Playboy

by Logan Chance

  “Well, pack your bags. This shoot is an enormous opportunity for us. I need everything to be perfect.” Her brown eyes are more serious than I’ve ever seen them. “Better than perfect. No hiccups.”

  I sit straighter in my seat. “Absolutely. No problems there.”

  “I know.” She relaxes and gives me a warm and friendly smile. “I trust you, Jonah.”

  “Thanks. I’ll do my best.”

  She leaves my office after giving me a few details about the job. It’s a risqué photo shoot for one of the hottest places in Vegas.

  To say I’m not fucking stoked would be a lie.

  14

  Chelsea

  The next day, I’m walking on clouds. Immense, fluffy ones. I’m so excited. Vegas. I mean, it’s Vegas. And I was selected to go. It feels good to be chosen for this after all the rejection of LA. And I could use a little fun in the down time from the shoot.

  I call Gidget. “What are you doing? Get dressed and come meet me. We’re going out.” I jump in place a little as I wait for her to say yes.

  “It’s five in the afternoon. Why are you so happy?”

  “I’m going to Vegas, and we haven’t had girl time in forever.”

  “What? Ok, ok, meet me at Tidal Waves.”

  Jonah isn’t home, and I rush to get ready, breathing a little sigh of relief he’s not here. Ever since we kissed, I don’t know how to act around him. I’m trying to act unphased, but all I want to do is wrap my arms around him and have him sweep me off my feet and carry me to my bedroom.

  I know fairytales.

  He’s too irresistible. Every time I see him, I imagine bad things happening. Bad things sexually…in a good way.

  I throw on a black sundress, wedges, twist my hair up on top of my head and rush out the door to avoid him.

  Half an hour later, Gidget and I order our second drink. My excitement over the shoot has waned a bit, and the alcohol has me feeling a little glum.

  “I can’t stop thinking about him,” I say to Gidget over my martini.

  She shakes her head, her eyes trained on me. “I still can’t believe he kissed you.”

  My core tightens, remembering. “It was better than a kiss.”

  “Hm.” She keeps saying that, ever since I told her about our kiss. Her fingers toy with her long dark side braid as she watches me. “Have you talked to him about it?”

  Sighing, I scan the near empty bar.

  “Well, sort of. He said Declan would kill him if he knew.” I signal the bartender for another martini. “I think that’s all that needs to be said. I mean, couldn’t he tell maybe I wanted another?”

  “Well, it is the right thing to say.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know. Like when one person is afraid of rejection, or afraid what the other person might say, so they offer that up. Just to warn off the chance of being let down.”

  “You think he said that because he was afraid I didn’t want it?” I ask.

  “Well, one thing I’ve realized with Paul is, I kind of expect him to know what I’m thinking, and he doesn’t.” She rolls her eyes. “I mean, we’ve only been together a few months, but still. You’re gonna have to spell it out, draw him a picture, act it out, cause men need the facts.”

  I let her wisdom soak in for a moment. Is it really that simple? Gidget, with her skinny jeans and “Dance Hair, Don’t Care” t-shirt might be a genius. Or I may be tipsy.

  “Maybe you’re right.”

  “I mean, is it what you want?” She takes a sip of her red wine. “Do you want to be locking lips with your very own Prince Charming?”

  “First off, no to Prince Charming. Well, both of them. Is it weird two princes were named Prince Charming?”

  She laughs. “Well, they both sucked…and not in a good way. I think Sleeping Beauty’s prince charming was a dud. He didn’t even talk, except to sing his love for a girl he just met.”

  “Yeah, so no to Prince Charming. All either of them did was kiss their princesses. Plus, there’s the necrophilia issue. Technically, he thought she was dead.”

  “Ew, Chelsea,” she cringes, ordering another drink. “How about Eric? He was cute.”

  “Eric from the Little Mermaid? Did you really just say a cartoon character was cute?” I laugh.

  “Well, he was.”

  I shake my head, smiling. “Yeah, but he’s only into mutes.”

  She slaps my arm. “Oh my God. I would take Eric any day. I’d even brush my hair with a fork for foreplay.”

