Anaconda: A Sexy Romantic Comedy

by Landish, Lauren

  I knew and it expected it. Still, I can’t get over the fact that he couldn’t be bothered to rouse me before he left. All because I couldn’t resist his handsome face, gorgeous body, and enormous dick.

  Ugh.

  “Well it was, wasn’t it?” Mindy asks, seeing me lost in thought. I don’t readily have an answer. I’m feeling so many emotions right now.

  Finally, I sip my coffee before ruefully smiling, trying to find the words.

  “It was.” I swallow. I hate admitting it because I feel like shit now. But I’ve never experienced a night like that. And the worst part about it is . . . I’d do it all again tonight. “He shook me from my toes to my ears, but this morning, I woke up with him gone and the bed empty. All I had was the smell of him on the pillows and sheets and a twisted up blanket that at least covered my ass, if not my dignity.”

  Mindy stops, her smile disappearing as she sees how distressed I am. “Fuck Vandenburgh for a few minutes. The coffee shop can handle itself.”

  She leads me to the back, where she pulls me in for a hug. “Talk to me, babe.”

  I take a deep breath, wiping away a single tear that’s escaped my eye. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I went up there knowing this would be all there was to it. It’s just that . . . I feel cheap. And now that he’s gotten what he wanted . . .” I shake my head.

  Mindy lets out a soft sigh of empathy. “I’m so sorry, honey. I wouldn’t have encouraged you to go up there if I knew you were going to end up feeling this way. I just wanted you to have a good time.” She pauses, chewing on her lower lip in thought. “But I think you might be rushing to judgment, ‘cause girl.” She gives me a look, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. “I know a douchebag when I see one, and Gavin doesn’t seem that bad at all. He seems down to earth for someone who has all that money and fame.”

  “That’s probably part of his charm. I bet he’s nice to all the girls,” I growl, getting more pissed off as I think about it. I wasn’t even that mad before I came in the coffee shop. But just talking about it is getting me worked up. “I guess it would have been nice to at least have gotten… something from him. I know he’s got priorities, but maybe leaving me a text or a note or something would have made me feel better instead of waking up to an empty room.”

  Mindy gives me another hug, then she steps back, grinning mischievously. “I’m sorry if this seems insensitive right now, but I gotta know! How was it playing with the giant snake?”

  I cross my arms, scowling. “Mindy!”

  “Whaaa?” she asks, smirking. “Come on!”

  “I just . . . can’t with you,” I say, shaking my head.

  Mindy makes a face and sniffs. “You can’t with me, but you can with that big ass monster dick? I see how it is.”

  I try to scowl, but I can’t help but laugh. “Bitch! You’re the one who wanted me to go swinging from it like Jane from Tarzan.”

  Mindy laughs, knowing she’s getting through. “Bri, you know I’m just trying to cheer you up.”

  I let out a sigh. “I know. I’ve just never felt . . .”

  So sexy. So vulnerable. So moved but so . . . cheap. I shake my head, trying to shake the feeling. “I just haven’t done this kind of thing before. I feel like a whore.”

  “Girl, please,” Mindy says dismissively. “Don’t even start with that. You are both consenting adults. And I’m here to tell you, there’s nothing wrong with getting your freak on once in awhile.”

  I laugh. “I know. It’s just that—”

  “With all the hard work you put in dealing with Vandenburgh, you deserve it,” Mindy cuts in.

  I know what she’s saying. And I must’ve told myself the same thing a hundred times already.

  Mindy continues, her voice laced with irritation, “And you know what? if Vandenburgh actually got laid himself every once in a while, maybe he wouldn’t act like such an ass all the time.”

  The mere mention of Vandenburgh having sex makes my stomach lurch. “Next time, can you wait until after breakfast to bring up something like that?”

  Mindy frowns and lifts her chin, her voice dropping into the same haughty tones Mr. Vandenburgh likes to use. “Miss Sayles, I have spent the past year making you my slave because I'm mad my man pussy isn’t getting fucked. Last time I seen some action is when my finger slipped through the toilet paper.”

