Lotto Men: A Reverse Harem Romantic Comedy (Lotto Love Book 1)

by Ann Denton

  I sigh and sit on her bed as she goes through twelve cute dresses before changing into a short pink sun dress. It hugs her figure in all the right ways and she pairs it with gold sandals. “At least you found out early. And you weren’t alone with him.”

  Heather snorts. “If we’d been alone, he’d have gotten a junk punch. The other guys lined him out, though. Especially Andrew. He was really sweet.” She stops with her dress halfway pulled down, a dreamy little grin on her face.

  “Andrew?” I ask. “Not Anthony, the guy who was just here?”

  She waves me off as she finishes her dress and goes to sit at her makeup table, which has more tools than they used to build the Vatican. Probably more paintbrushes than Michelangelo, too. Golf makeup comes off and a more flirty, pink look gets started. “No, not Anthony. That guy’s a little … different.”

  “You’re being PC,” I tell her. “You’re never PC.”

  She shrugs into the mirror as she pops her lips to check her lipstick. “I’m not sure what’s off yet, maybe we just didn’t click. I’ve never done the group dating thing.”

  “Was it weird?” I’m very curious. I’ve never done the group date thing. I think it might get weird in real life. Do the guys take turns? Do they have to discuss it beforehand? Work out a lineup like baseball? What if one of them gets Heather to laugh? Do the others feel jealous?

  Heather’s response stops my train of thought. “No, it wasn’t weird, actually. It was super-fun. Like just hanging out with a group of friends.” She turns to look at me, one eye full of mascara and the other eye bare. “I think naked friendships worked. We should do it again. New plan—every night is naked friendship night for the guys I’m not on a date with.”

  I give her a big grin. “Got it, boss. But … question. Do you worry about any of them being more into each other than you?”

  She laughs. “You mean Rubin and Reval, don’t you? They giving you a Lannister twin vibe?”

  I nod. “But you’re keeping them?”

  She stares at me like I’m the crazy one. “They’re twins. Hot twins.”

  I shake my head in disbelief—mostly at myself. “Far be it from me … so tell me more about Andrew, the doctor, right?” I try and keep my voice casual. No need to preen. Heather will get all uppity if she thinks that I’m better at picking guys for her than she is. But I totally am. I picked the guy prior to Shane Paul and never liked Shane Paul. And that turned out … well, it’s why she’s here.

  Heather finishes her mascara before heading over to me. She flops down on the bed and I sit next to her, propping my back up against the headboard so I can see her better.

  “So … what was it?” I prompt.

  She bites her lip and grins. It’s almost a shy look, which I never fucking see from her. I grab her arm. “What?”

  She shakes her head. “It’s stupid. Never mind. It’s just a little thing.”

  I grab both her shoulders and lean in. “You tell me right this instant, Heather Graham! Or I’m flying my mother down here to see what you’re up to!”

  Her jaw drops. “I won’t pay you!”

  I cross my arms smugly. “You already signed a contract. At a lawyer’s office.”

  “I’ll hire someone to run around and yell at you and make you uncomfortable all day, every day!”

  I collapse back onto the headboard and laugh. “You already did that! Danny’s annoying as shit!”

  She giggles. “Oh yeah. I forgot. But you totally were crushing on him at that law office.”

  “Til I found out he’s cray cray.”

  She shakes her head and lays back on the middle of the mattress, letting her feet dangle. “You need a little cray cray.”

  “No, I don’t. I have you.”

  “Exactly! You need, like, a guy version of me!”

  “You’re not a liar.”

  She tugs her hand through her dark hair, picking out the purple peekaboos until she’s got a fist full of purple hair. “Not always. But I brought Danny before I saw that pilot… damn you and he have some chemistry! You tap that?” She clicks her tongue and winks.

  I shake my head big time. “Nope. Tried. Struck out. I don’t do complicated.”

  “Just because Michael was …”

  I freeze and stare at her. My heart starts beating double time. She said his name. She said the bastard’s name.

  Heather actually stops what she’s doing. Her eyes flicker to mine guiltily. She knows she just broke a rule. But her stupid mouth doesn’t apologize. She says softly, “You’ve gotta move past him sometime.”

