by Rie Warren
He flopped onto the blessedly massive bed after snagging one of my brews. “Is there baseball on?”
“Dude.” I settled next to him, watching him closely in case crazy was catching. “Gamecocks versus Clemson, you forgot?”
He suddenly perked up with a clink of his bottle against mine. “Go Cocks!”
We watched the game in soothing male camaraderie, chugging beers and booing and hissing along with the televised crowd.
The umpire made a bad call and I sat up to shout, “That was not a foul ball!”
“That was clearly a foul ball.” Nicky got in my face.
So I decided to take him down. We traded mock punches, pulled a few wrestling moves, the game forgotten for good ol’ scrapping. Then it got serious. Clambering on top of me, the wiry bastard practically shoved his crotch in my face.
My head tipped back as I snarled, “What’d I just say about balls in my mouth, you dirty whore?”
Nicky scrambled to his knees and grabbed his johnson. “Foul balls! Foul balls!”
I’d just beaten him down to the mattress with his arm jimmied behind his back when heavy pounding on the door cut into my three-count victory moment. “Who the hell is that?”
His head shot up. “Oh shit.”
“Oh shit?”
Bucking me off him, he quickly tied back his fucked-up hair. “My crew.”
More hard knocking ensued.
His crew? Sounds like Gerald’s out there with a battering ram tryin’ to break the damn thing down. Not a bunch of female romance writers.
I watched in amusement as Nicky shoved our beer bottles behind the nightstand, whipped out a fresh bottle of pink fizz and two plastic wineglasses. He chewed his lip, skimming TV channels until he got to a cooking program. From bros to boyfriends in twenty-five seconds flat. For my part, I thought about straightening up but then figured what the fuck? We looked like we’d just been catching an early evening canoodle, right?
Nicky arranged himself on the bed with wineglass in hand, pinky finger quirked. Waving like the sultan of some Middle Eastern country, he gestured for me to let the henpeckers in. I kicked his foot—hard—when I walked past the bed.
Pulling open the door, I was almost stampeded into the carpet. A flurry of ruffles and hair and perfume swept past me. Counting the ladies off in my head and matching the numbers to the women I knew were part of Nicky’s gang, I started to shut the door.
“Wait!” The last lady’s hand shot out. She grabbed someone beyond the portal, pulling her hastily inside.
I flattened myself to the wall and shut the door, listening to the hustle and bustle just beyond the short entryway, gathering my courage . . . and my balls.
Stepping around the corner, I faced the firing squad headed by an elegantly dressed, mid-fifties-something woman. Giant diamonds glittered from her fingers and long strands of pearls hung off her neck.
“Missy Peachtree, BDSM. We simply couldn’t wait to meet Nicky’s partner. Now, we didn’t interrupt anything, did we?” she asked with way too much interest.
I straightened my collar, scanned the room for my fedora—the one Nicky was twirling on one finger with a cool smirk on his face—and offered my hand to Miss Missy Peachtree/BDSM. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”
“Oh my. He’s just delicious, isn’t he, ladies?” Her hand, released from mine, fluttered to her throat . . . and pearls.
Titters abounded and I curbed the impulse to strut around.
A short round woman in peasant gear with bangles running up and down her arms knocked Missy out of the way. She looked me over from behind green-tinted Lennon glasses. “Divine, I’d say. Where’d you find this tall drink of water, Nicky?” Before he had a chance to answer, she pulled me into a long hug. “Janice Ranger, Steampunk.”
Steamwhat? That was a head-scratcher.
No sooner had she released me than a dark-skinned lady glided up to me. “Utterly fuckable.”
My eyebrows ratcheted sky-high.
“Don’t mind Jackée, she has no filter.” Janice butted in.
Lifting her hand with a snap of fingers, Jackée said, “Bitch, don’t be callin’ me Jackée, this ain’t no 227 up in here.” She gave a mighty exhale through her nose before her brown gaze walked all over my body. “Jacqueline, Gay Male Romance. I might need to get with you to work out some ideas.”
Oh God, meat market. And I’m the grade-A beef apparently.