  I try to fight it, but I can’t help it. I burst into gales of laughter, having to grab ahold of the counter to keep from falling over. Seeing me overcome, Mindy starts laughing too until we’re both holding onto each other, chortling like a pair of schoolgirls.

  We’ve almost recovered from our giggling fit when Vandenburgh walks into the coffee shop. Mindy goes still immediately, her mirth fleeing like a bank robber on the run. “Jesus, does he have a tracer on us or something?” she hisses angrily. “He always comes in at the wrong time.”

  Wiping the tears of laughter from my eyes and putting on a solemn face, I have to agree. This is getting old.

  Vandenburgh walks around the counter and into the back room. “Miss Sayles,” he says in almost an exact copy of Mindy’s imitation from moments before, “the coffee storage room doesn’t need your attention. I suggest you get off your backside and get to work.”

  I resist the urge to tell him exactly what he can shove up his backside and nod respectfully. Beside me, Mindy tenses. I think she’s about to speak up for me, bless her heart. But she needn’t bother.

  Vandenburgh turns his nasty scowl on her as if sensing her words before she can speak. “Isn’t there a coffee machine that needs cleaning?”

  Mindy’s lip curls, and for a moment, I fear she’s going to go off the rails. But after several blinks, she slinks off. She stops once, behind Vandenburgh, flipping him off so that I see it. To hide my smile, I quickly scurry off, saying, “Have a nice afternoon, Mr. Vandenburgh.”

  I leave the coffee shop and go about starting my shift.

  As I go from room to room, floor to floor, dusting, cleaning, wiping, and vacuuming, my mind wanders to my future. If I can stay on track, and that’s a big if, I’ve got just under one year before I’m done with school and I can tell Vandenburgh exactly what I think of his wannabe British-accented ass. In some ways, it’s the only thing that keeps me coming in every shift, wanting to outlast him and then having the privilege of being able to tell him to kiss my ass just once.

  When I get up to the penthouses, I see the suite that’s being used by the movie crew bustling with people coming in and out. And Leslie Hart still has the ‘do not disturb’ sign on her door. That leaves Gavin’s suite.

  I go over and let myself in. A part of me is anxious when I step inside, but I relax when I see he isn’t there. I figured he’d be gone, but a part of me was worried that he’d show up out of the blue. With all the emotions churning inside me, I really don’t want to face him right now.

  As I go about cleaning up the room, I have the sudden urge to snoop. I do my best to keep the impulse at bay, stripping the bed of the sweaty sheets—sheets that held my sweat—and placing new ones on it. But by the time I’m done making the bed and vacuuming, I find myself unconsciously going over to his things.

  I start looking through his wardrobe, but I stop myself.

  What the hell am I doing?

  It was a one-night stand. There’s no reason for me to be looking through his things. I’m not his girlfriend. And even if I were, this isn’t right.

  I close the wardrobe and turn around, leaning against the closet and sucking in a deep breath. It’s crazy how out of control I am after just one night. Maybe I should switch places with another maid so she can do this floor in my place. It’d probably be for the best if I didn’t see Gavin for the rest of the time he’s here.

  But even thinking about not seeing him again makes me sick to my stomach.

  I’m about to pack up and leave when my eyes fall on a single piece of paper on the desk near the TV console. I walk over and pick it up. There’s a note scribbled
on it. I frown, wondering how I hadn’t seen it this morning before I left.

  Probably because I was pissed like hell, I tell myself as I start reading.

  Brianna,

  I’m sorry I had to leave. You were sleeping so peacefully and I didn’t want to disturb you. I’ll be shooting late today. Things are behind schedule, so I don’t know if I’ll be able to see you today before you go home.

  Last night was amazing. Let’s get together again. This evening, meet me in the coffee shop around 7:30. Dress casual.

  I’ll be in touch.

  -G

  Underneath, he leaves his phone number.

  I re-read it, then read it again. He wants to actually see me again. I shake my head as I stare at his words. I don’t know what to feel about them. On one hand, I’m relieved that he wants to see me again. Me, a simple small-town girl. But on the other hand, I can’t get over his tone that seems to say ‘you’re going whether you like it or not’.

