We watch a pair of beautiful young models frolic in the pool. They’re sitting on a giant inflatable swan and splashing water over each other’s naked breasts as a dozen camera flashes go off. Those images will be all over Instagram by the time I get my next drink.
I turn and look at Marcus. He’s a huge dude, impressively fit, with a certain swagger to his walk that hints at badassery. He’s like a bald, jacked-up version of Black Panther.
“You got any background in security? The military? Any kind of weapons training?”
When he peers at me like he thinks that’s a strange line of questioning, I smile and turn his own words back on him. “Boss at my new job is always looking for hustlers. I could put in a word if you wanna drop outta the rat race.”
Marcus laughs. “What, and miss out on this high quality family entertainment?” He jerks his chin toward the scene in the pool. The girls are now enthusiastically making out.
After a moment, in a more serious tone, he says, “I was a spoiled rich kid. Went to USC on a football scholarship. I wouldn’t know a machine gun from a musket.”
I snort. “C’mon. Every little old lady knows the difference between a machine gun and a musket.”
“I’m good with computers, though. And people.” He sounds thoughtful, as if he’s mulling over his resume and skillset. After a moment, he adds, “Also, I’m an eighth Dan black belt in Krav Maga.”
“Whoa. That’s master level. You could probably kill a man with your pinky.”
He cocks his head and eyes me up and down.
“Some other man. Not me, obviously. I’m way too tough, my friend.”
He laughs again. “That you are. I can tell from the hand-sewn silk vest.”
Ignoring the friendly ribbing, I say, “Well, if babysitting movie stars and hanging out with douchey frat boys who ruin parties ever gets old, gimme a call. Nico’ll know how to get in touch with me.”
He nods, watching with an air of faint disgust as three of his drunken colleagues tumble headlong into the pool.
Somehow I think I might be hearing from him.
A sudden burst of noise directly below makes us lean over the balcony for a look. Emerging from the living room in a line is a group of smiling women dressed in huge, colorful feather headdresses, tiny sequined bikinis, high heels, and nothing else. The DJ starts spinning a thumping brass band/rap mashup with a distinct Mardi Gras feel, and the crowd breaks into screams and shouts.
“Holy shit,” says Marcus, wide-eyed. “That’s Rihanna!”
I look, convinced he’s wrong. But sure enough, it’s the superstar herself, in all her booty-shakin’ glory. She leads the line of costumed performers as they file out of the house and begin to circle the pool, dancing to the thumping beat.
From the crowd, someone hands her a wireless microphone. Into it she shouts, “Where’s our guest of honor? I hear that bad boy needs a kiss!”
The crowd goes nuts and starts to chant my name.
Nico. You sneaky bastard. In spite of my horror that I’m being put on the spot, I have to laugh. He’s always been one for an over-the-top gesture. Apparently tonight is no exception.
“Better get your ass down there!” Marcus turns to me with a huge grin. “You lucky son of a bitch!”
“I’ve got a better idea. You go.”
He makes a face like he was just informed he won the Mega Lotto and will never have to work again. “What? Are you kidding me? Man, this is your party—and that’s fucking Rihanna!”
“She’s not gonna know the difference between you and me. We’ve never met. And I can’t stand being the center of attention, even for the opportunity from a kiss from her. So…” I gesture to the scene on the pool deck. “Have fun.”
I fold my arms over my chest and brace my legs apart so he knows I’m not going anywhere.
Smiling wide, he slaps me on the back. “You’re an idiot. See you later.”
Then he turns and bolts away, taking the stairs three at a time.
I stay just long enough to watch him push his way through the crowd and stop, grinning, in front of Rihanna, before I turn and make my way back into the house.
“Hey, Barney!”
I back up a few steps, looking into a room I just passed as I was walking down the long hallway. Inside Nico’s office, A.J. is sprawled in a leather chair against a wall filled with framed album covers and pictures of Bad Habit with various celebrities.
Abby is nestled in the cradle of A.J.’s giant arms, fast asleep.
