by Lauren Rowe
Of course, it’s Reed, the man used to being king of the world on a whole other level than Bryce, who fills the awkward beat. Reed says, “Are you ready for our midnight date, my beautiful Cinderella?”
At Reed’s comment, Bryce’s face falls, full understanding crashing down on him—and I have to press my lips together to keep from giggling at his cartoonish expression. Not because I’m taking any pleasure in this awkward, embarrassing moment. But because it’s now clear Bryce assumed I’d been taking Reed’s drink order when he first walked up, not getting ready to head to Reed’s house to bone him. And seeing him figure things out is genuinely amusing to me. But, also, simultaneously, rather unpleasant.
“I need a minute,” I say to Reed. “Bryce? Can we chat for a second?”
Bryce looks like a deer in headlights. But he nods and follows me to a corner.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt, before Bryce can speak. “I didn’t know you were coming tonight. And I didn’t know Reed would be here, either. I had no intention of humiliating you.”
“You said you’d be getting off work at two thirty,” he says dumbly. “It’s only midnight.”
“I wasn’t lying,” I say. “Without my knowledge, Reed arranged with my boss to get me off a couple hours early.”
“What?”
I flinch at his sharp tone. If I felt like giggling at his reaction earlier, I don’t now, as his shock seems to be morphing into anger before my eyes.
“I met Reed earlier today,” I say, my heart pounding. “At that event I was running to when we bumped into each other. But that doesn’t matter. Even if I hadn’t met him, I was going to call you tomorrow to tell you I don’t think we’re compatible.”
“Not compatible?” Bryce says, like I’ve just said I think the world is flat. “But... we’ve got amazing chemistry. I told you—you’re stone-cold wife material.”
“But, see. That’s the thing. I’m not. I mean, I might be one day. But not now. I’m not looking for a relationship, Bryce. And it’s clear to me you are.”
He looks disgusted as it dawns on him: if she’s not looking for a relationship, then she must be headed off with Mr. Music Mogul for a meaningless night of fun... which therefore means she’s not even close to the wife-material kind of girl I thought she was. “But isn’t he, like... forty?” he blurts.
My jaw sets. “He’s thirty-four.”
“What the hell, Georgie? I know he’s rich and connected and all that, but—”
“I don’t care about Reed’s money or connections. And screw you for implying that. We’ve got chemistry, plain and simple.” God, I hope I’m telling the truth about that. Is it possible I’m being blinded by Reed’s power and money and the fact that he has the ability to make Alessandra’s dreams come true? I don’t think that stuff is what’s attracting me, and making me look past some kind of dickish comments, but I can’t deny Reed’s star power is part of his appeal. But only because he’s so confident and sure of himself. I mean, if Reed weren’t “Reed Rivers,” but equally confident and commanding, I’m sure I’d still be willing to traipse off to his house tonight, for what’s almost assuredly going to be the best sex of my life. Wouldn’t I?
“Yeah, well, we have great chemistry, too,” Bryce says. “And I’m not forty fucking years old.”
“Okay, this is pointless. Like I said, I never intended to humiliate you. I’m sorry if I’ve wasted your time or embarrassed you. I’ve got to go now.”
“With him?” Bryce grabs my arm to keep me from leaving, his dark eyes on fire. “He’s not going to give a shit about you after tonight, Georgie.”
Before the “fuck you” in my throat escapes my mouth, Reed appears at my side, anger wafting off his muscled frame. “Release,” he says sharply, like he’s a dog trainer ordering the obedience of his pit bull. “Now.”
Instantly, Bryce obeys Reed, like a good doggie. But in one final show of defiance, he leans into my ear, right in front of Reed, and whispers, “I can do casual, if that’s what you want. I just didn’t think a girl like you would want that.”
I don’t acknowledge Bryce’s insulting comment. Or his implication that “wife material” girls can’t enjoy casual hook-ups, just like anyone else.
Reed’s dark eyes are hard and his jaw clenched. He puts out his arm to me. “Ready, Cinderella?” He levels Bryce with a glare that makes my spine tingle. “It’s time to go.”
