PLAYBOY

Logan Chance

Copyright

Copyright © 2017 by Logan Chance

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Contents

NOTE TO READER

Playboy

Prologue

1. Jonah

2. Chelsea

3. Jonah

4. Chelsea

5. Jonah

6. Chelsea

7. Jonah

8. Chelsea

9. Jonah

10. Chelsea

11. Jonah

12. Chelsea

13. Jonah

14. Chelsea

15. Jonah

16. Chelsea

17. Jonah

18. Chelsea

19. Jonah

20. Chelsea

21. Jonah

22. Chelsea

23. Jonah

24. Chelsea

25. Jonah

26. Chelsea

27. Jonah

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

PLAYBOY: DELETED SCENES

Chelsea

Jonah

Chelsea

Jonah

Chelsea

Chelsea

Jonah

Chelsea

Jonah

Chelsea

Chelsea

Jonah

Chelsea

Jonah

Chelsea

Note to Reader

About the Author

Also by Logan Chance

DATE ME

1. Erik

2. Erik

3. Erik

STUDY ME

1. Marley

2. Houston

SAVE ME

1. Cryin’

2. Lizard

BREAK ME

Prologue

1. Katy

2. Pollux

DARK DON

1. Rhiannon

2. Xavier

3. Rhiannon

4. Xavier

The Boss Duet Box Set

1. Theo

2. Penny

3. Theo

4. Penny

5. Theo

Current Releases

More From Logan Chance

Thank You

NOTE TO READER

In this book the characters quote movie quotes to each other. I have italicized all movie quotes in dialogue, instead of using the formal .’ ” seen here.

I did this because it is more eye appeasing, and with some of the formatting, quotation marks were ending on separate lines. So, please be advised.

Dedication

To everyone who has ever picked up a book and fell in love with the characters. May you fall in love again.

Playboy

Logan Chance

Sometimes you just have to say fuck it. Life. Crazy, right? It moves at supersonic speeds, and sometimes is so demanding, you have to take a step back and chill.

I'm a pretty average guy. I don't have a zillion dollars. Nor a fancy car. I'm not famous. I'm just normal, I guess. Which, in this day and age, is like saying I’m an alien.

My friend’s call me Playboy. Hey, what can I say? I like to date. And even though I date a lot...there’s still something missing. I work as a photographer for Bunny Hunnies, a swimsuit magazine. I snap pictures of some of the most gorgeous women around.

But they’re always off limits.

Especially my best friend’s little sister, Chelsea. She’s the new model on set. And boy, does she have a mighty nice set...I mean tits, I mean she has a nice set of personality.

But, she’s untouchable...especially for me.

Prologue

Chelsea

“I just heard,” my friend, Gidget, sympathizes, rushing through the door of the dressing room on the set of Skittle Skattle Doo.

I remove my Dodgy the Dog costume and blink back the tears. “It’s ok.”

It’s not, but what else can I say? I’ve just been let go from a small production of a kid’s show. I can’t even make it as a dancing dog. You may think I’m being a bit over dramatic, but I’m an actress. It’s what I do. While I've been told I have the poise and grace of a young Audrey Hepburn, I have all the luck of a broken horseshoe.

Although, I don’t feel very graceful in this furry dog suit I’m currently wearing. Big floppy ears. Bushy tail. You get the picture.

“I know. Don’t give up, though. You’ll land something even better than this crap show,” Gidget, the choreographer of this ‘crap’ show, says. She's always good at pep talks.

“I’ve only been here, what, like two months?” I pull up my jeans, and toss a t-shirt over my head. “I really thought when I came back here from Texas, I’d land the first role that came my way.”

“This town has a way of spitting people with real talent out.” She grabs my costume and places it neatly on the rack.

“Well, I need something to pay the bills,” I tell her, throwing my blonde hair in a ponytail.

“You know, you should try modeling. Lots of big stars start out modeling.”

“Hmm, my brother does have a friend who works at a magazine,” I say. “But, no. No way.”

“Which one?”

I raise a brow. “Bunny Hunnies.”

Gidget steps closer. “Wait, Bunny Hunnies? Chelsea, you should definitely think about that.”

“Really? I don't know if posing in a men’s magazine will help my career.”

She pulls out her phone from the back pocket of her skinny jeans. “Look,” she thrusts the phone in my face, and I see a picture of a shirtless guy with a ton of muscles, “that’s Wayne Craig. He’s a huge Instagram star...aaaand…he models for that magazine.”

I take the phone and swipe through a few of the pictures. “Well...”

She cuts in, “And June Dellaway got her start in that magazine.”

“Shut up,” I say. June is only the biggest sensation right now. Oscars. Red carpet. The whole nine yards.

“Listen, all I’m saying is, it can help you with money. You need an agent if you’re ever going to make it. Hell, even my dog has an agent,” she says, glancing at the pictures of Wayne one last time before putting her phone away.

“Yeah, agents are expensive.” I sit down in the lone folding chair, feeling a bit defeated.

“You should have Declan call that friend of his and get you in.” She points her finger at me.

Well, that’s the problem. The ‘friend,’ Jonah Marshall. I’ve had a crush on him since day one of meeting him. When Declan brought him home after baseball practice, my heart was a goner.

Soft brown eyes, dark messy hair. He was every young girl’s fantasy, and I was ‘rugrat,’ Declan’s little sister. Even so, my crush only intensified the older I got.

By the time I was sixteen and madly in love, my parents dropped a bomb on my brother and I.

Divorce.

I hate that word.

It’s ugly and upended my life.

I was whisked away to Texas to live with my mother while Declan, already in college, stayed in LA with my father.

But I’m back now in La La Land. Los Angeles. The city of my birth. Population 3,792,621. Two thirds of that are trying to land the same roles I am. And I’m ready for my big break. Since I just lost this job, maybe I will try my hand at modeling.

But, there’s no way I will let Declan call Jonah.

No, if I’m going to make it in this city...I want it to be based on my talent. Not for who I know.

In a city full of big sharks and vicious piranhas, I’ll be the little fish that swims against the current.

Sounds good, right?

Well, wish me luck, or break a leg. Whatever saying works best for you, because none of them work out very well for me.

1

Jonah

Name’s Jonah, and I’m a habitual dater. Sounds like I’m at some dating anonymous meeting, or something. For the record, I’m not. Is there such a thing?

What’s a habitual dater, you ask? I’m not entirely sure. I guess what I’m trying to say is: I date...a lot. I've been told with my height, brown eyes, and just fucked brown hair (their words, not mine), I could be in the pages of the magazine I photograph for. Not to sound egotistical, but getting women has always been easy for me. I wouldn’t call myself a manwhore, though.

Sure, I like to have fun with these dates, indulge in some extracurricular activities afterward, but they know the score: I don't do relationships. Sounds cliché, I know. But, I’ve tried a few of those in the past. Never worked out.

First, there was Tiffani. Started out great, but next thing you know, she hated my friends and wanted me to stop hanging out with them. Second, there was Bryn, who couldn’t keep her legs shut. She fucked the entire staff at the restaurant job she had. Male and female.

No, me and relationships are like oil and water; we just don’t mix.

Instead, I prefer to play the field. No strings. Lately, though, no matter how appealing the first course may be, most dates end with me slipping out before the dessert is even on the table.

Like tonight, for example, the blonde sitting across from me has a smokin’ hot rack, like bigger than genetically possible. I couldn’t care less. She's dull and artificial. Not to mention, she hasn't stopped talking about herself since we arrived. Besides, she failed the quote test. What's that you ask? Well, I'm a die-hard movie fanatic, and I give all my dates a certain movie quote. They get it wrong, well, the date usually bombs.

And so far, it has.

I’m not sure when these things started mattering to me, but they have.

And, honestly, I don’t give a shit about what she's saying. Ouch, I know, that’s harsh. But, I’m really not an asshole. Well, mostly not. It’s just lately this whole game is getting old. Going out with girl after girl. There must be more to life, right?

So, here I am, in this upscale restaurant in the heart of LA, with my Chivas on the rocks and a pained grin on my face while Amy talks with her mouth full of food.

“So, then, my boss said, ‘Amy,’ ” she points her fork at me, “you can’t bring your cat to work.’ But, my cat told me he misses me during the day,” she whines.

“That so?” I ask, barely interested. “Where do you work?”

She stops talking long enough to stare at me with a blank expression on her over made face.

Fuck, did she already tell me, and I didn’t pay attention? Bad Jonah. I should be punished, but not by her.

“The bank,” she tells me in a ‘duh, don’t you remember’ voice.

“That’s right. Crazy how they wouldn’t let you bring...” I pause and wait for her to fill in the blank.

“Snookums.”

I nod. “Right, Snookums to the bank.”

I finish off my steak while Amy continues to drone on about her roommate, Kelly.

Who cares? I glimpse my phone on the white linen tablecloth, wishing it would ring. Wishing for a miracle call of a family emergency so I can bail. When Amy starts to tell me about Kelly’s rash from a spray tan, I switch the phone to silent and press it to my ear.

“Hello...what? Calm down. Uh-huh. Shit, ok. I’m on my way.” I slide the phone in my pocket, eyes on Amy. “I’m so sorry. I have to go.”

She stops chewing. “Are you serious?”

“I am.” I grab my wallet, throwing down enough cash to cover the bill. “This should cover everything. Again, I’m sorry.”

And that's that. I'm out of there and in my Jeep before Amy can say another excruciating word. You may think I’m rude, or hell, think I’m an asshole, but, I never claimed I was a good guy.

* * *

“Did you get the prints over to marketing so the models can sign them for the meet and greet?” my overbearing boss Glenda asks.

“When have I ever failed you?”

She rolls her big, brown eyes, and I give her a slow wink.

Did I mention I'm a flirt? Kind of goes with the territory, I guess.

“Today there's a new model starting, so be nice.” She smiles, showcasing a bit of an overbite.

“I'm always nice.”

Glenda narrows her eyes at me, and I crack a smile.

“Yeah, that's what I'm afraid of,” she mumbles under her breath, thumbing through a few pictures of a previous shoot in a folder in her hand.

I swing my legs off my desk, where I was comfortably perched taking my mid-morning break, and check the lens on my Nikon. She’s my baby, and I treat her well.

“Oh, and no long lunch today. The shoot is at two pm sharp.” She pivots on her six-inch heels and glides from my office with the sophistication of a former model turned editor-in-chief. The last title is thanks to her husband, owner of Bunny Hunnies. Lucky break. In this town, sometimes it's not what you know but who you know.

But I don't need luck. I've got the dream job.

I stretch my arms over my head and stand. Chattering people pass my door on their way out to the shoot, so I grab my satchel, throw in my camera, and send a text to cancel lunch with my friends. Every Wednesday the four of us, Declan, Booker, Ethan, and myself, meet up. We’ve been best friends since high school, and ten years later, we’re still the four horsemen. That was the name of our band in high school. And no, we don’t play a single instrument.

It was more karaoke in Ethan’s garage.

We thought we were the shit, though.

“Hi, Jonah,” a few of the models walking into the Falcon building call out to me.

“Looking good, ladies.” I wink and they giggle and smile.

I know you’re thinking it. Have I slept with them? I’m not one to announce every girl I bang, I keep my sex life private, but, no, I don't mix business with pleasure. Zanna, Lyla, and Maria are off limits, no matter how much they try to tempt me.

I jump in my Jeep and head down to Venice Beach. Traffic is a bitch, but I finally ease into a parking spot and settle in to glimpse at the crashing waves. Living in LA is like living on a different planet. It’s perfect weather all the time, ideal for photo shoots on the beach.

I spot the production crew down by the shore setting up, so I hop out of my Jeep and slip inside Hank’s Franks, a local diner, and order a burger.

“Thanks, Gary,” I say to the man behind the counter when he hands me my bag of food. Ah, food. Real fucking food with grease and fat. This is what I need.

I step outside and chomp down on my burger while I watch the crew set everything out along the beach. My eyes zero in on the model. She’s far away, but even from here her body’s bangin.’ She’s not as tall as the other models and curvier.

Long blonde hair. Skimpy little pink bikini. Today’s going to be a good day.

I finish off my burger, wash it down with a Coke, and head over before I lose the best light of the day.

“Jonah, over here,” Tim, the shoot coordinator yells. “Meet Chelsea.”

I drop my bag near the set and fish out my camera.

Her back is to me when I walk over, and I get a great view of her sweet ass barely covered by her bottoms.

She turns around and my jaw drops. Beautiful blue eyes I’ve seen countless times before stare back at me. Eyes I’ve known since I became best friends with her brother, Declan.

“Chelsea Sincock?” Fuck. Her last name suddenly takes on a whole new meaning. To say I'm shocked is an understatement. I was staring at her ass. At Declan’s sister’s ass. When did she grow up? I haven't seen her since their parents divorced and she moved to Texas with her mom at sixteen. Eight years ago. Declan mentioned she moved back a few months ago, but I had no idea she was modeling. How could he forget that detail?

“Oh my God, Jonah.” She rushes over to fling her tanned arms around my neck. Her nearly naked body presses up against me, and I shake off how good it feels.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

She releases her hold on me. “I’m the new model, obviously.”

“Like hell you are.” She can't model for this magazine. I hit the brim of Tim’s ball cap as he ogles her. “Stop staring.”

“Let me have your attention,” I call out to the small crowd of set designers, makeup artists, and other crew workers. “No one’s allowed to stare at her.” But me. “This is my best friend’s little sister.”

Chelsea throws me a stunned glance. “Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack.”

“Nice to know you’ve matured since last I saw you.”

She’s angry, hands on her curvy hips, and it’s cute. Cute in a kid sister sort of way. Because that’s all she is to me, a kid sister.

“Nice to know you have, too,” I shoot back. The tone comes out all wrong. Sounds a little husky and sexual. Her body has definitely matured, and that’s the problem. The pink triangles of her bikini barely cover her breasts. Does Declan even know?

He’d shit a brick if he knew. I need to tell him.

“Let’s get started,” I shout, yanking the cap off my camera and lining everything up for the shoot.

Chelsea gets into position, and I focus on her through the lens. The breeze lifts her blonde tresses, exposing the perfect symmetry of her face. High cheekbones, pert nose, full lips—my camera loves her. Now to figure out what to do with her. I want her in the water with the waves crashing over her body.

“Ok, make your way over to the shore. Dip your toes in.”

She crosses the sand, and her tiny pink tipped toes dip into the waves rushing up the shoreline.

She shivers. “Oh, that’s cold.”

Her smile is perfect, and I snap a shot.

“She’s gorgeous,” Tim whispers next to me.

“Don’t look at her,” I warn over my shoulder. He thinks I’m joking but I’m not. I scan around at all the crew men's eyes gawking at her. “Guys, no staring,” I remind them.

They laugh off my warning like it’s some big fucking joke.

I really need to tell Declan. This is not ok. When she was younger, Declan and I would look after her when the kids would bother her. And now, a sense of over brotherly something or other is kicking in.

But, the more I aim my camera at Chelsea, the more I forget she shouldn't be here. She’s a natural at this. The sun kisses her skin, making my shot even better.

I loosen up, get into it—moving, shouting demands—and she follows every cue.

It’s one of the best photo shoots I’ve had in a long time. Some of the other models have to be prompted to even smile. Most times, they won’t react unless I say something to get them going.

But not Chelsea. No, she’s really good.

Doesn’t change my mind, though. I’m still telling Declan.

“Get all the way in the water,” I direct, standing so close I’m almost right over top of her, snapping photo after photo. She does as told, and the shutter snaps furious and fast through every pose...

Stretched out on the wet sand, the frothy water rushing over her toned stomach.

Snap.

On her knees, beckoning with a seductive smile on her face.

Snap.

The waves crash at her back, and she loses her balance.

Snap.

She rises from the ocean.

Snap.

I drop my camera and rush forward, throwing my hands over her tits. “Cover your fucking eyes,” I shout. “There's been a wardrobe malfunction.”

2

Chelsea

Oh my god. My boobs are out. All the way out. This is not a mere nip slip; the triangles are under my armpits. Well, it’s not like this thing really covered anything anyways. As I try to yank the two tiny scraps of material back in place, Jonah stands with a hand on each boob, shielding me from the strangers who have now seen my breasts.

“You can let go now,” I say to him.

With his hands still on my breasts, I try to maneuver the bikini back in place.

“Sorry,” he says, giving a gentle squeeze of each hand.

It sends tingles all throughout my body.

Jonah peers at me and I try, keyword try, to look unaffected, as if it's no big deal I just flashed everyone. This is horrifying. Why Jonah of all people? Judging by the expression on his face, he's as horrified as I am. He drops his hands and walks away.

For a moment, I seriously consider swimming off in the ocean, but I muster up the acting skills I've honed since I was a little girl dreaming of accepting my Oscar and head toward the crew.

“It's all good,” I call out. “Boob is back in this bandaid.” I stop beside Jonah, nerves careening through my belly. “Sorry, just lost focus for a second. Get it? Focus. Camera…”

He looks down at me with no laughter in his light-brown eyes. “Yeah, I get it.” He turns to the crew. “Ok, great shoot, everyone.”

Oh, thank God, it's over. A few of the guys leer at me as I throw a wrap around this floss they call a bathing suit bottom.

“That was so much fun,” I lie to Jonah as the crew scurries and begins to pack up.

“Does Declan know you’re working here?” he asks, placing his camera in the bag.

“Of course, silly,” I say, wringing the water from my hair. “He’s the one who told me about the job.”

He spins around to face me. “What? And he’s ok with it? I mean, did you see the way everyone was ogling you? It was disgusting.”

No, it was mortifying. But, I don't care. I need this job.

“Yes, he’s fine with it,” I reply, slipping my flip flops on.

“Why didn’t you guys call me? I could have helped. Or maybe not. I still can’t believe Declan is ok with all of this.”

“Well, I didn't want people to think I only got hired because of you,” I explain. “And why wouldn't he be? It’s not the first time I’ve ever been stared at. I do go to the beach. And I’m not doing anything bad.” I raise a brow at him. “You work here.”

He shakes his head, slinging the bag over his shoulder. “I don’t care. It’s not something a little sister should do. I mean, you’re practically my little sister.”

Way to rub salt in the wound. After all this time, that bothers me a little more than it should.

“Jonah, you’re not my brother. So, stop acting like you are.”

“I’m pretty much your older brother.”

“Even if you were, you still can’t make my life decisions for me. Just like Declan. He has no say in how I live my life.”

“Oh yeah?” he challenges, waving to a few of the set guys as they pass by.

“Yeah.” He scrubs a hand along the back of his neck. “Listen, modeling isn't my dream. Acting is. But it's not like the jobs are falling at my feet. The modeling pay is great and this frees up a lot of my time for auditions.”

He rakes his teeth along his bottom lip while his eyes lock with mine.

His honey-colored eyes scan my face. “Acting, huh? Is that why you moved back?”

I nod. “Yes. And this job is good exposure for me.”

“I guess,” he agrees, looking as if he doesn't agree at all. He runs a hand down his beard. “Listen, I’m sorry about the whole, uh, boob thing.”

My cheeks heat. “Thank you for looking after the girls.”

“Doesn’t mean I like you working here,” he huffs as he walks away.

What a baby. What a sexy, overprotective baby.

When I saw him today for the first time, I felt sixteen and giddy again. He's still just as sexy. More so. He's a man now—tall, lean, and full of just the right amount of muscle—with a beard that should be considered a lethal weapon. Not a Duck Dynasty beard, mind you, a perfectly trimmed, just beyond scruff beard. No wonder he has the reputation he does. I've heard all about ‘playboy.’ And now, on our reunion, so to speak, he's seen my boobs, nipples and all.

I watch him hop into his black Jeep and speed away. He even drives sexy. Man, what was I thinking? No. I'm not going to berate myself for taking this job. My first week in Hollywood, I learned just what this town is made of.

It’s all about who you know. All about making the right connections. Sure, you hear the stories of a waiter, living in their car, who goes on to become an A-lister. But, just like winning the lottery, the chances of that happening are slim to none.

And my unlucky streak continues.

Case in point: My first day on the job, I lose the top of my bikini and flash the entire set.

Case in double point: When I arrive at the cottage I rent, Ms. Larson, my sweet as pie landlord, informs me she's moving to a retirement community in Florida. The new owners will no longer have a tenant.

I'm officially living the dream, in five days... I’ll be homeless.

3

Jonah

“So, are you going to eat that?” Booker asks, eyeing my last buffalo wing.

“Nah, man, go ahead.”

“Why’d you cut your date short? She was hot, if I remember correctly.”

“Yeah, I don’t know. Just wasn’t that into it.” And I wasn’t. And he would remember, he set us up.

“Listen, cheer up. You have a cake job with fine ass models all day long.”

I lean back in the wooden chair. “Don’t mention work. Can we talk about anything else?” I don't want to think about Chelsea and her perfect breasts or how they felt under my palms.

“Sorry.” Booker holds up his hands, backing off the subject.

“Chelsea is the new model at Bunny Hunnies,” I mumble, unsure if I should have even mentioned anything.

“Chelsea who?” he asks. His dark eyes light up when he makes the realization. “Oh, shit. You serious? Declan know?”

“Yeah.” As soon as I left the shoot, I called Declan and gave him an earful. He told me to get the tripod out of my ass; she's a grown up.

“Speak of the devil.” He nods his head in the direction of the door, and I turn around thinking I’ll see Chelsea walking toward us, but instead it’s her brother.

“Hey, assholes,” Declan says, sliding into a seat next to Booker. “You gonna eat that?” he asks, pointing to my last buffalo wing.

“Go ahead,” I tell him.

He glances between us, narrowing his hazel eyes. “What are you two talking about?”

“Your sister,” Booker says, raising his finger to point across the room.

I swivel around, and there she is.

“Yeah,” he says, “I told her to meet us here.”

She spots us and weaves between the tables, working her way over.

Booker stands and hugs Chelsea. “Haven’t seen you in a while, kiddo.”

“I’m not a kid anymore,” she smarts back.

No, you’re definitely not.

Chelsea slides in close to me while the server takes our drink orders. “This is cool,” she says, looking around.

It is. Most of the girls I've been out with wouldn't appreciate it. This place has it all: sports on the flat screen behind the bar, pool tables, a dance floor that opens up a little later after the families have left, and a shit ton of beer. Yards and yards of it.

I order a Sweetwater IPA and sit back while Chelsea fills Booker in on her life in Texas. He cracks up at her animated stories. As for me, I’m a spectator here. Just listening as I watch each one of them. I try not to stare at her, but it's impossible. She’s very beachy tonight. Is that a thing? If it is, then she’s it. Wedges with straps that tie around her trim ankles, strapless sundress with palm trees, and a nice golden tan. It's hard reconciling this Chelsea with the kid I once knew.

Three beers in, and Declan and Booker decide to shoot some pool. “Keep my sister entertained while I kick his ass,” he tells me.

