by Rie Warren
“You have to go,” she said in a resigned voice.
Rubbing my hands up and down her arms, I tried to ease the tension running through her. “I know.”
I had to get to my own room. We couldn’t let any of the other attendees see me sneaking around behind Nicky’s back.
Leelee disengaged from me. Cold empty space settled between us. Her hard emotionless eyes were the first hint that I’d really, truly messed everything up.
“No, Stone. I mean I need you to get out. Now.”
Reality stole the last remaining warmth from the room. Leelee sealed off her expression, sat back against the pillows, and pulled the sheet to her shoulders.
My jaw hardened. She’d called me Stone, not Josh, not soft and sweet as she had during our lovemaking.
“Leelee, don’t do this.” I reached out to caress her leg. “I know what you’re thinking. This wasn’t a mistake. We’re not a mistake.”
“I’m so stupid.” She pulled her leg away. “But hearing you with JJ, listenin’ to you talk about your life? You’re such a good father. I got caught up in the moment . . .”
“It wasn’t a moment. It’s something I want to last.”
“Are you even really like this, Josh? Or are you Stone? Are you just a massive slut for men and women?” She smacked her forehead. “I can’t believe I did this. Again!”
I was furious—angry with her and the situation. “Goddammit, Leelee. This isn’t a one-night stand for me, and yeah, I’ve had enough of those to recognize when it happens. I want this to be something more.”
“Well, it can’t be,” she spat. Stumbling from the bed, she dragged the sheet around herself. “I can’t do that because I don’t know what the hell you are, or who the hell you are. And it doesn’t even matter because you are gay!” She flung my leathers at me when I jumped off the bed.
“Get out.” She fired at me again.
I’d forgotten about her temper. And with mine about to catch fire, getting out was probably the best thing to do at this point. I hauled on the stupid goddamn pants with plans to burn them later.
“All right. I’ll go. But don’t think this is the end of it, Leelee. Because I’m not some prissy little shit you can order around. When I want something, I go after it.” And by God, I wanted her more than anything.
She slammed the door in my face once I stepped into the hall. Of course she did. I started Walk of Shame number two, or maybe three.
I’d fucked up. Royally.
And now I had to prepare to get my ass chewed by Nicky. Not in an mm mmm kind of way.
Ten
Friday: Magic Mike Nightmare
NICKY WAS WAITING UP. Of course he was. The man who used to go home with a different bird every night—sometimes two—had forgotten how to let loose. He shut his book, placing it aside. And he called me a throwback? The successful romance writer of the ebook era still insisted on reading from real paper.
I peeled off the leathers one final time and stuffed them into the trashcan.
Nicky asked in an even voice, all false calm before the whup ass, “Where ya been? Or do I already know?”
I strode into the bathroom to clean up so I didn’t go to bed smelling like after-sex. Shoving a washcloth under the faucet, I turned on the hot then lathered all the necessaries. “Why? You jealous, lover?”
He leaned against the doorjamb. “Shit, man—Leelee? What’re you doing with her?”
“Since she kicked me out of bed, out of her room, and probably completely out of her life, it looks like a whole hell of a lot of nothin’.” I slammed the faucet off and toweled dry. “You need to get laid yourself, ya know? Take the stick outta your ass.”
“You do enough catting around for the both of us.” Nicky turned away, stomping toward the bed.
“Just ’cause you gave up your man-whore ways because the heat from your fang-girls got much too handle, doesn’t mean I have to be a monk too.”
His eyes flashed as he pointed at me. “Yeah, you do, Josh, because you agreed to stick it out with me as my partner.”
With a towel around my hips, I toed up to the opposite side of the bed. “When was the last time you got screwed? I can tell you didn’t bang watermelon lips last night because you looked like you had a cramp in your ass rather than coming in fresh from getting the top of your cock blown off.”
He heaved onto the bed. “You’re right. I didn’t do watermelon lips because I have some self-restraint.”
“Yeah. That sucks for you.” A pillow hit my back when I turned to my bag.
