by Zoey Derrick
I do, and once again the cameras are going nuts. I know what is coming next. As soon as I am standing, Tristan pulls me close, and with his other hand he lifts my chin and kisses me in front of all of them. I ruin our kiss by laughing. I can’t help it; he is so determined to keep the story straight and I love him a little bit more for that.
The questions start flying as we walk toward the entrance, but Tristan doesn’t comment.
Once inside, it takes a minute for my eyes to adjust to the dimmer light inside. “Does that ever get easier?” I mumble.
“No,” Travis, Tyson and Tristan all say at once, and all of us girls bust out laughing.
“Good evening, Mr. Michaels.” The female voice is a little too sweet, and I look at her and watch her as she eye fucks my boyfriend. I lean a little closer into him and watch as her face scowls. “Your table is ready,” she says, turning on her heels and heading into the restaurant.
“What was that all about?” Tristan whispers as we follow our group to the table, and I am instantly relieved that he didn’t notice.
“She was eye fucking you, so I thought I would show her who you belong to.”
He busts out laughing, then kisses my forehead. “I didn’t even notice. Not that I would care. But I like this green-eyed version of you.”
“Tristan Michaels, I am not jealous,” I say a little too sharply.
He laughs again.
Okay, maybe a little, but I’m pretty sure he is coming home with me tonight.
We all take our seats, and within a matter of moments, two bottles of Cristal appear and our glasses are being filled. I squeeze Tristan’s leg. Tonight is on him, and he is already eight hundred dollars down on two bottles. Once all of our glasses are filled, the bottles are placed in the center of the tables.
Tristan raises his glass. “A toast,” he says, and everyone, including myself, raises their glasses. “To old friends.” I watch as he looks from Tyson to Travis, who are sitting opposite each other. “And to new.” He looks to everyone else. “May this be the start of lifelong friendships.”
“Hear, hear,” everyone says in unison, raising their glasses a little higher.
Tristan clinks his glass against mine and leans in to whisper, “And to the woman who’s captured my heart.”
“I’ll drink to that.”
About halfway through dinner someone approaches our table, and it takes me a minute to recognize who it is, but Beau doesn’t hesitate. She knows him all to easily, and I feel a small hint of embarrassment at her eagerness.
“I hope you’re all enjoying your dinner.”
“Absolutely,” I say.
“It’s wonderful,” Tristan adds as he stands up to take the gentleman’s hand.
“Tristan, it is a pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise. Thank you for accommodating our short notice reservations.”
“Anytime.” The man takes out his card and gives it to Tristan. “If you need anything, just call. I’ll be happy to make it happen.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Oh, no, don’t call me sir. Call me Mr. Aklund or Damon.”
“Certainly, Damon. Thank you again.”
“Absolutely, enjoy.” He nods and leaves the table. Tristan returns to his seat.
“Was that who I think it was?” Naomi gets a little excited. Tristan and I both nod. “He’s hard to recognize without his stage makeup. I had no idea he owned this place.”
“I did, but never expected to actually see him here,” I said, and though I recognized him, the name threw me off. He’s better known as Nikki Cliff, an eighties rocker that has a strong presence in Phoenix.
The rest of dinner is a blast. We’re all having fun and joking around, much the way we were in Tarah, and the alcohol keeps flowing, though after the initial drop of Cristal, we all switch over to our signature drinks. While alcohol turns my stomach, I decide that it is probably better to drink my way out of my aversion to it, and Tristan doesn’t object.
Once our dinner plates are cleared away, we all order dessert. Though most of us are pretty full, I insist. Tristan looks out of the corner of his eye at me, probably because I’m very casually spending his money. But I have my reasons.
Desserts arrive, along with a dessert wine, and we are all treated to fresh glasses of alcohol.
We’re all chattering on when I hear the clink of silverware against glass, and my heart goes about a thousand beats per minute. I look immediately down the table to Mick, who is shaking like a leaf.
“I’d like to propose a toast,” he says, and we all raise our glasses. “To the most beautiful woman I know. The woman who keeps me sane and keeps me on my toes. The woman who has my heart in every way possible.”
“Hear, hear.” We all raise once again and take a drink.
We all set our glasses down as Mick continues. “I’m so glad we could all get together tonight, despite the fact that we are all going back to our work and our lives over the next few days. These last few weeks have been a lot of fun. But before you go, there is something I want all of you to see.” Mick stands up, sliding out from between his chair and the table. He stands next to Beau at the head of the table. Then he drops to one knee. “I can’t imagine spending the rest of my life without you in it. You mean more to me than anything I could’ve ever thought possible, and I need you in my life.” He produces a small black box from his pocket. “Beauty Allison Robinson, will you marry me?”
I watch as Beau’s face goes beet red — she knows no one at this table knows her as anything other than Beau — but she also starts crying. But she doesn’t answer. I know she’s toying with Mick, and he begins to grown uncomfortable. “Yes,” she responds, and we all clap as Mick places the ring on her finger and they kiss. Many of the other restaurant patrons join in our applause.
Tristan leans over and kisses me, then whispers into my ear, “You knew about this?” I nod. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Shh, it was a secret.”