I stood stunned until another one was pushed forward. I started at the shoes— heels to be absolutely fucking correct—because they were red, with ribbons wrapping around nicely toned calves. A scarlet dress halted just above her knees, cinched in at the waist, cupping her breasts as if offering them for dessert. Sexy round shoulders and the palest buttercream skin brought me to instant hard-on. Then there was her bow-shaped pout and sexy-secretary glasses over guileless green eyes, all set off by clouds of strawberry hair.
It was the woman from the lobby whose shit had dumped out all over the floor.
The babe. The beauty. Right here in our room. In red. How the hell does she wear a dress like that and manage to look . . . innocent? My eyes weren’t the only thing bulging.
“Leelee Songchild, New Adult.” She lifted her hand.
Boing. And I almost swallowed my tongue. Sliding my palm against hers, I curled my fingers and brought her hand to my lips. “Stone. At your service.” This time it wasn’t a line.
Heat rippled between us as Leelee—Leelee—flushed from the top of her breasts to her cheeks. Her lashes fluttered, the pulse in her throat skipped. My cock throbbed in time to it. I only broke away from her when Nicky coughed-swore in the background, probably to remind me my place was supposed to be at his side.
I cleared my throat, glancing around the group. “Stone, foreign car dealer.”
“Swoon.” Steampunk Janice fanned herself.
“More like sex on legs.” Jacqueline picked up her purse.
Missy adjusted her pearls for the umpteenth time. “I’d love to suspend him in a hogtie and try out my new Evil Stick on those thighs.”
I choked through a forced laugh and looked to Nicky for help. In return, he grinned and sent my fedora sailing toward me. I caught it behind my back, rolled it up the length of my arm and flipped it off my shoulder to sit at just the right angle on my head.
“Ice, girls, I need ice!” Jacqueline wailed.
I looked to Leelee, my gaze drawn to the red-dressed minx. She dipped her head and gave a slow clap. No rings on her fingers, she was fair game, except I already had a boyfriend.
“Dinner!” Missy was clearly den mother as well as Domme—another, even more alarming, prospect.
We filed into the hallway, Nicky and I in the center of the chickens who carried on clucking around us. Guiding him along with a hand pressed to his lower back, I earned a half smile and batting eyelashes from him—Jesus, even I’m convinced—and giggles from the gals.
“I could get used to this,” he whispered.
I growled in what I hoped was a suggestive manner and tightened my fingers just hard enough to cause a twinge of pain with any luck. “Used to what?”
“Being out and proud with my boyfriend.”
Yeah, I’m gonna have them all eatin’ out of my hand, including Nicky, by the time this shindig’s over.
“Which one’s the groper?” I whispered.
“Jacqueline. Janice after a successful book signing. Missy after one too many martinis. I don’t know much about Leelee yet.”
Fuck, I hope Leelee’s a groper.
We lagged back and I said, “She’s the woman from check-in.”
“Oh yeah.” He smiled absentmindedly.
Oh yeah? As if Leelee was anything less than spectacular. “You said you didn’t know her.”
“She just joined our Facebook group a couple months ago, doesn’t have a selfie up. I didn’t recognize her.” He shrugged, again with the nonchalance.
I watched her ass move ahead of me, the loose skirt se
ttling against those round cheeks with every step. I adjusted myself as discreetly as possible.
Leelee came part and parcel with the Henpeckers. This didn’t bode well at all.
A couple hours later, I was squished into a booth with Nicky on my right side and Leelee on the left of me against the wall. Against a wall was right where I really wanted to fuck her as soon as possible. I let loose a low groan, trying to figure out how to hide my ever-ready erection.
We’d spent an hour and a half in the bar of the barbecue joint waiting for our table. The bartender had flirted shamelessly with Leelee, and I’d wanted to pound his head with my fist until he got a case of cauliflower ear. I’d flirted shamelessly with Nicky, hoping to cement our relationship. I’d totally failed at keeping my eyes off Leelee. But I hadn’t put my hands on her yet.
I decided that was a victory.
In the booth, Nicky scooted closer, if that was possible, and laid his hand on my thigh. “Okay, lover?”
Giggles rose from the gaggle of geese on the other side of the table.