I don’t bother to ask how he knew it was me quietly passing. I’m beginning to think he really does have superhuman extrasensory powers now that his sight is gone.
“Hey yourself. What’re you doing up here all alone?”
“I’m not alone. I’ve got an armful of baby, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
“I was talking about your lovely fiancée, jackass.”
“She went to get some food with the nanny. It was getting a little crazy downstairs for Abby, so here we are.”
I step into the room, smiling at the sweet picture he and Abby make. He’s taken to fatherhood like a duck to water, a fact that shocked pretty much everyone but me and Chloe. I always knew the man had a soft side.
Some of us are just better at hiding it than others.
“You sure do. She looks comfortable. Wish I could sleep that soundly.”
“I tried to tell Nico you wouldn’t be into the Rihanna thing, but you know how he is. Might work out better for you this way, having Marcus owe you a favor. You never know when a guy like that will come in handy.”
I blink, surprised and a little unnerved. “I don’t even wanna know how you know about that. We were literally on the other side of the house. Outside.”
A.J. smiles serenely. “I have my ways. Take a seat, brother. Let’s talk.”
Walking into the room, I tease, “Talk? Who’re you, Oprah?”
“Shit, I wish. I love Oprah. Wait, but then I’d have to be a lesbian so I could still be with Chloe.” He thinks for a beat. “Lesbian sex with my woman. Damn, that would be awesome.”
I sink into the chair next to him and chuckle. “You always did have a good imagination.”
He holds up a finger. “Give me a minute. I need play this out.”
My chuckle turns to a full blown laugh as he grows serious, furrowing his brow in concentration at what I can only guess is a vivid imaginary scene of him and Chloe having wild, girl-on-girl sex. “Man, do you have any idea what you’d look like as a woman? The thought is fucking scary.”
He grins. “No way. I’d be super hot. Powerful. Like a cross between Wonder Woman and that huge blonde warrior chick from Game of Thrones. You know the one.”
“Brienne of Tarth.”
“Yeah. Her.”
“So you’re not Oprah in this fantasy of yours?”
“Oh.” He holds up the finger again. “Wait, I’ll just—”
“Ugh, save it for later, psychopath. I’ve already dealt with other people’s sex lives enough for one night.”
A.J.’s expression turns interested. “Oh really? Care to share?”
“What, you don’t already know, Mr. Spidey Senses?”
“I’m not God,” he says mildly. Then, smug, “Well, I mean I’m a sex god, obviously, and a rock god—”
“Jesus, you’re in a chipper mood tonight.”
He makes a face. “Chipper? I’m a fucking drummer, man. We’re the badasses of the band. We don’t do chipper.”
“We? You’re starting to sound like Kenji.”
Abby makes a small noise in her sleep and fidgets in A.J.’s arms. He kisses her forehead and whispers to her, “Shh. It’s okay. Don’t listen to Uncle Barney. Daddy’s extremely cool. He isn’t chipper.”
“Why can’t you be chipper and cool?”
A.J. sighs deeply, as if I’m being unreasonable. “Name one single person in the history of humanity who was both chipper and cool.”
“Fred Astaire. Mr. Rogers. Micke
y Mouse.”
“You think Mickey Mouse is cool?”
“Mickey Mouse is awesome!”
“He’s a rodent!”
“Not just any rodent. An anthropomorphic cartoon rodent who starred in over 130 films, has a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, and is one of the world’s most recognizable characters. Plus, he’s got a hot mouse girlfriend. And a pet dog.”
He mutters, “You and your useless trivia.” Then, in a normal tone, “All valid points, Einstein, but I said one person in the history of humanity. Mickey is disqualified.”
“What about my other two offerings?”
He thinks for a moment. “Are we sure Mr. Rogers isn’t a pedophile? Because that’s not cool.”
I roll my eyes. “Yes. We’re sure.”
“I think he’s disqualified because of those cardigans he liked. Chipper I’ll give you, but cool guys don’t wear cardigans.”
“What about Fred Astaire?”
“I mean…I guess? If we’re defining ‘cool’ as a skinny dude with big ears who tap dances wearing a top hat and tails. He’s a little metrosexual to be truly cool. You got any other examples?”