  And like that, a wall goes up between us. My shields slam down with the force of ballistic glass. I can see her. But she’s on the outside now. We’re separated. Just mentioning him with sympathy makes my hackles rise.

  I stand and my tone is red hot fire. “I’ve moved past him. I just remember the lesson he taught me.” I storm out of the bedroom.

  Just as I’m about to get to her front door, Heather grabs my arm. I spin around, ready to smack her.

  “Wait! Don’t go. I’m sorry.” She strokes my arm and her eyes are full of tears. “I’m sorry.”

  She slides her arms around me and gives me a hug.

  It takes a minute, but slowly my posture softens. I say, “You know I don’t like to talk—”

  “I know. I’m sorry.” She pulls back from the hug and studies my face. “Will it make it up to you a little if I tell you about Andrew?”

  I shrug. “It’s a start.”

  Heather leads me over to the modern grey couches in her living room. We sink down onto the plush cushions.

  I try to shake off the bad mood that gripped me at the mention of Michael’s name. “So … you liked the guy I picked out for you.”

  A blush rises on her cheeks and she rolls her eyes. “I mean, this is nothing major. It’s kind of ridiculous even.”

  “What’s ridiculous?”

  “We started talking pet peeves. And he and I have almost the exact same ones!”

  I just scrunch my brow, waiting for more. That’s cute but … like really, how much of a connection can you have over pet peeves?

  “So … when the milk is almost out and there’s an unopened container of milk in the fridge, what should you do?”

  “Finish the first milk?”

  “Yes!” Heather’s hands clench. “Shane Paul, that fucker, would always just open the new milk. Finish it and put it in the goddamned recycling!” She shakes her head in disbelief.

  “He was a heathen,” I agree.

  “He was. Anyway, Andrew had an ex who would do that with orange juice. Like, even up to leaving expired unfinished cartons in the fridge. He drank bad OJ once.”

  “Ew!” I cringe.

  “Bitch! Right?” she says. “Okay, another one. Nail clippers are a good invention. People should not just fucking bite their nails off. Or, in Shane Paul’s case, peel his motherfuckin’ toenails off and leave them on the coffee table like god-damned dead maggots!”

  I try not to laugh at her but fail. “It sounds like you have so much in common!”

  She tosses a pillow at me. “Like I said. It’s stupid. But … you know, it’s a start.”

  I grin and toss the pillow gently back to her. “That’s awesome, Heath.” I glance at my phone and groan. “Dammit. I gotta go check on the staff and make sure the luau pit is on track.” I stand and stretch. Then I remember what I wanted to share with Heather. “Oh, guess what was funny today?”

  “Huh?” She looks up from staring out the window.

  I grin, guessing she’s mooning over Andrew. “So, one of the guys was all worried about where the cash was coming from for this place. He thought you were some mafia princess.”

  Heather laughs. Hard. So hard that her laughing makes me start to laugh. We spend a couple minutes in rib-cracking laughter before she stands and walks me out. “I love it,” she says. “You didn’t tell him the truth?”

  I shake my head and open the door. “Nah. I th
ought I’d let you tell him your real mobster name yourself.”

  “Ooh, I could be like, Heather ‘Queenie’ Graham.”

  “Heather ‘Big Hair’ Graham,” I toss out.

  “Oh, I think it needs to be more dangerous,” Heather says as she pulls open her door. “I mean, I wouldn’t want my mobsters to think of me as shallow.”

  “I think they’re called associates,” I bite my lip.

  She raises an eyebrow. “Look at you. Getting the lingo down. We’ll have you shooting people up in no time.”

  I turn to leave and see four guys standing outside Heather’s porch holding a cake.

  Jeremiah Bible, the gap-toothed dude that brought about the mafia jokes, is grinning ear to ear and giggling slightly as he holds the pink cake. BJ Cannavaro, a hot Italian guy with blue eyes, looks back and forth between Heather and me, like he wants to say something. He doesn’t though. Next to him, Tim Wu gives a small smile.

  Matt Rooney—a hot half-Asian guy with great hair—speaks first, “We brought a cake, for the holiday.”

