by Kat T. Masen
“To let out my frustration,” he shouts again, pacing the room back and forth. “You never said you were in a relationship.”
“I said it was complicated.”
A laugh escapes him; delirious and unwelcoming. He stops the manic pace, positioning himself in front of me with an overpowering stance.
“This is the problem. You don’t open up about you.” He points his finger into my chest, eyes blazing. “You can say all you want about your complications but you don’t tell me why, or who. I mean, for fuck’s sake, do you have some lovechild back home? Are you part of a traveling circus act? Who the fuck knows!”
Now it is my turn to pace; a reaction from the pile of questions he just threw at me. This wasn’t how I envisioned this night to go. I should be mourning the loss of a man that had been my steady rock the past few years. Not fighting a battle with this crazed lunatic.
“I left home because my mom forced us. She has advancing Alzheimer’s and in order to keep our house and afford her care, I had to move somewhere we could earn more money. I lost my job back home. There was nothing else for me to do. She’s staying in a care facility.” My voice fades, leaving it at that till I realize he has followed me to the window where I unthinkingly gravitated to.
“Liam and I had been in a relationship for years. When I left, I promised him that we would just be. I didn’t commit to anything more than that.”
“So you’re still together?”
“No, I mean yes. I said it was complicated…” My head begins to hurt, a migraine imminent from the stress of today. Shutting my eyes tight, I wish the pain away, opening them moments later with the same pain in the back of my eyes and circulating around my head.
“Did you fuck him?”
“When?”
“Now, today, whatever!” His eyes continue to haunt me; this jealous beast that has trapped me in the corner of my room.
“No, he wanted to but I…”
The warmth of his hands suddenly grips my face; lips pressed firm against mine as he pins my body against the window. The glass is warm; the heat coming through from outside. His tongue rolls against mine, hard and with force, sending a stream of sensations to every part of my body, and making me ache everywhere for him.
It’s just a kiss.
How does he do this?
Wesley pulls away, only just, keeping his lips extremely close so I can feel his breath against my skin. I wanted to tell him to go away, we probably shouldn’t be doing this, but this newfound lust that I had guiding me—made it difficult to think about anything besides his lips.
“I come home and you’re here, with another man, that says he is your boyfriend. You can expect I will go wild.”
“But he’s not my boyfriend…” I finally admitted it. Liam said goodbye, and I let him walk away.
“I know…because I am.”
My face pulls away from him, confused. “You are?”
“Why do you sound surprised?”
“Because don’t you ask these things?”
“Maybe, in high school. My thoughts are crazy when I’m around you. And when I’m not around you, they’re wild. I fucking missed this smart mouth of yours when I was gone. So if that isn’t enough to be your boyfriend then maybe this is…”
He gets down on his knees, his hands wrapped around my legs, eyes wide staring up at me with a sexy grin. “I want you.”
With a slow burn, his hands wander up and down against the back of my thighs, causing my legs to shake with pleasure.
“What if I say no?”
He kisses my thigh, the moan escaping my mouth as his lips linger against my heated skin. “I’d say we’d have to find a way to cure that smart mouth of yours and I’m sure I could find something to stick inside.”
“Okay, fine. Since you’re practically begging me.” I roll my eyes, hiding my elation at this over-the-top cutesy conversation where the baddest boy in town just asked me to be his girlfriend.
It was stupid, ridiculous, yet—I didn’t care. If there was anything that Wesley had done right, it was make me forget. When he was this close to me—it was all about him.
He continues to slide his hands up my thighs, positioning them so he is firmly cupping my ass. Slowly, he eases his way to stand up, his body pressing against mine.
“I don’t beg. You would have said yes.”
“Oh please, cue the badboy talk.”
He tilts his head in amusement, displaying a wide grin and teasing me by biting his lower lip. I’m drawn to the way his teeth gnaws on the corner of his mouth, much like an animal ready to pounce on his mouthwatering prey. His grip around my ass tightens, till his hands slide lower and around the front. His long fingers brush against my clit, causing me to suck in my breath as the sensation begins a rippling effect of pleasure.
