It is. It so is.
I reach down to discreetly adjust myself because my dick is heavy and throbbing and I’m not in middle school anymore. Throwing wood in a public place in front of the girl you like isn’t only bad form but also a no-no. At least until that girl admits she likes you back.
If it was just about sex, I’d be okay, but it’s not. Jessica Johnson gets under my skin. She excites me. She makes me want to solve the labyrinth at her center. I’ve had my fair share of women; it’s one of the perks of my job. Members of bands, regardless of talent, get more pussy thrown at them than a major-league catcher gets balls. There’s something alluring and innately sexy about music and performance. All the above have swung the tides of fortune well in my favor. Oh, and the hair chicks totally dig my hair.
But Jessie is throwing me for a loop.
The flush that hasn’t left her cheeks since she saw me, or the catch-and-go glances she’s been doling out between the shrimp and guacamole say she’s not indifferent. The strategic distance between our bodies says otherwise. Instead of sitting next to me or across from me, she sat as far away as she could get. Instead of talking to me, she’s talking around me.
I’m experienced enough to recognize when a woman wants me and this one does. I don’t think she realizes it herself, but that’s the fun part.
Reminding her.
Persuading her.
At the end of the night, I guarantee she’s going home with me, and when I finally have her naked and wet and craving the very thing that she ran away from, I’ll make her beg before I give her what she wants.
“D, weren’t you there last spring?” Chris interrupts my internal monologue, blinking at me expectedly. A chip piled up with salsa raised halfway to his mouth.
Was I where last spring?
That was the tail end of our world tour depending on what month I may have been in Western Europe or Asia. C’mon, bro, help me out here.
I squint my eyes at Chris, trying not so subtly to drop a hint. And what do you know? This time, my little dog in the manger—not sure why I’m thinking of the Greek fable about a dog who lies in the hay and prevents the horse from eating, although it fits our current predicament perfectly—gives me one.
“Dominique was telling us how she bought this kick-ass kimono when she was in Osaka.”
My eyes immediately drop to the multicolored patchwork silk garment with the large bell sleeves and the traditional peacock embroidered on the front in turquoise-and-gold thread.
Okay. I’m feeling that.
“Yeah, we hit up Japan for three, maybe four, days. The Asian leg of the tour was crazy. We did China, the whole country, in like a week.”
“Where else have you gone?”
That question comes from Jessie, and it takes everything in me not to say ‘inside you.’ See there? I can totally do mature because instead of the sexy innuendo, I rattle off a list of countries, cities, and arenas that I played in over the last five years.
She tilts her head staring at me, one finger absently running along the crease of her lips.
“Wow. That’s crazy. I can’t believe Sin’s been to all those places.”
Sin…not me.
Jesus, what is it going to take to impress this girl, or at the very least get her to view me with the same degree of shock and awe she expressed for Sin? Don’t get me wrong. Sin is good people. One of the best that I know. In most cases, I’d be the loudest mofo in the room singing her praises, but this time, I want the spotlight on me.
“Stick a fork in me because I’m done,” Dominique says, long arms reaching up in a stretch that puts her slender arms and graceful neck on display. She turns her head toward the bar and the bartender who’s been mean-mugging the table for the better part of two hours just to make sure he’s looking.
He is.
Lucky bastard is already two-thirds of the way to her bed. Exactly where I want to be. Not Dominique’s bed, but you get my gist.
“I’ll take care of the bill,” I say, motioning to the waitress, who almost immediately drops a black check holder on the table.
“As you should,” my brother responds.
Dominique and Jessie slip out of the booth, excusing themselves to the restroom, and as soon as they round the corner I turn to my brother.
“Take my car. I’ll get an Uber with Jessie,” I say quickly.
“Whoa there, mijo,” Chris says deeply in a voice infused with a faux twang. An almost perfect imitation of the actor Sam Elliott from the movie Road House. “You need to rein it in if you’re not trying to scare her. Jessica strikes me as a little skittish.”