  “Holiday?” I ask.

  Jeremiah Bible can’t stop himself. His laughter busts out like a tuba as he turns the cake to face us. It looks like a giant vagina. “Chef made it.”

  My jaw drops. Is this some kind of weird guy prank? My eyes flicker to each of the guys. But their eyes are on Heather.

  Matt just raises an eyebrow and says, “Doesn’t everyone celebrate April 14th? It’s cake and cunnilingus day.”

  I book it down the path as Heather smiles and opens her door wide. I don’t even care that I’m in heels. I motherfucking run. Because that’s the best fucking holiday ever. But, based on the gleam in all eyes, everyone was gonna have their cake. And their Heather, too.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I drop by the kitchen later to compliment Kenneth on his cuntcake skills.

  He’s wearing his chef uniform and a blue bandana on his forehead when I find him, which makes him look like a cross between a motorcycle gang member and Chef Boyardee.

  He’s pouring a hot peach-colored liquid into molds when I find him, so I stand off to the side near the pantry, not wanting to disturb him. Kenneth whispers to himself as he pours. “Come on baby, curl in there, you love it, oh yeah, just a little more. You’ll fit. You’ll fit. Slow, honey. We like it slow.”

  His little whispers sound so dirty that I can’t help a giggle. Or maybe my mind’s still just in the gutter from cake and cunnilingus day.

  Kenneth finishes with a mold before he turns to look at me. When he sees me, a wide smile crosses his face. And I can’t help the warmth that spreads through my stomach. It’s like being greeted by cotton candy and summertime. Sweetness and freedom and fond memories somehow all roll together into that smile. And even though his teeth aren’t quite perfectly straight, the joy in his smile just makes that imperfection a bit more endearing.

  Without thinking, I find myself taking a step closer to Kenneth. When I realize what I’ve done, I clear my throat awkwardly.

  Kenneth sets down the pan of peach-colored syrup on the stove. Then he steps toward me, slinging the towel he used as a potholder over his shoulder. “Katie. I’ve been thinking about you.”

  My entire body tingles at those words. The hairs stand up on my arms. It’s a line women dream about hearing from a guy they’re crushing on. But I’m a bit taken aback. Why would he be thinking about me? Our last interaction was awkward at best. And then I said that cringe-worthy line. ‘It tasted like a naughty dream.’ What the fuck was I thinking? I look at Kenneth nervously and ask, “You have?”

  “Yes. You’ve been my muse. I’ve been trying to fix those pineapple candies you didn’t like,” he nods toward the molds.

  “Oh,” I’m so relieved he’s not thinking about the other thing I said that my smile stretches wide. Maybe too wide, because suddenly he’s close. And he smells delicious. Tropical, like punch or juice. I could just drink him down. I swallow hard and try to maintain eye contact instead of just pulling him into me so that I can see if he tastes as good as he smells.

  “What did you add?” my voice comes out a little breathy.

  He leans in further and my mind is completely overtaken by my awareness of him. The arch of his brow when he grins down at me. The glitter in his eyes. The charge in the air between us. He licks his lips and I feel his exhale trace over my cheek. My face tingles, the promise of a kiss hovering between us.

  “I used passion fruit,” he whispers. “I thought it was appropriate.” His lips get close enough to tickle the skin of my cheek as he leans forward and whispers in my ear, “I want you to taste it. I want you to taste what I made for you.”

  “Okay,” I have to physically restrain myself from collapsing in his arms.

  Kenneth gives me a naughty, knowing smile as he backs away and takes my hand. He pulls me toward the molds he’s poured. There are twelve trays, and he selects the furthest one from where I initially found him. “The texture might be a little tacky since it’s still setting up, but the flavor … it should be as delicious as those lips of yours look.”

  I bite down on a giggle that threatens to turn manic. Fuck! He’s gotta be a player. The man knows how to compliment.

  Kenneth wiggles a candy loose from the mold and says, “Open your mouth.”

  I comply.

  He puts his fingers into my mouth and drops the candy onto my tongue. But then he uses my lips to clean each of his fingers. As he slides his thumb through my lips, my tongue traces the pad, licking every bit of stickiness off.

