tall-ass girlfriend of mine by a thumb-sized character’s name.” She toyed with her small bar napkin like it held answers. “It’s her married name.”

  “She’s married?” Shit! Rex didn’t need some jealous husband drama.

  “Not. Any. More.” Her words were starting to come out slowly.

  I grabbed our server’s attention and ordered us some food. I was learning that Willow needed food with her alcohol. Every time we had libations on the island, we were eating too. Something to remember, if there were to be a future date to use it.

  With a bit of food in her belly, Willow’s speech came back up to a more normal speed. As she nibbled, she filled me in on Rex and Tomasina’s shared last name. “Her Jamesson is from a marriage she entered into at the ripe age of eighteen. Her maiden name is Zellinger. You know, as in Zellinger Jewelers. Yep, she’s that girl. If she didn’t already have a famous name, she added to it.”

  Apparently, at seventeen, with a fake ID, she made her way into a Hollywood nightclub and met Rod Jamesson on the night a major label signed him and his band. He was instantly smitten with Tomasina, and she him. Leaving the club together, he took her to his home. Seeing her in a brighter setting, Rod insisted that she show him her real driver’s license. Not interested in doing jail time, he kept her but refused to claim her body. Regardless of the loss of her virginity, which she told him about over and over. Kissing and heavy petting was the extent of their physical relationship until she turned eighteen. At that time, he told her they would be flying to Vegas and get
ting hitched.

  Young and in lust, she agreed to his every word. Her parents were not thrilled, but as long as he assured them Tomasina would finish college, they gave their blessing. Ironically, once she graduated they parted ways. She wasn’t thrilled with the groupies, though he swore he was faithful. She believed him. They just grew apart. It had been fun in the beginning, but as she matured, she wanted a different lifestyle. They were still friends. Rod always teased her that she married him for his name, not the celebrity status element, but to move her closer to the head of the line. Z to J was a big jump.

  It was funny, not funny ha-ha, but strange to hear her ramble on about her friend’s past when she would not divulge a personal thing about her past or even present life. Only general things did I know about her. And, she refused to let me tell her anything about me. However, I should add that I doubted she would’ve told me about Tomasina had it not been for one too many martoonies, as she called them after her second one.

  Maybe it was wrong of me not to silence her revelations, but it was kind of nice to sit and listen to her talk. I just wished she was telling her story. Not one that involved an ex-husband. I had no desire, whatsoever, to hear about any man in her life unless it was a blood relative. I was instantly seeing red at the thought of her with another man. And, I didn’t mean her pretty lip shade.

  “You feeling better?” I asked as she snuggled up next to me.

  “Yes. But I could use a good stretch. We missed sunset yoga.”

  I smirked down at her. “We can always make it to sunrise.”

  “Only if it’s a private session between the sheets,” she purred close to my ear.

  “I think this is where we settle the bill and hail a cab.”

  “I think you’re right, Mr. Rockstar-yoga-guru. I can’t stop thinking about all the acro-yoga moves I’d like you to re-introduce me to.” Fuck yeah!

  Though we never really did any of the actual base-flyer moves she talked about, we did come up with some of our own invention. Willow, in a lustful haze, suggested we write a Fucking-Yoga book. I told her I think Kama Sutra had already covered poses similar enough in their publication. I laughed my ass off when she suggested we make a video, Naked Yoga. I was pretty sure her mind was still poisoned by the vodka, at that point in our evening. When I asked her later in the night if she wanted to film us in front of the hotel room mirror, she seemed a bit shocked that I would suggest such a thing. Another note to the Willow manual, I was slowly compiling: no vodka.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Willow

  Waking up early, I reached over and grabbed my tablet. Opening my social media page, I sighed. Gotta love your best friend when she tags you on one of her posts for the masses to see.

  Thinking of you, Lolo…

  “Today I learned the average person has eight different sexual partners in their lifetime. Today I also learned that I’m a whore. – unknown” – with Willow Dane

  “Grrrrr!” I set the tablet down unaware that my bed mate was awake.

  “So what number am I?” Dash asked with a laugh. I gasped, realizing he had a perfect view to my screen and he quickly covered my mouth with a finger. “I really don’t want to know. No details.” Then he removed my tablet from my firm grip, covered my body with his, and erased all thoughts but the pleasure I was about to experience, yet again. I could never tire of him. His number could be my last. No one could ever equal the exquisite fucking he provided.

  Glad he didn’t press about the number thing. I never saw the point of swapping details about past love and sexual relations. It was no one’s business except those involved. The past should remain there. From listening to my friends on this notion, once you brought up past experiences, often they seemed to be thrown back in your face: You do that because so-and-so did that to you. This was my first time ever having anyone ask me such a question, even if he backed off. No one ever cared about my past. They weren’t around long enough to know I had one.

  “Stop thinking. Relax.” His hands, mouth, and large appendage were on a path to providing me with another mind blowing orgasm. I didn’t care how many he gave me the night before. I was greedy. I wanted more.

  He felt so good. Our mouths played little games, teasing each other with our lips, our tongues, and our teeth as his firm, toned body slid over mine. Grinding into each other in sync. I wrapped my legs around his waist. My eagerness pulled him in deeper. Our breathing and moaning seemed louder than normal as we changed positions.