  I have the sudden urge to ball up the note and throw it in the trash. With all the emotions I’m feeling from just one night with this man, what’s going to happen if we continue this and he just up and leaves in a week?

  I suck in a deep breath, my skin pricking. I should just be done with Gavin Adams and his huge, throbbing, toe-curling . . . Jesus.

  There’s plenty of need left, a devilish voice whispers to me. You’ve never felt anything like him before and will never feel anything like him again. You can’t deny it.

  Shit. That evil fucking voice is right.

  With my heart pounding furiously, I look around the desk and see the notepad and pen he used to write the note. With shaking hands, I pick up the pen and write my response.

  Seven thirty tonight. Jeans, t-shirt, and regular shoes. I’ll see you downstairs.

  Damn me and my needs.

  I’m going.

  Chapter 14

  Gavin

  “So how is preparing for a movie like getting ready for football?” the reporter asks.

  “Uh, it’s not,” I mumble. “They both take prep work, but it’s not really the same.”

  “Is there anything you can tell us about your character?” asks another reporter, a woman with blonde shoulder-length hair and an eager smirk. “Is he anything at all like you are in real life?”

  I barely hear her words, my eyes unfocused.

  “Mr. Adams?” the blonde woman says after several moments.

  Watching the video of the press conference with Miranda at my side, I swear I look like an idiot, albeit a good-looking one. Part of it I blame on all the flashing cameras, but the other . . . I just look plain stupid.

  I turn the TV off in disgust, resisting the urge to throw the remote control across the room. “I look like a moron!” I growl, unable to believe how embarrassing I’d acted.

  Miranda, who’s sitting across from me, looking sharp and crisp in her white business suit and heels, her hair pulled up into an elegant bun with dramatic makeup painted on her face, just shakes her head in pity.

  She’s probably wanting to kick my ass, but I’m already suffering as it is. The interview has spread like wildfire to several major news stations, even though it was filmed as a local piece. And I’m sure I’ll be the butt of everyone’s jokes come morning. I’ll probably end up as water cooler talk among the production crew.

  “I should’ve nailed it,” I lament, “but I couldn’t focus.” And the sad thing is, I didn’t even get asked about the video and I still couldn’t get it together for more than a few moments.

  Good God, what the fuck is wrong with me?

  But deep down, I know exactly what’s wrong.

  I want more. More than one night. I want to be able to ask Brianna about her day. I want to be able to share boring ass meals with her in this podunk little town. I even want to know simple shit like what her favorite brand of shampoo is and if she has to use conditioner on a daily basis.

  Jesus, Gavin, did you seriously just think that? A very real fear begins to creep up from the depths of my stomach along with a feeling of alarm. I’m so fucked.

  Miranda waves her hands to get my attention. “Earth to Gavin.”

  My eyes refocus on her face and I clear my throat. “Yeah?”

  She points a manicured fingernail at my head. “What was going on with you today? And why does it seem I have to keep asking you this same question lately?”

  “I wasn’t feeling the questions.” I lie for about the tenth time. The lie is a lot easier to say than the truth. Miranda wouldn’t understand anyway, especially if I told her Brianna and I have basically only shared one night.

  But she’s not buying it, an irritated scowl spreading across her face. “Are you serious? What’s there to feel? Those had to be the easiest questions you’ve gotten in a long time.”

  Miranda stares at me expectantly, waiting for a response. But I have nothing to say. Quite frankly, I’m tired of my excuses. And I know she is too.

  “Are you on drugs?” Miranda asks suddenly when I don’t answer. “Is there something I don’t know that you’re not telling me?” she adds.

  I huff out a disbelieving laugh. “What?”

  Miranda glares at me. “Don’t play stupid, Gavin, something’s going on. It’s like you’re on another planet this week. And don’t try to blame it on the nerves. You should be used to the spotlight by now.” She leans forward, giving me a direct look. “So what are you on?”

