Imperfect Love: Cheeky (Kindle Worlds Novella)

by Natasha Madison

  “If it makes you that happy, you can come over and design my place. I just moved in. It’s all white and I only have the essentials. That’s all I’ve had time for since I got here.” I shrug my shoulders and look at her sheepishly. “White walls, a couch, my television, and my bed. I’ve been making that work for a few months, but I’m definitely ready for something a bit more homey and settled,” I tell her honestly.

  Her eyes light up like I just told her it’s Christmas morning and all the gifts under the tree were hers. “Really? You’d give me free rein?”

  And I can actually see the wheels spinning in her mind.

  We spend the rest of the flight talking about everything and nothing. I find out that she wants to open her own design company as soon as she has more experience.

  We are one of the first ones off the plane. Side by side, we make our way down the escalator to the train that will take us to the baggage claim area.

  “How many bags did you check?” I look at her, wondering how long it will take before we catch a cab.

  “Just one. I was thinking I’d do some shopping and buy some stuff here. What about you?”

  I tilt my head to the side, wondering if she actually heard the question. “I’m a guy. I’m here for a week. How many bags do you think I brought?”

  She smirks at me. “Well, to be honest, I assume you’re a little bit metro, considering you look like you stepped off the pages of GQ. I imagine you’d have shoes for every outfit and multiple outfit choices per day, so I’m guessing at least four.”

  I shake my head, laughing at her smart mouth. The train stops and we walk over to the carousel.

  “Do you want me to go get a carriage for your bags, your highness?” she says, bumping my arm with her shoulder. The urge to pull her into me is so strong, my fingers tingle with it.

  “Smart arse,” I tell her while I look around at the other travelers assembled and waiting for the bags to start coming out. A beep sounds, alerting us that our luggage will be coming soon.

  My bag is one of the first ones out, and I grab it and set it down next to me while we wait for Lexi’s bag to come. The luggage carousel gets emptier with each pass around and the crowd in the waiting area thins.

  When we are the last ones left, a big, brown bag is the only one remaining on the carousel.

  I look over at Lexi, who has tears in her eyes.

  “My bag isn’t here,” she says, looking at the lone bag as it moves away from us.

  “It’ll be okay, Lexi. Let’s go tell them, and they can check where your bag ended up.” I take her hand and walk over to the airline counter.

  “Excuse me,” I say to the woman behind the counter, who is typing away on her computer. “We seem to be missing her luggage. Is there someone we can talk to?”

  Priscilla, according to the name tag pinned to her shirt, smiles at us as she says, “I can help you with that. Can I have your boarding pass, please? Your luggage receipt should be on it.”

  Lexi looks through her bag and finds the boarding pass with the receipt attached. “Here it is.” She hands it over to Priscilla, who takes it and goes back to typing on her computer.

  “Oh, dear,” Priscilla says, looking up. “I’m sorry. It seems that your bag is headed to Columbia.” She continues typing on the computer. “It seems that it will get here by Monday or Tuesday at the latest. I’m so sorry about this, but we can give you a voucher for two hundred dollars to help cover some incidentals until we get it to you.”

  “You’re telling me that my bag is in Columbia, and I won’t have any clothes until Monday, but that’s okay because you’re giving me two hundred dollars? Two hundred dollars?” Her voice takes on a bit of a panicky note as her chest starts heaving. “Oh my God.” She shakes her hands as she bends at the waist and puts them on her knees. Her breathing picks up as she states, somewhat hysterically, “Oh my God. This is a sign—it’s a sign that I should have just cancelled this trip.”

  “Lexi, relax, love.” I rub her back while she continues ranting through choppy breaths.

  “Ma’am, I’m really sorry, but it’s out of my hands,” Pricilla says calmly.

  “Out of your hands,” she parrots Priscilla’s words as her eyes fill and big tears spill over, tumbling down her cheeks. She takes her phone out. “I’m going to get on the next flight home.”

  “Lexi.” I try to calm her as I lift her head to look at me. It’s fine. We can go shopping and get you some stuff until your luggage arrives.” I lift her chin and drop my face down closer to hers. “I promise you, everything will be okay.”