“That’s the thing. In the right space she’s…” the hottest fucking thing I’ve encountered. Ever. The million-dollar question is how to get her back there. My gut says it starts with a long ride home.
I take the keys out of my pocket and slide them across the table.
“You focus on getting my wheels home and I’ll worry about the young Miss Johnson.”
Chris cups a hand over the keys and nods. “I never thought I’d see the day.”
“What?” My eyes drift over his shoulder to Jessie and Dominique walking toward us. Their heads tilted close together in conversation. From my vantage point, I see animated hands and looks that I can’t quite interpret, and a nervous ball starts to grow in the pit of my stomach.
One of my best friends is a female of the opposite sex . I know all about the bathroom rundown.
Shit. If I thought Dom was cockblocking with me sitting across the table, imagine the damage she could wreak with a couple of minutes of uninterrupted toilet stall conversation. I know all too well. It’ll probably go something like, ‘He’s a dirty dick ho and you can do better.’
“D?” My brother’s irritated voice breaks through, pulling my eyes from the bar where both Jessie and Dom have stopped to chat with the bartender, and for the second time tonight I have a flashback of Jessie, debauched and rumpled, surrounded by white sheets…and me.
“If you want the girl, you need to take it down,” Chris says with a shake of his head.
I force my body to relax and pull what I hope is a smug-ass smile out of the big brother bag. “Trust and believe,” I say with a swag cultivated over the years of being that guy, the one who has money and debonair good looks. One fourth of a band that’s coasting at the top of the charts all over the world—not just Las Vegas, Nevada, or the country, but the planet. I don’t need my little brother’s help to convince a woman who I already know wants it to come get it. “I got this.”
For the record, I don’t believe a word I just said. I give it a fifty-fifty shot. Maybe a seventy-thirty is more realistic. Either way I’ll be damned if I admit that to the baby bro. I do have a reputation to uphold.
“If you say so,” he says with a roll of his eyes and a disbelieving shrug.
“I do. Now here they come,” I say in a rush, trying to quickly assess his level of inebriation before the women make it back to the table. “You good to drive?”
Chris gives me a quick nod and another exasperated eye roll worthy of an angsty teen in a John Hughes melodrama. That’s all the answer I get before the women are in front of us.
“This was fun,” Dominique says in a sing-song voice, eyeing me with something akin to a leery momma bear, unsure of what my intentions are yet fully confident in her cub’s ability to tear shit up. “We’ll have to do it again.”
She leans across the booth, reaching for a small, colorful purse. The bell sleeve of the kimono catches on the table as she leans in and whispers, “Play stupid games, you win stupid prizes. My girl is neither. Hurt her and you get to deal with me. Fair warning, superstar.”
Ooookay…so not only do I have to deal with an asshole brother but a deranged friend. That’s just…nifty. Fan-fucking-tastic. The hits just keep coming with this one.
Dominique retreats with a faux smile and batting eyelashes. She hugs Jessie and whispers something in her ear, and with a wink she says, “Go on now. Make momma proud.” Jessie’s eyes immediately find mine and the flush that had mostly dissipated over the course of dinner returns full force.
Dominique also hugs Chris, which makes zero sense. I get threats and my baby bro gets all the love? Ain’t that some shit. Chris and Dominique exchange numbers and make promises to meet at First Fridays, the monthly exhibit in the art district downtown, for slam poetry and some random artist installation that’s apparently a must-see performance.
Dominique’s eyes find the bartender as she walks toward the front door, phone in hand, fingers flying over the screen. That look holds a novel of filthy intention as I’m sure the text does. When I see him pull the phone out of his pocket and a big cheesy-ass grin slide across his face, I already know what’s up.
“Share an Uber?” I offer to Jessie, sliding smoothly out of the booth.
“Or get our own.” There’s no heat behind the statement, but it’s a rankle pricking at what I’m learning is my fragile male ego. Is this one of those play-hard-to-get type things? If so, how do I cut through the nonsense and make this easy? “Do we even live in the same vicinity?”