  Irritation flares in my chest. “I’m not on anything,” I growl. “It disappoints me that you would even think that. You know I don't mess with that shit. The league would be on my ass in a second if I did.”

  “Well, something’s going on!” Miranda hisses. “Because what I saw today” —she shakes her head, at a loss for words— “I’ve never seen one of my clients behave this way. If it’s not drugs, I'm worried about your health.”

  “I’m fine,” I answer tersely, fed up with this whole conversation. I could tell her what’s going on, but somehow, I know it will make things worse. Besides, I have a reputation I need to maintain, and admitting that I’m getting lovesick will make me look weak.

  Miranda’s scowl morphs into a compassionate frown. “Can I arrange to have a psychologist stop in and give you a checkup?”

  I shake my head. “Miranda, I—”

  She speaks over me. “We all have tough times in our lives, Gavin. It was before you and I met professionally, but I went through a divorce when I was thirty-five. I had some tough times then, too. Talking to a psychologist really helped.”

  The revelation from Miranda makes my anger dissipate like clouds on a wind gust and I relax in my seat. “I know you’re worried about me, Miranda,” I say gently but firmly. “But trust me, you don't need to bring in a shrink. I’m going to get my shit together. Promise.”

  For a moment, Miranda looks like she wants to keep pressing the issue. But then she rises to her feet. “I hope so, Gavin,” she says as she makes her way over to the door. “I really do,” she adds before she walks out, “Because I’m not sure how much more of this I can take.”

  When she’s gone, I look out the window, putting my head against the cool glass and hoping that I’ll stay true to my word.

  * * *

  I stare down at the note in the palm of my hand. It’s strange. I’ve gotten plenty of fan letters in the course of my playing career, and more than a few of them have been from women who’ve offered me everything from their hearts to their bodies to . . . well, damn near everything.

  But this sweet little note, scribbled by a woman I barely even know, is more valuable to me than any of those.

  I grin as I read Brianna’s neat handwriting several times.

  Seven thirty tonight. Jeans, t-shirts, and regular shoes. I’ll see you downstairs.

  -B

  I fold the note and stuff it in my pocket, heading down to the elevators and making my way to the coffee shop. I recognize Mindy behind the counter as soon as I open the door. She must be pulling
a double shift. “Hello.”

  Mindy looks up and flashes me a smile, but my eyes are only looking for one thing.

  I suck in a sharp breath when I see her. Seated at the end of the counter, she’s dressed casually like we agreed, only she’s wearing a sundress instead of jeans. But she could be wearing a potato sack and I’d still be smitten.

  “Gavin.” Brianna greets me shyly. Her hair looks glossy and is curled at the ends, and she has a hint of light makeup on. Fuck, she’s so gorgeous. “It’s nice to see you.”

  I flash her an easy smile. She looks so nervous sitting there, so vulnerable. “You look beautiful—” is all I get out before Mindy marches over and shoves a bag into my hands.

  “You owe me twenty dollars,” she declares, placing her hands on her hips.

  “What’s this?” I ask, reaching into my pocket and handing her a hundred by habit. I notice I don’t get change, the little wiseass.

  Mindy nods at the bag, her eyes sparkling. “It’s cinnamon rolls, sandwiches, and a little blanket in the bottom. Oh, and don’t forget your lattes. I heard about your little thing.” She clamps a hand over her mouth. “Whoops? I meant to say I heard about your big thing.”

  Brianna rolls her eyes and snaps, “Mindy!”

  Mindy laughs, drawing a chuckle from me. “I just wanted to make sure the two of you were prepared.”

  Brianna rises to her feet and comes around to my side. “Thank you.”

  “Okay!” Mindy says abruptly, suddenly shoving me and Brianna out the front door. “Y’all have fun now, ya hear?”

  I chuckle as I walk Brianna outside the hotel, my hand splayed across her lower back. “She really is a trip,” I remark, enjoying the feel of her soft body. It feels good to touch her, to pretend that she’s mine. “But I’m surprised you haven’t strangled her by now.”

  “She’s my best friend. What am I supposed to do?” she asks.

  I laugh. “With a friend like her? Not a damn thing.”