  “Not me, I’d take the Beast.”

  Her eyes go wide. “Really? Is it the beard?”

  I smile. “Well, with that extensive library and his controlling ways, what’s not to love?”

  She narrows her eyes. “Nah, too furry for me. I like some abs. Plus, he’s got major anger issues.”

  “Speaking of abs, the other day Jonah took his shirt off,” I sigh, feeling a little wistful, “nothing but the hottest six-pack abs I’d ever seen.”

  “Fur?” She sips her drink.

  “None, except for a yummy happy trail.” I slam my drink down. “Ugh, ok, I do want to kiss him again.”

  She narrows her eyes at me. “And it doesn’t matter that you guys work together, live together, or that he’s your brother’s best friend?”

  Well, when you put it that way. I take another small sip of my pink martini, stalling to answer. “Uh, no?”

  She laughs. “You’re a mess. I can’t help ya. You’re on your own.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “Why can’t you just meet someone where things aren’t so complicated?”

  I let out a deep breath, setting my martini glass on the oak bar. “Because no one’s like Jonah.”

  “Oh dear,” she says, shaking her head. “I didn’t realize you were in so deep.”

  Shocked, I answer, “I’m not. I swear. He’s just a good kisser.”

  “Mhm, sure.”

  Am I in deep? I don’t want to keep wasting my time if nothing will ever come of it. There are other guys. I smile at the bartender. He’s handsome. Rugged. Dark hair, mysterious eyes, and a piercing in his brow. He smiles, and it doesn’t give me the pitch in my belly like Jonah’s.

  Well, I tried.

  “I quit,” I say, facing the mouth of Bronson Cave.

  “What? You can’t quit,” Jonah says. “It’s the bat cave.”

  Those are practically the first words he’s spoken to me since our kiss. He’s been weird the past few days, leaving for work early and staying in his office when he gets home. It’s giving me a complex, so I fully intended to avoid him the next few days until Vegas, but fate, mean bitch that she is, keeps intervening.

  Love Is Extreme Adventures booked an expensive last-minute ad and comped the overnight stay in a remote location outside of LA. Their one requisite? Myself and Wayne. We are prehistoric cave people meant to entice men into wanting to bring their significant other on an extreme love adventure—hell to the no.

  “Exactly,” I hiss. “There are bats in there. And no telling what else.”

  Wayne, in his fur loincloth, puts an arm around my shoulder. “Me protect you,” he grunts out.

  “This just isn’t worth it,” I tell Jonah. “I mean, I’m in a fur bikini for God’s sake. I don’t want to be found dead wearing this.”

  Jonah laughs. “You’re not going to die, he assures me. “Do you know how many movies were shot here? Again, it’s the bat cave,” he stresses.

  “Listen,” I shrug off Wayne’s arm, “I don’t care if Batman himself is in there, are you going to save me if a bear comes barreling at us?”

  “Yes,” he says, completely serious and completely heart stopping, “I would never let anything hurt you.”

  Except you.

  “Zombies?”

  “Yes.”

  “Vampires?”

  Laughter lights his eyes, but he humors me, because I’m fucking serious. “Yes, promise.”

  I look at the m
outh to hell once more and take a deep breath. “Ok,” I agree, “but if you lie to me and I die in there, I will haunt you forever.”

  “Deal.” Excitement bounds off him. “Let’s do this. To the batcave.”

  They lead me into the cave with its shady recesses, and for the next hour I lie on a synthetic bear skin rug, waiting to be mauled to death out of vengeance.

  “Could you move away a little?” Jonah directs Wayne. “Just communicate with your eyes, not your hands.”

  Wayne backs up a little and after a few more shots, Jonah calls it for the day. I scramble out of the cave as fast as I can. After changing into shorts and a white tank in the pop up tent, I gather my things and trek back to our cars with the small crew. Halfway there, before I can resist, Jonah reaches in and takes my bag from me, slinging it over his shoulder. At the lot, he puts it in the backseat of my car.

  “Follow me to the hotel,” he says. “I don’t want you to get lost.”