“I’m at the Martin across from the Strip.”
“Bullshit,” Jessie says with a disbelieving chuckle. “I would have seen you.”
“So, should I take that to mean you reside in my neck of the woods and a shared ride would be to our mutual benefit?”
Straight white teeth absently sink into the corner of her bottom lip as shadowed hazel eyes search mine.
“Ah, yeah.” She takes a step back and folds her arms over her chest. Defensive and closed off. “I moved to that building after graduation, but I—I don’t think…”
Sorry, lady. I’m not picking up what you’re putting down. Jessie’s been hawk-eyeing me all night just like I’ve been watching her. This attraction isn’t one-sided, it’s far from it, and the fact that she’s here with me when she could have easily left with Dominique or waited it out in her car must count for something.
“Then don’t think.” I bend until my face is inches from hers and those expressive, hazel eyes are level with mine. “Get in the car, Jessie. Get in the car and let’s see where the rest of the night takes us.”
Unconsciously she takes another step back. Indecision twisting the pretty features of her face. “Getting in that car doesn’t mean…” Jessie swallows the rest of that sentence, and I can practically see the mental scale weighing the pros and cons.
I’m surprised when she finally speaks. Instead of sharp rejection, I get a tentative, “Why not? Sharing an Uber doesn’t mean anything.”
Why not, indeed.
Fingers crossed, and with a fuck-ton of luck, I won’t mess this up. I pull out my phone, request a ride from the Uber Black app, and pocket my device.
Our little group exits the restaurant into the less stifling heat of the desert night, and Jessie and I post up on the curb out front. My brother continues across the parking lot toward the pearl-white Corsair.
“See you in a couple of days,” he calls over his shoulder. “Don’t forget tomorrow.”
“Yeah. Yeah,” I mutter under my breath. The constant reminders grate a little more each time I hear them but, for the first time in forever, I don’t wallow in the self-recriminations. There’s no desire to reassure him that I’ll be front and center for grandma daycare, because of course I will. The most pressing thought right now? Clear the blocks, namely my brother, from the path to Jessica.
I literally count the footfalls that take him closer to the SUV and farther out of my way. And in five, four, three, two…
Chris taps the button to start my SUV and the engine purrs meaningfully.
Customized blue underglow ground effects illuminate the tire rims and grille, making the carriage look like it’s floating on a sea of light. Chris climbs into the driver’s seat, rolls down the front windows, and cranks up the Rockford Fosgate stereo system.
I watch intently. Stupidly anxious as he slowly pulls out into the street. I don’t even blink as I follow the red glow of taillights, and when he finally disappears, I let out a pent-up sigh.
“Alone at last.”
Chapter 22
Jessica
A sleek sedan rolls to a slow stop in front of us. Daniel opens the door, steps to the side, and waits.
I’m not even sure why I hesitate. I’m cognizant enough to know that I can safely drive my own car but there are nerves, and not little butterfly flutters in my belly either. My palms are sweaty, and stress sweat is gathering under my arms, and I might just hurl everything I just ate down to the salsa and chips.
Somehow, I manage to hold on to my dinner, take a seat, and slide over to the door on the opposite side to give Daniel room. An easy grin pulls at the corner of his lips as he notes the space I’ve tried to create and instead of taking the seat directly behind the front passenger chair he takes the middle.
The man isn’t small. Our bodies touch at multiple points—shoulders, elbows, knees, ankles—innocuous but not.
“It’ll only be one stop, my man,” he tells the driver. “There’s a shit-ton of construction on Industrial. Might be easier to shoot up Sahara and take the boulevard.”
“The boulevard might still be backed up with the partygoers,” the driver says, glancing at the GPS unit mounted to his dash.
“I’m okay with the scenic route,” Daniel replies, turning to offer me a wink. “You good, Jess?”
That would be a solid no. Can’t he see I’m one breath away from hyperventilating. I barely manage a “yeah, sure.”