“Are you glad to be back?” I ask when they leave.

I was so bothered at the shoot, I didn't ask any questions.

She nods and leans closer to be heard over the noise. “No offense to Texas, but I'm a surfer girl at heart, not a cowgirl. Although, I did get some really cute cowboy boots and the brisket was to die for.” Visions of Chelsea in cowboy boots flit through my mind. “Still, it was never home, so I'm happy to be back, although I don’t think LA likes me very much.”

“Oh yeah? Why do you say that?”

She gives me a half-smirk. “Well, honestly, I think this town is out to get me.”

I laugh, then realize she’s not joking. “How so?”

“Well, take today for example. How many models lose their tops in the water? And on their first day. How humiliating.”

She goes quiet, twirling the coaster with a blue tipped nail. She seems down, and I suddenly want to cheer her up. “Seriously, it wasn’t that bad. You did great. And pretty soon no one will even remember that whole incident.” Except me. It’s like burned into my brain or something. I can’t get the damn images out of my head.

“Thanks, I guess. Town still hates me though.”

Declan and Booker return boasting about their pool game.

“Jonah, you’re next,” Booker says, after ordering another beer from the server.

“Maybe later.” I turn back to Chelsea, intrigued. “How so?”

She glances around the table, and all eyes are on her. “So, my landlord informed me this afternoon that I no longer have anywhere to live.”

“Ah, Chelsea, I’m sorry. Is that what you wanted to talk to me about?” Declan asks.

“Yeah. It’s ok. I’ll figure something out.” She offers a tiny, hopeful smile. But, I see right through it.

“You can stay with me,” Declan offers. “I know it’s not big… actually,” I nearly spit my beer out when Declan says, “Jonah, you should have Chelsea move in with you.”

I kick my feet out from the bar they were resting on and sit up straight. “Wait, what?”

“You have that spare room. You’re always talking about bringing in a roommate.”

“I do, but...” I can’t even think of anything to say here.

“No, Declan,” Chelsea interjects, “I’m not living with Jonah. I’ll find somewhere soon.”

“It would be perfect,” Declan says, sipping his beer.

“No, it’s ok,” She turns to face me. “Really, it’s ok, Jonah.”

Declan holds up his hand. “Listen, she would be close to work. Plus, Jonah, extra money never hurt anyone.”

He’s right...I could use the extra money for new equipment.

The idea is blooming. Not that big of a bloom yet, more like budding. But, honestly, the idea is sounding kind of good.

Kind of.

“Well, I would be closer to work,” Chelsea says.

“And I would like the extra money.” I just don’t know.

“And she loves to cook and clean,” Declan offers. “Don’t you, Chels?”

“Sold,” Booker shouts. “You can move in with me tomorrow. I’ll make a list of what I want cleaned and a menu.”

“Asshole, she’s not living with you.” Declan glares at him. “I trust Jonah.”

“Oh, wow.” Booker crosses his arms. “I’m really hurt you would say that, Declan. Am I not a good friend?”

I lean back, rubbing my beard while I think. Money sounds really good. Luckily, I have an extra bed I got for my older brother whenever he comes to town, but that hasn’t happened since he and his wife had a kid.

Declan looks eager for my answer.

Fuck.

“Ok, she can move in.”

“Really?” Chelsea asks.

I ignore the warning bells sounding. “Why not?”

Declan leans close to my ear. “Watch after her. Don’t let any jerk take advantage of her.”

I nod. “Sure thing.”

As if I wouldn’t already do this anyway. His kid sister is my kid sister. One I haven’t seen in ages. Or talked to. Or ever really talked to in depth.

Well, she’s my little sister by association. I guess.

If Declan says watch over her, then that’s what I’ll do. I won't notice the way her shoulder curves, or the way the tops of her breasts swell out from her sundress, or her long legs with those sexy fucking shoes. I got this.

Chelsea scoots her chair closer. “Thank you. Are you sure about this?”

Am I sure about this? Hell no. But I don’t tell her that. “Yeah,” I answer.

“You don’t have to do this out of some sense of obligation.”

“I’m not,” I reassure her.

Her blue eyes search mine and then she smiles. “Maybe my luck is changing.”

“Yeah.” I grin. “When do you want to move in?”

“Tomorrow? The place I rent is fully furnished, so I don't have a lot.”

I take a swig of my beer. “Sure. I’ll get your room ready.”

The rest of the night passes by quickly with more billiards and booze. Somewhere Booker introduced shots, but I kept my wits about me. Some of us have to work in the morning.

When I leave the club, and head out to my Jeep...I spot Chelsea tapping away on her phone.

“Jonah,” she calls out. “Can I get a ride home? My friend was supposed to pick me up, but she got sick, or something.”

She’s drunk and stumbles over.

I view the lot. Where’s Declan?

I fish my phone out from my jeans and place a quick call to him. It rings and rings.

“Can I get a ride? I’ve lost my…” she glances around, “everything.”

I smirk and unlock my car. “Get in, drunkie.”

“I’m not drunk.” Her face squishes together in a cute way.

“Sure, and I’m Captain America.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Rogers,” she slurs as she climbs into the passenger side of my Jeep.

She knows who Steve Rogers is. I might be in love. But not with her. I don’t care if she knows the first name of every Avenger.

She passes out before I even get to the first red light. Lovely.

After hauling her into my place, I set her down on the black leather sofa and head into my room to get ready for bed.

Before I crash, I grab a blanket and cover her up. See? I'm not so bad.

Halfway in the middle of the night, I awake to a sound and roll over. There’s something there. What the fuck?

The night is heavy, and I can’t see a thing, but there’s definitely a body lying in the bed with me.

It takes a minute to register the events from earlier tonight, and I smell the coconut shampoo of Chelsea next to me.

How did she get in my bed?

She scoots her body closer to mine, and I back away.

This is weird. Too weird.

Declan’s little sister is in bed with me.

She turns and her arm lands along my bare chest. Her big blue eyes open, and she appears lost in a dream. “Jonah,” she mumbles and then is dead to the world.

Aaaand I’ve got a semi. Not my fault by the way, I just woke up with it. But, now I need it to go away. Quick. I jump out of bed. This is crazy. Not cool.

Unable to go back to bed, I head down the hallway to my very own personal dark room. Only it’s not dark, and there’s no film. In this day and age, with photoshop and digital cameras, my room is my office with my Mac and all my software.

I fire up my computer and gaze at the photos I took the other day. Not of models in swimsuits, but of trees in the park. Right when the sun was rising. The rays dancing through the branches. The sweet kiss of dew on each leaf. These are the photos I love to take. This is what really gets me going. These are the pictures I put on my website, Shoot This dot com.

When drowsiness finally hits again, I head to the couch, where I toss and turn, trying to erase the temptation of Chelsea in my bed.

4

Chelsea

Jonah’s pillow smells like sexy and unrequited teenage love. Mine. I literally and metaphorically release my hold on it. If he's going to be my roommate, I can't let his appeal affect me. How did I even get here? I knew I shouldn't have had those shots. But, I was so nervous being around Jonah, I needed something. I push back the thick, navy comforter and climb out of his big, comfy bed. No hangover and fully clothed, thank God.

Jonah’s very neat, I notice as I leave his room and walk down the short hallway into the living room. His place isn't cluttered or littered with junk, and it has personality. High vaulted ceilings, hardwoods, and an open floor plan.

I tiptoe into the kitchen and try not to disturb a sleeping Jonah on the couch. Poor guy. I don’t even remember kicking him out of his bed last night. Hopefully he doesn't take last night as an indication of what type of roommate I'll be.

I’ll make up for it by cooking him a great breakfast. I cross the tile and open the stainless fridge to see what he's got. Judging by the contents, he's not a health nut, another pro in the roomie department. It feels a little weird to be rifling through his fridge, but I grab eggs and bacon and slide them on the granite countertop, then quietly go through cabinets locating a skillet. By the time breakfast is almost ready, I have everything set up on the island. Juice is poured, coffee is brewing, plates are waiting to be filled, I just need Jonah.

“What's all this?” his gruff morning voice asks.

I turn from the stove. Ok, I can do this. Morning Jonah, barefoot with rumpled hair, glasses, tee and basketball shorts that hang on his lean hips just right, is a little overwhelming.

“Hi, sleepyhead,” I greet him.

“Great, a morning person,” he mumbles, grabbing a coffee mug with cute, little cameras all over it.

I take it from him and fill it. “You look like you want to shoot someone.” I hold the mug out. “Get it?”

“Oh Lord.” He takes the mug from me. “Yeah, I get it.”

“Are you working today?”

“Yeah. In a little bit.” He takes a seat at the island. “You?”

“I have today off, so I was thinking I could pack up my stuff from my place.” I hesitate, because what if he changed his mind. “It’s still ok I move in, right?” Please say yes. I hold my breath waiting for his answer.

“Yeah, of course. I like waking up to breakfast every morning.” He raises his hand and gives me a thumb up. “You stay. Get it?”

What is he doing? “Um,” I tilt my head, “was that a joke?”

His hand drops. “Gladiator. The movie. He lives, he dies. Never mind.” I dish out some scrambled eggs and bacon onto his plate. “I just figured your wanting to be a movie star and all.”

“Well, I’ve seen it, but it was boring.”

“Oh my God,” He gives me a thumb down. “She leaves.”

I laugh. “Come on. The movie is boring. Everyone knows that.”

“You’re twisting my heart and driving a wooden spatula through it.” He clutches his chest.

“Now quote a good movie, and I can play along.”

“That was a good movie,” he deadpans.

I smile, glancing over his head into the living room and point the spatula at the far-hanging framed picture of rusted, weathered tracks, with no end point in sight. “I really like that.”

He turns on the stool and points to the photo over the couch. “That one? I took it.”

Wow. It's not an ordinary photo. Haze lingers on the well-worn tracks, like laughter drifting from the passengers on their way to their destination. “Really? It’s great. Makes me think of all the places I want to go,” I muse.

“It’s the old railroad tracks.”

“Jonah, it really is amazing. Do you sell them?”

He shrugs. “Nah. Maybe someday.”

He digs into the eggs and gives a little ‘Mmm.’ They’re really good, if I do say so myself.

“If you cook like this all the time, I might like having you around,” he says with a wink.

We finish off breakfast, and he drops me off at my car. After giving me explicit instructions not to touch his office, he passes me the key so I can move my things in. It's official, we’re roommates.

* * *

“I’m moving in with Jonah,” I text Gidget, unable to believe it myself.

I wait for the call I know is coming. She doesn't disappoint, and I answer on the first ring.

“Jo-who?” she asks. “Why don't I know about this person?”

“You do. The photographer at Bunny Hunnies,” I remind her. “Declan’s best friend. Let me mention, gorgeous best friend,” I add, pulling into the driveway of my cottage.

“Ohhhh. Fill me in. How did that happen?”

“Well, last night when you ditched me,” I tease, “it just sort of came up.”

Stepping into my place is like stepping in to controlled chaos. I survey all the things strewn about the living room.

“First, I didn’t ditch you. I was sick,” she says. “Second, I’m pissed because I missed meeting him.”

“Well, there’s more. Want to come over and help me move? I’ll buy you lunch. Are you feeling better?”

“Much better. I have to run in to work later. There's a crisis with one of the Skittle Skattle Doo’s choreography,” she says. “Apparently, I have to make it easier. As if.”

I laugh. “Well, let them try your moves in a dog costume.”

“Truth,” she says, laughing. “I’ll be there in an hour.”

While I wait for her, I gather a few things and stuff it into trash bags. Fancy mover, I know. I can't believe I'm really doing this. Did I say that already? Because I really can't believe I'm doing this. Part of me wanted to turn down the offer, because, although he may have been my crush, I don’t know the man. But, the other part knows things will be easier because he lives so much closer to work and auditions. Pros and Cons.

I shower and get ready in record time just before Gidget knocks on the door. Her petite, dark haired frame breezes past me in black leggings and a ‘Dance Or We Can’t Be Friends’ t-shirt.

“Did you sleep with him?” she asks.

I lead her into the living room. “Well…technically, we did sleep in the same bed.”

Her hazel eyes grow to epic proportions. “Chelsea,” she exclaims.

I shake my head. “It wasn’t like that. I had too much to drink, and he brought me to his place. But, his couch was awful. Ever sleep on leather?” I snicker a little, but it really wasn't funny. “So, I guess I moved to his bed.”

She perches on the arm of the recliner. “What did he do?”

“He didn’t do anything. Not that I wanted him to anyway.”

“Hm.” She stands, grabs a shirt off the couch and stuffs it into the large, black bag.

“What?”

She shakes her head, and a few long curls escape from the messy bun on top of her head. “No, it’s a good thing nothing happened. First, you’re living with him now.” She picks up a sandal and tosses it into the sack.

“And second?” I ask, grabbing the other sandal.

“Well, there is no second. He’s your roommate should be big enough.”

“You’re right.” Hopefully my body heeds this wisdom. “And his place is so nice,” I continue with the pros of ignoring any attraction to him. “Plus, we work together.”

“Exactly. Look but don't touch.”

She’s right. I have one mission. Working on a major production is my dream. Bunny Hunnies is a stepping stone onto the road of that dream. I can’t screw things up by banging the photographer at work. No, that will never help my reputation. Besides, he would never see me that way.

So, I put all thoughts of Jonah away. All the sexual thoughts of how sensual he is. All late-night fantasies I still hold onto from my teenage years when he would stay the night, and I’d imagine him and I together.

Hey, I was young. No judging.

We finish grabbing my things, load everything into my car, and drive across town to Jonah’s. Well, I guess now it’s my place, too.

Gidget helps me unload the car, and together we bring everything inside.

“Wow, this place is great.” She looks around. “How cool is this?” she says, pointing to the coffee table inset with movie covers from magazines. She picks up the red throw pillow that says “Ticket” in bright yellow letters from the recliner. “Um,” she raises a brow, “he might be your soulmate.”

“What? No. He liked Gladiator.”

She drops the pillow and steps closer to the couch, studying the photos on the wall.

“He took those,” I tell her, feeling an unwarranted sense of pride.

“They’re great. He’s got a great eye.” She turns back to me. “Let's go find your room.”

We drag my stuff down the hallway, and it isn't hard to figure out which room is mine—he put my picture from the beach on the door.

“Damn, look at your boobies,” Gidget says. “Something tells me you better lock your door at night or one of you is gonna be sneaking across the hall.”

“Would you stop?” I say, dropping my bag on the queen size bed.

A bed. A big bed, not a twin, like I’ve been sleeping on. With a fluffy white comforter and millions of throw pillows in blues and yellows. I’m so happy, I could cry. I’m going to get to stretch out as far as I want. I may sleep sideways, just because I can. This room is perfect. I love everything about it: the dark furniture, the padded armchair, and my favorite—the window seat filled with more bright pillows. Maybe my karma is changing because all this feels a lot like good luck.

“We’ll see,” she says, pulling out clothes from the bag.

Although Jonah should probably lock his door. Because if anyone is sneaking, it would probably be me.

5

Jonah

Ever feel like your life has been turned upside down? That's how I've felt ever since Chelsea walked onto my set. It's all because of her tits. I should not have noticed the size of her breasts, or that they were real, and I might as well come completely clean here—they were the best set I've ever seen. And I've seen a lot. But not even that, they were the best set I’ve ever touched—squeezed—touched.

For a week now, I've tried to block out the way they felt when I grabbed them. But, it's hard when you have to stare at the pictures with a million-different people, and they point and place their finger right on the rosy nipple I know is behind the bikini top. It’s even harder cause she’s living with me. She’s everywhere. I step out of my bedroom door, and she’s traipsing down the hall in nothing but a towel with her wet hair dripping down her tanned body. Or, when I wake up, the smell of breakfast brings me to the kitchen where she’s wearing cute boy shorts and a tiny tank.

Her tight little body is always on display for me, taunting me. Even her last name…

“Is Sincock here yet?” Stan, the set coordinator for today's lingerie shoot, asks.

There's a glint in his eye when he says it. I don't like it. He's always staring at her. They act as if they've never seen a beautiful woman before. I'll admit, she has a certain girl next door quality to her that's much more appealing than the glossiness of the other models. So, I'll give them that. But I don’t like the way they say her name. Goddammit. I turn from checking the lighting setup for today's shoot and stalk over to the hair and makeup room and stick my head in the door. “Chelsea, let's go.”

Her eyes meet mine in the mirror stretched across the wall. Scrawled in red lipstick across the glass is: ‘In moments of doubt, eat a donut.’

“Nice affirmation today,” I tell Garcia, the resident makeup artist. “If you’d hurry, maybe we could actually eat.”

“You need to not demand things,” he chastises me. “Art takes time.” He dips his fingers into Chelsea's loose curls and gives it a tousle. “Go make love to that camera, Siiiincock,” he drawls out. “Make those men want to lick the pages.”

And that right there is about all I can take of this. Men licking pages and my best friend’s sister should not be happening. What else shouldn't be happening? Me looking at her long legs when she stands. She wraps the too short white robe tighter around her. I grit my teeth. She looks like a fucking sex goddess. Why the hell would Garcia do this? The other models on today’s shoot don't look like they just rolled out of bed after a hard fuck. But, then again, the other models don't have curves like Chelsea, so a hard fuck would probably break them.

She glides over to me on six inch stilettos, and I grab her elbow and pull her aside in the hallway. “Listen, you're going to have to change your last name.”

“What?” She pushes my glasses up a bit on my nose and rolls her eyes. “You're being ridiculous. Do you know that?”

“This is just wrong,” I tell her, stepping away to put some space between us.

She shakes her sex hair head. Her lashes are so thick and full, I'm not sure how she's lifting them. “I realize this is uncomfortable for you. But it's not wrong. You need to stop being so negative.” She smiles. “Get it?”

“Yeah, I get it,” I tell her. “Maybe you should be a comedian.”

“Jonah, we need you on set,” Stan calls out. He spots Chelsea and grins. “Ready, Sincock?”

I'm going to have no molars left if this continues.

“Yep,” she says, turning to walk down the hallway to the set area.

I follow behind her swaying ass, dreading this assignment for Deluxxx Lingerie. Maria, Lyla, and Zanna wave when we enter the large room transformed into a kitchen. Well, a partial kitchen. The magic of Photoshop will fill in the appliances.

“Okay, girls,” Stan announces while I get my camera ready, “the concept here is that men fantasize about their woman in the kitchen wearing lingerie. They want to come home to a hot meal and a hot woman.” He hands Chelsea a frying pan. “You want to make your man happy, so you’ll be cooking. Just reach out like you're putting this on an imaginary stove.”

I take a few test shots and force back the urge to ban Chelsea from the set while he finishes. Unfortunately, I can't. These clients pay big bucks to advertise their products in Bunny Hunnies, so I have to be professional. Maybe I'm overreacting. She's twenty four, an adult, and if she wants to flaunt her sweet ass body in a men’s magazine…

She drops her robe.

I drop my camera.

6

Chelsea

I’m a lingerie whore. Pretty bras and panties get me excited, and I want this lingerie set I’m wearing. And if you really must know, I'm considering stealing it once today’s job is over. Just kidding, I would never.

If my ‘man’ were looking at this magazine, he better buy this for me. It’s black and lacy—feminine—and the bra makes my breasts look astonishing, if I do say so myself. The panties have these thin, delicate strings on the back, fanning out from the lace band which isn't quite a thong, but almost, and I'll be honest, I feel very sexy right now. Even if half my ass is showing. And I think it’s important to feel good about myself since the other three models are wearing what amounts to nothing.

I peek over my shoulder when I hear a thud. Jonah, wearing a dazed expression, closes the space between us.

“Is there an apron?” He runs a hand through his dark hair, looking around the faux kitchen. “I think Chelsea needs an apron.”

Lyla sidles over and props a sheer, red pantied hip against the island. “Why would you cover the goods?”

Great question. Why would he cover the goods? Am I that repulsive to him? “Can we just get this over with, please?” I ask.

He looks between Lyla and I, raking his teeth across his bottom lip. “Ok,” he calls out, turning around, “let's do this.”

The next thirty minutes are a blur of what I hope looks like me making love to the camera while cooking a gourmet pretend meal for my pretend ‘man.’ I've got imaginary steaks sizzling in this pan. Thick and juicy. See? My acting skills are being put to good use. All those years of expensive drama prep have led me to this defining moment in a cardboard kitchen.

Jonah steps in a little closer, and I bend to open my imaginary oven. His shutter snaps furiously, and I focus on the crotch of his well worn jeans, pretending it's my ‘man’ in front of me, and I'm hungry for his cock. Honestly, I would totally do this for the right person. Unfortunately, I haven't met him yet. The most I've done is order pizza in a cute sundress. Having my parents go through a bitter divorce doesn't exactly make me eager to find a permanent ‘man.’ But it’s ok. I’m not out of love with the idea of love, I’m just not in love with it.

I arch my back a little, pushing out my bottom, so the tiny black bow accentuates what Garcia spanked and called my money maker, and lick my lips while my ‘man’ takes my picture. I mean, Jonah. Actually, what's wrong with pretending he's the one who is going to eat this meal I clearly put a lot of thought into? I need inspiration. I'm only projecting, doing what any good actress would.

His handsome face is partially blocked by the camera, but it only makes him sexier. He's so intense. I don't even know what the other girls are doing, I'm in the zone—playing a part. I'm going to feed my man, and then he’s going to lift me onto the countertop, spread my legs and eat…

“Ok, that's a fucking wrap,” Jonah shouts. He slides a finger in the collar of his They Call Me A Player t-shirt with a game controller picture underneath the words, pulling it out and then letting it go.

“Too hot in the kitchen for you?” Lyla teases him.

“All this made me hungry,” Zanna says, running a hand over her white corseted stomach. “Wanna grab some lunch, Jonah?”

“Sorry,” his husky voice answers, “I have a date later.”

She shrugs off his dismissal. “You always have a date.”

He doesn’t even acknowledge her comment, just turns and leaves.

“Hey,” Lyla says quietly, giving me a little hip bump, “don’t fall under the Jonah spell.”

“What do you mean?” I pick up my robe and slip it on as the set clears.

“Don’t be one of a million.” Her brown eyes search mine as if she knows exactly what I was conjuring up in my mind. “Be the only one. I don’t think he’s that guy.”

“It’s not like that.”

She nods and gives me a little grin. For some reason, I feel she doesn’t believe me. Which is fine, I don’t believe me either.

* * *

“Yes Mom,” I say into the phone.

I inwardly cringe when I tell my mother about moving in with Jonah. She loves Jonah, but she always stands firm to her affirmation—don’t give up your dreams for a man. Because when it ends, you’re left with nothing.

Mom knows all about my teenage crush. She listened to me cry on the long drive about leaving everyone behind. “Friend him on Facebook,” she said. Obviously, I didn't. Mainly because he wasn't on Facebook. I get her motherly concern, though. My mom was on her way to Television stardom. Fame and celebrity status was at her fingertips, until she met my father. She gave it all up and claimed to not regret any of it.