  “What do you think?” he asks, stepping closer.

  The taste is bright orange and yellow sunshine, citrusy bursts of goodness. It’s exactly what I’d want to eat to take me back to this island, to make me think of tropical, exotic vacations. “It’s perfect.”

  I only see Kenneth’s smile for a second before he yanks me into his chest, shoving a leg between my thighs. “My turn to taste,” he commands.

  And then his lips devour mine. His teeth nip, his hands roam, and he steals the candy right from my mouth. He’s Tropical Storm Kenneth and I’m caught in his wake. My head is spinning, and my heart is thudding, blown over by him. I’ve never felt this fucking desired in my entire life. And I love it.

  My tongue gets aggressive and I steal the candy right back, sucking his tongue into my mouth in the process. That makes his hands dig into my waist and push me down on his leg. Then he starts to slide me back and forth slightly, teasing me, grinding me against his leg until I’m breathless. I’m forced to break the kiss as I gasp when he helps me rub against him just right.

  “Am I driving you crazy?” he whispers.

  “Yes.”

  “Good. You’ve been driving me crazy since your first night here.” Kenneth nips at my lips one more time. “I wish we could keep going. But I have to start on dinner.”

  “That’s not for four hours,” I point out.

  “Exactly. I don’t have a lot of time.” He pulls his thigh from between mine.

  The selfish, immature part of me wants to clamp my legs tight and keep him there. But I don’t. “You really take your job seriously.”

  “It’s the most important thing in my life,” he tells me solemnly.

  I can tell it’s true for him. But at the same time, it seems a little lonely to me. A little sad. “Really?”

  He nods. “I’ve given up everything to get here. And I’m not done. I’m going to have my own restaurant one day. I have a vision.”

  I give him a half-smile. “It’s great that you can see your future so clearly.”

  He stares at me for a second. “Sometimes. At the same time, I know I hurt people when I tell them they won’t ever be as important as the dream.” He lifts my hand and kisses the back of it. “You are a beautiful muse. But I only do sex. Are you alright with that?”

  I grin. “Sex without a relationship? That’s basically my MO.” I wink.

  He spins me into him like we’re dancing. My back ends up aga
inst his chest. “You’d better be serious,” he whispers in my ear. He rubs his cock against the back of my ass, and I can feel how hard he is.

  Oh, thank God! I’m finally going to be able to sate this sexual need that’s been nagging me, growing each day since Heather cut me off from Jeremy. I need this.

  “Tonight?” I ask.

  “Absolutely,” he replies. His lips trail down my neck and he sucks hard. I’m about to spin around and tell him to forget dinner and spend the next three hours pounding me into oblivion right on his counter tops.

  But a group of Heather’s guys burst into the kitchen just then. We jump apart.

  “What the fuck, man?” Peter Brown and the twins storm in, all frowns. “You made a vagina cake for the other dudes and didn’t tell us?”

  Kenneth shrugs. “They asked.”

  “Dude, now they’re ahead. We need like, tit pies or twat waffles or something.”

  “Yeah,” Rubin or Reval contributes. “They formed this alliance to try to win the harem. Fuck them. We will not take that lying down.” The Russian accent adds just a hint of danger to their outrage.

  I bite my lip and raise my brows at Kenneth. “You got this, or you need help?”

  He does not look concerned at all by this pissing-contest attitude. “I’ve got this.”

  “Okay, then. I’m going to go.” I bite my lip and grin. “See you later. Good luck with tit pie.”

  He scoffs. “Easy. I’ll just make them Paris-Brest.”

  “Sweet,” Peter claps his hands and rubs them together. “French tits?”

  Kenneth grins. “It’s a choux pastry filled with hazelnut and almond cream. The cream would be particularly delicious if you spread it across her—”

  “Whoa!” I cut him off and back away. “Heather’s friend here. I don’t need to hear that part of the recipe.”

  Instead of letting me just walk away, Kenneth wraps an arm around my shoulders and says innocently, “I’m just going to help them cream her puff.”

  Behind him, the guys high five.