“And I believe you,” he said. “This is just a safeguard in case you get a wild hair to try it again.”
“Try what again?”
“To use another man to forget about me,” he said softly.
I scooted across the bed and slammed off into the bathroom before I shoved the tray of food down his damnable throat.
I dallied in the bathroom, but it didn’t matter. Eli still waited for me when I got out. He was fully dressed by now, and so was I. He shadowed me out to my car. “What are you doing?” I finally asked.
“I thought I’d ride with you to the club, my pet,” he smiled. “The show is in a few days. I have to rehearse. I cleared my whole day to do it. Unless, of course, you don’t want me to go,” he added with a big doe-eyed stare and exaggerated pout.
I seethed as I stared at him. “Fine. Get in. If you dare,” I added before slamming into the driver’s side.
He climbed into the passenger side. “You might want to use your seat belt,” I offered, and barely gave him a chance to fasten it before we squealed out of the driveway. That he found this all terribly amusing only pissed me off even more.
He was all smiles as we entered the empty nightclub. Both Clem and Antoine greeted him warmly, like an old friend. Of course they would. They thought he was a pretty decent guy deep down, otherwise I wouldn’t have dropped all my principles like a sack of potatoes and shacked up with the guy, the perfect picture of a moony-eyed girlfriend.
It made my mood even more difficult to manage. I wanted to scream and rail, but I was forced to smile and engage rationally with everyone, like I wasn’t some hormonally crazed maniac. After all, it wasn’t their fault I had sold my soul to the devil.
That devil, Eli Blake, knew just how well he had painted me into a corner. I could tell by the victorious smile he wore, which everyone else assumed was simple happiness. Of course he was happy. He could blow his wad all over town. I had to obey some vow of chastity I never even knew I had taken.
I almost wished the bar was open. I needed a stiff drink. I needed a stiff… everything.
It didn’t help that he sang his most provocative tunes. But why wouldn’t he? He was paid very well to seduce women far and wide with nothing more than his sexy songs and those killer looks. Those two things would bring scads of new fans to FFF opening night. His Meet & Greet tickets, priced at a whopping $350 a piece, had already sold out. Granted there were only fifteen, but still.
Made me wonder what Caz Bixby got paid per hour.
Caz showed up that first day, and every other day once he realized that it got under Eli’s skin for him to do it. I honestly thought that was most of my appeal for someone like Caz. He and Eli were a lot alike. They both wanted to win.
By March 15th I realized that no matter who won, I was the real loser in the scenario. It made me surlier than usual. March 17th was going to be one of the most important nights of my life, and all I wanted was for it to be over.
I barked as much to Clem before I got a rein on my senses. “I gotta get out of here,” I decided. She nodded. She agreed.
I didn’t go home. I couldn’t go home. I had no home. Instead I just drove. I drove down Hollywood Boulevard, to watch the tourists crowd the iconic street. I drove Sepulveda, all the way from West Los Angeles to South Bay. I drove down the Imperial Highway, all the way to Orange County.
I drove so far I needed GPS to get back. It was late by then, nearly ten o’clock when I finally walked through the front door. I heard music coming from the living room, so I knew that Eli was already home. He was working on that tune, playing it over and over again. I sighed as I walked down the hallway, across his prized lapacho flooring, but stopped cold when I heard a woman’s laughter.
I peered around the corner, where I spotted Julie sitting next to Eli on the piano bench. He was playing to her by candlelight, leaning close as he hummed along to his still wordless song. She giggled. Beau Jangles rubbed up against her, demanding her attention.
“He usually doesn’t like the women I bring home,” he had once told me. It made me wonder at once if that was a line… or if Beau Jangles found me as replaceable as his master.
I cleared my throat and both turned around to face me. “You’re home,” he announced, as his fingers continued to play.
Julie hopped up, almost guiltily. She grabbed some paperwork from the piano to bring to me. “Frank wanted me to pop these over for you to look at and sign,” she said as she reached me. From the blush in her cheeks, I knew that wasn’t the only reason she had been so eager for the errand.
“Thank you,” I said, taking the folder from her, my tone flat and cold.