“What are you doing today?” she asks.

I’m on my way to meet my father for lunch, and I try not to bring him up to her.

“Not much,” I hedge, “lunch and then heading into work for a few hours.”

She fills me in on the small-town Texas gossip, and before we hang up she says, “Think with your head, not your heart. I love you.”

Sage advice. Easier said than done.

“Hey, Dad,” I say, kissing his cheek as I enter the restaurant.

“Hey, sweetpea.” He kisses my cheek.

We are seated promptly, and I grin as he orders a double Bourbon neat.

“How are the auditions going?”

I roll my eyes. “Not so great. But, I’m sure it’ll pick up.”

“Don’t lose faith. Declan says you’re working as a model?” His forehead crinkles, slightly.

“Yeah, and I think my luck is already changing. I have it all pictured in my head. My big discovery.”

“You’ve always been a dreamer.” He chuckles. “It’s good to have you back.”

“I planned on coming back to LA right after high school, but with Grandma getting sick, I just couldn’t leave.”

My father reaches his hand across the table. “Don’t feel bad for that. Your mother appreciated you being there and helping.”

“I know. And it gave me time to really understand the art of acting.”

He nods. “Chelsea, I have every confidence in the world you’re going to make it. You want to know why?”

“Yeah,” I mumble.

“Because you don’t give up. And you have the talent. You were born with it.” He smiles, and the crow’s feet surrounding his eyes deepen.

“I just imagined it would be different.” I can't count how many times the rejection has made me question my dream. But, it's something that won't release its hold on me. Actually, I have Jonah to thank for that, somewhat. During my first school production in Texas, Romeo and Juliet, something unleashed inside of me and all of the feelings that would never be returned rose up and poured out through my role in an emotional explosion. It made my heart sing.

“Don’t give up, dear. It’ll happen,” he reassures me.

“How are things with you?” I ask, changing the subject. Nothing worse than a whiner, and that's how I feel discussing my lack of success.

I fork through my salad as my father tells me about his new girlfriend, Isabel.

My dad dates more than me. Everyone dates more than me. Maybe I need to find a balance and stop focusing on ’making it.’

Maybe dating is just what I need to keep these crushy feelings I have for Jonah at bay.

Stan at work has been flirty. He's actually cute with his dirty-blond hair and dimples.

Maybe I’ll take the plunge.

After I leave lunch with my dad, I head into work to autograph a few photos. Stan smiles at me when we pass in the hallway.

I smile back. Bigger than is really necessary. Thank god no one’s around to hear what I'm about to do. I stop and call after him.

“Yeah?” He smiles, a brilliant white toothy smile. It’s a little too perfect. Like Ken. You know, Barbie and Ken? Yes, Stan is the equivalent to Ken. Hm. Maybe I don't want to date. I'm more into the tall, dark, sexy, glasses wearing type. But not Jonah.

Speaking of, I glance over to the cubicles in the main area just as Jonah leans over to whisper in a blonde-bombshell’s ear. Ok, maybe I should date.

“What are you doing tonight?” I ask.

His eyes shine. “Uh, nothing. Want to go out?”

I love a man who jumps on the opportunity, because I'm not sure the words would've actually come out. “Sure,” I agree.

We exchange details, and I breeze past Jonah.

“What were you two talking about?” he asks as I pass.

I keep walking.

7

Jonah

Hours later, I leave work and head home. The past few shoots have weighed heavily on me. It’s getting harder and harder to snap pictures of Chelsea all the time. And I do mean hard. When I step inside, I study my place. Living with a girl is different. It started slowly, the transformation, but as each day passed my bachelor pad has turned into something more. A potted plant here. A candle there. I scan the open space for anything new.

Magazines still on the end tables. Gaming system still intact. Kitchen spotless. Ok, maybe not that much has changed, but it does smell different. Like peaches or something girly.

“Chelsea, you here?” I call out.

“Yeah, I’m back here.” Her voice is soft and I head toward it.

She stands in the bathroom in little grey shorts and a tight black tank curling her hair with a hot rod, or iron rod...or whatever they’re called.

And there it is. The major transformation. The bathroom counter is one disaster of beauty products and other random girl stuff I have no clue what it’s all for.

Is that thing for makeup? I grab a silver scissor-looking tool. “What is this?” I say, stepping inside the war zone.

“Eyelash curler.” She twists a lock of hair around the thing in her hand. Steam rises and amazingly, her hair doesn't catch on fire.

“Where are you going, anyways?”

I set the eyelash contraption thing along the counter and scan all the makeup and bullshit littered over the marble. It’s odd, because she doesn’t look like she’s even wearing anything. It’s magic.

“I have a date,” she beams. “I know you always have your game night tonight, so I decided to get lost.”

I run my hands over more of the makeup causing a tube of lipstick to roll off the counter. I stick my other hand out and catch it just in time. Sweet Peach. “Ah, there. I saved it.”

“Wow, you’ve got great ninja reflexes.” She laughs as she finishes off her hair and runs her fingers through it. All that work to undo it. Go figure.

“Yeah, I was the top student in ninja school.”

“Oh, I bet. Did you get all the awards?” She smiles at me through the reflection of the mirror.

“I don’t like to brag, but yeah, I got a few gold stars, a few ninja stars. A few black belts.” I lean in closer, and her eye’s drop to my lips. “What I do have are a very particular set of skills, skills that I have developed over a very long career, skills that make me a nightmare for people like you.”

“And when you find me, you’re going to kill me? Taken, Liam Neeson, yeah I know it,” she whispers.

And time stops. Or maybe my heart.

“You may be my movie soulmate, except the whole Gladiator thing. We’ll have to work on that.” I wink at her.

She licks her lips, and my eyes focus in on it. “So you believe in soulmates?”

“True love is your soul’s recognition of its counterpoint in another,” I quote.

“It’s a little cheesy, but I like it,” she says, saying the next line in the movie.

I clutch my chest. So I keep going, “I read it on a bumper sticker.”

She shines. “I love that movie.”

The fact she can recite Wedding Crashers back to me is a major plus in my book. Wait, she should not be in my book.

I back up and set the lip gloss tube on the counter. “So, who’s your hot date with tonight?”

“Stan.” She grabs the tube, opens it, and smears it on her lips.

I’m stunned by how closely I watch her put it on. How much I want to taste it. “Stan from work?” Nah, nah, can’t be.

“Yes,” she says so nonchalantly. So matter-of-factly.

“Are you kidding?” Red-hot anger ignites deep within. I don’t even know why I’m so mad. I mean, sure, Stan seems cool. Hell, I don’t even know anything about him. I don’t do background checks on guys at work on the off chance they’ll date my little sister. Fuck, she’s so not a sister. There’s no way I’d look at a sister the way I do her.

I shake my head.

I might need to start running checks on everyone at work.

She lifts one shoulder in a half shrug as she walks out of the bathroom.

Of course I follow her. I don’t like this one bit. “No way am I letting Declan’s little sister go out with Stan the axe-murderer man.”

“Jonah, calm down. He’s not an axe-murderer. You watch too many movies. I’m a big girl.”

“No, you’re not. What else do you know about Stan?”

She taps her finger to her chin. “He enjoys long walks on the beach at night.”

“The beach at night is the perfect spot to use his axe.”

“Oh my God, Jonah.” She laughs, shaking her head.

“Besides, no one really enjoys long walks.”

She places a hand to her hip. “Really? Why not?”

“Well, because they’re long.”

She laughs, entering her room and shutting me out. “I’ll be fine,” she calls through the wooden door.

8

Chelsea

Maybe I'll get lucky tonight. In more ways than one. Maybe if I do, all these re emerging crush like feelings will be squelched once and for all. It's as if they've been lying dormant all these years, waiting for Jonah Marshall to resuscitate them. And now he has to make things worse by upping the irresistible factor with movie quotes. I never would've guessed that Jonah’s love for movies might surpass my own. Talk about an ovary explosion. Well, maybe Stan will make my body and mind react like Jonah does. I slip on my heels. My short, slinky black dress falls slightly off one shoulder and sends just the right message for a first date: I'm not into you yet, but we’ll see what happens.

When I step out of my bedroom, Jonah waits, his back propped against the wall, arms crossed. My heart flutters in my chest.

“Guess this movie quote,” he challenges.

“Um, ok?” I cross my arms, waiting.

“I’ve always depended on the kindness of strangers.”

“Jonah, what are you doing?”

“I have a dating theory.”

“Oh yeah, what theory is that?”

“Just guess the quote.”

I stall. I’ve heard it before, but god, I can't think around him. I shake my head. This this is ridiculous, Oh, wait. “A Streetcar Named Desire.”

A look of confusion mixed with surprise fills his eyes. “I, uh, can’t believe you know that quote.”

He steps closer. Retreating and escaping his magnetic pull is my first instinct, but I don't.

“Ok, so what’s this theory of yours?”

“Ask him the quote. If he gets it wrong, the date will bomb.”

“What?” I put a hand on my hip. “You can predict the future with movie quotes?”

“Yeah, I can.”

“Jonah, you’re ridiculous. I have to go.”

“Just trust me. Try it.”

“Maybe.” This is the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard of. “Wish me luck,” I say on my way to the door.

“Good luck,” he says very smug. “Text me if I’m right, which I’m pretty sure I will be.”

* * *

Jonah jinxed me. He didn’t guess the quote. And my unlucky streak continues. The date didn't just bomb, it was a disaster. Here’s why:

When the guy says meet me at seven, and he shows up forty-five minutes late, well, it’s probably not going to be the best date ever.

When a guy doesn’t hold the door for you and let's it nearly hit you in the face, well, he's rude. I know this isn’t the 1950’s and chivalry is dead, but it is the first date and all.

When a guy orders a bottle of red wine without asking. I like white.

When a guy won’t stop chewing his food with his mouth open. That's not something I really want to see.

When he talks endlessly about how lovely his ex-girlfriend is.

When he pats your butt on the way out of the restaurant.

When the girl you're on a date with can't stop thinking about someone else, a certain photographer, it’s doomed.

Jonah was right. And so was Gidget. I need to lock my door so I don't try to sneak across the hall.

9

Jonah

For the millionth time tonight, I check my phone for a text from Chelsea. Nothing.

“Big plans?” Declan asks.

“Chelsea’s on a date. Just wondering when she’s going to get back.”

“A date?” Declan asks as Booker and Ethan both hoot and holler. It's game night, and we’re all situated around my living room. Booker and Ethan on the couch, me on the floor, and Declan in the recliner. They’re all testing my patience. All night the same thing: ‘Gonna kick your ass, Playboy.’ ‘Who’s going down tonight?’ And yes, so far, I’ve beaten everyone at each video game we’ve played.

I’ll let you in on a secret… I’m pretty fucking good. Call it good eye-hand coordination, or call it the art of knowing my opponent, but all night, I have been murdering these motherfuckers in Call Of Duty.

We usually get together every Friday night, play a few rounds, bet on who’s going to win, and every time I take their money with a smile.

You’d think they’d wise up, but they never do.

“Yeah, with Stan. I don’t know,” I say, pausing the game.

“Ah, fuck, Jonah. I was about to go all postal up on your shit,” Booker says, slamming his controller down.

“Dude, be careful with that. It’s an elite controller,” I say back.

He better not have broken it. That’s just shy of two hundred bucks right there.

“Who’s Stan?” Declan asks.

“We playin’? We not playin’?” Ethan smirks.

“Shut up, fucker,” Declan barks at him. “Turn the game back on.”

“Calm down, I was just checking the time.”

“Someone’s in love,” Booker says as I unpause the game.

“Shut up,” I tell him.

“Can we play before I get sick. Jonah knows better than to date my little sister. She’ll be home soon,” Declan adds.

“Yeah she’s probably just indisposed at the moment,” Booker jokes, using air quotes.

“Shut up, man. That’s my sister.” Declan focuses on me. “Can we just play already?”

We continue playing, and I don’t check my phone anymore. Although, I really want to. No way did Stan guess that movie line. No way in hell.

Not too long later, the front door opens.

“I’m home. Did you miss me?” Chelsea’s cheery voice fills the space.

Declan stands. “How was the date?” he asks, heading into the kitchen to grab another beer.

Obviously, I take Declan’s guy out in the game since he got up and left his man vulnerable.

She smiles as she drops her handbag on the bar. “Oh,” her eyes meet mine, “it was great.” She returns her attention to Declan. “How was your night?”

He mumbles ‘fine,’ while I watch her for any signs she had a great time. She’s not giving me anything.

Declan returns to his chair as Chelsea makes her way past us.

“Chelsea, you like this guy?” Declan calls out to her.

She smiles and it brightens up the place. Right before she heads down the hallway, she taunts, “Maybe.”

As soon as her door slams shut, Booker laughs. “Your sister is kind of hot.”

“Don’t even look at her,” I shoot off to him.

It pisses me off Booker would say that. I don’t know why, but it does. I mean, it’s Declan’s sister.

A while later, they leave, and I throw away the beer bottles and place the controllers in the drawer of the entertainment center.

“Did you guys have fun?” Chelsea asks, stepping into the living room, wearing pink sleep shorts and a white shirt.

“Yeah.” I put the last controller away, and head into the kitchen where she rummages through the fridge. “Didn’t your date feed you?”

She spins around and gives me a thumb down. “It was horrible.”

My chest warms seeing her reference Gladiator, and I grab a stool to sit on. “Tell me, did he get the quote?”

She grabs a pear from the fridge and chops it up. “No, he looked at me like I had two heads. I mean, he’s funny at work. But, he was kind of, how do I put this? An ass.”

“How?” I watch her chop and watch even closer as she brings a piece to her full lips. Not for nothing, but she does have a nice set of lips. Full and pink.

“Well, he’s a little self-centered. He kept bragging and bragging.”

“Oh, yeah. I hate when they brag,” I joke.

“I’m serious, Jonah.” She sits down next to me. “You’re a player so you wouldn’t know.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She raises a brow. “Do you even like the girls you go out with?”

“Sure, I do.” I chuckle.

She raises her brow higher. “Seriously. Do you even talk to the girls you go out with?”

Ouch. “Yes.”

She nibbles on a slice of pear. “Well, this guy had no clue. Then, as we were leaving the restaurant, he patted my butt. Like coaches do to their football players when they get off the field.”

I grin. “Maybe he thought you were a good player.” I laugh. “Or maybe he thought you played a good game.”

“Ha ha. I’m serious. He was a loser.”

“So, no second date?”

She shakes her head, her long blonde hair tumbling down her back. “No.”

I want to fist pump the air. “Sorry, that sucks.” I’m lying, it doesn’t suck. Part of me is thrilled she had a horrible time.

She shrugs. “Nah, I’m sure I’ll meet somebody new.”

And I don't know how I feel about that. She nibbles on another slice of pear, and all of a sudden, I want a piece. She makes the pear look so damn delicious. I grab a slice and pop it into my mouth.

“What about you?” she asks.

“What about me?”

“Are you always going to be a playboy?” She gives my knee a little nudge with hers and the contact sends my pulse racing.

“Yeah sure, ok.” For some reason, I don't like the nickname coming from Chelsea. I’ve had it for as long as I can remember. I think it started when we were in high school. I got to first base with a girl…first.

So, the guys coined the nickname playboy, and it stuck.

She holds out a sliver of pear, offering it to me. Like Eve tempting Adam, except with a pear. Without thinking, I lean in and take it from her fingers with my mouth. My tongue grazes her fingertips. I'm not sure that was a slight gasp I heard from her, because my heartbeat is thundering in my ears, but I'm real sure I need to end this conversation and get out of here when she gives a little suck to her fingertip.

Her eyes drop to my mouth when I lick the pear juice from my lips. “Well, I'm tired.” She rises and cleans up her little pear mess. “See you in the morning,” she says, heading to her room.

When she’s out of sight, I let out a breath and make a mental note to never buy pears again.

10

Chelsea

A month later, and you know what? Life is good. I love living with Jonah. He’s the perfect roomie, actually. He leaves me alone for the most part. Although, he does try to get me to watch some questionable movies...Lord Of The Rings, really?

Last week, I went on three auditions but nothing too promising. I just keep hitting the pavement. And in the down time, getting more assignments with Bunny Hunnies. Deluxxx Lingerie wants me for a solo campaign. Date to be determined. If this keeps up, I'll have money for an agent sooner than expected.

After the success of cooking up a meal for my ‘man,’ I've learned to use a little method acting to help me through each shoot—Stan gives the client’s vision, and I conjure up an entire scenario in my head, so at least I feel I'm doing what I want: acting. Sigh.

Right now, the setting sun paints the sky orange and pink over the ocean, and Erotic Escapes, a company specializing in role play lingerie, is the client. Apparently, Viking wear is a thing. It's pretty sexy. I'm a virginal maiden about to be plundered in my white lace-up corset and sheer white panties. Garcia even plaited tiny braids throughout my blonde waves for authenticity.

Snap.

I smile sexily for Jonah, I mean the camera, and run my fingers along the washboard abs of my captor, Wayne. The Instagram star. He has big muscles and tattoos all over him. Not really my type, but I can see the appeal. Wayne told me all about utilizing Instagram while he posted selfies for his throng of frenzied followers.

He wraps his muscular arms around me, and Jonah raises a brow at us.

Snap.

“Chelsea, lean back a little. Like you're trying to get away,” Jonah calls out to me, his voice oozing with sexiness.

I really am trying to stay in character. In my mind, this is no longer the ocean, it's the Baltic Sea, and Wayne is going to carry me to his ship set with billowing sails. He’ll take my new-found virginity, because according to Erotic Escapes, men want to claim innocence. “Untapped pussy or barely used pussy” according to Garcia. So, I'm giving them that as best I can.

“Want to come party with me and a few of my friends later?” Wayne whispers close to my ear. Ugh. That's not really what a Viking would say.

Snap.

I want to tell him I have other plans. Like maybe shampooing my hair.

I’ve already been warned away from Wayne by a few of the other girls, but, then again, they’ve warned me away from Jonah as well. And in the time we’ve lived together, he hasn’t really been too bad. A date here or there. Ok, four dates. Not that I’m counting. Not that I noticed what time he came home.

Snap.

Not that I’m jealous either.

I don't want to want someone who doesn't want me. He needs to get out of my system, once and for all. It's all making me cranky. It doesn't help the set today is intense, everyone shouting and moving at supersonic speeds.

Jonah, the epitome of scrumptious with his perfectly messy hair, shorts, and an ‘I flash people’ with a camera underneath the words, t-shirt, trots over to me. “Here, I got this for you to wear.” He hands me a sarong, and I narrow my eyes, perplexed by the white material.

“What for? Did Glenda ask that I wear this?” I wrap the sarong low on my hips.

“No, but I think it’ll go with the shoot better.” He smiles, teeth oh so white against his beard.

“Um, ok.”

Jonah calls me in for the shot, and Wayne steps closer. “Dude,” he balks, “she can’t wear that.”

“What? It’s a wrap. Looks great.” He gives him a thumb up and positions the camera over his eye.

Wayne is like my defender or something, my Viking defender. “You can't be serious. The men reading this magazine want to see skin. Lots of it.”

“Take it off,” the rest of the crew chants.

“Shut the fuck up,” Jonah spits at them. “She keeps it on.”

“It’s fine, really,” I offer.

Jonah steps over and pulls me by the arm away from the crowd. “Chelsea, please, just wear it.”

“Listen, I know it may not mean much to you, but I need this job. And I need to do this job well.”

He steps closer, crossing his arms. “I don’t like this. I don’t like the way the whole crew ogles you. And Wayne with his Popeye arms touching you. It’s gross.”

“Are you two lovebirds about finished?” Tim calls to us.

“Not funny,” Jonah shouts back. He shakes his head at me before heading back over to where his camera and equipment sit.

I lose the sarong and fling it at his face as I pass by.

Jonah isn’t happy, scowling and barking orders, as he continues the rest of the set. After we’re done, he stops me as I grab the tote with my clothes.

“We need to talk,” he says, leading me to a set of restrooms out of view of anyone who might be watching.

“What do you want?” I lift my nose and stare directly into his eyes. “You humiliated me today. Made me feel like my body isn’t up to your standards.”

“Are you kidding? Is that what you think?” He steps closer, and I back up against the wooden partition separating the bathrooms from the showers.

“Well, why else would you pull that stunt?”

Jonah steps back, his eyes raking over my body, and I suck in a breath.

His eyes flare, like a flame ignited by a match. “It’s definitely not because of your body,” he says in a deep, gravelly growl.

My skin heats and it isn’t the sun making me hot. “Jonah,” I whisper, unsure of what I even want to say to him. I can’t make heads or tails of what he’s doing to me. I’m so upset with him, like want him to redo the photo shoot and treat me with proper professional courtesy. Not like a kid sister.

But, right now, with the way his eyes travel down my scantily covered body, I don’t feel like a little sister.

“I can’t handle it when everyone stares at you,” he whispers close to my ear.

I bring my hand to his chest and give him a little nudge. “Why? Because I’m Declan’s little sister?”

“No. I mean, yes.” He steps back and plunges his fingers into his hair. “Fuck, I don’t know.”

“Jonah.” I touch his bicep, but he brushes it away.

“I have a date tonight. I won’t be home until late.” He leaves me standing here wondering what the heck that was all about.

“Well, I have a date, too,” I yell after him. Now I just have to find one.

11

Jonah

Fuck. Don’t ask me what that was all about. All I know is, I couldn’t handle Tim and the rest of the guys staring at her. Even Randall had that awe expression when she walked onto the set. And don’t get me started on Wayne. I don’t know why it made me mad, but it did. I’m supposed to protect her from the assholes of the world. Not be one. Now, I need to find a date. Get her out of my head.

Booker calls and saves the day.

“Hey, need your help,” he says.

“What’s up?”

He fills me in, and I rush home to get ready, hoping to not see Chelsea while I’m there.

Minutes later, I’m out of the house and on my way. I pull my Jeep into the parking lot of one of the coolest joints in LA and jump out.

Booker’s tall frame waits for me by the glass doors. “Hey, man. Ok, here’s the scoop. There’s a brunette at the bar wearing a green dress. I’ve already struck out with her.” He runs a frustrated hand through his dark hair. “She’s a primadonna princess, so good luck.”

Great. And here’s the skinny on what Booker does. He has a very unique business. One that gets him into a lot of trouble sometimes. A lot of trouble. Booker started out as kind of a life coach, helping guys get dates, teaching them the so called proper art of flirting. But sometimes, and only sometimes, he goes above and beyond for clients.

He’s a great guy. And will usually do whatever it takes to get the couple together.

Well, tonight, he has a break up. Let me explain. A guy was dumped and wants the girl back. He’s in love, so Booker is trying to appear like the biggest asshole, so her ex can swoop in and save the day. Ah, true love...right?

I put my game face on; asshole ready.