Relieved, I take Reed’s arm. “I’m ready, Prince Charming.”
I meant that last thing as a joke, of course. And Reed’s smirk tells me he’s taking it that way. Clearly, this man is nobody’s Prince Charming. Least of all mine. Indeed, if there’s such a thing as Prince Charming for anyone but my mother, I can’t imagine he’d be a guy who brazenly cops to having no interest in doing anything but “seducing” women.
After I’ve linked my arm with Reed’s, he puts out his free hand to Bryce, daring him not to shake it—daring Bryce to snub him because he’s feeling territorial about a girl he barely knows—and thereby mess up his sister’s chances at possible musical stardom.
For a second, Bryce stares at Reed’s extended hand, but, quickly, he forces a smile and takes it. “No harm meant, man. It was just a misunderstanding.”
“Totally understand. Have a great night.”
“Thanks again for looking at my sister’s Instagram.”
“You bet,” Reed says. “I’m looking forward to it.” With that, Reed unlinks our arms so he can slide his strong arm around my shoulders, before confidently guiding me toward the front door.
As I walk with Reed, I feel swept away. Like I’m physically swooning. I inhale the scent of Reed’s cologne, as well as his confidence. I register the strength and hardness of his fit body. The urgency and command of his grip on me. All combined, I’m feeling physically intoxicated by Reed in this moment, in the best possible way.
“Have you slept with him?” Reed says, when we’re out of Bryce’s earshot.
“That’s none of your business.” Okay, I can’t help myself. “But, no, I haven’t. Get this. Bryce and I haven’t even kissed.”
Reed chuckles. “Well, damn. He’s awfully wound up about a girl he’s never even kissed. Although, in the guy’s defense, I could say the same thing about myself.”
Butterflies release into my stomach. “Thank you. That’s a nice thing to say.”
“I’m a nice guy.”
I snort. “That remains to be seen.”
Reed chuckles. “I knew I liked you, Georgina. You don’t pull any punches.”
“Honestly, Reed, I still haven’t decided if I like you. You’re a bit of a mixed bag for me at the moment. But I’m most certainly attracted to you physically.”
Reed shrugs. “Works for me. Like me or loathe me. It’s all good. Just as long as you want to fuck me.” He winks. “In fact, in my experience, it’s often the ones who hate my guts the most who enjoy fucking me the most.”
I say nothing. Because I’ve got a hunch he’s right about that. I mean, look at me. I’m still peeved at the condescending way he spoke to me when he first walked up. More than a little wary about the way he treated that blonde girl. Not impressed by the way he looked at Marcus like he was dirt on the bottom of his shoe. And not certain if I was impressed or repelled by the way Reed took such obvious pleasure in cutting off Bryce’s golden balls, and then dangling Bryce’s sister’s Instagram page in front of Bryce’s face to keep him in line.
But even if the jury is still out on Reed’s likeability—whether I ultimately decide I like him or loathe him, as Reed said—he’s absolutely right: there’s no doubt in my mind I want to fuck him like my life depends on it. More so, in fact, than I’ve wanted to fuck anyone in the four years since I started having sex.
Reed draws me into his muscled frame even closer, and whispers, “What’d you do to that boy, Georgie? Tell me the truth, as a cautionary tale.”
“I did nothing, I swear. We met on campus. Talked and texted a few times. And that’s it. For some reason
, he seems to think it was love at first sight for us.”
“No.”
“Or so he said.” I scoff. “Talk about a lady-boner-killer.”
Reed smiles. “You don’t believe in love at first sight, Cinderella?”
“No, Prince Charming, I don’t. I frankly think the entire idea is ludicrous. But Bryce believes in it. Unless he was only saying that to me because he thought it was what I wanted to hear. Which would then make him horrifically bad at reading a girl’s signals.”
“Naw, he was being straight with you,” Reed says. “Despite everything he’s got going for him on the playing field, that kid’s got zero game.”
“And yet, he was willing to throw his supposedly instant love for me under the bus, to get you to listen to his sister’s music. Love, zero. Ambition, one.”
“Like I said before: everyone’s got a price. You’ve just got to figure out what it is, and bribe them with it.”