  Rolled onto my front, my arms stretched out fully, I fisted the sheets as I tucked my knees underneath my body and lifted my hips. One of my favorite poses. I panted wildly as he drove into to me with such force. I could feel his chest curved over me, his mouth skimming and licking all over my upper back and shoulders. All of the sensations I was experiencing, I wanted every day, every night—always. Yes. Yes. Yes. I wanted Dash! I felt like screaming as he drew out the last rippling, never-ending climax from my throbbing, tingling, and aching body.

  Reluctantly removed from bed, he helped me shower and then walked me to the lobby coffee shop. Tucked away in a back booth, we ordered four cups and a full carafe of piping hot caffeinated coffee to our table. Watching him look at his menu, I grinned like a love-struck teenage girl, gawking at her idol. Catching me, he leaned over and captured my mouth and cupped one of my breast. Oh yeah! We were making out like were in high school!

  “Excuse me,” a male cleared his throat. “Are these seats taken?”

  “Mind if we join you?” There was my female friend’s voice. Their questions were asked amidst a bunch of hyena-like laughter and chairs scraping the white and black hexagon tiled floor. Breaking apart, we saw two very giddy authors making themselves comfortable.

  Over the next hour while we enjoyed a big breakfast of eggs, pastries, and fruit, we listened to crazy tales of the two Jamessons submerged in the romantic book world. They were very entertaining to say the least, if not shocking to some of us. Mostly, the male indie romance writer, sitting at our table as he was telling them.

  “So. A woman started to follow me into the men’s room. I turned and pointed at the door. She replied slyly, ‘Oh sorry. I hadn’t notice. Was way too busy looking at your cute ass.’ Ignoring her, I stepped on. Thankfully, she didn’t continue after me. Really—what’s wrong with these women?”

  “Sorry, but obviously she wanted to play out one of your scenes, Mr. Romance. You’re always banging chicks in public restrooms.” I had to put in my two cents, too.

  He looked at me like I was crazy for condoning the woman’s behavior, which I really wasn’t. “Not me. My characters. I have never fucked in someone in a public bathroom in my life. You ladies like that shit—’taken where we could be seen at any moment’—I just aim to please my readers.”

  “Oh, they are pleased! Have you seen his social media accounts? High numbers.” Tomasina spoke directly to Dash. “Not to mention, his face is plastered all over; every woman is posting their pictures with him. Check your notifications, Rexy.” She poked Rex’s side playfully. Hmmm… I would be questioning her later.

  “My what?” It was obvious Rex wasn’t completely up on social media even though he was an online graphic designer. The book world social network was new to him, apparently. Time to come out of the dark!

  “For a computer person, you’re not informed about how it works to benefit you.” Even Dash was jumping into the conversation.

  “I create for others. I don’t use it.”

  “Now you do.” Tomasina grabbed his cellphone and hit the icon button to his social media. “Look at this; eight hundred and thirty-eight notifications. Holy shit! It’s all tags to photos. Damn! Just jumped another ten. I’m betting you hit at least one-K soon. Definitely after your morning session.”

  “You didn’t deter the masses from picture taking?” I asked Tomasina.

  “Hell no. They pushed past me or handed me their cameras, phones and smiled with their mitts on Mr. I-Write-to-Please-My-Reader
s. I may have some bruises.” She looked at her arms for evidence. “He sounds put out, but his participation in this event was through the roof. He had to suck it up. They groped him, propositioned him, and slipped him their phone numbers and room keys…”

  “Don’t forget the woman that crawled under the table and tried to give me a blow job.” On that one, we all cracked up.

  “Are you alright, man?” Dash asked with a smirking grin.

  “He’s fine. I protected him. Had to stay in his room, so I could answer the door every time a half-naked woman knocked on it. Thank God they finally stopped coming around three-ish in the morning.”

  “Look at this.” Dash held up his buzzing phone. “You’re trending, Rex Holden is ALL man accompanied by photos of you with readers. You’re everywhere!”

  With a sigh, Rex stood. “Let’s go TomKat. Back to my author booth one last time. We need to put on a little show for the horny women before you leave me alone with Dash for the day. I’m thinking a passionate kiss goodbye, followed by a good slap on that nice ass of yours and away you can go to your event.” They laughed, joined hands, and sauntered off—the happy engaged couple.

  We stayed behind, drinking more coffee. I was reading the newspaper, including the bestseller list which had Rex Holden’s latest release ranked at number three on the fiction list. He was going over more of Rex’s social media accounts, the numbers were still climbing up. Wrapped up in an article about Lark’s upcoming fashion event and no mention of the wine company that was supposed to be sponsoring the whole thing, I didn’t notice that Dash was talking to me. I looked up baffled.

  “I imagine you reading The Weekly on Saturday mornings.” The expression on his face told me he was picturing more than me just casually reading the newspaper.

  “Oh?!” I raised a recently threaded eyebrow.

  “Naked.”

  “Naked? Go on.”

  “You’re sitting at a small cafe table…”