“You owe me, man,” I say before stepping inside. After I scan the bar, making sure I’ve secured the right female, I make my way toward her.

“Jonah, what are you doing here?” I turn and Chelsea stands next to a potted plant, crossing her arms across her inviting chest. She’s a fiery bombshell in the little red dress she has on. Legs for days that have me unexpectedly imagining them over my shoulders. Her blonde hair is swept into a ponytail along her right shoulder. But, it’s her lips that have me transfixed—bright, red, and very sexy.

“Hey,” I finally find my voice. “You’re on your date here?”

She nods. I check behind her, and there he is. The ‘date’.

He’s nothing special. Mud-colored hair. Beady brown eyes. Some weird skinny slacks and a button down white shirt. Actually, he looks like a nerd. I could easily take him. I arch a brow at Chelsea. “Really? Him?”

She swats my arm. “Stop. He’s nice.”

“If you say so.”

She shrugs. “Have fun on your millionth date this week.”

I cock a brow. She’s got me in a bad mood, and I don’t even know why. “Millionth and one.” I haven’t even been on many dates. And I don’t dare tell her that I’m here for Booker.

Let her think whatever she wants.

They walk away, and I scowl off in her direction. Onto my task of the evening.

I grab a seat next to green-dress girl. “Hey,” I say.

She doesn’t answer back. Figures. Should I do the ol’ buy you a drink line? No, too basic.

She has a red drink in front of her and I lean closer, making my move. “What are you drinking?”

She examines me. “Hurricane, why?”

“No reason. Just wondering. Looks fruity.” The bartender steps up, and I place an order for a bourbon on the rocks. Yeah, Booker is so paying for this drink.

“It is.”

“Yeah, it’s a great New Orleans drink.”

“New Orleans, why’s that?” she asks, turning her body a bit closer to me. It’s progress, I’ll take it.

“The Hurricane. It’s a Mardi Gras original. Lots of rum.” I smile, laying on the charm.

“That so?” She turns on her barstool and crosses her legs.

“Yeah, it was created by that ol’ bootlegger, Pat O’Brien. It packs quite the punch.”

“Well, it is good. And I already feel tipsy from it.”

I move closer, reaching my hand out to rest on her knee. “Oh yeah? How tipsy?”

“Very. Are you from New Orleans?” she asks, her voice dropping an octave into a seducing tone.

“Me? No, I’m a local.” I graze my thumb back and forth along her skin.

“You sure know a lot about New Orleans. Maybe you’re a bootlegger.” She giggles and my eyes catch Chelsea’s from across the bar.

She gives me a half-smile, and I return my attention back to green-dress girl.

And now to drive this sale home. I spot the client of Booker’s out of the corner of my eye and give him a nod. He nods back, so I know I’ve got the right guy.

He steps closer.

“Maybe. I’d never tell. So you like New Orleans and Mardi Gras?” I ask.

“Yeah. I’ve never been.”

I tilt my head to the side. “Ah, that’s a shame. There’s one thing they love to do there.”

“Oh yeah, what’s that?”

“The girls there lift their shirts and flash their tits around.” I lean back. Booker is going to owe me big time for this. “So, go on, show me your tits.”

She sits up straighter. “Excuse me?”

“Go on, lift your shirt. Maybe I’ll buy you a drink if they’re big enough.” God, I hope I don’t end up with her Hurricane all over me. In case you don’t know, it stains like a motherfucker.

She stares at me in disbelief, and for one second I think she might actually show me.

“You’re a dick,” she finally says.

Booker’s client swoops in. “Get lost, asshole.”

Her eyes widen. “Kaden, what are you doing here?” She offers him a soft smile.

“Or what?” I play along.

“Or I’ll kick your ass,” Kaden threatens.

I hold my hands up, backing away slowly. “Can’t argue with that.”

My work here is done. I ease past tables of happy couples sipping wine and probably discussing shallow lies in the hopes of impressing one another. I shake my head, tired of the game.

As I breeze past Chelsea, she appears uneasy. Her eyes bounce around the bar as her mouth turns down everytime the guy she’s with speaks. She twiddles with the coaster her pink martini sits on, and my eyes slam into hers. She mouths the word ‘help’, and I move in.

Guess her date’s not as nice as she thought.

Now it’s my turn to save the damsel in distress from her date. And I’m more than happy to oblige.

“There you are,” I say, wrapping my arm around her shoulders. “Chelsea, I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” I say so her dipshit date can hear. Her dress is an open back, and I slide my hand down. Her skin is soft as velvet. She shivers beneath my touch.

“Jonah, what are you doing here?”

“I’m miserable without you. Can’t sleep, can’t breathe.” The date appears like he wants to murder me, but I don’t care. I was so mad earlier, but now I would do anything to get her off this date. “I want you back,” I tell her.

“I’m on a date.” She glances over to him. “I’m so sorry,” she apologizes.

“I think you should go, man,” her date says.

Chelsea isn’t the only actor here. Women like alpha male macho shit. That’s how I’ll act. I should get an Academy Award for this. “I’m not leaving without my girl.”

“What? Are you kidding?” Dipshit date narrows his eyes at us.

“Jonah, please.” She’s a good little actress, too.

“Give me one more chance, baby.” The term of endearment just slipped out, but it felt good saying it.

She stands from her barstool. “Mark, I’m sorry. Maybe I should go and talk to him,” she says to her date.

I'm not sure what comes over me, but I spin her around and plant my lips right on her soft, luscious mouth. Her lips taste so good. I could kiss her all night.

My hand trails up her neck, slowly, into her hair. She opens her mouth for me, and our tongues meet. It’s electric. A zap of want courses through me at a needy, lust-filled pace. And now I can’t fucking stop. Not at all. And I don’t want to. I really kiss her, hard and hungry. She wraps her arms around my neck, clinging. Her hands send shivers of desire coursing through me, and I forget where we are for a minute, or two. Passion consumes me, and I tighten my grip on her.

The dipshit date coughs, and I pull back from her.

Breaking the kiss, and dropping her arms, Chelsea clears her throat. “Mark, it was nice meeting you,” she says, and I grab her hand, leading her out the door.

“Cha-ching,” I say passing Booker as he waits outside the club.

“Thanks, asshole. I owe you,” Booker calls after me, eyeing Chelsea and I. “What are you two doing together?”

“He rescued me from my date. Like a knight in shining armor.” She shines, and Booker’s eyes shoot to mine.

I shrug. “Yeah, just helping out a friend.” As soon as I mention the word friend, Chelsea drops my hand.

“Well, I guess you get the good friend award for the night,” Booker says with a shrug.

“What does he mean?” Chelsea eyes me.

“The date in there.” I jab a thumb over my shoulder pointing to inside the club. “It wasn’t real. Just helping Booker with one of his jobs.”

“Yeah, I owe you one,” Booker says, laughing as he strolls away.

12

Chelsea

He kissed me. I’m still in shock. After the photo shoot my nerves were already on edge about seeing Jonah. But, having him show up to the exact place where my date was...well, it was freaky. I watched him as he sat flirting with that girl, and, well, I felt a little jealous.

One thing I knew for sure, I didn’t want to be on my date anymore. I’m going to kill Gidget, like murder her dead. I won’t lie, I was a little excited when she hooked me up with Mark the casting director, but no...just no. He kept making lewd jokes about his casting couch. So, when Jonah passed by, I knew I needed his help.

I didn’t expect him to come over. And I sure as heck didn’t expect him to crash his lips to mine. But, that kiss. Wow. It’s what the stars are made of. It made my knees wobble and my heart soar. I didn’t want him to stop. Ever.

Best part? Finding out his wasn’t really a date at all.

“Thank you, Jonah,” I say, lingering back just a bit, because I don’t really know what to do.

“Where are you going now?” He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

I shrug. “Not sure.”

“There’s a place around the corner. Want to join me?”

“Yes,” I agree, too quickly. The place could be anything, and I would say yes. I just want to spend more time with him. “What kind of place?”

“It’s the Aero theatre. They’re showing A Streetcar Named Desire. If we hurry, we can catch the ending.”

“Lead the way,” I say. “You call the shots.” I smile. “Get it?”

“Um, yeah.” He laughs. “We may need to discuss this pun problem you have.”

We quicken our steps. This isn’t a date, but it almost feels like one.

When we round the corner, the marquee is lit. He buys tickets, and we slip inside.

The interior is just like the movies it shows, classic. Antique theater equipment is displayed throughout the red carpeted lobby, and it really gives this place a ton of character.

“I love it here,” I say. Because how could you not?

“Me too.”

We hurry into the darkened theater, where the movie has already started, and pick a spot in the back. We’re alone except for one couple way in the front.

Jonah leans close. “Ever seen this movie?”

I shake my head. “No. I knew the line because, well, most people do.”

He points to the screen. “That’s Blanche DuBois played by Vivien Leigh.”

“Ah, she’s so striking.” I smile at him, and his eyes flit to my mouth. I’m brought back to that moment when our lips met.

“Yeah, she is,” he whispers in a husky voice.

“Why is this your favorite?”

“It has a lot of layers. Blanche isn’t happy with the cards life dealt her, so she lies. She lies to herself, but she believes the lies.”

“Ok, and Marlon,” I point to Marlon Brando on the screen, “what’s his deal? Do they fall madly in love?” I’m probably batting my eyelashes like an idiot.

Jonah grins. “Not exactly. Not at all, actually. He’s dead set on exposing her lies.”

“Aw, why can’t he just let her live in her little fantasy world?”

He leans closer, stalling for a second. “I don’t know,” he breathes.

It’s very intimate in this little slice of paradise. Our arms touch. His hand inches closer, and I want more than anything to grab it.

He points to the screen, and then his eyes land back on me. “That’s Stella, Blanche’s sister.”

“Is she married to Marlon?”

He smiles. “Yes, his name is Stanley.”

“He’s so mean.”

“He only gets meaner. This movie has some of the best acting in Hollywood to date.”

My eyes focus back on the screen. I love acting. It’s like a part of me comes alive when I’m in the moment of pretending to be someone else.

Classic movies have great soul and some great acting as well. They don’t have all the CGI to take away from the emotional connections forged on scene.

“So, why does Blanche hate her life so much?”

He shrugs. “She isn’t happy with getting older. It’s astounding how the cinematographer uses the light.”

“What do you mean?” I ask. I can’t stop staring at him.

He’s so sexy with the soft glow of the movie cascading off his chiseled features.

“She won’t step into the light, knowing everyone can see her imperfections if she does.”

“Everyone has imperfections,” I whisper.

His eyes rake over me, and he tucks a tendril of hair behind my ear. “Some not as many as others.”

My breath catches, and I want him to kiss me again. No, I need it. My heart beat is a soft drumming in my ears and slowly gets louder the closer he gets.

Inches separate us.

My eyes drift closed.

There’s yelling on screen, and the moment is broken. Our attention is returned to the movie, and I want more than anything to go back in time to a minute ago when Jonah’s eyes were zeroed in on my lips.

“What’s Marlon doing?” I whisper.

On screen, Marlon Brando yells to a distraught Blanche about her pulling the wool over his eyes.

“He’s trying to expose her,” Jonah whispers back.

“For all the lies?”

He focuses his attention on me. “Yeah,” he says in a breathy whisper.

I love being here with him in the dark.

It isn’t a romantic movie, but the way Vivien Leigh delivers her lines is poetic. The way she moves in each scene is magical. One day, I hope I can be just as elegant on the big screen.

Audrey Hepburn. Bette Davis. Greta Garbo. Ingrid Bergman. These are my idols. The ones I study and learn from.

Tears fill my eyes when my dreams become too much for me.

Jonah leans closer. “Are you crying?”

We face one another. “No, not about the movie.”

He wraps an arm around my shoulders, and I lean into his chest. He smells so good. “This movie’s not everyone’s cup of tea.”

“I love it,” I whisper.

And I do. Maybe not the movie so much, but the experience of it. And isn’t that what enjoying a movie is mainly about? The experience of it all.

The smells, the feels, the way that one little line of the movie can take on a new meaning deep within you.

This is why I act. I want to evoke emotions in the people who watch my movies.

I want people to fall in love while seeing me on the big screen. Not with me, but with the ones who hold them close in a darkened theater late at night.

Wait, not that I’m falling in love or anything crazy like that.

Maybe the two down in the front few rows are though.

I giggle through my tears, and Jonah squeezes me tighter. Who would have guessed Jonah would be into a movie like this?

At the very end, he leans close, “She’s driven herself insane by believing her own lies.”

“Ah,” I say, as the credits roll.

“She retreated further and further into her lies, until she could no longer distinguish between fantasy and reality.”

“That’s kind of sad, don’t you think?”

He stands and reaches down for my hand.

I take it, rising from my seat, and we walk back out into the lobby.

“A lot of people do it, I guess.”

“Lie?”

He laughs a small, short laugh. “Well, they get caught up with keeping up with the Jones’s.”

“Yeah, the stigma society puts on people, and what they should or should not have, is sad.”

“Yeah, I suppose. Not me. I’m nothing like Blanche. I’m happy with my life.” He smiles as we pass by an old projector from the 1920’s on display.

“Are you, though?”

He stops and turns to face me. “What do you mean? Of course I am.” He smiles, confidently.

“Are you happy going on date after date and never really committing to anything real?”

“Ouch, oh so deep on a first date.” His eyes widen as soon as the words fall from his lips. He shakes his head. “Wait, not that this is anything like that.”

I want to tell him it feels like a date to me too, but I keep my mouth clamped shut. I smile, and we continue walking around as we talk about anything and everything that isn’t considered ‘deep’.

13

Jonah

My favorite movie isn’t my favorite movie anymore. Let me explain. A Streetcar Named Desire is a great movie for so many reasons: the cinematography, the acting, the symbolism.

But, you know what’s even better?

Watching Chelsea enjoy the movie.

I couldn’t turn my fucking eyes away from her. It was mesmerizing—the lights from the screen bouncing across her perfect face, her eyes sparkling as she got more and more into the movie, holding her close while she leaned her head on my shoulder.

I’ve never watched the movie with anyone else before.

Mainly because most chicks don’t dig old movies.

But, not Chelsea. She could appreciate it.

Even earlier, kissing her was like a dream.

I shouldn’t have kissed her, though. Yeah, I know. But, in the moment, if you’d have tried to stop me, there would have been no way.

“I’m really glad you came with me,” I say, leaving the theater.

“Me too.” Her face glows when she smiles, and I wish in this moment I had my camera.

“You really would look spectacular on the big screen.” I hold my hands up, as if I’m capturing her on film. She crosses her eyes and sticks her tongue out, and I laugh. “See? Stardom right there.”

She giggles. “Thanks. I really think things are going to happen for me now.”

“I do too.”

“My luck has already been changing.”

“Why’s that?”

“I don’t know, but it is.”

“Were you unlucky in Texas?” We cross the street, making our way back to our cars in the lot of the club.

“Not always. But, it’s just little things, ya know?”

“I think it’s because you moved in with me, don’t you agree?” I laugh.

She shakes her head, smiling. “Maybe something like that. But, you love having me there, admit it?”

I rub my beard. “Your cooking helps.”

“Jonah, oh my God.” She makes a little tsk sound. “No wonder you’re still single.”

“By choice. I’m single by choice.”

She finds this funny. “Oh, believe me, I know. All the girls at work talk about you.”

Interesting. I raise a brow. “Spill it.”

She bats her eyelashes, and drawls out each word slowly, “What do you mean?”

I narrow my eyes. “Tell me.”

She shakes her head. “No way. I won’t consort in gossip which makes your head bigger.”

“Oh, come on. I would tell you what people say about you if the tables were turned.”

“Does anyone say anything?”

There’s no way I would tell her the sexual things Tim and Randall say about her. It’s one of the reasons I’m always the biggest grump on set. “Yeah, everyone at work hates you.”

She laughs, cute and sweet. “I don’t believe you.”

“Believe it, kid. They all do mean things behind your back.”

Her brow draws together. “And you just watch them?”

“Yeah.”

“So you like to watch?” She bats her eyelashes.

Damn. She has no idea. “I guess you could say that.”

She narrows her brow. “You don’t defend me?”

“I’m kidding. I would kick their ass.” And I would. “So, what do the girls say?”

I know this isn’t a date, but it sure feels like one. My mind travels to that question where most dates end up… do I want to sleep with this girl?

“Well,” she looks up at me, “they say you’re a player.”

“Ouch. And you believe them?”

“Well, I don't know? I mean, hello, you’re friends with Declan and Booker. Those two are the biggest flirts I’ve ever met, and they call you playboy. So, I guess, in theory, that would make you worse?”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“You’re playing the field.”

She scrunches her nose. “Yeah, but not like you.”

Oh, this girl. “What does that mean?”

“Come on, I’m not sure you're interested in their minds.”

Ouch, again. “You’d be surprised. The dating thing is getting kinda old.”

“Oh really? How so?”

I shrug. “No one has really kept my attention in a while. It’s just the same ol’ thing, all the time. Girls with no real substance.” I spot my Jeep in the distance.

“Substance?” She raises her arms to her chest, indicating I’m only interested in big tits.

“No. The substance up here.” I point to my head.

“That’s a shame. You just haven’t met the right girl yet.”

“Says you. Maybe there isn’t one person who’s right for me. Ever think of that?”

She smiles, and her eyes take on a far-off dreamy look. “No, I want to believe there’s somebody for everyone.”

“Well, you go on believing that dream. I’ll live here in reality.” I laugh a little.

“I like dreaming. Sometimes dreams do come true,” she says, quietly.

“You sound like the poster child for Disney.”

“Ha. Stop. You have to believe in something.”

The warm breeze lifts her dress, just a little, and I catch a glimpse of her inner thigh. What would it be like to touch her there? She looks glamorous under the moonlight. I want to tell her I believe in the kiss we shared. It’s all I’ve been able to think about since this whole date, I mean, whatever this is started.

“Maybe I have a few beliefs.” I grab my keys from my pocket.

“Oh yeah, like what?” she asks, her lips curving into a smile.

“I believe in luck. I believe in second chances. I believe Declan would kill me if he knew I kissed you.”

Her smile falters, and I reach a hand out to hers and grab it. I squeeze her soft skin, running my thumb along the inside of her palm. “But, it was a great kiss,” I breathe out.

God, was it ever. I won’t lie to you, I want to kiss her again. But, I won’t. Don’t worry, I can manage self-control.

She lets go of my hand. “Well, Jonah, thank you.”

“For what?”

The dim lights in the parking lot make this all too intimate.

“For letting me live with you, and for tonight.”

I wave a hand, shoo’ing off her thanks. “Oh please, it’s nothing.”

The air shifts between us, and I pull at the collar of my button-down. I’m nervous. For some unknown reason she’s gone and made me nervous.

We’ve made it to our cars in the lot, and I smile at her.

“Race you home?” she says, breaking any awkwardness from the moment.

“You’re on.” I hop in my Jeep and fire it up.

It’s like Fast and the Furious on the roadways.

I beat her home by a fraction of a second. Hey, it’s a win for me.

And again the weirdness is back when we go inside.

I rush out a goodnight, and slip into my office as I hear her start the water for a shower.

Ah, fuck me. She’s naked behind that door.

I turn on my computer and gaze at the pictures of Chelsea from a previous shoot.

My cock stirs to life. Fuck.

Will not jerk off to pictures of Chelsea. I repeat it over and over, but as I unzip my jeans...I spot one picture I took a couple of weeks ago.

She’s in a string bikini. A sexy as fuck little black number. Her tits are pleading to be freed from the restraints of the thin fabric.

Her legs go on for miles, so tan and silky smooth. In the picture she’s on her hands and knees, and her ass is spank-worthy.

I stroke my cock, imagining what it would be like to run my hands on her round ass, and give it a spank. When I lean back in the leather chair, I spread my thighs and grip my dick hard, pumping it.

What would it be like to thrust inside of her? What does her pussy taste like?

That kiss tonight has my head in a crazy place. I want it again. I can’t stop fucking thinking about it. I love her lips. So sweet.

My hand picks up speed, and my breathing hitches.

“Fuck,” I groan out.

She asked me if I believe in anything, and I believe in the fact that I want to fuck her. Hard. And fierce. I want to wrap her hair around my hand and fuck her from behind. Have her on her hands and knees begging for me.

Our chemistry when I kissed her was like a damn complicated law of attraction problem. One I can't solve, because I've never felt such intensity with anyone before. I’m so close to coming. I want to scream my orgasm out for the whole city to hear. Hell, I’m tempted to bang down the bathroom door, and show Chelsea how much I want her. But, I won’t. Instead, I’ll have my own private heaven right here, glancing at picture after picture.

I stroke faster, running my thumb over the tip. God, she was made for the camera.

She smiles at me through the computer screen, and I jerk my cock harder.

My blood is on fire. My heart hammers away in my chest as I imagine doing naughty things to Chelsea. Just once, I want to watch her get herself off.

I stroke a few more times and come hard.

Fuck. I have to kiss her again. I have to get rid of this want for her.

After my body calms from the rush of it all, I clean up and shut off the computer.

Maybe the reason I feel this way is because we’re living together. Being so close to one another. That has to be it.

Tomorrow I’ll make sure I start keeping my distance. Even if I really don’t want to.

* * *

The next morning, work is a frenzy of excitement. People rush around with big smiles. Real smiles. Not the strained, ‘I’m smiling because it’s the polite thing to do,’ kind.

Randall peeks his head in my office as I sit down behind my desk. “Did you hear?”

“No, what’s going on?”

Chelsea slips past him, beaming. “Did you hear?”

Seriously? Why does everyone start off with that question? Why can’t they just say the big news or whatever’s going on? I’m going to get all intrigued, and it’s probably something dumb like a new coffee maker.

“No, tell me.” I’m about to have a heart attack if someone doesn’t speak soon.

They glance at each other, waiting for the other to speak. My patience is thin.

Finally, Chelsea puts me out of my misery, “The Cheetah Lounge in Vegas booked a photo shoot. And you’re the lucky photographer.”

Before the words have time to sink in, Glenda sashays in. “Everyone out,” she shoos them. “Jonah and I need to chat.”

My smile is already spreading as Chelsea gives me an excited thumb up before leaving.

Glenda closes the door and turns to me. “I’m sure you’ve already heard the big news.”

“I may have heard something.” I lean back in my chair, clasping my hands behind my head.

“Well, pack your bags. This shoot is an enormous opportunity for us. I need everything to be perfect.” Her brown eyes are more serious than I've ever seen them. “Better than perfect. No hiccups.”

I sit straighter in my seat. “Absolutely. No problems there.”

“I know.” She relaxes and gives me a warm and friendly smile. “I trust you, Jonah.”

“Thanks. I’ll do my best.”

She leaves my office after giving me a few details about the job. It’s a risqué photo shoot for one of the hottest places in Vegas.

To say I’m not fucking stoked would be a lie.