  “I’m not helpless, Jonah,” I say, sliding in my car. “I can follow signs.”

  “It’ll be dark soon. If you get lost, you’ll be stranded. There’s no one around here to help you, except wild animals.”

  Alrighty then. “Lead the way.”

  When we get to the hotel, a single story building that looks straight out of Psycho, all I can think about is showering and sleeping. Having my nerves on high alert all day made me tired.

  After my shower, where I kept watching for knife shadows on the white shower curtain, and the sun has faded, I pull back the covers and jump, high. Eeek. A snake. All squiggly and black resting on my pillow. Screw this.

  I grab my bag and race out of the room.

  Jonah’s room is a few feet away, and I debate on knocking on his door or sleeping in my car.

  It’s pitch black outside. I knock.

  Minutes later, a groggy Jonah opens the door in nothing but sweat pants resting low on his hips and no shirt.

  “There’s a snake on my pillow,” I rush out.

  He doesn’t say a word, just opens the door further for me to enter.

  This place is a nightmare, and I waste no time crawling into his bed where it’s safe. He stares at me.

  “Uh, is this ok?” I ask.

  “Yeah, I’ll just sleep,” he glances around the small room, “somewhere.”

  I pull back the covers, mainly checking for any more snakes, and smile. “There’s plenty of room.”

  This is probably a mistake. I mean, it’s Jonah.

  He scratches his head, and then crawls in beside me. “Goodnight.” He rolls over, and all of a sudden I can’t sleep.

  I toss and turn, humph and grumble, trying to get as comfortable as possible.

  “Is there a problem?” he asks, flipping over to face me.

  “Sorry.”

  He props himself up on one elbow. “How cool was that cave today?”

  “Not very,” I answer.

  The room is dimly lit by one small lamp resting atop a side table in the corner of the room. The soft hum of the air conditioner is the only sound as we lie in bed together. I’m in a bed with Jonah. I know I was in a bed with him a while ago, but I was drunk and couldn’t enjoy it like I can now.

  I study his face. His perfect nose and white teeth all lining up straight. The shape of his eyes and how the brows perfectly arch over each one.

  “It was really cool. That’s the exact cave where they filmed Batman,” he says, a little too excited.

  “Oh.” I play with a thread from the comforter.

  “Just think, one day you could make a movie in that exact cave.”

  I picture it. The camera, the director, the cast. And then my mind drifts to the kiss we shared, and how badly I want him to lay another one on me. “That would be great,” I say out loud. And I’m not talking about filming a movie either.

  He leans closer, and his hand reaches out, brushing against my cheek.

  “You had an eyelash.” He holds out his finger. “Make a wish and blow.”

  The way he says blow is sexy and husky. Like he wants me to blow something other than his finger.

  Wish. What should I wish for? There’s a million things I wish for every day. But, right now, with Jonah’s intent stare on me, I close my eyes and blow.

  Please let him kiss me again.

  He doesn’t move, and neither do I.

  “Thank you,” I say, because I can’t think of anything better. A gazillion words flutter through my mind, but I can’t capture any of them, except, “Wishes don’t come true.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There’s one thing I’ve always wished for, but it’s not happening.”

  “I really think you’re going to make it,” he whispers.

  “Make what?”

  “It. You know, acting. A movie star. I really think you have what it takes.”

  He has no idea he’s what I’ve been wishing for. I snuggle closer. “Thank you.” Again with nothing better or insightful to say. I’m sure Audrey Hepburn was never at a loss of what to say. Or Greta Garbo.

  “Good night, Chelsea.”

  I gaze at him, not yet wanting to say those two words back. Because then it’s over. The moment. The magic we’re creating by lying here together. Sure, it’s not the magic of lovemaking. It’s a different kind. More intimate.

  “I’m glad you were here to save me from the snake.”

  He gives a small laugh. “I’m sure Norman Bates put it there specially for you.”

  I grab his arm and scoot closer. “Don’t make me scared. This place is already creepy enough.”

  “I told you earlier,” our eyes meet, “I won’t let anything hurt you.”

  He’s so earnest, I believe him. My insides melt, and I close my eyes. “Good night, Jonah.”

