Booty Call

by Ainsley Booth

  I need to fill Will in on the papers Jeff had me re-appropriate from that Georgetown townhouse. Papers I documented carefully before couriering to him in New York.

  “Do you have time to get coffee?”

  Will gives a long, regretful look at Jeff’s blonde assistant standing watch and nods. “I’ve got two hours before I need to be back at Reagan.”

  “Let’s go.”

  An hour later, neither of us understand exactly why Jeff is so interested in mineral rights or nanotechnology, but we’re in a hundred percent agreement that we don’t want any part of it.

  “It doesn’t really impact on my life,” Will says, shifting on the booth seat across from me in a run-down diner we found just off the interstate. “Do you think he’ll want our help once he goes his own path?”

  I shake my head. “Can you imagine the three of us trying to run a company? It would be a disaster. And you’re deploying soon. Hopefully many more times before you’re done flying. You don’t think to think about this shit.”

  “And what about you?”

  That was the million-dollar question. My phone vibrates in my pocket and I use that excuse to buy myself a second. Will laughs at me as I check the message and reply, probably too damn eagerly.

  A: If I told you I was going to be studying late…

  S: I’d give you a drive home.

  A: In that case, I’m studying late tonight.

  Something inside me shifts. I don’t care about Jeff’s crazy plans for nanotechnology or mining or anything else. I just want my brothers—both of them—to be happy and do whatever they want in life.

  For the last four years, I haven’t had that pleasure myself. At first, that was my father’s doing. But now, I’m my own worst enemy. It’s time for that to stop.

  I look up at my brother. “I’m gonna try and live a normal life for the first time in forever.”

  Will gives me a disbelieving look, but I don’t care. I’m already typing back a response.

  S: Let me know when and where, and I’ll be there.

  —nine—

  Alison

  I ignore Hailey’s busy-body stare. “I’m not telling you anything about Scott.”

  “He used to be my bodyguard.”

  “And now he’s not.” And I’m not telling her about what we’re doing. Which isn’t much. But I do have his phone number, and I use it, and it makes me happy. Even if all I use it for are nearly platonic late-night rides home.

  She sighs. “You’re my sister.”

  “That doesn’t give you unrestricted access to my inner thoughts.”

  “Party-pooper.”

  “Go get your makeup done.”

  My sister’s getting married today. It’s a secret wedding of sorts—she only told me last week that it would be at a courthouse here, and the date. I thought they might elope to Vegas, but this is more them.

  We’re getting ready at her place. Right now she’s getting her make-up done, and I’m in her room, staring at her wedding dress. It’s strapless and short, just to the knee, and it’s perfect for the urban setting. We picked it out in February on our trip to New York, and I love it more now than I did then—I’d wanted her to get something floatier, made of chiffon, but this is almost retro, with the stiffer silk.

  I’m kind of overwhelmed by the fact that my sister is getting married today, but she’s going to look like a million bucks when she does it.

  “Your turn,” Hailey says softly from behind me. I turn and look at her. Her hair is twisted in a princess-like updo and her makeup is flawless. Dark eyes, nearly nude lips with a touch of pink. She looks like a bride.

  I want a minute alone with her. I smile. “Tell Tegan she can go next.”

  Hailey’s friend from work is the only other person she’s going to have at her wedding. My chest goes tight at the thought, and I reach out my hand and wiggle my fingers at her.

  She joins me on the bed. “No making me cry now that I’ve got my makeup on.”

  “Okay.” But I can already feel the tears welling up. I make my eyes as big and wide as they can go and think of multiplication tables. When that doesn’t work, I get up and shove a few tissues into the secret pockets in my dress. Even if I can avoid the tears right now, when Cole actually puts a ring on Hailey’s finger, I’m going to be a mess.

  I look at her matching big eyes and grab a few tissues for her, too. I don’t have many bridesmaid duties today, but making sure she has something to dab away the tears is one of them.

  My other job is to make sure she’s wearing something borrowed. I brought three things with me, because I wasn’t sure what would be right. I dig the jewellery pouch out of my backpack and re-join her on her bed.

  It’s hard to have family heirlooms when your family is creepy and gross, but our grandmother had been a wonderful woman…I was pretty sure. She hadn’t much liked our grandfather, which the more I discover about my family makes me think she must be a good person. At least a good judge of character.

  I stifle a shudder at the thought of marrying and having children with such a bad person.

  Like our own father. And mother.

  I hold out the pouch. “Borrowed options.”

  “Oh!” She beams. “I hadn’t even considered doing that. But it makes sense. And I’ve got blue panties on.”

  “Too much information.”

  She blows a raspberry at me and opens the pouch.

  Inside is a strand of pearls from our grandmother, earrings of mine that I just really like, and a bracelet that Taylor gave me when I was nine. I explain each of them to her, and her fingers linger on the bracelet from Taylor, but finally she reaches for the pearls.

  “Nana would like it if I wore these,” she says quietly.

  I let it go for now, and besides, those are the most bridal of the choices. And they match her lips perfectly.