14

Chelsea

The next day, I’m walking on clouds. Immense, fluffy ones. I’m so excited. Vegas. I mean, it’s Vegas. And I was selected to go. It feels good to be chosen for this after all the rejection of LA. And I could use a little fun in the down time from the shoot.

I call Gidget. “What are you doing? Get dressed and come meet me. We’re going out.” I jump in place a little as I wait for her to say yes.

“It’s five in the afternoon. Why are you so happy?”

“I’m going to Vegas, and we haven't had girl time in forever.”

“What? Ok, ok, meet me at Tidal Waves.”

Jonah isn’t home, and I rush to get ready, breathing a little sigh of relief he’s not here. Ever since we kissed, I don’t know how to act around him. I'm trying to act unphased, but all I want to do is wrap my arms around him and have him sweep me off my feet and carry me to my bedroom.

I know fairytales.

He’s too irresistible. Every time I see him, I imagine bad things happening. Bad things sexually...in a good way.

I throw on a black sundress, wedges, twist my hair up on top of my head and rush out the door to avoid him.

Half an hour later, Gidget and I order our second drink. My excitement over the shoot has waned a bit, and the alcohol has me feeling a little glum.

“I can’t stop thinking about him,” I say to Gidget over my martini.

She shakes her head, her eyes trained on me. “I still can’t believe he kissed you.”

My core tightens, remembering. “It was better than a kiss.”

“Hm.” She keeps saying that, ever since I told her about our kiss. Her fingers toy with her long dark side braid as she watches me. “Have you talked to him about it?”

Sighing, I scan the near empty bar.

“Well, sort of. He said Declan would kill him if he knew.” I signal the bartender for another martini. “I think that's all that needs to be said. I mean, couldn't he tell maybe I wanted another?”

“Well, it is the right thing to say.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know. Like when one person is afraid of rejection, or afraid what the other person might say, so they offer that up. Just to warn off the chance of being let down.”

“You think he said that because he was afraid I didn’t want it?” I ask.

“Well, one thing I've realized with Paul is, I kind of expect him to know what I'm thinking, and he doesn't.” She rolls her eyes. “I mean, we’ve only been together a few months, but still. You're gonna have to spell it out, draw him a picture, act it out, cause men need the facts.”

I let her wisdom soak in for a moment. Is it really that simple? Gidget, with her skinny jeans and “Dance Hair, Don't Care” t-shirt might be a genius. Or I may be tipsy.

“Maybe you're right.”

“I mean, is it what you want?” She takes a sip of her red wine. “Do you want to be locking lips with your very own Prince Charming?”

“First off, no to Prince Charming. Well, both of them. Is it weird two princes were named Prince Charming?”

She laughs. “Well, they both sucked...and not in a good way. I think Sleeping Beauty’s prince charming was a dud. He didn’t even talk, except to sing his love for a girl he just met.”

“Yeah, so no to Prince Charming. All either of them did was kiss their princesses. Plus, there’s the necrophilia issue. Technically, he thought she was dead.”

“Ew, Chelsea,” she cringes, ordering another drink. “How about Eric? He was cute.”

“Eric from the Little Mermaid? Did you really just say a cartoon character was cute?” I laugh.

“Well, he was.”

I shake my head, smiling. “Yeah, but he’s only into mutes.”

She slaps my arm. “Oh my God. I would take Eric any day. I’d even brush my hair with a fork for foreplay.”

“Not me, I’d take the Beast.”

Her eyes go wide. “Really? Is it the beard?”

I smile. “Well, with that extensive library and his controlling ways, what’s not to love?”

She narrows her eyes. “Nah, too furry for me. I like some abs. Plus, he’s got major anger issues.”

“Speaking of abs, the other day Jonah took his shirt off,” I sigh, feeling a little wistful, “nothing but the hottest six-pack abs I’d ever seen.”

“Fur?” She sips her drink.

“None, except for a yummy happy trail.” I slam my drink down. “Ugh, ok, I do want to kiss him again.”

She narrows her eyes at me. “And it doesn’t matter that you guys work together, live together, or that he’s your brother’s best friend?”

Well, when you put it that way. I take another small sip of my pink martini, stalling to answer. “Uh, no?”

She laughs. “You’re a mess. I can’t help ya. You’re on your own.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Why can’t you just meet someone where things aren’t so complicated?”

I let out a deep breath, setting my martini glass on the oak bar. “Because no one’s like Jonah.”

“Oh dear,” she says, shaking her head. “I didn’t realize you were in so deep.”

Shocked, I answer, “I’m not. I swear. He’s just a good kisser.”

“Mhm, sure.”

Am I in deep? I don’t want to keep wasting my time if nothing will ever come of it. There are other guys. I smile at the bartender. He's handsome. Rugged. Dark hair, mysterious eyes, and a piercing in his brow. He smiles, and it doesn't give me the pitch in my belly like Jonah’s.

Well, I tried.

* * *

“I quit,” I say, facing the mouth of Bronson Cave.

“What? You can't quit,” Jonah says. “It's the bat cave.”

Those are practically the first words he's spoken to me since our kiss. He's been weird the past few days, leaving for work early and staying in his office when he gets home. It's giving me a complex, so I fully intended to avoid him the next few days until Vegas, but fate, mean bitch that she is, keeps intervening.

Love Is Extreme Adventures booked an expensive last-minute ad and comped the overnight stay in a remote location outside of LA. Their one requisite? Myself and Wayne. We are prehistoric cave people meant to entice men into wanting to bring their significant other on an extreme love adventure—hell to the no.

“Exactly,” I hiss. “There are bats in there. And no telling what else.”

Wayne, in his fur loincloth, puts an arm around my shoulder. “Me protect you,” he grunts out.

“This just isn't worth it,” I tell Jonah. “I mean, I'm in a fur bikini for God’s sake. I don't want to be found dead wearing this.”

Jonah laughs. “You're not going to die, he assures me. “Do you know how many movies were shot here? Again, it's the bat cave,” he stresses.

“Listen,” I shrug off Wayne's arm, “I don't care if Batman himself is in there, are you going to save me if a bear comes barreling at us?”

“Yes,” he says, completely serious and completely heart stopping, “I would never let anything hurt you.”

Except you.

“Zombies?”

“Yes.”

“Vampires?”

Laughter lights his eyes, but he humors me, because I'm fucking serious. “Yes, promise.”

I look at the mouth to hell once more and take a deep breath. “Ok,” I agree, “but if you lie to me and I die in there, I will haunt you forever.”

“Deal.” Excitement bounds off him. “Let's do this. To the batcave.”

They lead me into the cave with its shady recesses, and for the next hour I lie on a synthetic bear skin rug, waiting to be mauled to death out of vengeance.

“Could you move away a little?” Jonah directs Wayne. “Just communicate with your eyes, not your hands.”

Wayne backs up a little and after a few more shots, Jonah calls it for the day. I scramble out of the cave as fast as I can. After changing into shorts and a white tank in the pop up tent, I gather my things and trek back to our cars with the small crew. Halfway there, before I can resist, Jonah reaches in and takes my bag from me, slinging it over his shoulder. At the lot, he puts it in the backseat of my car.

“Follow me to the hotel,” he says. “I don't want you to get lost.”

“I'm not helpless, Jonah,” I say, sliding in my car. “I can follow signs.”

“It'll be dark soon. If you get lost, you'll be stranded. There's no one around here to help you, except wild animals.”

Alrighty then. “Lead the way.”

When we get to the hotel, a single story building that looks straight out of Psycho, all I can think about is showering and sleeping. Having my nerves on high alert all day made me tired.

After my shower, where I kept watching for knife shadows on the white shower curtain, and the sun has faded, I pull back the covers and jump, high. Eeek. A snake. All squiggly and black resting on my pillow. Screw this.

I grab my bag and race out of the room.

Jonah’s room is a few feet away, and I debate on knocking on his door or sleeping in my car.

It's pitch black outside. I knock.

Minutes later, a groggy Jonah opens the door in nothing but sweat pants resting low on his hips and no shirt.

“There’s a snake on my pillow,” I rush out.

He doesn’t say a word, just opens the door further for me to enter.

This place is a nightmare, and I waste no time crawling into his bed where it’s safe. He stares at me.

“Uh, is this ok?” I ask.

“Yeah, I’ll just sleep,” he glances around the small room, “somewhere.”

I pull back the covers, mainly checking for any more snakes, and smile. “There’s plenty of room.”

This is probably a mistake. I mean, it’s Jonah.

He scratches his head, and then crawls in beside me. “Goodnight.” He rolls over, and all of a sudden I can’t sleep.

I toss and turn, humph and grumble, trying to get as comfortable as possible.

“Is there a problem?” he asks, flipping over to face me.

“Sorry.”

He props himself up on one elbow. “How cool was that cave today?”

“Not very,” I answer.

The room is dimly lit by one small lamp resting atop a side table in the corner of the room. The soft hum of the air conditioner is the only sound as we lie in bed together. I’m in a bed with Jonah. I know I was in a bed with him a while ago, but I was drunk and couldn’t enjoy it like I can now.

I study his face. His perfect nose and white teeth all lining up straight. The shape of his eyes and how the brows perfectly arch over each one.

“It was really cool. That’s the exact cave where they filmed Batman,” he says, a little too excited.

“Oh.” I play with a thread from the comforter.

“Just think, one day you could make a movie in that exact cave.”

I picture it. The camera, the director, the cast. And then my mind drifts to the kiss we shared, and how badly I want him to lay another one on me. “That would be great,” I say out loud. And I’m not talking about filming a movie either.

He leans closer, and his hand reaches out, brushing against my cheek.

“You had an eyelash.” He holds out his finger. “Make a wish and blow.”

The way he says blow is sexy and husky. Like he wants me to blow something other than his finger.

Wish. What should I wish for? There’s a million things I wish for every day. But, right now, with Jonah’s intent stare on me, I close my eyes and blow.

Please let him kiss me again.

He doesn’t move, and neither do I.

“Thank you,” I say, because I can’t think of anything better. A gazillion words flutter through my mind, but I can’t capture any of them, except, “Wishes don't come true.”

“What do you mean?”

“There's one thing I've always wished for, but it's not happening.”

“I really think you’re going to make it,” he whispers.

“Make what?”

“It. You know, acting. A movie star. I really think you have what it takes.”

He has no idea he’s what I've been wishing for. I snuggle closer. “Thank you.” Again with nothing better or insightful to say. I’m sure Audrey Hepburn was never at a loss of what to say. Or Greta Garbo.

“Good night, Chelsea.”

I gaze at him, not yet wanting to say those two words back. Because then it’s over. The moment. The magic we’re creating by lying here together. Sure, it’s not the magic of lovemaking. It’s a different kind. More intimate.

“I’m glad you were here to save me from the snake.”

He gives a small laugh. “I’m sure Norman Bates put it there specially for you.”

I grab his arm and scoot closer. “Don’t make me scared. This place is already creepy enough.”

“I told you earlier,” our eyes meet, “I won’t let anything hurt you.”

He's so earnest, I believe him. My insides melt, and I close my eyes. “Good night, Jonah.”

15

Jonah

Vegas here I come. Sin City. I’m so ready to start this assignment. I’m even more excited to gamble a few bills away.

I’m not a huge gambler, but when in Vegas…

I check into the Bellagio where Falcon Publications has us booked through the weekend with one day of constant shooting and then one ‘free day.’

To do as we please.

Which won’t be Chelsea.

I mean, come on, can’t say I haven’t thought about it.

The one thing I’m not looking forward to is Wayne’s hands all over her during this photo shoot.

I want to punch him in his model-perfect face. Who cares if he has big muscles and twenty-four pack abs. Or if the women ‘swoon’ over his smile. Please, the guy’s a complete tool. Besides, big muscles equals tiny dick, everyone knows this. Speak of the devil, Wayne brushes past me on the way to his room. “I’m getting fucked up,” he shouts, heading down the hall.

Shooting starts at eight a.m., so, I head up to my own room, wheel my suitcase through the corridor, and spot Chelsea.

“Hey, Jonah,” she says.

“Hey, is that your room?” I ask as I get closer.

“Yep.” She holds up the keycard in her hand. “Looks like we’re neighbors.”

“I just can’t seem to get away from you,” I joke. “I’m sure this place is snake free.”

She smiles and unlocks her door. “Yeah, let’s hope. See you tomorrow.”

Although, I kind of wish there were. I wish someone would unleash a fury of snakes in her room. Like Snakes On A Plane, only this time, snakes in her room.

And I could rescue her.

I should have kissed her the other night. Lying in that bed with her. I should have fucking kissed her. But, I resisted.

And now, she’s still as tempting as ever…right across the hall.

* * *

The next morning, my alarm blares entirely too loud for my liking. I slam the snooze. Fuck. I hate mornings. They should be illegal.

Days should start at the crack of noon. Think about how many happier people would be in the world. Sure, Starbucks sales would be down, but I don’t drink coffee anyways. Or believe in the hype.

What’s the hype? The belief that coffee is needed to function. I know. I know. Don’t throw your mocha latte in my face. But, honestly, is coffee really the cure-all for mornings?

I hit snooze again.

Finally, before the third snooze sounds, I crawl out of bed, shower, and throw on some jeans and a black t-shirt.

We’re set to meet in one of the penthouse suites, so I grab my equipment and hustle to the top floor.

When I enter, it takes me all of ten minutes to set everything up with Randall’s assistance. The poor kid gleams with excitement.

I gotta admit, I’m pretty damn stoked too to get this day rolling.

Garcia steps out of the bathroom. “Sin City meet Siiincock.”

“Damn,” Randall says as Chelsea exits the bathroom. She has Garcia’s assistant following her, applying some make-up as she heads closer to the bed.

“Fuck,” I whisper.

She’s not in a swimsuit. No, she’s in some white-and-pink, lacy lingerie thing. It’s practically see through. Who allowed this?

Doesn’t matter.

“Fuck is right,” Randall whispers close to my ear.

I snap to attention. “Keep your eyes off her.”

He laughs, but I’m not joking.

For some reason, I’ve staked a claim over her.

“I’ll kill him,” Glenda threatens, rushing into the room. “The executives will be here soon. Listen up everyone,” she calls out to the room. “Anyone know where the ever-loving fuck Wayne is?”

Oh shit. There’s an awkward silence.

Everyone’s eyes bounce around to one another and back to Glenda. I swear her head’s about to explode.

“Did he say anything?” she asks, drawing out each word.

“Just that he was drinking last night,” I offer.

Wrong thing to say. Fire is definitely in her eyes, and they’re aimed right at me. “And you didn’t try to stop him?”

I shrug. “Not my place.”

She huffs a little. But, I get it. Wayne is sort of fucking us all over.

Glenda pinches the bridge of her nose. “The people organizing this entire thing, the one’s fronting this whole bill, the ones who want to see this company act in a professional manner will be here.” She glimpses at her watch. “Half an hour. I want Wayne found.”

The door opens and all heads turn. An intern by the name of Brandon steps inside. He shakes his head. “Got the manager to open his hotel room, and he’s not in there.”

My gaze meets Chelsea’s, and I shrug. The disappointment in her eyes isn’t lost on me. We all know this is huge. If we have to cancel the shoot, we won’t be asked to reschedule.

The proverbial light bulb goes off over Chelsea’s head. “Glenda,” she says in a quiet voice. “I don’t know if this is doable, but,” she hesitates, “Jonah could fill in.”

“Uh, no. I can’t.” I shake my head.

“Yes, you can. Take off your shirt,” Chelsea prompts, stepping closer to me.

“I’m not taking off my shirt.” I swat her hand away when she tries to lift the side of my tee.

“Go on, take it off, Jonah,” Glenda demands.

“Are you kidding? Who would take the pictures?” This idea is the dumbest one I’ve ever heard.

“You,” Glenda snaps her fingers, then points at Randall, “what’s your name? You’re his assistant? You take pictures, right?”

Randall turns beet red and lets out a little, nervous laugh. “Yeah,” he pipes out.

“Jonah, shirt off. Randall, can you handle taking pictures?”

This is insane. My eyes meet Chelsea’s hopeful ones. I shake my head, and she steeples her hands together in a little plea. “Please? This can work,” she whispers to me.

Sometimes you just have to say fuck it. I yank my shirt over my head.

Glenda sizes me up. Actually, everyone in the room stares. And I’ve never felt more mortified.

“Nice body. You’ll do.” Glenda barks out orders, and three ladies approach me, spraying something on my chest and rubbing it in.

I can’t believe this fucking shit.

I step over to Randall. “Listen, man. You got this. Just remember everything I’ve ever taught you.” I pass my camera to him, and his eyes are bigger than anything I’ve ever seen.

“Yeah, yeah. I got it.”

“Like I need you to grow a set of balls and take charge. Got it?” I ask.

He nods, again and again, as he takes the camera from my hands. “Got it. Balls. Yes. I have them.”

Glenda gives me a pep talk, Chelsea too. Even Randall offers some terrifying words of wisdom…’don’t get hard, dude.’ None of the little chats work. I don’t know what I’m fucking doing.

“Am I wearing jeans?” I ask to anyone who’s listening.

“Yes,” Glenda answers back. She grabs me by the arm, leading me toward the bed. “You and Chelsea will start out near the bed. Then, if the client wants it, you might get under the covers and do some light holding and such. Remember, be sexy.”

I nod. “Right.”

Sounds easy. Not really sure what being sexy is. I mean, sure I’ve got a certain je ne sais quoi. But, I don’t know how to harness it and make it available for picture taking. Or if it’s even harnessable—it’s just that powerful. I kid. I’m nervous as hell.

Just as I’m about to ask how to be sexy on film, the door opens and a few men wearing business suits that probably cost more than my Jeep, step inside.

The room fills up quick. It’s stuffy, and I can’t breathe.

This is all surreal.

Chelsea fluffs her hair and steps closer. “You look great. Ready?”

“Uh, no. Not really sure what I’m doing.”

“You’ve taken pictures for how long? You know where and how you want your models to look. Where you want them to stand to get the best possible light. You do know what you’re doing. But instead of being behind the lens, well, now you’re out here…with me.”

Her words sink in. “You’re right.” I do know what I’m doing. I know what makes a great picture.

Now, instead of trying to get my vision clear through the models, I can just do it.

She smiles. Fuck, Declan would murder me in my sleep if he caught wind of any of this.

After the introductions are over, Glenda gets everyone into position.

And here we go.

Randall snaps a few practice shots and nods to me. It’s showtime.

I wrap an arm around Chelsea’s waist, pulling her in. This is awkward.

“Wait, stop,” Glenda says, coming over to us. “Jonah, you’re very stiff. Loosen up.”

“I’m trying.”

“Pretend no one’s here,” Chelsea says. “This is the art of acting. Pretend you’re in love.”

I close my eyes for a moment. After opening them, I say, “I’m ready.”

I relax all my muscles and grab Chelsea around her tiny waist again. I pull her close. Too close. Randall snaps the shot.

She looks up at me. Her eyes really are unique. They aren’t just blue, that's too ordinary. No, they’re the color of the summer sky, with a soft sunshine band of yellow wrapping around her pupil.

I study them and move in closer to her lips.

And then, the room fades away.

I no longer hear the cues coming from Randall...I’m on autopilot.

I trace her jaw, skimming the soft skin with my thumb. My body heats, and I couldn’t cool it off if I tried.

I’m too in the moment with her. Exploring while I have the chance.

I run my fingers through her long locks. Rub the soft skin along her collarbone. She moans.

The sound is an aphrodisiac, and I step her closer to the bed. I want to kiss her. But, I don’t. Our lips hover inches apart, and my heartrate races double-time.

“Break,” Glenda says.

“Break already?” Dazed, I step back from Chelsea and roll the tension away from my shoulders.

“We’ve been at this for an hour,” Glenda points out.

It didn’t feel that long.

“Everyone take fifteen,” Tim says, and I head over to my water bottle and down almost the entire thing.

“How do they look?” I ask Randall, stepping over to him.

“You two had insane chemistry. I think they came out killer.” He pulls up the images on the laptop, and he’s right.

I lean closer. “Great pics, Randy.” I ruffle his hair, like a father does to their son.

When we’re ready to begin again, Glenda informs us that we will indeed be getting under the covers, and I’m not sure if my cock can handle it.

“You can stay in your jeans, Jonah, since you’ll be under the covers.” She smiles. “Chelsea we want you on top, like you’re riding him.”

Oh, fuck me.

16

Chelsea

Giddy up. One thing I learned to do in Texas was ride a mechanical bull. Something tells me I’ll stay on Jonah a lot longer. He climbs into the bed, lying his head slightly up on the pillows, and drapes the white sheet across his lower body.

I step to the edge of the bed. “I’m just going to climb on top of you now,” I tell him.

He nods and I carefully straddle him, placing my hands on his ripped chest.

I’ve never been so nervous in my life. I’m about to simulate having sex with Jonah. The worst part? I’m wet. Being in contact with him like this is doing all kinds of things to me. No matter how I position myself, my pussy rests on his groin, and I can feel the outline of his dick. It’s impressive. He rests his hands on my hips, and Randall snaps away.

“Chelsea, lean your head back toward the ceiling, letting your hair fall down your back,” Randall says.

I do as told, and Jonah’s hands give my hips a little swivel. He’s hard.

And I try my damndest not to appear too aroused. It’s not easy.

I can’t stop myself from shifting a tiny inch and grinding along his cock. They did tell me to ride him, after all.

He lets out an imperceptible hiss before sitting up. I press down harder as his hand skates up my side and glides over the top of my breast. His mouth is so close to my nipple. So close. I forget there are people in the room. It’s only Jonah and me. My fingers work their way into his hair and give a little tug. Every part of me wants him right now. Every inch.

He rocks up into me and soon we’re both caught up in the moment. Touching and grabbing. Pulling and teasing. What if I come? That’s how good this feels.

We’re so caught up in each other. It’s crazy how turned on I am. Crazy I want him this bad. But, I do.

After a few minutes, Glenda cuts in, “Ok, that’s enough. Thanks everyone.”

What? No. I need a few more minutes.

“Fuck,” Jonah murmurs. “I just need a moment to calm the beast.”

I hop off, and try to pull myself together.

Everyone wanders the room, shuffling in and out, oblivious to the fact I was on the verge of an orgasm. Jonah finally brushes the covers off and stands.

Randall rushes over. “You were great. I think you’ll really be happy with some of the shots I got.”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Jonah says. “Let’s see.”

I follow him and Jonah to the monitor and check out the images.

Our moment in time captured by the lens. Picture after picture of us together.

It’s plain as day the lust in my eyes. But, he has it too.

Glenda brings the suits over to the monitor, and I step out of the way for them to go over the shots. While I pull on a robe, Jonah grabs his shirt and it's goodbye abs.

“I’ll only have to touch up a few spots in photoshop, but all in all everything turned out great. What do you think?” Jonah asks the man who appears to be in charge.