“Oh, so you think a guy has to be macho in order to be cool, is that it? Like Marlon Brando or Steve McQueen?”
“Do you only know actors from like a hundred fucking years ago?”
“Fine,” I relent, sighing. “George Clooney.”
“George Clooney is not macho. He’s elegant. They’re two completely opposite things.”
“So you can’t be macho and elegant?”
“Exactly,” he says, nodding. “In the same way you can’t be chipper and cool.”
“What about James Bond? He’s macho and elegant.”
“He’s a fictional character. That’s a totally different category.”
“Fine, Sean Connery.”
“Elegant. Not macho.”
“He’s at least borderline macho! He kills people!”
“Only in the movies. In real life, he keeps polo ponies and has bone china finger bowls next to his gold-rimmed dinner plate. Next.”
“Pierce Brosnan.”
“Elegant.”
“Daniel Craig.”
“Macho. And quit with the James Bond actors.”
I snap my fingers. “I’ve got it! Denzel Washington.”
A.J. waves me off. “Denzel’s in a category by himself. He’s beyond macho or elegant. He’s like…the holy grail of manhood. Besides me, I mean.”
I laugh helplessly, dropping my head into my hands. “So glad we had this chance to talk, brother. It’s always a pleasure.”
He laughs, too. “I know. I’m a fucking delight, aren’t I?”
“There you are, sir!”
We turn our heads to the sound of the voice. In the doorway stands Miss Small Town Popularity, holding a drink in her hand.
She sees my inquisitive look and smiles winningly. “I was instructed by Mr. Nyx to make sure you got another whiskey. I’ve been looking all over for you.” She holds up the glass. “Good thing you don’t take ice, or it would’ve already melted.”
I notice A.J. has cocked his head and seems to be looking right at her, though I know that’s impossible. Sometimes his gaze lands on just the right spot to create that impression.
“Thank you.” I stand as she approaches and take the drink from her hand. There’s a moment of intense eye contact, then she looks away, blushing.
“Well. Um. Let me know if you need anything else. My name’s Celine, by the way.”
“Will do. Thanks, Celine.”
She glances at A.J., then sends me another smile and leaves.
As soon as she’s out of earshot, A.J. says, “She likes you.”
I chuckle. “What’s not to like?”
“True. Too bad for her you’re not into sporty blondes.”
“Plus, she’s about ten years old. I’d feel like a dirty old…” I turn and look at A.J. “Wait. How did you know she’s a blonde?”
He slowly leans back in his chair, inhales, and lowers his head, fiddling with the hem of Abby’s pink frilled dress. He says quietly, “So, that’s kinda what I wanted to talk to you about.”
I sink into the chair beside him, holding my glass so tightly it’s probably in danger of shattering in my hand. “Holy shit, man. Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
After a moment, he shrugs. “Depends on what you think I’m saying.”
“Fuck you! C’mon! Can you see?”
His voice becomes low and hesitant, as if he’s not sure he should be saying the words aloud. “I…can’t…not see.”
I say without heat, “I’m gonna punch you right in the nose.”
“Okay, fine, listen.” He blows out a breath and adjusts his bulk in the chair, sitting up a little straighter, cradling Abby closer to his chest. “After the operation to remove the tumor, I wasn’t totally blind, right? I could see light and shadows, some shapes. No faces or anything like that. No details. But it wasn’t like I was left totally in the dark.”
When he’s silent for too long, I prompt impatiently, “And?”
“And…now…it’s better.”
Jesus Christ. I’m gonna kill him! “If you don’t explain yourself, my friend, I’ll put hair remover in all your shampoo bottles and snakes in your underwear drawer.”
“I don’t wear underwear,” he says, as if I’m not about to have a heart attack on the spot.
I growl, “A.J.”
“Sometimes the sight in my right eye clears up.” He blurts it out then holds his breath, as if he’s confessed to murder.
To calm my nerves before I dive into this, I take a nice, long swig of whiskey.
I have a feeling what he needs from me is good advice. I want to make sure I’m steady enough to give it.