  Tegan knocks on the open door. Her blue-striped hair is styled in a way to show off the stripes perfectly, and her face is made up in a similar way to Hailey’s. Funky elegance.

  I’m digging this wedding.

  “My turn?”

  Tegan nods. “And then we can help the bride into her dress.”

  Hailey squeals, and I grin.

  I’m not much of a romantic, but there is something super infectious about the love and excitement bouncing around this apartment. My step is light as air as I head to the stool to be made-up.

  —ten—

  Scott

  Love makes people crazy.

  Even though I’m not working for The Horus Group anymore, Cole asked me to do him a solid on his wedding day. He’d followed his future mother-in-law out to Harpers Ferry earlier today, and now, while he gets married, he wants me to keep track of her.

  Crazy.

  On the other hand, it’s the second time the small town in West Virginia has hit my radar this month. So I can sit on Amelia Dashford Reid for the afternoon, then go poking around an abandoned mine site that was referenced in the documents my brother had me steal for him.

  Alison’s not the only one with a crazy family.

  I’ve already been inside the restaurant where Mrs. Reid is having a meeting in a private back room. I planted a listening device on the tray the waitress will take into the room. If I get lucky, she’ll leave it in there. If not, I’ve got a heat monitor on the wall. I can see on my phone that the three people that started the meeting are still in there. It’s not ideal, but it’s what I can do with little notice.

  While I’m waiting, I slouch lower in my seat and pull out my phone.

  S: You heading to the courthouse soon?

  A: Just getting made up. In lingerie, want to see?

  S: Don’t tempt me.

  A: Can’t help it. Seriously, I’ve tried.

  S: Just the mental image is enough to wind me up, brat. And I’m working.

  Fuck, I’m so messed up over this girl. I don’t know what I want, other than her, without any of the messy consequences of wanting her. My cak
e and eat it, too. Greedy bastard, I am.

  A: Where are you?

  S: On a job out in the country

  A: Will you be back tonight?

  S: Nah, probably not

  A: I’ll save my studying for tomorrow, then

  S: No big wedding party?

  A: Just a dinner. I’ll be home before it’s too late.

  The invitation was a mile wide.

  I wasn’t going to take it.

  Not tonight. Not after I spent the day stalking her mother, not on the day her sister got married.

  S: Another night

  A: Promises, promises

  S: Oh, ye of little faith

  A: I should have some faith?

  S: Did I not say I was picturing you in lace and nothing else? Yeah, babe. Have some faith.

  She sends a smiley face in response, and then goes radio silent. Her sister is getting married, after all. I can’t hog her attention.

  I return my attention to the heat signatures. There’s some movement in the room, and the waitress hasn’t even gone in yet. Crap.

  The front door of the run-down building opens, and out walks an older, portly man I’d recognize anywhere. He’d been my covert boss for nearly three years.

  If Cole wasn’t getting married right now, I’d be getting his ass on the phone.

  What the hell was Alison’s mother doing meeting with the head of PRISM? The international black ops agency funded a lot of different organizations, including—until recently—The Horus Group, but nearly half its mandate was carried out by covert agents, trained by the CIA, and sent into the field completely on their own.

  And then hung out to dry if and when their missions fail—an experience I’ve had first hand.

  At least I wasn’t assassinated. Something to be said for being relatively small potatoes in the world of international espionage.

  I don’t know what Cole’s gotten wind of. I don’t want any part of this, unless I need to be a part of this…Fuck.

  I watch the director get in a car with a driver that I’d spotted when I arrived. It heads back in the direction of Washington. Amelia Dashford Reid comes out next, on the arm of a man I don’t recognize. I snap photos, send them to Wilson, the hacker partner in The Horus Group, and set my truck in gear.

  Wherever they go, I’ll follow. And when I finally get home tonight, I’ll have the world’s longest shower and wash off all of this grossness. This isn’t the life I want anymore.

  Ali.

  Ali is all that I want now.

  — —

  The next night, I’m the one who texts her.

  S: Need a ride home tonight?

  A: Always looking for a ride.

  S: Bad girl.

  A: Exactly.

  And so it goes. I’m like a kid with a not-so-secret crush, but we’re dancing around it, and she’s okay with that. Each night we take a step toward actually calling what we’re doing extended foreplay. And each night we stop a little short.

  We’ve done this a few times now. Sometimes I find her. Sometimes she tells me she’s out alone. I walk or drive her home, and leave her at her door because she’s still working on wearing down my willpower, and I’m still working on what I want to happen next.

  But there’s no question that her texts make my day, every damn time.

  And then on an unseasonably warm night in late March, she pushes the envelope a little further.

  A: I’m going to be studying late tonight

  S: Dashford Library?

  A: Darkest corner of the campus… It’s a nice night, but I’ll be so scared to walk home all by myself…

  S: You want to walk?

  A: If I have company

  S: What time should I pick you up?

  A: Midnight

  S: That’s some serious studying

  A: I’m a serious girl

  S: I have no doubt

  A: Any chance I can turn this walk home into a booty call?