“I don’t get it. You’re the model, but you’ll be doing the touch-ups?” he questions, adjusting his tie.

“Yes, I’m Jonah Marshall, and this is, Randall, my assistant.” Jonah shakes the man’s hand. “I’m originally the photographer. I stepped in for the male model who didn’t show.”

Understanding dawns in his eyes. “Ah, I see. Well, you are a man of many talents, Jonah.”

“You have no idea, Mr…”

“Peterson. Nice to meet you. Tonight, dinner and entertainment is on me. Fancy seeing a show while you’re here?”

“Sure, that would be great.”

“And you,” Mr. Peterson says to me, “very sexy. Great pictures. You’re exactly what we were looking for.”

“Thank you,” I blush.

Glenda joins us and inspects the pictures. “These are great.”

“I’m very pleased with your team, Miss Harolds.” He smiles at Glenda. “I’ll leave tickets to some shows at the front desk for your crew to have a little fun while they’re in town.”

She walks him out and as the crew packs up, I change into jeans and a white peasant top and head to my room.

“Are you seeing a show?” Jonah jogs behind me, catching up.

I shrug. “Maybe.”

“I think we should celebrate,” he says, smiling.

This is the moment I should have walked away. A tiny warning bell dings. Like a high-pitched bell sounding off, telling me to steer clear.

But, instead, I say, “I absolutely think we should celebrate.”

We decide to meet in half an hour in the hotel lobby. It’s barely afternoon, but that doesn’t matter in Vegas.

It’s a place where time stands still. Or speeds up. It doesn’t matter because, action happens at all hours of the day.

When I exit the elevator, our eyes meet. Jonah’s browns dazzle, doing something to my chest. Like a little flippity-flop.

I ignore it and smile.

Leaning against a pillar in the lobby, he takes in my red dress. It reminds me of the white dress Marilyn Monroe wore in the shoot where she stands over the subway grate, and it shoots air up her dress. I feel like he just removed my dress with his eyes, the way he's looking at me. He looks devilish. Black Polo, gripping his muscles nicely, hair tousled and wild.

He licks his lips as I step closer. “Hey,” he says in a sexy drawl. “Ready to party?”

“Always.” I loop my arm through his.

We both squint against the harsh sun the moment we step outdoors. Vegas is hot, as always. A year round oasis of heat and dust. But, I don't care. It's a paradise where anything can happen.

I laugh, spinning around to face him. “Where do you want to go first?”

He glances up. “There’s a rollercoaster up there.” He points toward the Stratosphere.

I gasp a little. “Are you kidding?”

“Nope, it dangles off the edge.”

This is going to be a big problem. “I have a confession to make.”

“Shoot.”

“I’ve never been on a rollercoaster.”

Now it’s his turn to gasp. Only in a manly-type growl way. “What? How is that even possible?”

I shrug. “I’m not even really sure. When we were little my parents took us to Disneyland, but I was too scared.”

He grabs my hand, leading me down the sidewalk. “This needs to be remedied before we drink anymore.”

I laugh. “Are you planning on drinking more?”

“Yeah. A lot. And I bet you won’t be able to keep up,” he says, stepping around a group of younger guys with maps in their hands.

“Oh, well, I just may shock you, Jonah.” I gaze up at him. “I’m not the sweet innocent little sister of Declan’s you may remember me as.”

He stops, and tugs me closer. “That’s where you’re wrong. I don’t remember you at all,” he says, laughing.

I slap his arm as we pass the Treasure Island pirate boat show. “That’s mean,” I say. He’d better be joking with me.

17

Jonah

It’s a big fat lie. Not the boat show, I mean, sure that’s a lie too, they’re not real pirates. But, I mean, not remembering her.

I did.

She was so pretty at sixteen years old. Being nineteen at the time, I had to mentally stop myself from staring at her when I would go over to Declan’s.

Then she moved away, and I moved on.

“You know I’m kidding.” I squeeze her hand. “How could I not remember the brat you used to be?”

“I was not a brat.”

We continue our trek toward the Stratosphere, heading through the glass door.

Chelsea stops. “Another confession.”

“Shoot.”

“I’m a teeny bit afraid.” She cringes.

I can’t keep my damn hands off her as I pull her close. “Fear is not real. The only place fear can exist is in the fear of the future. Fear is a choice.”

“Ah, Will Smith is wise.” She smiles.

“Wow, you’re good. You know that movie too?”

“Of course. But, doesn’t mean I’m still not afraid.”

I laugh “It’ll be fine. I’ll be with you the entire time.”

“Don’t leave me. You said you wouldn’t leave me.” She gazes at me expectantly.

“I think you got me. Is that a movie quote?”

She winks. “Fifty Shades Of Grey.”

“I’ve never seen that garbage,” I say, raising a brow.

“Garbage? Watch your language. Shh, people may hear you.”

I laugh. “Yeah, ok.”

“I’m serious. That’s blasphemy.”

I laugh as we step inside the elevator to head to the top floor.

Ever heard of the Stratosphere? Tallest building west of the Mississippi, or east of Seattle, or something like that. It’s a really tall fucking building, and on the rooftop, is a roller coaster. It’s probably one of the coolest things around.

We buy our tickets and head up.

“Get ready for the ride of your life,” the conductor says.

“I can think of a better ride,” I whisper in Chelsea’s ear.

“I’m sure you can.” She smiles, her eyes zoning in on my lips.

I take her hand and lead her to the line. I’ve become so grabby in the short time we’ve been hanging out today. I don’t know if I still have some residual feelings left over from the photo shoot earlier, but my whole body pulls toward her. It's like a magnet I need to flip over so the sides resist each other.

We get closer to the front of the line, and I’m ready to get on this thing. I can’t believe she’s never been on a rollercoaster. A sense of pride washes over when I think about how I’ll be her first.

Wish I could be her first at a lot of things.

I shake my head, erasing the last few seconds of thoughts.

We’re a hundred stories up, and there’s four thrill rides up here. We ride every single one. Even the roller coaster that hangs off the side. Everything. Chelsea loves every minute. But the real thrill for me is knowing Chelsea spits out curse words as fast as the rollercoaster can loop and fly along the tracks. Cocksucker, Motherfucker, Fucking Fuckity Fuck. The entire ride. It’s fucking awesome. She hates it and she loves it.

She’s a screamer. And I’ll be damned if now I don’t want to hear how she screams when I make her come.

“I can’t believe I’ve done all that.” She beams when we head back down.

“I can’t believe you did either.”

She smiles. “Were you scared?”

In the elevator, I lean against the bronzed bar. “Never.” I raise a brow.

“You’re not afraid of anything, are you?” she asks in the lowest, sultry voice I’ve ever heard.

“Not really,” I say with confidence. “Just maybe one thing”

She steps closer. “What’s that?”

Our lips hover inches apart. “You.”

And she kisses me. But, I’m not afraid at all.

All the dirty thoughts in the world enter my brain all at once. Her on her knees. Her riding me. Me kissing her between her thighs.

The elevator dings, and the doors swoosh open. Fuck.

We exit and still holding her hand, I yank her, pulling her flush against my body. And then I crush my lips to hers again.

I nibble the corner of her mouth, thrusting my tongue deep inside. Our hands roam, grappling and gripping. My cock begs for mercy, wanting to feel her.

Fuck, I need this woman.

We enter a little nook of a hallway in the Stratosphere, and I brush a finger down her cheek. Her eyes sink into mine.

Not a soul around for ages. We could do whatever we want.

She whispers, “Have you ever heard the saying?”

“What saying?” I push her up against the wall, kissing along her sweet skin.

“What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.”

My eyes search hers. Next thing I know, I grab a condom from my wallet. Up goes her red dress. Down goes my zipper. It’s a frenzy to get closer to each other.

I hoist her up, and her nails dig into my scalp. “I want you,” I murmur against her lips. This is so insane. I’m about to fuck Chelsea. It’s so wrong. But feels so good.

She wraps her long, tanned legs around me as I kiss down the column of her throat. This is real. This is happening.

I push inside her, ah fuck, and groan. We still.

“Oh god,” she breathes.

“Goddamn, you’re so tight,” I whisper against her ear.

I drive into her as she takes me in deep. Her moans escalate with each pump of my hips. My groans do too.

Pumping and thrusting. Grinding and screwing. Pushing and fucking. Right here in the hotel. Insanity washes over me. Need builds. Want overflows. Until I can’t take it anymore. It feels so fucking good being deep inside her, feeling her wet heat wrapped around me.

She drives me toward delirium with each soft touch of her fingers. In the dim light, she’s breathtaking.

One thing is certain as she moans and groans my name, I want to do this again and again. This one-time fuck fest against the wall is for the birds. I want to properly fuck her. Run my tongue over the entire length of her body. Have my head buried between her thighs, licking her pussy.

My cock builds with pressure, my lust for her to get off first consumes me.

“You feel so good,” I say, pinning her harder against the wall. I pound into her rougher, deeper, as her fingers run across my scalp.

The sounds she makes escalate.

Mine do too.

My body catapults.

Her legs tighten their grip. She's ruining me. Trembling and quivering, her body moves along me. She smiles, and I kiss her insatiable lips, tasting their sweetness. Hard. Rough. Passionate. It’s a kiss of kisses.

“Let me down,” she whispers.

My heart is pounding so fierce, I’m not sure I heard her right. I pull out. She drops her legs and slides down. But then, she sets my whole fucking body on fire when she turns around and braces her hands on the wall. Her ass pushes back against me and she looks over her shoulder, “Fuck me from behind.”

All the yearning, the craving tumble together making me ravenous for her.

I’m sure these halls are closely monitored. There’s probably a camera aimed right at us. For some reason, the fact someone could be watching excites me.

“You’re so fucking wet.” I slap her ass and enter her in one swift strike. It's more than I can take. I'm in so deep. And she gives as good as she's getting. My balls tighten and I reach around to rub her clit. She’s dripping.

In all my life, I’ve never wanted anyone more.

“Jonah,” she cries out.

She's coming, and I'm not far off. My insides buzz, victory ignites within my veins, my whole body shudders and loses control.

It’s never felt this good before.

My knees go weak. My heart thunders in my chest. Her wet pussy grips me.

And I float away, letting go as triumph flows through me.

I come. So hard. It keeps going and going, and I don’t really care if it ever stops.

It takes a minute to catch my breath, but she’s having the same issue.

We finish up, fix our clothing, and find a place to collect ourselves. When she steps out of the restroom, I want her again.

Even though I just got off, I still want to spend the rest of the night getting to know her body.

She blushes as she moves toward me. “Hi,” she says.

I say hi back.

It’s a little awkward, so we head to the bar.

I’m not going to let it ruin our night. To me, it was something special. Maybe I’m a hopeless romantic at heart. Maybe because of my past ‘playboy’ rep, either way, this isn’t a one-time ordeal for me.

18

Chelsea

I’ve never wanted anyone as much I wanted him.

But, is he remorseful? Insecurity sets in. What if he thinks it was a huge mistake?

I should say something, but my throat’s gone dry.

“So…” he starts.

“That was interesting.” I order two shots of tequila and try to remain neutral to our little tryst.

“Very,” he says. He appears uneasy.

I know regret is sinking in with him. I’m sure it is. So, I put him out of his misery and give the best performance of my life.

“Let’s never speak of what happened ever again. Agree?”

He nods and blows out a deep breath. “Absolutely.”

And there you have it. It never happened.

But it did. It did to me.

Having sex with my old crush was insane. In a good way. Insane in the best way. Everything felt right. Everything fell into place.

But, it’s Jonah.

Jonah Marshall.

He would never want me long term.

Mr. I Hate Relationships.

This was nothing but fun for him, I’m sure. Just another romp in the hay.

He’s always been this way, right?

Declan has told me stories about Jonah. Stories about one-night stands.

I just need to bottle it all away and save it for late nights when I’m all alone. Instead of sleeping, I can draw back on these memories.

I don’t regret any of it.

I’ve only been dreaming about it since I was sixteen.

But those are kid fairytale wishes that never come true.

I’m an adult. So is he.

And sometimes sex is just something that happens between two consenting adults. Nothing more.

Case closed.

So, when he slides me a shot, I toss it back, forgetting the last hour of my life.

The shots keep coming and coming, and the more I drink, the touchier I become. I can't keep my hands off Jonah.

My head spins, and he kisses all the turmoil away. His tongue searches my mouth, and I dig my nails into his hair, pulling each strand.

“Take me somewhere,” I whisper in his ear.

“Where? I'll do anything you want.” His voice is feral. Each breath he takes sounds needier than the one before.

“I don't care. I just want to be with you.” I gaze into his dark, heated eyes. It's as if he's never wanted anyone more. I try to believe it's true.

“I want to be with you, too,” he breathes against my lips.

I inhale his words, hoping this isn't a dream.

It could be the liquor. It could be a million things. But, when he stares at me, when he touches me… it's everything. There goes all the talk of it never happening.

He pulls me close and moves me to a dance floor.

A slow song begins, and he rocks into me. “Do you know how jealous I was of Wayne? How happy I was that he didn't show? When I saw you in that lingerie, I couldn't not touch you.”

I'm so turned on. So wet for him. The alcohol mixed with his words make me insane with passion.

“I wanted you to touch me. I've wanted you to touch me for so long.”

His hardness presses up against me as he moves me around on the dance floor.

He spins me, so his chest is against my back. He sweeps my hair off my neck. “You’re mine.”

I’d tell you more of what happens, but I get so drunk that I can’t remember what I’m doing.

All I know is I want Jonah—forever.

19

Jonah

“Dude, dribble the fucking ball,” Declan yells at me.

“I’m trying.”

Truth is, I’m fucking nervous. Every Sunday night we meet at the gym for a little one-on-one basketball workout session. It’s been three hours since I’ve been home from Vegas. Three hours of weirdness.

Chelsea and I haven’t talked much about our time in Vegas. But, something keeps nagging at the corners of my mind.

Declan slams the ball at my chest. I fucked his sister. And after that, we both got trashed.

Like, can't remember shit trashed.

I aim, take the shot, and miss by about a mile.

“What is wrong with you?” Declan says.

“Just tired, I guess.”

He grabs the ball. “How was Vegas? How’d the shoot go?”

Do I tell him I modeled with his sister?

“It was fine.” I shake it off. This funk, this whatever.

“That’s cool. What’s up with you?” he asks as he steals the ball from my fingers.

“Got a lot on my mind.”

He sinks a shot and turns to face me as the ball bounces away. “You usually say that when you’re upset over a girl.”

I jog after the ball. “Ah, you know me so well, huh?”

“Better than you know yourself, Jo.”

“So, who is she?” he asks, and I freeze.

I try to dribble the ball, but it slips from my fingers. “Uh, no one.”

“Do I know her?”

“No,” I say, quickly.

His eyebrow raises as he studies me. “Must be pretty bad if you aren’t talking about it.”

“It isn’t that.” I tell him about the shoot. How the male model didn’t show and I had to fill in. I tell him the whole story of Vegas, leaving out everything after the shoot.

“So, what’s the problem then? Wait, you don't have a thing for Chelsea, do you?” he asks.

“What? No,” I scoff.

“Ok, good. I nearly had a heart attack.” He wipes the sweat from his brow, and we continue playing. He spanks my ass in hoops.

As he’s leaving, he looks over his shoulder, saying, “I play a mean game of b-ball, if I do say so myself. I do, I do.” He kind of hums the last two words.

And I fucking stop. Dead in my tracks.

I do.

It all comes rushing back.

The memories I was too drunk to remember.

A wedding chapel.

The song.

Chelsea and I giggling down the aisle.

The kiss that sealed the deal.

* * *

I’m fucking married. America’s favorite playboy has gone and gotten himself hitched. Ok, I know I’m not America’s anything, but let me freak out in peace.

This is big. No, this is gigantic. I don’t want to be married. Does Chelsea remember?

It was a mistake to get married. No big deal. Right? Right? It’s no big deal? Ok, it’s a huge fucking deal.

I can’t breathe.

When I enter my house, Chelsea stands in the living room, paper in her hand, shouting to no one.

She stomps over the hardwood, tears streaming down her face.

Oh shit. Maybe she does remember. Maybe her freak out is a little bit more than mine.

“How could you?” she yells at me. “You changed all your passwords.”

Passwords?

“What are you talking about?” I ask, tossing my gym bag down by the door.

“I’m in character. I’m a psychopath.” She hits me with a stare I’ve never seen before.

Yeah, no way am I fucking telling her now. No thanks. Married or not, crazy psycho is not on the menu tonight.

“Oh, how’s it going?” I ask, kind of afraid for my life at this point. Chelsea’s a great actress.

“Not good. I’m trying to work on this scene for an audition I have tomorrow.” She wipes her eyes and plops on the couch.

“Need some help?”

Her eyes twinkle. “Really? You’ll help me?”

“What’s the role?” I ask.

“This role is huge. It’s a thriller. A girl hates her life and becomes obsessed with an online celebrity. She stalks him through social media, even friending his family members to get closer to him.”

“I’d probably go see this one,” I offer.

“Oh, but wait, she eventually turns his family against him through all of her lies. After she drugs him and they kiss, she goes on a rampage killing everyone.”

“Sounds fun.”

“But, it’s more than fun. This would be the best kind of challenge for me. And I really want to push myself with it,” she says with a gleam in her eye.

“Let’s do it. Just imagine I’m Marlon Brando.”

“You’re a much better version of Marlon.” She laughs.

“I’ll make you an offer you can't refuse,” I say, running the back of my hand over my jaw in my best Godfather imitation.

“Thank you. This is really important to me.”

“How hard can it be?” No pun intended. I can’t even fucking think straight. I’m about to read lines when I should be telling her. Does she even remember?

Ok, new plan. Read the lines, get this over with, then tell her, so we can get this thing annulled.

“Ok, so the scene is right before she goes crazy. She tries to convince him that he loves her.”

“Sounds easy enough.” She hands me the script, and I flip through the pages. My eyes zero in on the ending, and there’s a kiss.

“Obviously, we don’t have to do that part,” she whispers when she sees what part I’m reading.

“Do you have to kiss another guy?” I hate the fact of her becoming an actress all of a sudden.

“I guess. I’m not really sure.”

I try to shake off the sinking feeling of her with another guy. Damn, my mind is a train wreck right now. “Alright, let’s start.”

“Daniel, how could you?” she yells, starting the first line.

“No, you lied to me,” I say, obviously without an acting bone in my body.

“I didn’t. I tried to tell you so many times, but I couldn’t find the words,” she says, and she’s not bad.

“Well, you should have told me. You turned all my friends against me.” I laugh a little.

Her eyes bore into mine. “I love you,” she whispers, and the words sound good in my ears.

My chest does that little warming thing again, and I try to pay attention to the script in my hand. But, then another thought hits me...she’s my wife.

And now she’s ten times sexier to me.

She’s mine. We’re married.

“I don’t know if I can trust you ever again,” I say, glancing back at her after reading the line.

Tears fill her eyes and wow, she’s a great actress. “Please tell me how I can make this better. What can I do?”

I want to toss this paper aside and grab her. “Gretchen, there’s nothing you can do.”

Her fingers slide down my cheek. “I’ll do anything.”

Fuck, I wish this were real. My body screams at me to take her. I try to focus on the words written in the script, but I can’t. I’m a goner.

My heart pounds. “No.”

She moves closer. “Please kiss me. You’ll fall in love if you kiss me.”

The air sizzles between us. “Hell no, you’re delusional.” But, I want to say ‘hell yes’ more than anything.

This is where the scene ends, but neither of us move. In a flash Chelsea returns to the girl I know. The crazy eyes have completely vanished.

I want to kiss her.

Fuck this. I move in, claiming her lips. She lets out a moan as I grab her by the waist and pull her closer.

“Jonah,” she whispers.

I suck along her neck, moving down to the ridge of her collarbone.

The next thing I know, I’m hoisting her into my arms and carrying her off to my bedroom. I kick the door open, and set her on my bed.

I stand back, gazing at her on my bed. It’s as if she belongs there. I grab at the back of my shirt, taking it off in one quick movement.

She sucks in a breath.

“I’m going to do what I wanted to do with you in Vegas.” I move closer.

“What’s that?” she asks, biting her lower lip.

“Watch you.”

She tilts her head, her big eyes watching me unfasten my jeans. “How?” she whispers.

“Remove your shirt.”

She obeys, and her tits are hidden behind the pink bra she has on.

I lean against the post of the bed as she runs her fingers over the lacy material. “Do you like what you see?”

I nod. “Take off your pants.”

She has on these sexy yoga pants that show off her perfect curves. In Vegas, I wasn’t able to appreciate all her assets and perks.

But, tonight, oh, tonight, she’ll be fully enjoyed.

“Take your bra off. Play with your tits,” I tell her.

She moves so slow. It’s the worst form of torture. My cock is at attention, hard and ready to go.

I remove my jeans and boxers.

She sucks in another breath as her eyes fixate on my thickness. This is the first time she’s seeing it.

Sure, she’d felt it in Vegas, but tonight is the first time we’re actually seeing each other. I pump my cock in my hand. “You like what you see?”

“Yes.” She squeezes a nipple, and I groan.

“Baby, fuck. Spread your legs.”

She arches her back before spreading her legs for me. It’s fucking sexy. With her hands still on her tits, I beg her to move them to her panty-covered pussy.

She touches herself, and all thoughts are directed to my dick who is now in control.

I can’t think straight.

I watch. And watch.

Her moaning on my bed. Her squeezing her tits. Her hand running up and down over her pussy.

God, she’s everything I want.

“Take your panties off,” I demand.

She slides them ever so slowly down her long legs. It drives me crazy how slow she’s going. It’s as if she wants to drive me insane.

She smiles, seductively. “You want me to keep playing with myself?”

“Fuck, yeah,” I answer, pumping my cock.

“But I want to play with you.”

“Oh, you will.”

It’s painful trying to go at this pace. But, I want to enjoy her. In Vegas it was rushed, and lust-driven.

Now, I have a chance to actually watch, see, and explore her.

I want her to see stars. I want to make her explode with passion. There’s so many things I want right now, but the thing I want most, is for her to love every fucking minute of it.

The bed dips as I get on, crawling over her body, kissing my way up.

“Keep touching yourself,” I whisper against her clit.

I lick at her wet skin, sucking her finger into my mouth as well, and then I take over eating her pussy. Her nails dig into the top of my shoulders.

I keep licking.

Keep sucking.

My whole body comes alive. Every joint and muscle aches with the need to touch her.

She’s so wet for me. Soaked.

I can definitely make her come a few times tonight. And I can’t wait.

She bucks her hips, arching her back. “Jonah.”

My name on her lips is music I want to play on repeat all night. Her pussy rubs against my face, her clit running along the bridge of my nose. She’s close, and her moans and whimpers increase.

She comes all over me, and it’s fucking great.

I can’t get enough. This girl. Ahh.

I gaze at her after her body has calmed. “That was amazing.”