He kisses me.
I pull back and stand, walking around the table to give Beau a hug.
“You bitch, you knew.”
I give her my best innocent face. “I have no idea what you’re—”
“Liar.” We laugh and hug.
I whisper in her ear, “Congratulations. I’m so happy for you.”
“I love you, girl,” she says, and we both squeeze a little tighter and then let go.
I go around her to Mick and hug him too. “Well done,” I whisper in his ear.
“Thanks for keeping the secret.”
I can’t help the breathy laugh that escapes. “You deserve to be happy and I am honored that she’s the one that makes you that way.”
“Love ya, Cams,” he says, and we pull away from each other.
I look down the table at all of our friends — Tyson, Travis, Jolene, Naomi and of course Tristan — and for the first time in twenty-five years I finally feel the love that has been hiding there all along. It’s something I never knew I was capable of until I met Tristan, and right now I feel as though my heart could explode with all the overwhelming gratitude I’m starting to embrace toward each and every one of them.
Tristan smiles at me and I smile back. Those eyes are the eyes I know I can never live without, and I love him even more for that.
“Let’s party, shall we?” I say, and everyone stands. Tristan handles the bill and we all head into the nightclub part of Excelsior and kick off what turns out to be a wonderful night of laughing, drinking, fun and lots of dancing.
TEN
******
Tristan
******
We finally return back to the condo after dropping everyone off at their places. I’m exhausted but extremely excited about whatever Cami has planned. I behaved. Sort of. It’s kind of hard when we’re dancing and she keeps grinding her ass into my crotch. But I didn’t do anything that would embarrass her.
She kicks off her heels as soon as we make it inside, even
before climbing the stairs. Dammit, I wanted her to wear those.
She takes ahold of my hand and she leads me all the way to the top. We should’ve just taken the elevator, but when I tried to drag her that direction she kept climbing the stairs.
We come into the sitting area of her bedroom and she pushes me into the oversized chair. “Wait there,” she says, and I obey like a lost little puppy wanting to be pet.
A few minutes go by and I start to wonder if she’s passed out on me, but before I can stand to go looking for her, she’s standing before me in a silk robe, and coming through the speakers is the first song she ever danced to for me. Porn Star Dancing by My Darkest Days.
Her hips begin to sway to the music as it warms up. My dick stirs in my pants, and I wish I’d shed my jeans. As soon as the singing starts, the shoulders on her robe fall, exposing the thin black strap of what I’m guessing is her bra, and I have to remind myself to breathe.
She struts her way toward me and then dips down, almost touching her ass to the floor, which it might have done, but now I notice the black peep toe pumps she has on. She slowly climbs back up, sticking her ass out as she does. Then suddenly her robe falls away and she catches it in her elbows, covering herself, though I can see just about every inch of her body underneath. The robe continues to fall away and she is left in nothing but her bra, garter belt, panties and thigh highs. Once she is free of the robe, she turns around, throwing her ass in my direction, and I have to remind myself to keep breathing. She steals my breath every time she gets naked. She’s absolutely beautiful.
She backs up until she is straddling my legs and she begins to grind against my now-raging erection. I reach up to touch her, help her remove her bra, but she stops my hands. “You know the rules, no touching the dancer.”
I groan my disapproval. I can’t stand not touching her, but she takes my cue and begins to unclasp her bra in a very slow, agonizing fashion. Once it is undone, she holds it against herself, removing it from one arm and then the other until they’re both free, but her arm still holds the bra against her breasts as she turns around.
The song ends and I expect it to start again, but it doesn’t. I feel the familiar beat of “Closer” pumping through the bass of the stereo system and her bra falls away, exposing her perfect breasts and beautifully pierced nipples, and I see now why it took her so long. She is no longer wearing her barbells, and a rushed breath escapes my lips as I take in her elongated nipples, made longer by the type of nipple rings she is wearing, which leave only the tips exposed.
“Jesus,” I moan, and she smiles, coming toward me just as the music picks up and the singing starts. She climbs into the chair, placing her knees on either side of me, and she grabs onto my hair, pulling my head back, causing my mouth to go slack, and I feel the coolness of the metal running through her nipple against my lips.
“Lick,” she commands, and I do and she moans, grinding hard against my erection. “Suck,” she says, and I pull her nipple and the contraption into my mouth and she shudders just as Trent Reznor sings, “I wanna fuck you like an animal.”
She pulls back and her nipple pops free of my mouth and she climbs off of me, sliding down to the floor. Taking the button of my jeans in between her fingers, she unbuttons and then slides the zipper down. She hooks her hands in the waistband of my jeans and boxer briefs, tugging, so I lift my hips and my erection springs free, falling forward then flinging back, slapping against my stomach. She removes my shoes, then my jeans. She stands and I notice that she’s somehow managed to remove the clips from her thigh highs, and she starts working her barely-there thong down her legs.
“I want you, right here. Right now,” she says as she climbs on top of me.
She will get no argument from me. She reaches behind herself and lines up the head of my cock with the warm wetness of her sex and she slides down onto me. I feel like I am going to explode as soon as I’m deep inside of her, but I don’t, and she begins to tremble as she slides up and down.