“Like I said…” His head is buried into my neck, his warm breath against my skin. “You would have said yes.”
I clutch his hair in my hands, desperate for him to continue and disappointed when he distances himself. My panting is uncontrollable, yet I raise my brows, silently questioning why he pulled away.
“But not here.”
“When?” I blurt out, desperate and forthcoming.
“I want you to come with me to an event tomorrow night. It’s a fundraiser at my mother’s house.”
“Your mother?” I step back, curious as to why he wanted to go and with me of all people. According to the Internet—they didn’t have a relationship. “I didn’t think you guys spoke?”
“We do, sort of. This is for charity. So I would like to go. Will you be my date, as my girlfriend?”
The cute, adorable, wants-to-raise-money-for-charity Wesley, is a side of him I hadn’t seen. I’m still in awe. This guy in front of me wanted to be with me, no other reason, just because he wanted me. This fantasy world that my brain created for itself, bursts from the reality of the world around us—the people around us.
“But what if someone tells Emerson about us?”
“So let them.”
“I can’t jeopardize my job,” I tell him firmly, backing away. “I’ll go, on one condition.”
Wesley stills his demeanor, looking slightly agitated that I had mentioned Emerson.
“No photos, of us, together. I will go as a different name. I don’t want this leaking out. I have my mom to think of, Flynn, you need to understand, please.”
His arms are folded, and any minute now—I’m expecting Mr. Rage to let me have it. He surprises me with a bemused smile.
“Any name, huh? Like…Ivana Cumalot?”
I’m unable to hold my laughter in, clutching my stomach while I encourage this childish behavior. “Helda Dick.”
“Anita Cox.”
We both laugh contagiously, until we slow down enough to catch our breath.
“How fancy are we talking?”
“Don’t worry, I got you covered.”
“It’s fine.” I turn away, pretending not to care but knowing full well I will be judged. “I can go buy a dress.”
I’m mentally thinking about my bank account, about the check due to Mom’s facility tomorrow and my rent due next week. I’d received a few paychecks since I started and managed to put away some money for a rainy day—I wasn’t sure if this constituted as a rainy day.
“Would you please let me cover this? Besides, I know most of the owners on Rodeo Drive.”
“Rodeo Drive? That’s not me.”
He throws his hands into the air with frustration. “Look, I know you’ll look beautiful no matter what you wear. Just go pick anything. They owe me. In fact, I’ll send you to a shop that owe me big. I wear their shit all the time and that’s how they get their sales. Stop frowning and just do it.”
Flynn’s voice echoes through the apartment, calling my name.
“I need to go. Tomorrow?”
“Wait, you don’t have to go. Can’t you stay?”
I wanted to ease my concerns. Put to bed everything I had read abo
ut him and start our newly formed relationship on a fresh slate. But he’s fidgeting, and desperate to leave. Wasn’t worth the argument.
“Tomorrow.”
Wesley kisses my lips one more time before leaving the room. He stops outside, chatting to Flynn before the main door closes shut. Flynn steps inside my room.
“I didn’t know you were friends with Wesley.”
I sit on the bed, tying my shoes. “You don’t talk to me. Anyway, it’s a bit more than that.”
“You’re fucking him?”
“NO!” I grab my cell and purse. “Why does everyone assume I’m some whore that just sleeps around?”
“Calm the fuck down. I like Wesley. He gets this crowd. Liam left.”
I fall backwards onto the bed, allowing the tears to fall. “I hurt him. I didn’t mean to. Everything is so different. He says I’ve changed. I’ve become one of them.”
Flynn sits beside me, smelling of stale beer. “C’mon, it’s hard. They just don’t get it. He’ll move on. You guys just weren’t on the same page.”