“It was more amazing for me,” she says with a soft glow in her cheeks.

I crawl up her body, kissing her lush lips. “Chelsea, I don’t think what happens in Vegas should stay there. I want to be with you.”

She smiles wide. “I want that too.”

My cock grows larger than it already is, and I grab a condom from my drawer.

20

Chelsea

Jonah wants to be with me. That’s the best news I’ve heard in a long time. It’s the only news that matters.

He kisses me as if he’s never kissed me before. More passion. More lust. It’s the kiss that changes everything. No longer are we two souls searching, we’re two souls joining.

He rolls a condom down his thick length, and my insides tingle. Feeling him inside me again is what I’ve been thinking about since we left Vegas.

He moans my name. I love hearing him say my name. Actually, the man could say anything and I would probably love it.

We kiss, touch, feel.

Our legs tangle into each other, and he pulls away. “Be right back,” he says, jumping off the bed.

Seems like an eternity passes before he steps back in the room, wearing a wicked grin on his face.

“What are you up to?” I ask.

And then I see it... his camera.

“Is this ok?” He holds it up.

“You want to take pictures of me?”

“Yes. If you don’t want to…” his voice trails off.

“Have you ever done this before?”

“No, I swear. Chelsea, no one will ever see these but us. Ok?”

I believe him. “Ok,” I agree.

He sets the camera up on a tripod, positioning it for the bed, and smiles. “Ready?”

“Lights, camera, action and all that jazz,” I say as he flicks the camera on and grabs the remote.

“Get ready for your close up.”

He climbs onto the bed, his rough palms running over my skin, and crashes his lips to mine.

Hands roam everywhere, unable to get close enough. His touch is filled with a raw passion I’ve never experienced before. A passion I want over and over for the rest of my life.

“Smile for the camera, baby,” he whispers in my ear.

I try to forget the camera’s even there, but now I want to look good for it. Slowing my movements, I try to be as sexy as I can.

Desire pours through me as a hazy fog settles over my brain.

Jonah stills, watching me as I play with my breasts for the camera.

“God damn, your tits are tailor-made just for me.”

I savor his words as he licks his full, hungry lips.

“I know you like this,” I say, pinching my nipples between my fingers.

He groans. “I can’t take it anymore. I need to fuck you,” he husks out, grabbing his dick with one hand. The tip glides through my wetness, teasing me, before he pulls back and strokes his cock a little faster.

“On your hands and knees,” he instructs me.

When I get in position he slaps my ass, and then again a little harder. The sensation sends a jolt of electricity dashing through me. A tantrum of lust and energy entwine, raging through me.

I want to feel every inch of him. And it’s a lot of inches I’m begging for.

He grabs a handful of my ass with both hands, and strings together some unintelligible words.

I can’t take much more. He teases my opening for a few seconds, running his length along my heated, wet skin, then slams into me in one fervent motion. His thundering pace has me moaning into the pillow as he continues working my body.

The sensation of him deep inside me, stretching me, is indescribable. He fucks me with abandon.

He doesn’t slow, even for a second.

“I can’t wait to watch this. Watch me fucking you.”

I moan yes, or at least I try to.

“I’ll jerk off everyday to these photos and then come back and fuck you harder.”

As if he could do it any harder. His words egg me on to push my ass against him.

“That’s right, baby, fuck me,” he urges.

His big hands continue with my ass, slapping, rubbing, tugging on each cheek. My orgasm builds low in my belly. My peak nears at a galloping speed.

My control dissolves as his fingers sweep along my curves, making me ache with desire.

I match his movements, biting along the pillow as my body quickly climbs. “Oh God,” I moan.

“You make me so hard all the time. Do you like knowing that I want to fuck you all the time?”

“Yes.” My heart beats so fast, I fear it may rip out of my chest.

“I can’t stop thinking about you. I jerk off thinking about being inside you.”

He reaches his hand around to toy with my clit. My orgasm plows through me like a barrage of bullets. Each shake and pulse sends another sensation kicking my body into overdrive.

I can’t stop the cries that fly from my mouth. I can’t stop the tremors coursing through my body. It’s an outpouring of every emotion I have for him.

Lust, desire, friendship, want, need...maybe even love?

I don’t know what I’m feeling right now, honestly. But, it’s ferocious, clawing its way right smack into the center of my heart and clinging on for dear life.

He thrusts into me a few more times, seizing every part of my body.

It turns me on more knowing he’s so into it. That he wants nothing more than to feel me around him when he reaches his climax. When he comes, it's the sexiest thing ever. His body shaking, his grunts and moans, him calling out my name.

He runs his hand up my back, after his movements have stilled, and whispers, “I love being inside you.”

Tiny bursts of happiness ignite along my skin. He pulls out, and flips me over, cupping my face in his palms. “I really do love everything about being here with you.”

I reach up, running my fingers through his beard. “We click.”

A smile pulls at his lips. “Yeah, I get it.”

See? He's perfect. I didn't even have to say it this time.

After the camera is put away, and we’re ready for bed, he snuggles behind me.

“Sweet dreams, Chelsea,” he whispers by the light of the moon.

“You too.” And I drift off to sleep.

* * *

The next morning, I’m out of the house before Jonah even wakes. I shoot him a text, letting him know about my audition. About twenty minutes later, he sends one back telling me I got this.

I’m a nervous wreck. Everyone in this room appears to have more experience than me. But, I can’t let that deter me.

I can do this.

While I run the lines over and over in my head, my confidence wanes a bit listening to my competition’s conversation.

“I did a small part in Oliver Stone’s newest movie,” a blonde, sitting across from me, says.

“Oh really? I think I auditioned for that one. I did a commercial a while back, and I have been swamped with work from it,” the brunette next to her counters, glancing at her phone. She looks up and studies me. “Aren’t you that model from Bunny Hunnies?”

“Uh, yes.” I smile as everyone in the room stares.

“From that Viking spread. Yeah, my boyfriend bought me some maiden outfit after seeing that,” she says, leaning forward a bit to whisper, “Problem is, he went to the costume shop and not the lingerie department.”

“Idiot,” the blonde next to her says, laughing.

“I didn’t know if people were really into that sort of thing,” I say.

“Well, I’m not. It’s why we broke up,” the tall brunette says.

The blonde receptionist narrows her eyes at me when my phone dings with a message. It’s my dad wishing me luck. I send back a thanks, and cross my legs as I wait for my name to be called.

Deep breath. I can do this.

My name’s called after a few more minutes, and I enter the room and stand by the door.

Two smiling men sit in gray chairs behind a small table. One bald. The other with so much hair, Donald Trump would be jealous.

“Come in,” the bald man eyes the clipboard in his hand, “Chelsea Sincock? You don’t have an agency listed here.”

I smile and shake his hand. “I’m currently without representation.”

The two men pass a look. “Very well. This is Frances, he’ll be reading with you.”

They already don’t look very impressed, but I let that feeling roll off my shoulders as I try to get into character. Think deranged. I look over at the lanky blond who will be the object of my affections and smile. And then I lose myself in Gretchen.

We read the lines, and I picture Jonah with me instead of Frances. Jonah is definitely stalkworthy. When the scene is over, there is silence.

“Thank you for your time,” I say, turning to leave.

“Chelsea, please have a seat. Frances can you go tell Arlene at the front we’ve found her.”

“What did you say?” A million happy birds flutter about my insides. My smile is huge. Like my cheeks are becoming a little sore from smiling too much.

“We’d like to offer you the part,” the bald man says. “Oh dear, where are my manners? My name’s Les Weinstein. This is Gary James.”

I shake both their hands with my very jittery one. I’m still in shock.

They go over a few small details and mention an agent who will handle the contract.

“Carol Hale is great,” Gary tells me. “She’ll go over everything the studio expects.”

“I think they’ll want to convey the girl next door image here,” Les says, waving his finger over me.

“Ok.” I nod and keep nodding as they tell me a few things.

Good girl image.

Good reputation.

Single.

“Are you dating anyone?”

“Yes, will that be a problem?” I ask. Now I’m nervous.

Les shakes his head. “No, no. It’s fine. But let’s keep it hush hush for now.”

I nod again.

“Chelsea, any skeletons in your closet?” Gary asks with a little laugh.

“Skeletons?” I ask, blankly. My mind won’t compute. At all. “No. My closet only has clothes.”

He chuckles. “Very good. We’ll contact Carol, and she’ll be in touch.”

I shake their hands again and walk out the door. Scratch that. Float out the door. I did it.

But, it’s all surreal. I don’t know what to do. Who do I call? Jonah, of course. I can’t wait to tell him.

Eeekk.

21

Jonah

A text from Chelsea comes through asking me to meet her at Nathan’s Steakhouse. While I'm grabbing a black button down from my closet, my cell rings.

“Hey, Mom,” I answer.

“When are you coming over for dinner?” she asks.

“Soon,” I tell her, putting her on speaker so I can finish getting ready. “I've just been busy at work.”

“I got the latest issue,” she says. I tuck my shirt in and zip my black slacks. “I ordered the Viking wear to surprise your dad.”

“Mom, Christ, I don't need to know this.”

Fuck. Now I don't feel like eating.

“Oh, hush,” she says. “Someday you'll meet someone you'll want these things from.”

“Well...” I hesitate.

“Have you met someone, Jonah?” She sounds way too happy. I'm sure she's already planning our wedding. Except, I'm already married. “Who is she?”

“Actually, it's new and…”

“Jonah Marshall,” uh oh, when I get the first and last name I'm in trouble, “just tell me her name. Stop being so afraid of commitment.”

I run a little gel through my hair. She's right. I don't want to hide her from anyone. “Chelsea Sincock. The girl in the magazine.”

“Oh my god. The Viking maiden?”

“Yeah, Declan’s little sister.” I take her off speaker and head out. “I gotta go though, Mom. I’m meeting her for dinner.”

“Shame on you for dropping that and running off.” I smile. “Okay, your dad will be home soon, and I need to go anyways. I'll expect more details later.”

“You got it,” I say, hopping in my Jeep. We disconnect, and I drive across town to meet Chelsea.

When I enter the restaurant, she’s already waiting for me at a table. She looks stunning in a simple black dress that drapes slightly off one shoulder.

I could stare at her all night. Then, that damn memory crashes through me. Vegas. Marriage. A wedding between Chelsea and me. I need to tell her. I need to get it annulled.

I’ve lost my balls every time I should be telling her.

How do I tell her when everything’s going so well? Stress digs into my system, and I rub my beard as Declan comes up behind me, clasping his hand on my shoulder.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” I ask.

He shrugs. “No clue. Chelsea told me to meet her here.”

She glows as we take a seat at the white-clothed table. A waiter serves a bottle of Bordeaux. The air is a bit stuffy, and I yank at the collar of my shirt, trying to breathe. I’m nervous and not really sure why.

Chelsea has had this big as sin grin on her face since we sat down.

“What’s this big news?” Declan asks.

“Wait, you’re not going to tell me you two are dating, are you?”

Cringe.

I shake my head. “Well...” We’re married too. Oh my God. Ok, baby steps first. Tell Declan we’re dating, then tell Chelsea we’re married.

Chelsea shifts in her seat, like a kid too excited to sit still.

“What’s going on?” I direct my question at her.

“I got the part,” she exclaims, clasping her hands together in front of her. Her smile could light up the entire city of Los Angeles.

“Get the fuck out,” Declan says, reaching over to hug her.

“I knew you could do it,” I congratulate her.

“There’s more,” she says. “They’re getting me an agent. I can’t believe it. Ah.” She glances upward with stars in her eyes.

I’ve never seen her look more beautiful than she does tonight. “I’m so proud of you.” I want to kiss her, but I can’t because Declan’s here. Chelsea takes care of that problem.

“Declan,” she grabs my hand. “Jonah and I are kind of seeing each other.”

He stares, pointedly at me. “Is that true?”

“Uh, yeah.” I’m a little shell-shocked, this is a lot of info coming at me all at once.

“Yeah, and I’m crazy about him. I wouldn’t have gotten this part if it wasn’t for him.” After we answer Declan’s million questions—When? How long? Why the fuck didn't you tell me? —I apologize again for not telling him and she takes my hand, bringing it to her lips to kiss the top.

He covers his mouth. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

I laugh. “Chill out, dude. I’m serious about her.” My eyes meet hers, and she smiles.

“Well, you break her heart, and I’ll break your face...” he stares pointedly at me, “and please don’t kiss around me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I say, gazing at Chelsea.

Chelsea blows out a relieved breath. “That wasn’t so bad.” She laughs.

“So, how did I help you get this part?” I ask.

“It was your text. Telling me I didn’t need luck, that I’ve got this.” She leans forward and I take her lips against mine. “It’s my new lucky phrase.”

“Dude, I said no kissing around me.” Declan flings his napkin at us, and we laugh.

“Sorry, man.”

The server drops off our food, and Declan orders a toast of champagne for us all.

Chelsea is radiant tonight. It’s a little magical.

But then, guilt washes over me. I need to tell her about the wedding. But, things are going so well between us.

What if she freaks out?

What if she blames me?

I’ll handle the annulment myself, and she’ll be none the wiser. I got this.

The next morning my mission gets aborted when Chelsea wakes me with an out-of-this-world blow job.

Her sweet lips wrapped around my cock is the best way to start a morning.

I lean back, letting her really get a hold of everything, and she does. She wraps a tiny hand around the base and pumps as her mouth keeps sucking, bobbing up and down.

“Ah, fuck. You're so good at this.”

She's so talented at everything. I groan as I hit the back of her throat. My hands fly into her hair, fisting it around my fingers. “Keep sucking.”

She doesn't let up, except to lick her way down and gently suck each ball into her mouth before working her way back up. All thoughts of an annulment are stricken from my brain. The only thoughts are of her sweet mouth and all that she's doing for me.

“Don’t stop. Fuck, I'm close.”

My abs clench. My thighs tremble. I'm about to come all over her. My cock is ready. This girl turns me on more than anything.

She moans against my dick and the vibration sets my orgasm off. “Oh God, I'm coming.” I fuck her mouth, coming deep down her throat.

She sucks me dry, taking it all. And then I return the favor, eating her pussy until she screams my name. Best breakfast in the world.

Later, when I leave for work, she pulls me in for a kiss. The feelings she causes, erupt, flowing through my system, destroying any sense of reality, and ...really, what’s one more day of marriage? I’ll handle the annulment tomorrow.

22

Chelsea

After leaving my agent’s office, I’m overwhelmed by all the stipulations. From being pure and wholesome, to changing my last name to something more fitting. To. To. To. It’s all so much information at once.

System overload.

Tonight, I plan to put it behind me and have a great night with my boyfriend.

The boyfriend they prefer I don’t tell anyone I have.

It’s been a week since the part was given to me, and everything is moving at such a fast pace. I don’t know if it will ever slow down. My life may never be the same.

So, I make a meal. Because the way to every man’s heart is through his stomach, right? I light a few candles.

Maybe I’m pushing it, but I really want tonight to be special. Normal. Mainly because I may have neglected our new relationship in the past week. Meetings. Fittings. Plus, still working a few remaining shoots with Bunny Hunnies. I haven’t even had time to breathe lately.

But, Jonah has been great through it all. So, I want to show him my appreciation—tonight, I am cooking for my man, wearing nothing but a short pink apron and pink panties.

When he enters through the front door, I hold my breath.

“Hey,” I say. “I made you dinner.”

He drops his camera bag and desire flares in his eyes. He glances at the set table and then back at me.

“I’d rather eat your sweet pussy first.”

Listen. They were right about this cooking thing. Jonah stalks over to me, lifting me onto the countertop, spreads my legs, and gives me one of the strongest orgasms of my life.

Ten minutes later, yes, his skills are that good, we clean up and I finish things in the kitchen.

“So, what is all of this?” he asks.

“I know you’re not too happy with the amount of time I’ve been spending at the studio, so I just wanted to make it up to you.”

He smiles and wraps his strong arms around me. “No, I’m very happy for you. Please don’t think I’m not happy. I understand how these things work.” He kisses the top of my head.

I kiss his cheek. “Come eat. Where did you go after work?”

“Just around. Took some pictures.”

He fishes his camera out of his bag and shows me the breathtaking pictures of the beach he captured as the sun dropped beneath the horizon. The focal point for me is the woman standing at the water's edge, wind streaming through her hair, staring out into the nothingness. I can't see her face, but I wonder what she's thinking about. Is she happy? Sad? The way he can evoke emotions in each frame of every shot he takes is phenomenal. “Jonah, these are really good.”

He puts the camera away. “I think I'll upload them to my website later tonight.”

I smile at him. “Hungry?”

“Starving.”

I grab the dish from the oven and set it on the table. “Well, sit down, Mr. Marshall, and let me serve you.”

He takes a seat at the table. “Ah, this is nice. Great service. And just what are all of the services you provide?”

I waggle my brows at him. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

He smirks. “Yeah, I would. What’s for dinner?” he asks.

“Cannelloni.”

“Leave the gun. Take the cannoli.” His lips quirk up on one side, and I grin. “A little Godfather humor.”

“Well, it’s cannelloni,” I correct, laughing. “Can I be honest?”

“Always.” He grabs my arm and tugs me onto his lap. His lips crash to mine, and I’m already lost in everything Jonah.

His kisses are memory forgetters.

When the kiss breaks, he leans back, and I cringe at what I'm about to reveal. “I’ve never seen any of the Godfather’s.”

“Oh my God.” He pushes me off his lap, and smacks my ass as I get up. “I can’t believe I’m dating you, unofficially.”

“Oh stop. We just have more movies to watch together.”

“Listen,” he’s oh so serious as I sit down, “this is like a deal-breaker. First Gladiator, now Godfather.”

“Well, those are guy films.”

“Excuse me?” He cracks a smile.

“Have you ever seen Notting Hill?” I ask.

His face scrunches up with distaste. “God, no. At least Godfather is a good movie.”

“I happen to love Notting Hill.” I dish him out some food.

“Fine, I know one movie I can’t wait to see,” he says, stalling.

“What’s that?”

“Psycho Stalker.”

I smile wide. “Jonah, I just can’t wait for all of it.”

“I know, baby. So, if you’re busy until the movie is finished filming, well I’ll still be here when it’s done.”

“Thank you.” I lean over to kiss him.

I love kissing him.

He pulls back, breaking the kiss. “I want to take you out on a real date tomorrow night.”

“I’d like that. We may have to get out of the city to do it.”

He raises a brow. “Well, now you’re pushing it,” he teases.

When I told Jonah about the studio’s image for me, and keeping our dating under wraps until shooting, he agreed. He’s been very supportive.

We eat our food, and I’m still walking on a cloud. “Jonah, tell me something about yourself. Something no one else knows.”

“Did I ever tell you what made me want to get into photography?” he asks, placing his fork down.

“Your mom gave you a camera, or something?”

“Yes, she did. But, that’s not what did it.” He smiles. “There was one time I went to your house. Declan and I had plans to play some video games. You were outside with your friends, doing cartwheels or something.”

“I remember we would always do that in the backyard before cheerleader tryouts.”

“I snapped a picture of you.” He pulls out his wallet. “I’ve kept it all these years.”

My heart stutters. “Oh, my God, Jonah. Really?”

He passes over the picture, and I laugh when I see a younger me.

“I liked the way the sun bounces off your hair in the photo. And your smile. You were always so happy.”

“I can’t believe you kept this.” I gaze at the picture again, unsure of what to make of this revelation.

He shrugs. “It’s a great picture.”

I hand it back. “I never thought you noticed me,” I confess.

“I remember this one time you came home from school all upset. I wanted to go to you. Make you happy again. Just because I never said anything, doesn’t mean I didn’t notice you.” Maybe it's my imagination, but he seems like he wants to say more. He doesn't. Instead, he leans in and kisses my cheek. “Let's eat.”

* * *

After dinner is cleaned and put away, I slip into shorts and a tank and we settle in to watch a movie we both agree on.

Sharknado.

Ever seen it? Well, you should. If you watch it with the preconception that it’s bad acting and bad budget, it’s actually one of the funniest movies around.

“See you can act way better,” he says, snuggling closer to me on the couch.

While the movie plays, his hands drift further down my belly.

“I’m going to try my hardest with this role.”

He kisses the top of my head. “You’re going to be perfect. And this is only the beginning.”

We make it halfway through the movie before Jonah’s hands have travelled into my panties.

A few minutes later, he has me hoisted over his shoulder and carries me off to his room. We make such passionate love that my chest expands even more, letting him in even further.

23

Jonah

As a going away gift and congratulations for Chelsea landing the movie deal, Bunny Hunnies has decided to do a full centerpiece spread on her in the magazine. Today’s the lucky day I get to shoot that spread. Obviously, it will be tasteful.

The photoshoot is being held near a field with the Hollywood sign in the background. The lighting is perfect, and everything is set up.

“Chelsea, this is just supposed to be a light, flirty set. Ok?”

“Yes, sir,” she says as she nods.

I cock a brow. “Get over there, and get ready.” I laugh and almost lean in to kiss her.

I need to control myself better at work.

Chelsea grins, and I snap a picture. I keep going as she twirls and the breeze lifts her dress.

My camera loves her, I don't stop clicking and staring at her through the lens.

She really is the type of girl who I'd marry. I can't believe I just thought that, but it's true.

I never thought about marriage before, but now that I'm married, it has me thinking.

What has been holding me back from taking the big plunge? I always thought it was some major fear of commitment, but I have no issues being committed to Chelsea. In fact, I kind of love it. I want to tell everyone, maybe take out an ad in the local paper.

So it makes me wonder, maybe I'm not some huge playboy who is terrified of marriage, maybe I've just never met the right woman.

And I know it's too soon to even be thinking marriage with Chelsea, even though we are, semantics, but I wonder if she could be the one?

When we stop for a small break, Chelsea grabs a water bottle. “How are they coming out?” she asks.

“What's wrong?” Something is off. In the photos she looks flawless, but I know her well enough now to see the emotion in her eyes doesn't match the smile on her face.

“That Hollywood sign got me to thinking,” she says, taking a seat on the grass.

I sit beside her, leaning back on my hands. “About?”

She toys with the label on her water bottle. “Well, I’m not sure how I feel about all these demands from the studio.” She looks over at me. “Be careful what you wish for, huh?”

“Well sometimes we want something so much, we don't really think about the price we pay for it.”

“I just don't want to lose myself and start believing in the fantasy,” she says. “Know what I mean?”

I know exactly what she means. “You won't,” I tell her, rising. “I'll keep you grounded.” I pull her to standing. “Although, I have some fantasies I’d like you to believe in.”

She blushes at my words, and I want nothing more than to grab her right here and slide into her hot pussy.

But, of course, I refrain.

After the shoot, she kisses me. “Don’t forget about our date,” she says with a wink.

“Never.”

* * *

I drive to Booker’s condo before heading home. I need advice.