Nicky had always been the bad boy in high school. The girl-getter. He reeled ’em in, we traded ’em off. During our late twenties, we’d grown more responsible in different ways. He had his career, and I was in over my head with the garage and the kid, although I still found time for my famous weekly one-night-stands. He hadn’t been with any woman I knew about in at least six months. That had to tangle his nuts. I was almost tempted to throw him a pity fuck.
He was easy enough to look at even if I didn’t swing that way. His muscled chest filled out his shirts, washboard abs lead to strong legs. The longish wavy brown hair had been wrapped around the fingers of many a babe, most of them overcome by his pretty purplish eyes. They also liked the tat around his bicep, black ink weaving against the big muscle. All in all, if I were playing for the other team, I’d find him bone-worthy.
“You’re still a pretty boy, Nicky.” I smirked at him.
He flipped me off from both hands.
After yanking on a pair of clean shorts, I bounced onto bed beside him. “You need a fuck.”
Closing his eyes, he nodded. “I need a fuck.”
“Sexual repression isn’t a good idea, especially when you write all about sex.”
One eyelid lifted. “And romance.”
“If that’s what you wanna call it when your characters are knocking boots all the time, bro.”
Rolling to his side, he twitched his nose like he always did when he was dog-tired. “Looks like you knocked enough boots for the both of us.”
Leelee’s final words stung me anew. I shrugged.
“Ended bad, huh?”
“The usual. Screaming, throwing things, unrivaled vehemence.”
He crushed a pillow over his head, burrowing beneath the covers. “But you didn’t want to leave this time.”
“No. No, I didn’t. I’d have stayed in her bed.”
The pillow on top of his head puffed up. “You have the worst timing ever, you know?”
I nodded, my head ducked.
“Just don’t get me blackballed here, Josh. Are you gonna be able to keep your pecker in your pants?”
“Unless I wanna ram it up your ass, guess I’ll have to.” I jerked a handful of sheets over my waist.
“I guess you will.” He tugged back.
I turned off the light and slid further down in the bed.
Nicky patted my shoulder. “I’m sorry, dude. I don’t want to fuck up our relationship over this.”
“Our friendship.”
He yawned in my face. Good think the fucker had excellent oral hygiene. “What?”
I put the pillow back over his head, the way he liked to sleep, half suffocated. “Night night, and never mind.”
The alarm bleated a few hours later. I laughed when Nicky yanked the cord from the socket and threw the machine against the wall, muttering, “Write-off.”
The next time I woke, faint lines of sunshine ran under the curtains, and my stomach growled loudly.
“I hate you and your stomach, Josh.” Nicky’s muffled voice was filled with venom.
I turned on the lamp and perused the room service menu, chuckling when Nicky cursed me a new asshole. The fucking, the shut-eye, the boyfriend moment made me hungry. I needed food.
When he sat up, his cheek was creased from the pillowcase he’d mashed over his face. “When was last time you ate something?”
Besides Leelee’s sweet pussy? “Donuts at the Writer’s W
idows thing?”
Nicky grabbed the phone and dialed. “Jesus, you’re gonna waste away, and I’ll never hear the end of it from Gigi when I bring you back, looking like a bag of bones.”
At two-hundred-ten-plus pounds of pure muscle, I wasn’t likely to turn into a skeleton overnight. I listened to Nicky order room service, letting him foot the bill because of write-offs, whatever.
An hour later, after wolfing down two breakfast entrees, I sat back, patting my belly. “What’s the deal for today?”
“An outing, it’s a slow day.” He checked his watch. “We’ve gotta meet the Hens in the lobby in forty for the shuttle.”
I perked up like Viper when her leash was jingled for a walk-run-race around the hood. “The Hens—will Leelee be there?”
His eyes met mine. “She’s part of the group, so, yeah. But you’re gonna be a gentleman, right?”
“Absolutely.” Not.
I blitzed through a shower, buzzed down my stubble, stumbled to my suitcase with a towel dipping off my hips.
Nicky quirked a grin at me. “Your phone’s been going off.”
“Ma?” I dried the last of the water from my hair and chest.
He made jazz-hands at me before tossing the cell over. “Nope.”