It’s around nine the next morning when I wake up. Cami is already out of bed and I can’t stop the pout that forms on my lips. I hate it when she does this, mainly because I love our morning cuddles and, even more than that, I love our morning sex, and I am left with a hard-on and no Cami.
Our flight for Montana leaves late this afternoon, and knowing her, she’s around here packing, but when I look around the room, she is nowhere in sight and there are four suitcases standing between her bedroom and the sitting room.
I crawl out of bed, take care of business, throw on some clothes and head downstairs. She’s not in the living room area, so I go down one more floor and find her in her office.
“Hi, beautiful,” I say as I lean into the doorjamb.
“Hi beautiful yourself,” she says, but she doesn’t look up from her computer. What on earth could she be working on that has her undivided attention?
“Whatcha working on?”
“Rumor squashing.”
“Oh, what are they saying this time?”
“Have you heard from Layla?” she asks, extremely deadpan and without meeting my eyes. Something in her body language tells me that her defenses are up and her jealousy is flaming again. I kind of like it, but it is unnecessary.
“No, not since we left Tarah that night. Why?” I step into the room, walk around her desk and lean in over her shoulder.
“Rumor squashing, remember?” she says, more as a warning than anything, and I understand immediately that she is warning me so that I don’t fly off the handle when I see what it is that she has to show me.
There is a picture of Layla, and the caption reads:
Layla Brooks, released from rehab, sporting a baby bump. Who’s the father? Tristan Michaels or the product of an elicit affair that allegedly broke the pair up? Reps close to Ms. Brooks speculated that it was in fact Tristan’s child, but would not confirm.
All I can do is close my eyes and shake my head.
“Rumor squashing. This is what I get paid for.”
“It’s still bullshit,” I say, finally opening my eyes to look at Cami. Her eyes are soft, but there is a hint of pity in them. “I don’t need pity, but what I do want is for her to be put in her place, along with the reporters. I won’t have this popping up again, month after month, when she shows up somewhere.”
“Tristan, do you think I wouldn’t stop this nonsense?”
“Of course not. I know you will. Forgive me for thinking otherwise.” I kiss the top of her forehead. “Are you all packed?”
“Nearly, just need my electronics. What about you?”
I laugh. “You mean those four suitcases upstairs are all yours?” She laughs at the mock horror in my voice. “Nearly, but you know me, I live out of a suitcase. Packing will take me five minutes.” I turn her chair toward me and fall to my knees in front of her. “I can think of other things to occupy our time.”
“Yeah, rumor squashing.”
I shake my head. “I woke up with a raging hard-on and you were nowhere in sight,” I say as pathetically as I can manage.
“Oh, you poor—” She kisses my forehead. “—poor—” Now my nose. “—poor baby. Whatever shall we do about it?”
“Oh, I can think of a few things.” I stand up, bringing her with me. She throws her arms around me and I brace myself to take on all her weight because I know she will wrap her legs around me. “You know, we haven’t christened your desk yet.”
She playfully smacks my shoulder. “Tristan Michaels,” she says, and my name on her lips sends a shiver through my body. I pull her lips to mine as I lay her across her desk, pressing the sleep button on her keyboard.
ELEVEN
******
Cami
******
Desk sex with Tristan is most definitely something that needs to be repeated. Often. He’s left me to finish up in here so that he can go take a shower. I want nothing more than to join him, but I need to finish this press release before we leave and get it off to
Trinity to send out.
Something about the calendar and today’s date catches my attention. Hoping to see what it is that’s bugging me, I open the calendar icon on my Mac, but nothing sticks out, at least not for the next couple of weeks.
I remind myself to check my phone calendar, just in case something hasn’t synced over to this, and finish up my press release.
Tristan, Tyson, Jolene and I are all in the back of a limo that’s taking us to the airport. I received a text about an hour ago that Bold’s plane had arrived at Glendale Airport, which was our cue to get moving. We could’ve just flown commercial, but once Jolene’s luggage joins mine and Tristan’s, it is very obvious as to why I’ve chosen to use my plane. I’m still not used to that, but then again, just as soon as I thought I was getting used to the idea, I find out that Bobby is still alive.
I feel my nervousness regarding that whole situation creep over me and Tristan notices my change in mood almost instantly. How does he do that?
He takes my hand and squeezes it, silently telling me that whatever it is that is bothering me is all right. I only wish I knew how to talk to him about this, but I just can’t find the words. And because of that, I feel like I’m pulling away from him, and sometimes I get the impression that he feels it too. I hate it, but I haven’t got a clue how to fix it.
We arrive at Glendale Airport, and immediately the limo driver and the pilots begin loading the plane with our luggage. Before we take off, I grab a smoke. Flying isn’t an issue for me except when it comes to these small planes like this. They creep me out. Smoking has become more of a nervous habit than anything anymore, which really bothers me, and I am thankful that Tristan hasn’t once mentioned the fact that there were two empty packs of cigarettes and a full ashtray on the coffee table the night he found me.