“I should probably go,” she offered.
“Don’t be silly,” Eli cajoled. “Since it’s so late, we’ll probably just order in. Right, honey?” he asked, his eyes landing on me.
“I’m tired,” I announced. “I think I’ll just go to bed.” I took the folder under my arm and headed for the bedroom.
It did not go unnoticed that it took him a full hour to join me, nor did it go unnoticed that was five minutes after Julie’s car finally pulled from the drive. I was reading on my tablet when he finally closed the bedroom door behind him. He unbuttoned his shirt as he approached. “What’s the matter, babe? Caz Bixby still couldn’t scratch that itch?”
“I didn’t go see Caz,” I muttered. I refused to look at him. I also wished I had a physical book in my hand. It would have had so much more oomph to flip through each and every page I pretended to read rather than just swiping my finger across a screen.
He plopped on the bed beside me. “Damn shame. You really should do something about that attitude, darlin’. You’re bumming everyone out.”
I glared at him finally. “And that’s a move from your personal playbook, I take it?”
“Of course,” he said with a smile. “Pity parties are a drag. Haven’t you figured that out by now?”
I growled in frustration and referred back to my book. I had swiped through a dozen pages without reading one damned word. “You’re such an asshole.”
“Better to be a happy asshole than a horny bitch,” he countered. I threw my tablet on the end table and hopped off the bed. He was quick to join me. “But I get it. Someone as repressed as you. It makes sense.”
“Repressed?” I echoed through my clenched teeth.
“It can’t be any fun living with all those restrictions you impose on yourself.”
“Imposing… restrictions… myself?” I spat, unable to put the words together because I was infuriated. “You’re the one who restricts me, Eli!”
“Au contraire,” he said, before he booped me on the nose with his index finger. I hated it when he did that, and as usual I slapped it away. “You’re the one who made the rules. I’m just living by them.”
“You’re the one who says I can’t sleep with anyone else,” I gritted.
“No,” he corrected. “You agreed to that when you signed the contract. Is it really my fault that you couldn’t last more than three months in my presence without a nice hard dick?” He stepped closer, using my astonishment to his favor. “I guess it kind of is. My bad for being such a tease.” He bent for a kiss but I spun away.
“What I want doesn’t have anything to do with you!”
“You can lie to yourself, but you can’t lie to me. If you didn’t want me, you’d have fucked Caz by now. Or maybe you just don’t want to come to terms with how vanilla you really are.”
I spun back to face him. “What did you say?”
“You heard me.” He leaned closer. “Vanilla. Pure. White. Plain. Vanilla.”
My eyes narrowed as I stared at him. “You don’t know what the fuck I am.”
“Oh, yes I do,” he corrected softly. He touched the curve of my face with the back of his hand. “So soft. So sweet. Just a ray of pure fucking sunshine. Isn’t that right?” he asked, throwing Caz’s nickname in my face. “Maybe I should hire Caz Bixby. A gift from me to you. Maybe he can u
nleash your naughty side, and show your frustration is your own damned fault.”
“Frustration?” I echoed. He nodded, almost like he wanted me to challenge him.
Challenge.
Accepted.
I walked over to his end table and grabbed the remote. I turned on some music, something sexy with a beat. I knew it was playing into his hands, but I was done being the only one frustrated in this fabricated relationship. As soon as the sensual sounds filled the room, I stalked over to where he stood, slowly, like I had been trained to do in various classes I had taken, most notably a pole dancing class Clem had arranged at FFF. It was a six week session right after I got to L.A., where Clem thought this sexy workout would help some of our more timid clientele find their inner tigress. It ended up being one of the most fun workouts I had ever tried.
I was especially grateful for it now as I released the belt on my robe and let it fall to the floor. I continued the strip tease as I circled him just like a pole, brushing up against him, circling him like a snake, unbuttoning my flannel pajama top slowly, as if I were wearing the sexiest outfit on the planet. I slipped out of it and used it to lasso him and bring him closer, rubbing my breasts against him as I gyrated, using all my best hip moves I had learned from belly dancing class.