“I don’t have a price.”
He smirks.
“I don’t.”
He pats my head. “Okay, Georgie girl. You’re the only person on Earth without a price.” He chuckles. “It’s times like this I’m reminded just how young you really are.” He opens the door for me. “The truth is, sweetheart, if you think you can’t be bought, that only means nobody’s been smart enough to figure out your price yet.”
Chapter 13
Reed
The cool night air envelops Georgina and me as the door of Bernie’s Place closes behind us. I’m buzzing. Off-kilter. Feverishly lit up with my hunger for this woman’s flesh—with my desire to explore and devour every inch of her, to breach her borders and push her boundaries—to claim her, conquer her, ruin her—until she’s begging for mercy and crying tears of euphoria.
Only a few feet outside of the bar, a tsunami of lust washes over me. So much so, I stop walking, pin Georgina against the building’s façade, and do the thing I’ve been aching to do since I first laid eyes on her: I press my hungry mouth to hers. And when she parts her lips and invites me inside with a soft and sexy moan, when my tongue enters her mouth and tangles with hers, when her body unmistakably bursts into white-hot flames against mine, I lose my fucking mind. Instantly, I’m a flaming pyre of greed and need. So overwhelmed with hunger for her, I can’t remember my own name. Has a simple kiss ignited my body like this before? If so, I don’t remember it.
My phone buzzes with an incoming text in my pocket, but I ignore it. Surely, it’s Isabel again, insisting I call her. The same way she’s been doing all night. But everything I needed to say to her, I said this afternoon. And even if I hadn’t, nobody but Georgina exists anymore. Not in this moment. Right now, the entire world is Georgina and me, and nobody else.
I deepen my voracious kiss, my tongue demonstrating how my body is going to move inside hers when I get her into my bed, and she responds enthusiastically in kind, kissing me with as much passion and energy as I’m showing her. In short order, I’m so aroused, I can barely breathe. I push myself between her legs, yearning to burrow my throbbing cock inside her, and she moans her invitation for me to continue my assault. And so, I do. I press myself against her center, hard, still kissing her, yearning to massage that magical, delicious bundle of nerves that’s going to drive her fucking wild when I get to it with my tongue, and Georgina slides her arms around my neck and grinds herself against my hard dick, making me even more desperate to sink myself inside her.
As our kiss continues, every atom inside me explodes into a fierce, unquenchable fire ball. Gasping for air, I grab Georgina’s thigh and hoist it up, opening her to me like a blooming flower, and she shudders and grips my shoulder ferociously, like she’s hanging on for dear life. We’re a raging inferno now, Georgina and me. Both of us combustible in a way I haven’t felt in a very long time. If ever.
Panting, I disengage from our kiss. But only because I’m acutely aware it’s not nearly enough. I want more. And I can’t get it on a sidewalk.
“We’re fire,” I murmur, brushing my lips against her soft cheek. “I can’t wait to get you naked and kiss your pussy, just like that.”
Her chest heaves. “Oh, God.”
I kiss her again, simply because I can’t resist, even though I know I’m only wasting our precious time at this point. And then, after we’ve forced ourselves apart again, we clasp hands and begin striding up the sidewalk like we’re walking on air.
“Where are we going?” Georgina asks breathlessly.
“To a campus parking structure a few blocks away, to get my car, which will take us to my house in the Hollywood Hills, where I’m going to strip you naked and fuck you like you’ve never been fucked before, for four straight hours, without a break, right up until the last nanosecond before I need to leave for the airport.”
She says nothing. But her gorgeous hazel eyes tell me she’s in favor of that plan.
We talk logistics. I ask if her car is parked somewhere around here. She says, no, she doesn’t own a car. That she always walks to work, or takes the campus shuttle, and then Ubers home.
“If there’s time later, I’ll drive you home on my way to the airport,” I offer. “If not, I’ll call a car for you. I apologize, in advance, if I have to call a car. I’d prefer to drive you, of course.”
“It’s all good. Whatever we need to do to maximize our time together, that’s what I want to do.”
I flash her a wicked smile. “Have I mentioned I like you, Georgina Ricci?”