  She turns to face Priscilla. “I’m waiting outside,” she says and turns to walk away.

  “I’m really sorry about that. She has a great shoe collection and the thought of them out there is pushing her over the edge. Plus, she’s a delicate sort, suffers from anxiety and irritable bowels. It’s been a difficult trip for her so far.” I smile at her as we fill out a claim form, and she hands me two hundred dollars in cash.

  I find Lexi standing near the taxi line. I make my way over to her and give her the two hundred dollars. “Here you go.”

  She takes the money in her hand and huffs out, “Great, thank you. I honestly think I should just find a flight back home.”

  I shake my head as I grab her hand, lacing her fingers with mine, and walk us over to the cab line.

  “We will check into our hotels, and then meet back up and head out to find you some things. On me.” I look over at her to see her eyes widen with surprise. “I believe I owe you many, many, many missed birthday presents, so now is your chance to cash in on that.”

  A wide smile graces her pretty face as she looks at me.

  “I can’t let you do that,” she says, shaking her head, but still smiling.

  “Why not? I insist. We can do a Pretty Woman re-enactment, Vegas style, and well, without you being a whore.” I stammer a bit as I continue, “Ah, wasn’t that one of your favorite movies? You can go into all the stores and do the whole ‘big mistake, big, huge’ thing. It’ll be great.” I pick up my bag, mimicking Julia Roberts, while we advance in the line. We get to the head of the line and move to the third position, where the agent at the cab stand directs us.

  “You remembered?” She follows behind me closely.

  I step up to the cab that has stopped at our position and open the door for her, watching her ass while she climbs into the car. I get in after her while the driver puts my bag in the car. “I remember everything,” I tell her. “Even the things I wish I could forget, like the time you called me a horse’s arse and then put wax in my shoes. I’d like to forget that.”

  We both laugh at the memory of my socks stuck in my shoes after it took everything Sterling had to tug them off my feet. If I recall, some skin actually came off in the process. Good times.

  “You called me bratty!” She huffs while trying to hide her smile.

  The cab driver gets in and asks where we are going. We’re both pleasantly surprised when we realize we’re both staying at the Bellagio.

  We smile at each other and look out our respective windows, taking in the sights as we head to the hotel.

  Traffic is light, which makes it easy to get to the Bellagio. We pull in right as the fountain show is starting up. Lexi leans over to my side to watch, and normally it would be okay, but today…today, of all days, my nerves are shot. I’ve been so close to her all day, touching her, smelling her. It’s too bloody much.

  When the car comes to a stop, I jump out and wait by the curb as the driver unloads my bag. I slip him enough cash to cover the fare and a tip before we head into the lobby together. We’re greeted by the sounds of slot machine bells ringing as we zig-zag through the crowd and past a Hermès boutique on the right. There’s a lot to see as we make our way to the front desk to check in. The Bellagio is a gorgeous hotel, and we take it all in, from the gleaming marble floors to the vividly colored glass flower sculptures on the ceiling, on our way through the lobby. I’ve reserved
a suite, which has its own designated check-in desk. I walk up to the representative at the desk, and he greets me with a smile as Lexi moves to the representative beside me.

  He moves me quickly through the check-in process and issues me two keys before he points to where the elevators are located. I smile and thank him before I walk over to Lexi. I hear her voice rise once again as she questions the woman.

  “What do you mean, you don’t have anything under my name? I have a confirmation number!”

  “I understand that, ma’am, but it seems your reservation has been cancelled. We did email the cancellation confirmation to you.” She continues, but Lexi cuts her off.

  “You most certainly did not email me anything. I didn’t receive anything. There has to be a mistake or something,” she says, her voice cracking, and I know she’s a few seconds from breaking down.

  “What’s going on?” I ask, placing my hand on the counter.

  “They don’t have my reservation.” She turns to me, her eyes once again filling with tears. “They say I cancelled it, but obviously I didn’t since I’m here!”

  “The email we sent the cancellation to is fmazzaferro@gmail.com. It was cancelled on January 12.”

  “That fucking asshole,” she says angrily under her breath. “That’s my ex-boyfriend. He must have cancelled the reservation. How can I get it reinstated?”