I dropped my chin and lifted an eyebrow. “Peachy, babe.” I glared at Missy Peachtree.
“Ready to order?” Our waitress tapped a pen against her order pad.
I hadn’t even looked at the menu because Leelee sat stacked and ready beside me. Her shorter stature made it real damn easy to take a gander at all the creamy skin that was strictly off-limits.
“The fish is supposed to be good.” Her soft voice scattered across my skin in slivers of heat that spread to my groin.
Jesus. “Can’t. Allergic to shellfish.” And then I decided to break out my Will Smith impersonation from Hitch, contorting my face and saying, “It is not that serious!”
My face suddenly scorching, I hid behind a long drink of goddamn fruity something or other while Leelee Songchild giggled beside me. “That’s one of my favorite romcoms. I can’t believe you can pull off Will Smith. My ex hated watchin’ stuff like that with me.”
I dove after that nugget of info, desperate to have her relationship status confirmed. “Your ex?”
She laid a hand on my wrist. “Long story, not a happy ending.”
I got my Glee on for that, until Nicky narrowed his eyes at me.
Orders were placed, food was eaten, and I kept my damn mouth shut after that. Doing impressions for the kid was one thing, but Christ.
Nosy Missy leaned forward over dessert. “So, Stone, the hat . . . is that your signature?”
I twirled it off my head to the tips of my fingers and back again. “Just one of my things, ma’am.” Damn, she probably liked it when I called her that. I’d have to knock that shit off. “Y’all should see my cowboy hat,” I drawled. “’Cept I only wear it when I ride Nicky hard and put him up wet.”
Jacqueline slammed a palm to the table. “Booyah! I knew it! You’re the top.” She waggled her fingers. “Pay up, bitches.”
“So butch.” Janice practically eye-fucked me across the tabletop after she handed her cash over.
I fought a grin. Butch sort of worked as a compliment in the macho column. I’d take it, especially when Leelee suddenly jerked away from the heat of my thigh pressed against hers. Her skin turned rosy, and she wouldn’t meet my eyes even when I placed an elbow on the table, bracketing her in.
“Okay?” I asked.
“Mm hmm. Just parched, I don’t think the A/C’s high enough in here.” She drank from her glass of ice water.
If she was overheating, I was on fire. My body tingled from my fingertips to my toes, and I wanted to get closer to her sun. Nicky bumping against me broke the spell of attraction enough to make me slide an arm across his shoulders.
We spent another hour at the restaurant, filling up on coffee and convention gossip I listened to with half an ear. I was too distracted by Leelee next to me as she sent zingers in reply to Jacqueline’s fast-fire questions. Basically working myself up to a long cold shower or a quick, quiet jerk-off session later.
Catching the shuttle back to the hotel, I felt a little lazy, a little drunk. I hauled Nicky closer for an affectionate skull rub. He gave me a loving elbow jab to the ribs. It was a war between feeling warm-hearted and welcomed by his crew, pretending I couldn’t wait to grab Nicky and fuck his brains out against a wall, and pretending I didn’t want to grab Leelee . . . and fuck her brains out against a wall.
The possibility of wall-fucking came a lot sooner than expected when we returned to the hotel and the hens prodded me to escort the little miss to her room.
“Leelee’s new to all this.” Missy the Mistress explained with a twist of her pearls.
“Uh, so am I.” I really didn’t need an excuse to be alone with Leelee, in a hotel. Alone. Where there were beds behind every door.
Janice’s bangles jangled in my face. “Yes, but you’re a man.”
“Double standard much?” I groused. “What happened to feminism?”
Nicky covered his mouth with his hand, no doubt smothering the ha-ha chuckles.
Jacqueline’s head swung back and forth like a snake charmer’s. “Please, second-wave feminism is so passé. A woman likes to be walked to her door. Besides, Stone, you look rough—”
“And ready,” Janice chimed in.
“Like a bouncer. Have you ever thought about wearing leather?” Missy colluded.
“She’s just a babe in the woods, only twenty-seven and getting her first taste of fame. Leelee has people after her, and we wouldn’t want anything to happen to her, would we?” Jacqueline crossed her arms.