“You have.” And that’s it. She notably doesn’t return my compliment. Which, frankly, turns me on even more. The last thing I need is for this firecracker of a woman to kiss my ass. Unless, of course, she’s going to do it literally.
We walk in silence for a moment, electricity coursing between our hands, until Georgina says, “What did you say to that girl at the bar after I walked away? She looked upset.”
“I told her I wouldn’t take her demo.”
“I heard that part. What did you say after that—after I walked away?”
“Nothing really. I told her music is a tough business. That she shouldn’t compare herself to Adele.” I shrug. “Some people don’t handle rejection well.” I pause. “Also, I told her to fuck off. But I did it nicely.”
She looks shocked. “There’s no ‘nice’ way to tell someone to fuck off. No wonder she cried.”
“Josh said the same thing. But here’s the thing, Georgie. I get bombarded by wannabes all the time. Occasionally, I snap. So sue me.” I snort. “Which also happens to me all the time, by the way.”
She’s quiet for a long moment as we continue walking toward campus, past storefronts and restaurants. And for a moment, I’m worried I’ve blown it. Scared her away. Miscalculated. Finally, she says, “You never take unsolicited demos—from anyone?”
“Correct.”
“Never?”
“Never.”
“No exceptions?”
I look at her, trying to read her. Does she have a demo for me, despite all her protestations earlier about her lack of musical ambitions? Is that it? “That’s right. No exceptions.”
“How’d you find Red Card Riot?”
“Someone I trusted told me about them.”
“22 Goats?”
“Someone I trusted.”
“Laila Fitzgerald?”
“One of my scouts found her and presented her to me. Same with 2Real. A scout stumbled across him on YouTube. And with Aloha, her former bodyguard had started working for me, and told me she was looking to switch labels. See? Not an unsolicited demo in the bunch.”
“And yet, you agreed to listen to Bryce’s sister’s music.”
“On her public Instagram page, you might recall.”
“Isn’t that the same thing, in the end?”
“No. An Instagram account is out there for anyone to see. It hasn’t been curated specifically for me. Usually, the stuff there is pretty raw and not overly produced. Also, when I’m not physically taking something handed to m
e, it sets up lower expectations. It’s less of a ‘promise’ by me to listen or follow up, and more of a casual, ‘I’ll take a look.’”
“Why were you willing to check out Bryce’s sister’s music at all, though, but not that blonde girl’s? Was it yet another perk of Bryce being a football star?”
We’re walking hand-in-hand up the darkened sidewalk at a good clip now, both of us like horses sensing the barn is close. I’m bursting to touch Georgina. To run my hands and mouth all over her. I grip her hand more tightly in mine at the thought. “It was partly about Bryce being a football star,” I admit. “But not in the way you think. Mostly, I wanted to neutralize Bryce when it came to you, as quickly and efficiently as possible.”
“‘Neutralize’ him?”
I smile at Georgina—at her inquisitive, gorgeous face. “When Bryce first walked up, I didn’t know what the situation was between you. For all I knew, you two were fucking, or maybe even in love.”
She scoffs. “Uh, no. If I’d been in love with Bryce, or anyone else, I would never have so much as flirted with you.”
I shrug. “Either way, I felt the need to neutralize him—to unequivocally get him out of my way. And what better way to do that than to show you, right out of the box, he can be bought—that he’d kick you to the curb in a heartbeat for the mere chance of getting his sister signed to my label?”
“You thought Bryce would choose his sister’s music career over me, the great love of his life?”
“I had no idea. But I sure as hell hoped so. Which is why I said I’d check out his sister’s Instagram. And, lo and behold, I found the guy’s price on the first try. That’s actually one of my favorite games. Figuring out someone’s price and bribing them with it: watching with glee as they pick my offered bribe over something else they’d normally choose. Something they should choose, but don’t because what I’ve offered is just too tempting. It never ceases to amuse me how easily people can be bought.”
She shoots me a look of disdain. “One of your favorite games is playing the devil on someone’s shoulder?”
“That’s a great way of describing it. Yeah, most definitely.”