  15

  Jonah

  Vegas here I come. Sin City. I’m so ready to start this assignment. I’m even more excited to gamble a few bills away.

  I’m not a huge gambler, but when in Vegas…

  I check into the Bellagio where Falcon Publications has us booked through the weekend with one day of constant shooting and then one ‘free day.’

  To do as we please.

  Which won’t be Chelsea.

  I mean, come on, can’t say I haven’t thought about it.

  The one thing I’m not looking forward to is Wayne’s hands all over her during this photo shoot.

  I want to punch him in his model-perfect face. Who cares if he has big muscles and twenty-four pack abs. Or if the women ‘swoon’ over his smile. Please, the guy’s a complete tool. Besides, big muscles equals tiny dick, everyone knows this. Speak of the devil, Wayne brushes past me on the way to his room. “I’m getting fucked up,” he shouts, heading down the hall.

  Shooting starts at eight a.m., so, I head up to my own room, wheel my suitcase through the corridor, and spot Chelsea.

  “Hey, Jonah,” she says.

  “Hey, is that your room?” I ask as I get closer.

  “Yep.” She holds up the keycard in her hand. “Looks like we’re neighbors.”

  “I just can’t seem to get away from you,” I joke. “I’m sure this place is snake free.”

  She smiles and unlocks her door. “Yeah, let’s hope. See you tomorrow.”

  Although, I kind of wish there were. I wish someone would unleash a fury of snakes in her room. Like Snakes On A Plane, only this time, snakes in her room.

  And I could rescue her.

  I should have kissed her the other night. Lying in that bed with her. I should have fucking kissed her. But, I resisted.

  And now, she’s still as tempting as ever…right across the hall.

  The next morning, my alarm blares entirely too loud for my liking. I slam the snooze. Fuck. I hate mornings. They should be illegal.

  Days should start at the crack of noon. Think about how many happier people would be in the world. Sure, Starbucks sales would be down, but I don’t drink coffee anyways. Or believe in the hype.
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  What’s the hype? The belief that coffee is needed to function. I know. I know. Don’t throw your mocha latte in my face. But, honestly, is coffee really the cure-all for mornings?

  I hit snooze again.

  Finally, before the third snooze sounds, I crawl out of bed, shower, and throw on some jeans and a black t-shirt.

  We’re set to meet in one of the penthouse suites, so I grab my equipment and hustle to the top floor.

  When I enter, it takes me all of ten minutes to set everything up with Randall’s assistance. The poor kid gleams with excitement.

  I gotta admit, I’m pretty damn stoked too to get this day rolling.

  Garcia steps out of the bathroom. “Sin City meet Siiincock.”

  “Damn,” Randall says as Chelsea exits the bathroom. She has Garcia’s assistant following her, applying some make-up as she heads closer to the bed.

  “Fuck,” I whisper.

  She’s not in a swimsuit. No, she’s in some white-and-pink, lacy lingerie thing. It’s practically see through. Who allowed this?

  Doesn’t matter.

  “Fuck is right,” Randall whispers close to my ear.

  I snap to attention. “Keep your eyes off her.”

  He laughs, but I’m not joking.

  For some reason, I’ve staked a claim over her.

  “I’ll kill him,” Glenda threatens, rushing into the room. “The executives will be here soon. Listen up everyone,” she calls out to the room. “Anyone know where the ever-loving fuck Wayne is?”

  Oh shit. There’s an awkward silence.

  Everyone’s eyes bounce around to one another and back to Glenda. I swear her head’s about to explode.

  “Did he say anything?” she asks, drawing out each word.

  “Just that he was drinking last night,” I offer.

  Wrong thing to say. Fire is definitely in her eyes, and they’re aimed right at me. “And you didn’t try to stop him?”

  I shrug. “Not my place.”

  She huffs a little. But, I get it. Wayne is sort of fucking us all over.

  Glenda pinches the bridge of her nose. “The people organizing this entire thing, the one’s fronting this whole bill, the ones who want to see this company act in a professional manner will be here.” She glimpses at her watch. “Half an hour. I want Wayne found.”