“People? After her?” I turned to Leelee—innocent, sexual, extremely fuckable Leelee—in disbelief.
“She’s being courted—” Missy whispered.
“By agents and editors.” Janice shivered and her jewelry shimmied too.
I glanced at Leelee. She stood with one leg braced against the wall, drawing my gaze to the long slit up the thigh of her dress I’d missed earlier.
Holy shit, that’s hot.
Jacqueline stamped her foot to drag my attention back. “She just happens to be the latest self-pub whiz kid, her first book went viral. Now everyone wants a piece of her pie.”
Leelee’s pie? Count me in.
“Fine.” I jabbed the elevator button. “I’ll take her.”
I prayed the elevator would be bursting with people.
It was empty. Of course it was.
I thought about attempting small talk, but it took all my damn concentration to keep from staring at Leelee in the mirrored surrounds. I held my hands loosely cupped in front of my crotch and tried not to fidget. My cock ached, my jeans were too tight, and the only thing working to my advantage was my hat, which hid my lust-hungry eyes from sight.
On Leelee’s floor, I followed a staggered step behind, because I wasn’t dumb enough to pass up the chance to eyeball her ass one more time.
When we reached her door, she took out her key and smiled. “So . . .”
“Yeah.”
Her green eyes flickered up. “My knight in shinin’ armor again?”
Scam artist, maybe. All my natural tendencies urged me to kiss the hell out of her. I really wished I could follow her into the room. I’d give my left nut to find out what kind of whimpers she made when my head was buried between her thighs, my hands pulling down the straps of her dress to get to her tits. The fact my hands—and tongue—were tied made me ornery as hell.
“I’m nobody’s knight, lady, least of all yours.” My voice came out flat and hard.
A veil dropped over her eyes, making them brittle as green glass. “My mistake. And here I thought chivalry wasn’t dead,” she said with all the haughtiness of a true southern woman before slipping into her room.
The door slammed in my face.
Pissing Leelee off might not have been the best idea because that spark of hot temper was even more attractive than her angel-vixen looks.
Babe in the woods? Bullshit. This woman was hell in high heels, and I had designs to fuck her against the hood of my �
�69 Camaro.
Three
Wednesday: Y Chromosome and Testosterone Overload
I SKIPPED THE COLD shower, the quiet jag-off session, kicking myself in the ass instead for putting that you’re a dick look in Leelee’s eyes. After stripping down, I shoved Nicky aside in the bed and started worrying. About the garage, the kid, the sudden wanna-fuck-Leelee-outta-my-system fantasies. Nicky tossed a handful of pillows at my head, and we ended up fighting over blankets until we finally passed out.
I woke up in the night, sweating my balls off from all the blankets I’d stolen from him. His breath tickled my ear, his arm slung across my torso. Fucking cuddler. I pushed him to the knife’s edge of the bed, only slightly tempted to nudge him that extra inch until he fell off. He snorted-snored and smacked my hands away. I sprawled on my back, enjoying all the room, and fell back asleep.
A mash-up of nightmares chased my dreams. Boobs, broads, faceless chicks, and nameless conquests caught up with me.
At one point I groaned awake with Nicky hanging over me, his jaw clenching. “Stop fuckin’ snoring, dude, before I duct tape your mouth shut.”
Washy lines of sun slanted into the room from behind the blackout curtains when I came to from a restless sleep. Nicky dressed in the weak light of what had to be barely half-past the crack-of, a time I was all too familiar with from the kid’s early morning wake-up routine. It usually included JJ pouncing on my head, pulling on my toes and—the joy—pretending to be a big, slobbering dog called Viper. I rolled over, burying my head under a pillow. I was gonna milk this gay-cation for all it was worth.
“I’ve got a roundtable to chair at . . .”
Bla bla bla.
The bed dipped when Nicky sat beside me. “Then a panel at nine, a meeting with my editor at ten-thirty.” I heard him flicking through his notes about what he had to do, who he had to meet, and where he had to be every fucking second of the next four point five days. “A meeting with Warlocks and Witches at eleven-thirty, another panel at noon, and then a pitch session to work after that. So, you’re on your own this morning.”