My brother giving me relationship advice was odd. When did he turn into this mature man? Back home, he was the boy that sulked in his room while playing emo beats on his drum.
“You think?”
“Wesley will be good for you. The thrill seeker to bring you out of your shell.”
“I’m not in a shell. I’ve already lived that crazy life. You were too young to remember. I’m happy this way.” I didn’t sound very convincing and if anyone could see through me, it was my baby brother.
He laughs, slapping my knee. “You’re one step away from joining a pottery class.”
“You know, pottery students around the world would take offense to that. Wesley is different. He invited me to some event. I have to go buy a dress. I really don’t want to buy anything, I have to send some money to Mom.”
Flynn leaves the room, coming back moments later. “Here.”
There are a few hundred-dollar notes in the palm of his hand. I sit up, cautiously eyeing the pile of money.
“Where did you get this from?”
“Gigs.”
“I can’t take this.” I push his hand back towards him.
“You can. It’s the least I can do for being a pain in the ass.”
“Okay.” I take the money with a thankful smile. “But just promise you’re not doing anything illegal.”
He places his hand on my head, purposely messing my hair, much to my annoyance. With the pillow by my side, I grab it and whack him with it, just like old times.
“I promise.” He winks, before walking away and singing the lyrics to Gold Digger, just to rile me up.
The house is located on a quiet street in Bel Air.
I had never seen a house this huge; sprawled across several acres, appearing like a luxurious castle rather than a home. On the car ride over, Wesley spoke briefly about his mother. Married to husband number six, a man that invented some digital device that is used on planes hence the wealth. If I thought Emerson’s home was big—this was on another level.
The community was gated, and even after we passed the security check, there was another large wrought-iron gate that had two men manning the entrance. Wesley is fidgeting, pulling out a cigarette in the car. I wasn’t fond of his smoking and my girlfriend duties may not have included nagging. I decided, for now, I would keep my mouth shut.
My focus is on my dress. I’m extremely uncomfortable. There is way too much boob showing. The black bodice is low-cut, draping down my chest and matched with a sheer skirt. The lady in the store said it accentuated my wide hips. It wasn’t the most awful comment she made after I got the Julia Roberts treatment à la Pretty Woman.
“Did I tell you how sexy you look tonight?” He leans into me, running his tongue down the middle of my exposed chest. “You taste just as nice.”
I wanted him, inside of me. I’d never felt this sexual attraction to a man that made me so irrational. Did people have sex in cars with drivers just doing their own things? God…how I wanted to answer my own question.
My lips make their way to his, and with the click of my seat belt, I’ve removed it and straddle him. I grind myself against his crotch, watching that devilish smile play on his lips. Our kisses become deep—my desperate moans escaping into his mouth as our bodies heat up.
“You need to stop or we’ll never get out of this car.”
“So what?” I clasp his face, bringing it close to me so I could taste him again. I hated the smell of cigarettes. I wanted to tell him that. And despite my hate for nicotine—I was becoming addicted to the taste of him.
I clear my thoughts, though with much difficulty, and then—a slap of reality knocks me fierce. “It’s too much. It’s not me.”
I climb off him, laying against the seat and taking a deep breath. He pulls me back onto him; a slight struggle as my dress tangles on the heel of my stiletto. His stare—deep and with intention—only makes me more self-conscious.
I wasn’t like any of the Hollywood women. I plucked my eyebrows, and never professionally waxed anything. I thought life could be solved with a shaver and tweezers. Once, Phoebe made me go to a beauty salon so she could get false eyelashes for prom. I remember sitting there, flabbergasted. The lengths that women went through to beautify themselves. Mom once told me that women would kill to have my lashes.
Then there was the whole body-image thing. I expected only the finest of plastic surgery tonight. Artificial breasts and pouty lips. Botox faces and still expressions.
“You’d run circles around these women. They know it. You’ll feel the wrath of their jealously. And the men…you just stay by my side.”