  “I’m so sorry, but we’re sold out.” The woman looks sympathetically at Lexi and then at me. “We’re actually sold out until Wednesday. I’ll do a quick search of neighboring properties for you, but unfortunately, I suspect we’ll probably have difficulty finding alternate accommodations anywhere on the strip and the surrounding area before then. There are seventeen trade shows plus a large poker tournament in town right now.” The woman turns to her computer and begins typing and studying the screen intently.

  “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,” she chants. “This can’t be happening. I can’t believe this is really happening.”

  “I’m so sorry, but everything is sold out. It’s one of our busiest times of the year,” the lady explains.

  I smile at her as I grab Lexi’s hand. “Thank you so much.” I start walking away, pulling her with me.

  “The door is the other way.” She stops walking. “Honestly, Bradley, all the signs are saying I need to get my butt on a plane back to New York and chalk this trip up to an ill-fated misadventure that I should have just cancelled to begin with,” she says as a tear rolls down her cheek. “Now I’m stuck here, homeless and naked.” She shrugs her shoulder, wiping the tear off her face. “The only saving grace of this whole debacle was that I got to see you, and”—she lets out a little laugh—“I think I’m finally over you breaking my eight-year-old heart.” She walks up to me. “I’m no longer wishing erectile dysfunction, incurable halitosis, or hairy moles on your face.” She pats my face with her hand while I smile at her.

  “I didn’t really break your heart, did I?”

  “Um, yeah, yeah, you did. You called me bratty, and you were an asshole. But you’ll be happy to know that I’ve forgiven you.”

  I smile at her. “Thank you, now come on.” I drag her to the elevator as she huffs and puffs behind me.

  Once we get to the elevator, I press the up button.

  “Bradley, seriously, we have to go back,” she says at the same time that the elevator doors open.

  We wait for the elevator to be empty before I drag her in, pressing the number eighteen.

  “Did you not hear her? They are booked. No rooms.”

  “I know, I heard. I’ll go back to the airport, catch a flight back to New York, and just hide out in my apartment for the week. No one will even know. Well, except the people in Columbia who have my bag and my douchebag ex who cancelled my hotel reservation. I hope he contracts a UTI!” She folds her arms across her chest.

  “It’s done, love,” I say as the elevator stops. “Come on.”

  She follows me to my room, number eighteen twenty-five. I put the key in the lock and wait for the light to turn green, listening for the click of the lock disengaging.

  I open the door and place the room keys on the long, narrow table in the foyer, dropping my bag there as well. I continue into the living room of the suite, where a round dining table and two chairs sit off to the right. A silver tray holding an ice bucket of champagne, two flutes, and a glass bowl of fresh strawberries are on the table.

  In the middle of the room with its back to the door is a chocolate brown loveseat with a large, matching ottoman in front of it. The loveseat faces a very large, floor-to-ceiling, dark wood wall unit that runs most of the width of the room and acts as a separation between the living room and the bedroom. A large flat screen television is mounted in the middle of the wall unit.

  To the left of the wall unit are windows that run the length of the wall, and to the right of the wall unit is the opening that leads into the bedroom. The backside of the wall unit doubles as the headboard in the bedroom and a king-sized bed that looks as soft as a cloud is centered on it, nestled between two side tables that jut out from either end of the wall unit. The bed faces another bank of windows overlooking the strip and the water show below, which I notice is just starting up again. The whole room is decorated in warm, desert tones of brown, cream, and caramel—which instantly reminds me of Lexi’s comment on the plane.

  I watch as Lexi walks fully into the room, her eyes sweeping the space as she lets out a long whistle. She walks past the wall unit to the closed drapes lining the back wall. She pulls them back and gasps.

  “Holy shit! Bradley, look at this view!”

  I walk over to her at the windows and take in the panoramic view of the strip below us. “It’s pretty amazing. We can even see the desert off in the distance,” I say to her.