The car pulls forward and Daniel reclines in his seat. Long legs stretched under the front seats. Head lolling back on the cushioned rest.
“Why are you so nervous?” he asks. His voice is a husky whisper in the semidarkness. I turn my head toward his and jerk back a little at his proximity.
“You.”
“What about me?” He glances down at his body and shrugs. “Seriously, I don’t get it. This isn’t the first or a second time we’ve hung out. There’s no heat. No judgment. No expectation.”
“No expectation?” Yeah, right.
“Why would there be?” Daniel asks, looking genuinely perplexed.
“Because Mexico…”
He chuckles. “Mexico was fucking phenomenal, but so was Adam’s, so was tonight. I just like you, and even with all the superfluous bullshit, I think you like me too. It doesn’t have to be any more than that.”
Gah, why do I want to squeal like a little kid because the man said he likes me? “Nothing is that simple, Daniel.”
“Doesn’t mean it has to be complicated either.” He leans forward and I’m frozen as he reaches behind my head. His fingers probe the bun at my nape, fighting for a couple of minutes against hairpins and gel to free the coils before giving up.
Uncomplicated. I know the word but nothing of the sentiment.
“So, what, we go back to your place and pick up where we left off?” I ask on a shaky breath.
“Yeah. We go to my place.” His hands slide to the back of my neck, messaging the stiff muscles. “Or your place. Whatever. I’m good either way. We can play video games, sit out on the balcony and take in the sights, or you can take advantage of me…” He stops to wiggle his eyebrows suggestively, making me laugh. “On the sofa while we binge-watch the latest season of Warrior on HBO Max. I just want to hang. With you,” he clarifies.
What do you have to lose, Jess? The man isn’t trying to put a ring on it. And you know he’s right, you like him too. “Last time we went to my place. This time let’s do yours,” I say with way more certainty than I feel.
For a second, Daniel doesn’t react and my heart starts to seize. Not a full-on attack but more of a
what the hell did I just do? jolts until he says, “That’s what’s up.”
The hand on my neck tightens, holding me in place, as he leans in for a kiss.
“Daniel, wait.” The list of possible ramifications is long and not so distinguished. Destination wedding sex was one thing. Living in the same building, heading home after tacos and tequila, is something altogether different. “No strings, right?”
He pulls back to search my eyes and then kisses me again. This one is deeper. More stirring. “No strings. Unless you dig that Fifty Shades kind of love.” He laughs and the vibration tickles my lips. “Right now, it doesn’t have to be any more than just two acquaintances getting more friendly.”
“I like that but why don’t I trust you?”
“Most of the time I don’t trust me. So, you’re in good company.”
The elevator opens on the penthouse level. Did I really expect anything different from a rock star? No. The walk down the hall is surprisingly like mine ten floors down but when he opens his door, it’s clear he’s on a different level. Starting with the amount of space and the two walls of floor-to-ceiling windows that make the space feel even larger.
“Make yourself at home,” he calls from the kitchen. “Want anything? Drink? Gummy bears? Day-old Fukuburger?”
I notice the colorful assortment of sneakers arranged neatly at the door and can practically picture that aspect of his upbringing. The one where his mother yelled about tracking filth through their home. It’s an unexpected similarity that brings Daniel, the man, into focus. My first aha moment happened at the wedding where I learned that, like me, he cares about his family, and more importantly, he wants to actively heal a pain that’s tearing them apart. In my family, the source of that pain is the divide between my mother and Jake. In his, it’s his grandmother’s illness.
I step out of the four-inch heels and set them next to chunky tennis shoes before padding further into his house.
I follow the sounds of Daniel moving around the kitchen and find him standing at the open refrigerator. He twists the top on a white carton of Boxed Water and slides another across the counter for me. I pick it up, not because I’m thirsty but because I’m nervous and need something to do with my hands that doesn’t make me look like a novice or a spaz.
Exquisitely Yours: A Sin City Tale Page 16