  I don’t answer her. I don’t trust myself, either way. Yes, there’s a chance. There’s also a chance my inner moral compass will right itself and I’ll leave this girl alone.

  Not a good one, but there’s always a chance.

  —eleven—

  Alison

  I’m wearing a dress tonight. It’s this light cotton thing I found at the mall for twelve dollars. Hailey laughs at my love of the clearance rack, but every time I wear something like this, I feel a little more normal. And it’s not like she’s wrapping herself in Prada every day, either. But she hides her rich girl in a basket of wool that probably cost a few hundred dollars, easily. And she gives back to the community, too. But she also goes to black-tie things and…she fits in better, even if she doesn’t like it.

  The only trapping of wealth I cling to is my regular spa visit and my Agent Provocateur collection.

  The rest of the time I’m wearing secondhand jeans and discount dresses, yoga pants and hoodies from Old Navy.

  I eat ramen noodles and iceberg lettuce, too, now that I’m living on my own.

  That was a big step, because I didn’t want to get a job. Finishing my degree early…three more months to go now…was my biggest priority. I took an extra class each term, and summer school, and started my senior thesis halfway through my junior year.

  And every time my faculty advisor gave me a doubting look or a gentle reminder that everyone has limits, I buckled down and did my next task even better.

  I’m on the Honor Roll. I spend less than four hundred dollars a month on groceries and clothes.

  And I’m addicted to Scott Mayfair.

  So right now, I’m wearing a dress.

  Not because it’s cheap. Not because it’s surprisingly warm today.

  No, I’m wearing a dress because when the spring wind swirls over my bare legs, the skirt’s going to lift up. And I’m going to pretend to hold down the fabric, but not before Scott sees that I’m wearing barely there pink panties underneath.

  A year ago, I would have said I had zero vices.

  Now I’m seriously addicted to seducing an older man.

  He finds me in the library. He shows up fifteen minutes early and lounges quietly in the chair across the table from me. He’s overdressed for a midnight study session, in his dark suit and white shirt—I’m not sure the man owns jeans and t-shirts, and I find myself so distracted by that thought that I set aside my textbook and finally just look at him.

  He’s been looking at me for a while.

  “Do you wear a suit every single day?” I finally ask him, breaking the heavy silence stringing between us.

  “Most days,” he says slowly.

  “I like it.”

  “Good.”

  “I’m pretty much done here.”

  “I’m in no hurry.” Half of his mouth lifts up in an almost-smile. “I like watching you work.”

  “I’d say the same to you, but I’m not sure what you’re doing now.”

  His smirk deepens. “I’m trying to re-establish some business connections I had in England.”

  I laugh. “That’s a total non-answer.”

  “Sure is.”

  I narrow my eyes at him as I tuck my laptop away and try to decide which books I want to check out and which can be re-shelved. “Here,” I finally say, shoving most of them across the table at him. “Carry these downstairs for me.”

  “You need all these books?”

  I shake my head. “But I’ve got the extra muscle tonight, so I might as well take them all and figure out which ones I need when I get home.”

  He follows me to the elevator. I walk in front of him a few feet, hoping he’s checking out my legs, and when I turn around, his gaze is definitely tangled up in my lower body. I flush with inordinate pride, because how many times has he taken me home now and not given in the need throbbing between us?

  But I’ve got faith that one of these days, I’ll be a little bit older and he’ll be a little bit hungrier, and it’ll be enough.

  The we
eks-old kiss still burns on my lips. I can still feel his hands on my body.

  One day soon, maybe tonight, it will have to be enough.

  The streets are quiet and it doesn’t take long to get back to my apartment. We get out of his car without discussing it. Maybe he’s just walking me to my door, but I don’t think so. I think the dress worked.

  His hand hovers in the small of my back as we climb the stairs.

  My heart is pounding a mile a minute. I’ve wanted this for months now. Touched myself to a dozen different versions of how this might happen, and none of them felt like this. Not even kissing in New York felt like this, because that was a response. I’d goaded him into that.

  This is different.

  Terrifying. Exciting. Confusing.

  Riddled with doubt.

  In all my fantasies about my sister’s bodyguard taking my virginity, I knew he wanted me. But the truth is, Scott’s had zero problem keeping me at arm’s length despite the chemistry between us.

  So he thinks I’m pretty.

  So he can’t stop looking at my legs.

  He’s not a walking dick—part of why I’m attracted to him, I guess. But that control works against me, too.

  If he says good night at the door, I’m going to need some serious ice cream therapy.

  If he says good night at the door, I’m going to have to admit that I am a silly girl with a silly crush. And I don’t want that to be true.

  So when we get to my apartment, I slide the key into the lock, but I don’t turn the handle. Not yet.

  I want him to make the first move tonight.

  A slow, rough exhale behind me kickstarts my heart. Then I feel his fingers on the nape of my neck. “You want me to come in?”

  “I think you should either come in…” I say slowly, my pulse pounding so hard it hurts. “And if you don’t…maybe you should stay gone.”