I cupped his ass. I ran my hands over his body, taking liberties I would have never dreamed I’d ever take with someone like Eli. I had always assumed it would have been a waste of effort. He’d never see me as a sexy woman no matter what I did, right? I had learned a long time ago that men like that were never worth the effort.
Now I had to smile when his hungry stare fell to my chest, which was still covered by a flimsy bra. I was empowered by his appetite. Using the sleeves of my pajama top, I wrapped it around him, securing his arms, making him my hungry, horny little slave boy, who watched with those cloudy, hooded eyes as I stepped back, reached behind for the fasteners of my bra and unhooked it. Keeping in character from our strip tease class, I held it to my chest as I danced, using one finger in between my full lips, a promise what was to come. Finally I rolled my shoulders forward and the bra straps slipped easily down my arms. I pulled it free as I circled him, then snapped it on his ass before tossing it over his shoulder. He was so stunned by my impromptu strip tease that he simply stood there as I brushed up against him, coming back around to stand in front of him. But I could hear how his breath hastened. His eyes darkened the way they always did when he was about to lose control.
Somehow or another, that had become my favorite color blue in the whole wide world.
Those skin tight jeans he wore could not hide the effects of what I was doing to him. It was my turn to smirk as I eased down to my knees in front of him. He was speechless as I reached for the fastener of his pants… with my teeth. He gasped out loud as I pulled the zipper down the same way, my hot breath dancing over his growing erection through his cotton briefs. I slid my hands up both of his legs until they surrounded his groin. I leaned forward, trailing my tongue up the distinctive curve of his shaft. He mumbled something about God as he shrugged away my pajama top. He cupped my face, which I took as a green light. I gingerly peeled his underwear down, releasing him at last. That monstrous erection sprang forward, right into my cool hand. He tipped his head back with a gasp as my fingers wrapped around it, working it slow, getting it nice and hard and ready.
His eyes met mine just as I encircled the angry purple tip with my mouth. My breath warmed his skin before my mouth slid down around it, taking it slow. I savored that first inch, worshipping it slowly, until his hands reached for me, clutching me tighter, needing more.
I obeyed, sliding him further down into my throat until he disappeared almost entirely. From the surprised look on his face, I knew this wasn’t common. (Thank you, Antoine, for that private class.)
I indulged him a moment or two with some of my best moves before I withdrew, which I did as soon as his thighs began to tremble, unable to keep standing because of what I was doing to him. I stood to my feet.
“Wish I could finish you off, but since I’m vanilla and all,” I shrugged, taking my bra from around his shoulders. “I probably wouldn’t know how, now would I? Maybe you should call Caz,” I added. “You know the number.”
He was as equally stunned by my rejection as he had been my initial dance. He didn’t even move an inch as I grabbed all my stuff from my nightstand and headed up to the guest bedroom, where I should have gone in the first fucking place.
I kept to myself all the way through till St. Patrick’s Day, which was easy enough to do considering how insanely busy we were preparing for our debut at the new location. Julie ended up doing all the press for it, which was no surprise considering most of that press involved Eli.
He did the M&G before the show, giving fifteen lucky (i.e. paying) fans an exclusive tour of the club before it opened. He was kind, generous and accommodating with every single one, regardless of size. I ended up giving him begrudging a thumbs up when it was over.
Though we didn’t speak much at home, we played our parts to a tee at the club. He wore a green shirt that demanded “KISS ME, I’M IRISH (FOR TODAY)”, along with a snug pair of faded, ripped jeans. I wore a Tempestuous party dress in emerald green, with a low cut neckline and short skirt that showed off my legs.
There was a henna tattoo artist giving free Celtic tattoos to all our patrons, an idea inspired by our luau in Hawaii. Though green beer threatened to dominate our drink orders that night, we also had a cocktail befitting the occasion, an almost neon green concoction our bartender called Sham Rocks.
When the doors opened, Eli stood next to me, greeting people as they walked in. It surprised most, who expected him to play celebrity backstage until it was time to perform. He simply shook his head and cuddled me from behind. “It’s my girl’s big night. I want to be right at her side.”
I didn’t read too much into it. He needed a body shield and I was there. No one was going to jump him while he was cuddling with his Significant Other.