  I walk over to grab my bag and head into the bedroom. I sit on the edge of the big bed and look toward the view from this angle. But the only thing in my mind right now is how great the strip would look while I pound into Lexi on her knees facing it. I shake my head as I start reciting my new mantra in my mind. My best friend’s little sister. My best friend’s little sister. I think back to how I teased her when she was a kid, and the time I read her diary when she was fifteen and she almost stabbed me. It’s no wonder she hated me. I really was an arsehole.

  I look at the bathroom behind the double doors next to the desk on the right. I walk over to it, flipping on the light as I enter. I’m greeted with cream-colored marble floors, surrounding a tub on the right below another window that also faces the strip. Straight ahead is a long, dual sink cream-colored vanity beneath a mirror. Another window with a creamy white leather bench in front of it is between the vanity and the shower. The shower is a pretty sweet set-up. Large and enclosed in glass, I can see multiple heads and jets on the wall and ceiling in the walk-in shower that is more than big enough for two people.

  I hear her walk in behind me. “You totally passed baller status,” she says as she saunters over and sits on the bench. “There is only one bed, so I’ll take the couch.”

  Sitting there with the sunlight streaming in around her, I can’t help but notice how beautiful she is. Her smile is bright, her eyes are beaming, and I would have done anything to keep it that way.

  “That’s okay, I’ll take the couch,” I say, leaning against the vanity. “Consider it payback for all those times I teased you, not to mention breaking your eight-year-old heart when I was a daft sixteen-year-old.” Not giving her a chance to argue, I push off the vanity and say, “Okay, love, let’s go hit some shops and get you some essentials so you can get out of those clothes.”

  She cocks her head to the side, eyes sparkling as she sasses, “You’re not trying to get me out of my panties, are you, Bradley?” She rises up from the bench and comes toe-to-toe with me. I tower over her as she tilts her head back to look at me. “I think we should hit up the shops in Caesars Palace. What do you think?”

  “Sure,” I agree with her. “I’ve got my
credit card right here, dying to be used,” I say, tapping my wallet in my back pocket.

  “You aren’t paying for my things, Bradley.” She puts her hands on her hips.

  “We’ve already discussed this. I owe you,” I tell her, folding my arms over my chest. There is no way I’m letting her pay for this.

  “We didn’t discuss anything. You offered, but I’m not accepting. I can’t—I won’t—let you pay for this, Bradley. That’s just crazy!” she argues.

  I take my phone out of my pocket and pull up Sterling’s number.

  “What are you doing?” she asks warily.

  “Calling your brother and telling him what happened.” I pull up his name, and as I’m just about to hit send, she rips it from my hand.

  “You can’t do that. You can’t tell him about this.” She huffs out. “He’ll never let me live this down!”

  I smile widely as I say to her, “Perfect! Consider this blackmail, then.”

  She groans. “I really don’t want you paying for my things, Bradley. You’ve already saved the day by letting me sleep on the couch.” She looks at me and must see that I’m not going to cave on this.

  She lets out a heavy sigh. “Fine, but I want it on the record that I’m doing this under duress,” she says on her way out of the room.

  We walk over to the table by the door where we left our things when we came in, and she grabs her purse while I pick up the keys from the table. We ride the elevator to the lobby and exit, heading left toward Caesars Palace. The dry heat of the afternoon sun is almost unbearable.

  “We need to get you a swimsuit, also,” I say from behind her as I watch her hips swing and imagine them encased in a tiny bikini bottom. My cock pulses in my pants, and I have to adjust the fucker because it feels like he’s about to suffocate. My best friend’s little sister. My best friend’s little sister.

  We spend close to five hours shopping. It was hell, mainly because I have no idea what she bought at Agent Provocateur, but my mind is running wild, imagining what’s in that bag. She put most of the items she had tried on back, settling on just a few things, but when she went to the bathroom, I told the sales clerk helping her to retrieve the items she liked but put back. I didn’t look to see what they were, but my credit card was charged eight hundred dollars. I wasn’t really paying too much attention as I waited outside and responded to emails, but I saw enough lace, see-through bras, and sexy little scraps of silk to get my imagination fired up. If she wasn’t looking over her shoulder every two seconds to make sure I was still there, I think I would have gone to the bathroom to take care of myself. My best friend’s little sister. My best friend’s little sister.