“Lemme guess, the knuckle bust crew?” My jeans and a T-shirt pulled on, I had second thoughts about taking a look at the latest from my mechanics who seemed to think they were Comedy Central material.
“Bingo.” Nicky rolled his shoulders into a vintage button down and waited for his morning entertainment.
I braced myself. What came up was the Stone’s Auto Service homepage with me plastered all over it. I wasn’t just famous for my ass anymore. Smartass tech-nerd Javier had cut and spliced the video of Leelee and me dancing the tango. But that wasn’t all. He’d added a Stone’s garage spin at the end with a one-of-a-kind graphic that read: Stone’s: At Your Service. Hell on Wheels & Hell in High Heels.
I put a call directly in to the office, and Ray answered, “You saw it?”
“Get me Javier.” I chomped through the words like they were beef jerky.
Bossman ain’t laughin’, Javier, I overheard Ray.
Javier got on the horn and started blathering in Spanish, but I barked right over him, “Take it down!”
I hung up.
Then I hung my head. Nicky glared at me and I stared at Leelee’s book. I didn’t need his silent disapproval to know I’d been a first class dickhead all because I was a cranky bastard over Leelee. I just thanked Christ I hadn’t lost my temper with JJ instead of Javier. Javier was easy to soothe, while the kid required a million hugs, a trillion kisses, and promises of puppy dogs—the cuddly kind—and pony rides.
I redialed and asked Ray to get Javier for me, please and thanks.
When I heard the phone exchange hands and Javier’s skittish, “Sorry, boss,” I sighed, “Jesus fucking Christ, boy.”
That was my form of apology, one the guys were acquainted with.
“Mierda, I thought you were gonna fire me. We already got new followers on Twitter and likes on Facebook. Las muchachas like it. You’re a big hit with your woman.”
“Leave it up, son. You done good.” Putting on my leather jacket, I joined Nicky at the door. “Just no more mule-packin’-asshole pics, please.”
“You got it, jefe.”
I prowled the lobby as we waited for the Hens to gather. They finally showed, admiring each other’s hair or outfits or yadda yadda, yip-yip. Leelee stuck to the fringes of the group while we trudged outside to the muggy May air to board the bus. I stood to the side, letting everyone pass as a perfect gentleman should. Janice kissed my cheek and pinched my glutes. Her glasses were rosy, her outlook less so.
“Red sky at night, sailor’s delight. Red sky in the morning, sailors take warning.” She left me with the ominous proverb, bangles jangling in her wake.
Missy wore three strands of pearls tight around her neck, like a collar, I presumed. I’d since done my BDSM research. “I would dearly love to have you bent over and at my mercy in a dungeon one day, Stone.”
“I never did get into D&D.”
“My, aren’t you full of spunk today?” She grinned.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“Well played.” She winked and was gone.
Jacqueline was one class act in a bright dress and new nail art in tri-tone chevrons, a time-consuming process she described to anyone who’d listen. “Ready to have some fun, hon?”
I reckoned fun was off the table unless I could get Leelee to talk to me. Seemed that was off the table too as she cold-shouldered in front of me and hustled onto the shuttle as fast as her fuck-hot red heels could carry her. Taking Nicky’s hand, I settled us in the middle of the crew. The bus took off for destination unknown.
The chatter from the Hens was so loud I couldn’t help but listen. A squabble broke out; they were worse than Ma’s smut-reading circle of blue-haireds for getting into a debate about who-said-who-did what in the last twenty-four hours.
“Did you hear the sounds coming from that woman’s room last night? It rivaled a good old fuck-room bullwhipping.” Peachtree practically choked with glee.
“Word is she was researching for her new Dom of the Dawn book,” Jacqueline said.
More gossip ensued. I listened with half an ear, wishing Leelee were sitting right next to me and not half a bus away.
When their voices lowered, I tuned back in. Janice tried not to turn her head to glance at Leelee. It was like watching a dog trying to itch that unreachable scratch. Likewise, my ears pricked up as Viper’s did when meat or man was headed her way. I was On Command whenever Leelee was concerned.
“You hear about what happened to Leelee?” Jacqueline spoke in hushed tones.