“That’s fantastic news, brother. Fantastic. What did your doctor say?”
When he looks chagrined, I know he hasn’t been to see his doctor. I want to smack him upside his thick skull, but that won’t get us anywhere.
“Well, what does Chloe say? She must be thrilled!”
He grimaces. “Yeeaaahhh…”
Now I really want to smack him. “For fuck’s sake. You didn’t tell her, either?”
“I don’t want to get her hopes up, man! This could be some kinda blip, like a fluke, right? It could all turn around tomorrow, and then she’d be devastated all over again!”
I down the rest of my drink, fumes searing my nose. “Okay. I get your point. Why don’t you start at the beginning, and we’ll talk about the situation. You don’t have to do anything about it tonight, right?”
“Right. Okay.” He exhales, sounding relieved.
“So. Walk me through this. When did this first start happening?”
He answers without hesitation. “Nine weeks ago. Chloe was, ah…” He clears his throat. “Let’s just say I was looking down at her at the time. At her face. Which was…sort of…between my legs.”
I stifle my sigh and merely shake my head instead. It seems to be my fate that tonight I’ll be subjected to the intimate details of my friends’ sex lives.
I’ll have to be sure to steer well clear of Nico and Brody for the rest of the evening.
“At first, I thought it was like a memory. Or a wish, you know? Like, God, that feels so amazing I can almost see it. Those beautiful fucking pink lips on my—”
“I get the picture, Romeo,” I interrupt drily.
“Uh, sorry. Anyway. One minute it was all sensation and a hazy blur of light, the next minute, I see lips. Luscious, full lips. And my dick! Like materializing out of the mist! BOOM! There he is! Heya, big boy, haven’t seen you in a while!”
I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose between my fingers.
“I was so surprised, I jerked and nearly choked my poor angel to death. My cock shot straight down her throat like a twelve-inch rocket—”
“I GOT IT! JESUS!”
Disturbed by the sudden loud noise, Abby fu
sses in A.J.’s arms, but quickly settles back into sleep.
After a moment, A.J. begins to softly laugh. “I’m kidding. It’s only eleven inches.”
“Congratulations, asshole. Think you can tell the rest of the story without breaking your arm patting yourself on the back for the size of your prick?”
He pretends to think. “I’ll do my best.”
“Much appreciated.”
“Where was I?”
“Gagging Chloe. And thank you, fucker, for that visual, which I’ll never be able to scrub from my mind.”
“Aw, don’t be jealous, bro. I’m sure your tiny pecker gets the job done just fine.” He pauses for a moment. “When was the last time you had a girlfriend, by the way?”
I release the sigh I’ve been holding, drag a hand through my hair, and finish the rest of the whiskey.
“Fine. Don’t answer, you secretive bastard. Moving on. Since then it happened sporadically, but it’s getting to be a regular thing now. Probably five days out of seven. Usually later in the day for some reason. I’ll just be doing whatever, then all of a sudden the vision in my right eye will clear. It’s not like 20/20 or anything. I’d never pass a driving test. But, for a few hours at a time, I can see.”
He stops for a moment, then inhales a breath. His voice full of wonder, he says quietly, “I can see.”
From the doorway comes a small cry.
I look over. There stands Chloe holding a plate of food, frozen in shock, her face white, her blue eyes huge and welling with tears.
In a strangled voice, Chloe says, “Tell me you just said what I think you said.”
With adoration shining from every feature on his face, A.J. looks at her. He says softly, “Love that yellow dress on you, angel.”
Chloe bursts into tears, drops the plate of food, and launches herself across the room. She throws her arms around A.J.’s shoulders and starts to desperately kiss him all over his face, sobbing as she tells him over and over that she loves him.
A.J. laughs and throws one big arm around her, squeezing her into his neck.
Abby, roused by all the commotion, wakes up and starts to shriek.
I take my cue and leave the room, quietly closing the door behind me.
5
Downstairs, the party is raging.
Hot As Sin: A Bad Habit Novella (Bad Habit Book 4) Page 4