“But…”
He kisses my lips, softly, pulling back and gazing at me with his mesmerizing eyes. “You’re beautiful…and mine. Stop worrying.”
The calm of his voice eases my concerns. I pull myself off him, resting into his side as we continue the drive. I take note of his advice. This would be the first time I had ever attended such an event. I’ve done the prom nights, weddings and the occasional bar mitzvah, but nothing that involved rich people throwing around their money for a charitable cause.
The car turns the circle, past a massive stone fountain, and parks out front. The driver courteously opens the door, guiding Wesley out first. Wesley extends his hand, allowing me to hold on as these new stilettos were difficult to balance in.
I wondered if the driver saw anything behind the privacy screen, but as I watched his goodbye, he remained professional and didn’t let anything on.
In front of the main entrance, a white strip of carpet leads to double doors which open courtesy of the doorman. He kindly offers to take our coats; Wesley had his suit jacket on which he hands over without a thank you, and I take mine off, revealing my dress in full. I thank him, unsure if I needed to tip him but I’m not left with much choice as Wesley pulls me into the foyer.
“Again, you look sexy as fuck.” He kisses my neck, not caring that people lingering in the foyer are gazing at us.
“You said I dressed like a nun.”
“Well if nuns dressed like this I would be lining up at the convent begging for forgiveness.”
I slap his arm, gently. “You look handsome…okay kinda hot.”
“Kinda hot?”
“Okay you look hot. But if I focus anymore on your hotness, I could mop the floors with my panties,” I tease, the excitement running through me.
“Damn, and here I was thinking you were going commando.”
“Maybe I am. What if I said that to throw you off? Nothing like an unsolved mystery of panties versus no panties.”
As if—commando wasn’t my thing. I hadn’t even graduated to a thong. I’m wearing this lacy number; French cut which is as small as I could go without my ass hanging out.
He shakes his head, laughing. “Save it for later, baby. And thanks for your visual.”
With my hand in his, he leads us to the main room but not without a che
eky gesture of ‘accidentally’ brushing my hand against his crotch. He’s rock hard; testing me with a delicious smirk that only fuels the desire burning through me.
We enter the large room filled with guests. It’s such a beautiful room; high ceilings with fancy chandeliers that lit up the room and created a warm ambience. Each wall is covered in artwork; expensive looking, though put together with the lighting and silk drapes—made the room look amazing.
People are standing around, happily chatting in small circles. Almost everyone is dressed in black or white; a few wore some daring colors and stood out in the crowd. A waiter walks past carrying a tray of champagne which brings attention to my thirst. Wesley grabs two for us, at least, I thought they were for us. Instead, he drinks both of them, one after the other.
Annoyed, I grab my own and follow on cue.
“Waiter,” Wesley yells, annoyed. “We aren’t done yet.”
The waiter—a young fellow—looks rather bored and uninterested at Wesley’s rude behavior. To avoid coming across like rich snobs—which I wasn’t by a long shot—I grab another and thank him kindly.
“Why don’t you just go to bed with him,” Wesley bellows, out of nowhere.
“What did you just say?”
“Never mind.”
I heard him. Loud and clear. Just as I am about to bring it up again, a woman stops where the two of us are standing. She’s quite short, though wearing high gold pumps and a slimming white beaded dress. Her hair—platinum blond—is curled nicely and pinned to the side. I would say she looked mid-forties but hard to pin point behind the obvious plastic surgery done to her cheeks and lips.
“You must be Wesley’s girlfriend, Milana.” She extends her hand, awaiting a shake in return. I didn’t know who she was or whether I should acknowledge that my real name was Milana. I thought I would be Anita Dick for the night?
“This is my mother,” Wesley says flatly, narrowing his eyes.
“Oh!” I grab her hand immediately to shake it. “Please to meet you Mrs…”
I draw a blank, realizing I didn’t know her surname.
“It’s okay, honey, I’ve change husbands more than I have underwear. It’s Mrs. Cole. But please, call me Gina.”