Oh, I knew the answer to that one. I flinched. Nicky winced beside me. I’d screwed her silly—several times—then she’d come to her senses and kicked me out.
“No. What?” Both Missy and Janice asked while Nicky gripped my hand so tight a couple of my knuckles popped.
At a low whisper, Jacqueline said, “She was in the lobby this morning, surrounded by fans when He weaseled up.”
No one needed to ask who He was. Andrew La Fucking Forge. The idea of him even looking at Leelee, let alone approaching her one more time, set my teeth on edge.
The cocoa-skinned beauty continued. “Whatever he said to her made her race back to her room. She didn’t even finish the final autograph.”
“Oooh, it’s soo cloak and dagger. Like a LitLuv cozy mystery!” Janice exclaimed.
There was nothing cozy or cute or cuddly about Leelee being harassed by that fuckwit. Cozy was gonna be my left hook when it hit his kidneys.
“Why’s he so intent on getting to Leelee?”
“LaForge thinks people are sheeple,” Janice answered me.
Missy closed the gap between her seat and mine. “Exactly. Adding her to his stable of writers when she’s been so vocally pro-Indie would be a coup. He’s sure others would follow her lead.”
“Too many folks are taking their businesses into their own hands, drying up the new talent available to agents. He needs fresh blood,” Jacqueline said.
Several seats away, Leelee was pale and the strain in her posture knocked another notch loose in my heart. Right now all I wanted to do was ask her whose ass I needed to kick to make her feel better.
“But you’ll protect her.” Janice squeezed my arm.
Damn right I will.
It seemed I needed to protect Leelee from the seedy Atlanta cesspool as we pulled up outside of a cordoned-off club. The exterior flashed with bright lights and neon signs even though it was barely midafternoon. Oooh, aaah, pretty sleazy. The sparkly gold name on the marquee gave me pause: The Golden Banana.
I took Leelee’s elbow and held it tight until all the Hens had packed into the vestibule, paid their entrance, and moved along.
“Let me go,” she hissed.
I did no such thing
. I escorted her into the depths of a darkened room where hints of crimson and gold glowed from groupings of furniture in lounge areas. Front and center was a stage, and I reckoned I knew what Golden Banana really stood for.
Nicky tailed me. Leelee glared at me. This was a train wreck in the making, especially when we made our way to the others at a reserved table right in front of the stage.
I held out Leelee’s chair and tucked it in. She looked like maybe she wanted to bite my hand off. I moved into the empty seat between her and Nicky, vaguely listening to the excited whispers as more and more ladies packed in. These people I recognized—writers, reviewers, readers—all from the Con. Slow day or an excuse to spend their dollar bills, I wondered.
Oh and look. Whaddya know? The LolliPOP Grrrls. The licker lewdly slurped the sucker out of her mouth and waved it at me. Hoodie-broody girl nodded at me with a leer.
Janice jabbed Missy. “Looks like we’ve got competition for Stone’s attention.”
Leelee huffed and raised her hand to order a drink from a passing waiter. He wore no more than a shiny vinyl loincloth to cover his crankshaft. I seconded the drink order—not the dink order—and the rest chimed in, too.
As soon as the venue grew crowded, the dim lights lowered even more and three spots hit center stage. Strutting from the darkness beyond, a man with slicked back black hair and painted on leathers—I dared-fuckin’-say they were tighter than the pair I’d trashed last night—threw his arms wide.
Women erupted from their seats, leaped onto tables, started throwing panties, money, wads of paper with phone numbers. Janice pounded the tabletop. A small smile flirted across Leelee’s lips. Jacqueline blew a man-hungry whistle through her teeth.
Nicky smirked at me.
“Welcome to ’Lanta, y’all! When we heard there was a group of beautiful”—he thrust his hips once—“talented,”—twice—“freaky group of sexy romance writers in town?” The MC gave Jules Gem a run for her money, rolling his pelvis obscenely, and the ladies threatened to stampede the stage. His voice dropped. “Well, we just had to put on a special show for y’all!” He raised his arms again, shouting, “Welcome to the all-male revue, Magic Mike Night . . . erm . . . make that Noon!”