I was convenient, as always.
There was no time for any kind of pity party that night. The place was jam-packed, with a line going around the block of people waiting to get in. By the time Eli took the stage, we opened the doors so that everyone outside could hear, while using our billboard to show some video to those who couldn’t make it inside to watch.
It wasn’t the same, but they weren’t left out either. FFF didn’t leave anyone out; that was our code.
The only people we removed, or didn’t let in, were the ones we suspected would threaten the patrons in some way, either with fist fights in the bar or abusive language to the staff. We had a Zero Tolerance policy on that sort of thing.
As a result, the crowd who filled our dance floor was filled with people who genuinely wanted to be there and genuinely wanted to have a good time. It was the most fun I had ever had at any bar on St. Patrick’s Day.
Finally, about ten-thirty, Eli approached me with a smile. “Care to dance?”
I saw hints of the real Eli peek out from those impossibly blue eyes. “I suppose I have time for a dance,” I shrugged.
He led me to the floor. Lola slowed it down for us “lovebirds,” and he wrapped me in his arms. “This was amazing, Carly,” he complimented near my ear. “You should be very proud.”
I looked around at the happy, diverse crowd filling our club. Our club, the one that I had been instrumental in creating, nurturing and growing into something so much bigger than we ever dreamed. Our club, where every girl present felt valued and accepted as is, a message so often neglected from our modern culture, where women were treated like endless works of progress. We were constantly reminded that we had to constantly adjust ourselves to fit in, not just weighing a certain amount, but wearing makeup, or the right fashion, or appearing youthful, accommodating everyone else’s idea of femininity.
I had changed the conversation on all of that, because what else would a million dollar windfall be good for?
“I am very proud,” I responded, and I totally meant it. He held me tighter.
“I’m sorry I’ve been such a dick to you.”
It could have been the loud music, maybe even the crowd, or maybe it was the three Sham Rocks I drank. But I could have sworn he apologized to me. Unprovoked. Out of the blue. With no agenda. I leaned back to peer into his face, just to make sure. “What?”
He offered almost an embarrassed shrug. “I know I’m a dick, okay? I know I’m an asshole. I was mad, I guess, that you’d pick some fuck-for-hire over me. My ego has always been my worst quality.”
I continued to peer at him warily. What was his angle now? “I hope you’re not waiting for me to argue with you about that.”
“No,” he said in a voice so low I could barely hear it. “I don’t want to argue with you.” He studied my face for a moment before he said, “I was an asshole to you and you didn’t deserve it. So this is me apologizing. Consider it a St. Patrick’s Day miracle.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, legend has it he did drive the snakes out of Ireland.”
He joined me in the laughter as he spun me around. “There you go,” he said. He pulled me back into his embrace. “So what do you say? Start over? Truce?” After a beat, he added, “Friends?”
I sighed. I hated it when he was human. It made it so much harder to hate him. “Okay,” I said at last. He rewarded me with a kiss, which I allowed because that was the job.
The reason I wanted it?
That was a lot more complicated to explain.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Things leveled off for us after St. Patrick’s Day. We both honored our new friendly truce, which we brokered as best we could with the weird dynamic of our pretend relationship. I stayed in the guest room, mostly because I was too afraid what might happen should I end up in bed again with this man. My feelings had been complicated for a while, ever since Caz kissed me and I couldn’t stop thinking about Eli.
When we were in public, we were completely convincing; so convincing, in fact, that we fell off of PING’s radar completely. After three months we were old news. It was clear that Eli really was in a relationship with a girl just like those he sang about. The relationship we shared was longer than half of the ones he’d already been in, and it appeared to be going strong. His performance on Fierce, where he sang “She’s a Winner” directly to me from the stage, as I sat in at the judges’ table, sandwiched between Giovanni Carnevale and Allison Ewing, turned into a viral sensation, almost more so than the actual video itself, where I made my debut the new face of Tempestuous. The “She’s a Winner” campaign officially launched, and my image was everywhere. Billboards around town, banners in every Tempestuous store, magazine covers and spreads, and commercials for television.
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