We head to his patio, and he offers me a Stella Artois. Stelllllllaa. I pop the top, and take a nice lengthy chug before I spill my guts to him.

I tell him everything. And I do mean everything. About the marriage, us dating, and about the role she got offered.

He listens while giving me a ‘you’re fucked’ look and when I’m done—I even add a ‘don’t tell Declan’ on the end.

“Dude, Declan is the least of your worries.” He takes a long pull of his beer.

“I know, man. I don’t need to tell her, do I? I’ll just get the annulment.”

“You fucking tell her. What’s wrong with you? Why didn’t you tell her as soon as you remembered?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know. Stupidity?”

He sizes me up. “Yeah, you are kind of dumb sometimes when it comes to women.”

“That’s not true.”

He brandishes me with a harsh stare. “Really? Uh, yeah, you never date them long enough to get this deep.”

I nod. “Yeah thanks, man,” I say, sarcasm oozing off every syllable.

Either way, I’ve already fucked things up. So much for starting a relationship on an honest note.

Booker doesn’t offer any sage advice, except...if she really cares for you, she’ll forgive you.

I hope he’s right.

24

Chelsea

It’s date night. Lips are glossed, hair is tousled, backless red dress is hopefully alluring, and important body parts are shaved and silky smooth. Now all I need is a date.

As if by magic, he appears, wearing dark jeans and a blue button down, standing in the doorway of the kitchen with a bouquet of flowers.

“Too corny?” he asks, showing me the lovely arrangement of lilies he has for me.

“Not at all.” I smile, flinging my arms around his neck. “I love them.” I peck his cheek and then rush off to find a vase for the flowers.

After arranging the lilies, we set off for a fun night on the town. Our first real date together.

We step out the door, and Jonah turns to me. “Let me ask you a question.”

“Ok.”

“Are you ready to get your funk on?” He smiles, quirking his eyebrow up at me.

“Um, yes?”

He wraps his arm around me and leads me to his Jeep. “Come on, you’ll love it.”

And I do. When we step foot into the Virgil for Funkmosphere off of Santa Monica boulevard, I laugh.

It’s eclectic ambience and 1980’s disco theme has me rocking to the music. He swings me close as we travel to the bar. “This place is really cool, Jonah.”

He shrugs. “Yeah, I figured you’d like it.”

I don't just like it, I love it. The old wood barstools swivel as we take a seat at the bar where old postcards lie beneath laminate. I glance around. Chipped paint peels off the walls. Vast colors of reds and blues cling together, trying to hold on. It’s a hodgepodge of modern and vintage, more vintage, though, and it is quickly becoming one of my favorite new places. Jonah orders me a drink, and then we dance a while.

We shake to the tunes of Boy George and Wham! I can’t stop laughing at Jonah dancing. He’s great in the bedroom, but, um, not so great on the dance floor.

He’s mine, though, and that’s all I care about. Gidget can teach him to dance.

He tugs me closer to him, his brown eyes hooded, and we sway to the beat of a slow number by Madonna.

This has been the perfect date. I love this side of Jonah. He’s no longer just a fantasy; he’s real. At the end of the night, as soon as we step through the door at home, he grapples at my clothes, removing them as quickly as he can.

“Let’s take a shower,” he murmurs between kisses, semi-walk-shuffling to the bathroom.

This sexual intensity is insane. Sometimes it’s a little scary. I can’t keep my hands off him. I want to touch him everywhere. He feels so good underneath my fingertips. It's almost as if I’m afraid this will always be the last time. Our clothes are gone by the time we reach the bathroom door. My reservations about whether this is deeper than just sex for him are blocked out by the time he starts the shower. He pulls me in and drops to his knees in front of me. The hot water cascades off our bodies while he tongue fucks me. If it wasn’t for his arm wrapped around my waist, holding me up, I would be a puddle on the shower floor. It feels too good. My hand leaves an imprint on the steamy shower door as I try to steady myself. Before I can come, he rises and pushes me against it, with him behind me, and fists his hands through my wet hair.

It’s seductive. It’s naughty. And it’s all I’ve ever wanted

No words are spoken. Instead, we show our want, our need, our pure passion pushing and clinging onto the other. We are totally in tune with one another as he pumps inside me in the steam-filled shower. Everything feels like more tonight.

His hands in my hair. My hands all over his chest and stomach. Him covering my neck with kisses.

It’s the most intense thing I’ve ever felt.

And right before we both reach the pinnacle, he whispers, “I never want to lose you.”

Later, in bed, he pulls me closer, spooning behind me.

He seems a little broody and quiet.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“Nothing. I just need to tell you something.”

I flip over, facing him. “You can tell me anything.”

“Well,” his eyes roam my face, “what all do you remember about Vegas?”

25

Jonah

I need to tell her. Booker’s right. As much as I wish it could just go away, she needs to know. The sex we just shared was out of this fucking world amazing. And I’d be the biggest asshole in the world for not manning up and telling her we’re married.

Ok, maybe I’m already an asshole, because I should have told her a long time ago. I should have told her as soon as I remembered.

But, I didn’t, so there’s no sense in reliving the past.

You can’t fix past mistakes, and so many people spend a lifetime trying. All you can do is apologize and try to move on.

Or maybe it’s you can’t change the past? Regardless, there’s nothing I can do about it now. I don’t have a DeLaurian where I can go back in time to tell her after Vegas. Well, if I had a DeLaurian I wouldn’t have married her in Vegas.

Although, maybe I would have.

You guys didn’t see the way she stared at me in that casino. How her hair cascaded in exquisite, soft rivulets down her back.

The way she looked after I kissed her. Or after I fucked her. She was breathtaking. So, give me the ol’ time machine, and I probably would have still married her.

She’s fun. We had a great time that night. And, even now, I still love being around her.

She's different than I thought she'd be. She’s cute with her corny jokes and movie line knowledge. It makes me smile.

“I remember the roller coaster, and of course the sex against the wall.” She smiles, throwing her leg over me.

“Do you remember anything after the tequila?”

God, why am I having such a hard time? It should be easy to tell the girl you're dating you're actually married to her. ‘Hey hunny, you're not my girlfriend, you're my wife.’

“No, I was pretty wasted.” She yawns. Her eyes drift closed, and she opens them back up slowly.

“You’re tired.”

She yawns again. “I’m exhausted.”

I kiss the top of her head. “We can talk about this tomorrow.”

“No,” she says. “Tell me.”

“It isn't important.” I kiss her, then we shift our bodies and fall asleep. One more night of reprieve.

* * *

I've realized something. Something big. Huge. Monumental. After sex with Chelsea, there’s no way I could ever want anyone else. She’s the one. Everything with us is going so perfect. So smooth. And once I get this annulment handled, everything will fall into place. There’s no reason to tell her. Booker’s wrong.

No reason to rock the steady boat of relationship bliss. Right?

Of course, I’m right. Why wouldn’t I be?

The next morning, I wake with Chelsea in my arms. I’m a lucky guy. One of the luckiest.

I get ready, then kiss her cheek as I head out. “I’ll be back soon.”

“Have a good day at work,” she says, still a little groggy with sleep. And it’s all so domesticated. And you know what? I fucking like it. I like her in my bed. I like her in my life. I've never had this before. Never wanted it. And now I do.

I lean in and kiss her cheek again. “Yeah, thanks.”

“Bye,” she mumbles and rolls back over.

I almost enjoy being her husband. That’s fucked up, right?

I shake my head, erasing those thoughts as I grab my camera bag and head out the door.

Sunny LA is on my side today. Everything will go my way today. Even the birds high in the sky sing a little song of luck for me.

I head downtown, for my first stop of the day—the courthouse.

I climb the concrete steps, two at a time, and enter through the front doors, heading over to security. This’ll be a breeze. Vegas weddings must get annulled all the time. There’s probably even a separate form just for that.

I find the right place, and when I get called to the counter, I smile at the prim lady in navy behind the desk. “Hi, I need to get my marriage annulled.”

“Fill out the forms and get your wife to sign the papers.” She slides me a stack of papers. “Then bring them back and file,” she says in the most monotone voice ever.

“Wait, she has to sign?” I ask, completely flummoxed.

“You can have her served.”

“Well,” I wipe a bit of sweat from my brow, “she doesn’t really know we’re married.” I smile and she gives me a frosty look as if I’m the craziest guy on the planet.

“Well, she’s going to have to find out.”

I wince. “It was a drunken night in Vegas,” I explain, hoping she’ll be more understanding. She isn’t.

“Sir, maybe you want to consult with a lawyer.” She pushes the paperwork at my hand and calls the next person in line.

Fuck.

There goes all of my hopes of having an easy annulment.

Crushed, I walk out of the courthouse with no earthly idea of how I’m going to tell Chelsea we’re married.

It never really hit me about how serious this situation is. She’s my wife. I thought I could just breeze in here and get an annulment and breeze back out.

It never occurred to me it would be this involved. Tonight. I'll tell her tonight.

* * *

I'm fucked. I head home in a funk. I even tried to call the wedding chapel in Vegas to see if there’s any way I can get a refund, or something. They laughed and hung up.

Once I arrive home, I no longer put it off. Chelsea will know.

When I step inside, she’s standing center in the living room with a magazine in her hand. She raises it, staring right at me. “How could you do this to me?”

“Oh, hey, are you rehearsing?”

Tears stream down her face, and she stalks closer. “How could you?”

“What’s going on?” I say, tossing my camera bag by the door.

“Look,” she flings the magazine at me, “read this.”

I catch the magazine before it hits my face and read the headline: New Hollywood ‘good girl’ married after a drunken night in Vegas to her playboy Bunny Hunnies photographer while on location, and we have the photos to prove it.

It’s a long headline.

I flip the pages. Oh no.

“Chelsea, I don’t...”

“You promised me no one would ever see those photos.” She marches over to me. “You promised.” She sticks her finger into my chest, poking me.

“Ow, listen, let me think.”

My mind races. How did someone get their hands on these pictures? I glance at my camera bag. Someone at work? Randall? No. Fuck.

I rush over to my bag, searching through it for my memory stick. I should have uploaded the photos to my Mac, but with everything going on, I forgot. How could I be so careless?

“Jonah, are we really married? Do you remember anything from that night?”

I blow out a deep breath. “Yeah, we’re married. I was trying to handle the annulment before you could find out.”

She pales. “So, it’s true? We’re really married?”

I move closer to her. “I was going to tell you.”

“When? On our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary.”

My lips lift ever so slightly into a small grin at her words. “No, tonight. I planned on telling you tonight.”

“A day late and a dollar short. The studio let me go.”

My grin dissipates and anger courses through me at my stupidity. “What? Why? Over this?” I hold the tabloid up a little.

“They deemed me a liability. Apparently, the good girl image they were trying to portray doesn't fit with drunken weddings and sex photos.” She chokes back a sob, and my chest aches for causing this. “Something about not wanting any scandals mixed with this production.”

“It isn’t a scandal. We’re dating now.”

“How did they get those pics?”

“I have no clue.” I scrub a hand down my face. This is so fucked up.

She rubs her temples, closing her eyes. “I can’t believe this. It’s all too much.”

“Chelsea, there’ll be other roles.”

Her eyes spring open. “You just don’t get it, do you? How can I trust you?”

“Chelsea, when we…” A knock at the door interrupts my words.

I move to answer it.

“You have a lot of explaining to do, asshole,” Declan barges through the door, thrusting a tabloid magazine in my face.

“Declan, what are you doing here?” Chelsea asks.

“I told him I’d break his face if he ever hurt you, and I’m here to deliver. This is my sister, dude.”

Oh fuck.

No.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

“I can explain,” I say. But what do I say? What the fuck do I say?

Chelsea and Declan stand, staring, waiting for me to make it all better.

I scrub a hand down my face. Let me get one more fuck out. “Fuck.”

It always makes you feel better.

“We got drunk in Vegas.”

“That’s it. I’ve heard enough,” Declan shouts, connecting his fist with my jaw.

And it’s lights out for me.

* * *

When I come to, Declan is gone, and Chelsea stands over me with an ice pack in her hand. “Jonah, you’re not who I thought you were at all.”

“Yes, I am.” My head pounds as I try to sit up.

She shakes her head. “No, you’re not. I’m going to stay with Declan. I need to figure things out.”

“No, Chelsea. Please.”

Tears trickle down her face. “Where’s the papers, and I’ll sign them.”

I don’t want her to sign them, but I’ve hurt her enough. I haul myself up, grab the papers from my office, and keep my mouth shut like a steel trap as she signs with a shaky hand.

26

Chelsea

“Asshole,” Gidget shouts.

“Shh, Declan is sleeping,” I say, sliding snacks on to the breakfast table in Declan’s kitchen. Chips, dip, peanuts, and chocolate chip cookies. Plus, my two good friends, Gidget and Garcia. Everything needed to mope and wallow in regret.

“Asshole,” she whispers.

“I disagree,” Garcia says, pointing a chip at her. “I've known Prettyboy for two years, and he's not an asshole.”

“He could have said something,” Gidget answers back. “Marriage is a big deal.”

I slide in at the small table and listen while they debate over what I’ve filled them in on the last hour.

Garcia leans his forearms on the table. “He didn’t know how to tell her.”

“Are you kidding?” Gidget shakes her head, not giving an inch. “She lost a movie role. A movie role.”

“But she was there, too.” Garcia looks over at me. “What were you thinking? I don’t care how good the sex is, you do not let the photographic evidence out of your sight.”

“True. You win that one.” Gidget shakes her head at me. “You take the memory stick immediately.”

I cover my face with my hands. This is all so surreal. How did this happen? Isn’t it funny how you wake up happy and completely oblivious to the fact your world is about to be upended? I had no idea when I rolled out of bed this is where I would be right now.

“I truly don't see why this can’t be worked out,” Garcia reiterates, leaning in a bit over the table to really emphasize his point. “They are in love.”

Gidget’s head whips to me. “Aww, sweetie, do you love him?”

That’s something I haven’t admitted to myself yet. But… “Yeah, I do,” I tell them. “I know you probably think it's too soon, but I've loved him since I was a teenager.”

“No,” Gidget says, pulling her leg in the chair to rest her chin on her knee, “I don't think love follows a timeline. Who’s to say when is the right time? It's a feeling that's there before you put a name to it. And if you name it six months from now, instead of two months, does that make it more acceptable?”

“Girl, that was fucking deep,” Garcia says.

We laugh.

“And you’re right,” I tell Garcia. “We both got married. And if we’re being honest, drunk or not, I don’t think I would have denied him. I just hate that he didn’t tell me.”

“Well you need to figure out if you can forgive him,” Gidget says. “I didn’t realize love was involved. Love trumps everything. As long as no one was murdered, maimed, or otherwise hurt.”

“He’s not a bad guy,” Garcia says, gently. “Sure, he was a dumbass, but aren’t a lot of men? Myself not included, of course.”

“I know he’s not.” I give a half-hearted smile. “I just need some time. I don't understand how he could think I shouldn't know.”

Gidget watches me, and sympathy pulls her face down. She’s as droopy as I am. “I’m really sorry you lost that part.”

Garcia reaches in to give me a half hug. “It’s going to be okay, baby girl. It’s hard to lose trust in someone. People fuck up. And this was a big one. Whatever you decide, I got your back.”

“What's this?” Declan asks, leaning against the entryway to the kitchen.

“Did we wake you?” I ask.

“Not really. I was dreaming about tits,” he says as his lip quirks up into a smile.

Gidget’s eyes go wide at my brother’s words, and I place my hand on hers, grabbing her attention. “He’s in medical school to become a plastic surgeon.” I stare at Declan. “That’s what you meant, right?”

He smiles bigger. “Sure.” He steps further into the kitchen, grabbing a chip and popping it into his mouth.

“Look at those muscles,” Garcia whispers over to Gidget and I. He picks up the small blue bowl and smiles. “Would you like some nuts?”

Declan shoots a smile at Garcia and laughs. “No, man. I’m good.”

Gidget’s cheeks flush. “He has his own nuts, he doesn’t need yours.” Her eyes widen. “I mean, fuck.” She shakes her head as Declan laughs harder.

“Oh, I’m sure he does,” Garcia says in a low voice.

“Guys, seriously,” I warn. This is gross. Watching Garcia and Gidget fawn all over my brother, with his no shirt wearing self, and messy blonde hair, makes me want to hurl. Ugh.

“You guys talking about my boy Jonah?” Declan asks, grabbing another chip.

“Yeah, he was wrong for what he did,” Gidget says, gazing up into Declan’s eyes.

Declan shrugs. “Maybe so. But, I’ve never seen him so into any girl before in my life.”

His words warm me up and later, after they’re gone, and I'm burrowed under a blanket on Declan’s couch, I let it sink in—we were married. My orgasm face is out there for everyone to see. I trusted him. Sure, in hindsight, I shouldn't have been so quick to agree, but I had no reason to doubt him. Who thinks of all the what if’s in the heat of the moment? He had no reason to think someone would steal them, I guess. Does that make us both guilty? Maybe. And now, the movie is gone. Poof.

Well, this has been a valuable lesson; it's all fun and orgasms until a picture of you riding your boyfriend ends up in a tabloid. Worse than any of that? The thing that makes my chest feel like it's been stepped on? We were married. How could he not tell me that detail? How ironic the guy I always dreamed of being with was my husband, and I didn’t even know it. And now I have to divorce him. Should I be this hurt and angry? I think so. My heart isn’t sure.

27

Jonah

Losing Chelsea because of my own stupidity is well, stupid. I should have fought more for her. I shouldn’t have let her walk out that door.

On my way to work a few days later, I drop off the annulment papers by the courthouse and file them. Soon it’ll be official, my wife she will be no more.

“There he is...Mr. Sincock,” Tim greets me, laughing at his not so funny joke.

The past couple of days everyone and anyone has ragged, congratulated, and offered advice to me.

Honestly, I don’t know what to do.

Do you know how fucking hard it was to file those papers?

I walk through the halls of the Falcon building, heading to my office. When I enter, Declan stands, shrinking my office with his tall build. It’s been a few days since the incident, hopefully he’s calmed.

But, still I’m leery.

“Hey,” he says.

I say hey back and drop my camera bag atop my desk.

“Sorry about your face.”

I rub my jaw. “It’s ok, you didn’t mess up the sexy.” I crack a smile, and he grins back.

“I really am sorry. I saw that article and lost it.”

“I still don’t know how they got those pictures. Someone sold me out.”

Declan narrows his eyes. “You think someone from here?”

“I have a few suspicions.”

“Well, let’s go confront some people.”

“Dude, this is my job. I can’t go yelling at people in here with no evidence.” I make my way over to my chair, sit, and fire up my computer. “Trust me, I'm ready to tear this fucking place apart.”

“Yeah, I feel like I need to do something.”

“How’s Chelsea?” I hold my breath waiting for his answer.

“She’s fine.”

Fine isn’t enough. I need more. “She still hate me?” Of course, she does, I’m sure.

“She doesn’t hate you. It’s a fucked-up situation, and she just needed a few days. You two should talk.”

“Yeah, I keep going to call her, then hang up. I don’t know what to say anymore.” I click to my personal email and am overwhelmed by all the emails in my inbox. “Holy shit.”

Declan walks over beside me. “What?”

“What is all of this?” I click through a few of the messages, and it’s all job offers and people wanting to buy photos from my website.

“Dude, you’re famous,” Declan says, slapping my back.

“Hardly.” I shut off the computer. “I’m not taking any new job offer. I cost Chelsea her career, I’m not going to gain off it.”

Stan steps into my office, and smiles—a wicked grin.

If I were a bettin’ man, my money would be on him after the failed date.

“Hey, Jonah, love the pictures of your wife in the tabloids.”

Wrong thing to say. Declan moves in before I can. “You might want to watch your mouth.”

“Who are you?” Stan pushes back.

“I’m his wife’s brother.” He crosses his arms, anger rolling off him, and Stan takes a step back.

“Stan,” I say, fury building. “How is it that magazine came across those pictures? Not many people have access to my bag. And I do remember asking you to grab my lens cleaner.” I lean back in my chair and his eyes bounce between us.

“No, she probably sold them to further her career,” he finally chokes out. “Besides, how would I know those were on there?”

“Maybe, you were you looking for the picture of Chelsea losing her top at the beach, and you just got lucky?”

Stan doesn’t say anything for a good thirty seconds, before getting defensive. “She’s a whore.”

Declan moves closer to him. “Watch your fucking mouth.”

“Or what? Maybe Jonah should keep better tabs on his equipment.”

“You’re a fucking asshole,” I say, standing.

Glenda walks past my office, and peeks her head in. “Gentlemen, what’s going on in here?”

We all stand down, like high school when the principal walks by. But, this is real life, not some code of students against the teachers.

“I think Stan here stole those pictures of Chelsea and sold them to the tabloid.”

Glenda eyes him. “Is that true?”

“You can’t prove that.” Stan smirks.

“Theft of another person’s property is against company policy.” She turns toward me. “I’m assuming it was stolen while at work.”

“It absolutely was,” I say.

“You can’t prove anything,” Stan says again.

“Stan, my office, now.” Glenda glides out of my office.

“What a dick,” Declan says. “I want to teach that motherfucker a lesson.”

“Yeah,” I sit back down in my chair. “if he stole those pictures and ruined her career, I’m going to make him pay for it.”

“Good, let me know if you need my help.” Declan leans against my desk. “So, you gonna talk to her?”

“She lost this role because of me.” I shake my head. “It was her dream.”

“Well, I think you were too.”

“What are you talking about?” I turn my computer back on so I can glance at the messages again.

“When she was younger she had a thing for you.”

“Yeah, right.”

“No, I remember once seeing a notebook of hers lying around with ‘Mrs. Jonah Marshall’ scrawled all over it.”

“Funny, now she is Mrs. Marshall. God, can you believe we’re married? Well, not for much longer.”

“What do you mean?” He takes a seat in the chair across from my desk.

“I filed the annulment papers today. Playboy is no longer married.” That depresses me.

“Ah, damn.” He leans back. “You want to be married?”

I meet his stare. “Fuck,” he says under his breath. “I had no idea you were this serious.”

“Yeah, well, I'm an asshole. Doesn't matter.”

He studies me. “You know what?”

“No, what?”

“You’ve always been a good guy.” He smiles. “Sure, you have that playboy nickname, but you’re no playboy.”

“Of course I am,” I cut in with a sly smile.

He shakes his head. “No, you’ve always been a bit of a romantic. That quote thing you do.”

I run a hand along the back of my neck. “Yeah, maybe. Still doesn’t help my current situation.”

He stands. “She loves you. And believe me, you’re the only man I’d ever trust with her.”

I stare him in the eyes. “Thanks, man.”

“Now, go win your girl back.”

What have I got to lose? I’d rather try everyday to get her back than be without her. I smile, clicking off my computer. “Ok.”

He turns to leave. “Oh, and, Jonah,” he calls over his shoulder, “you should think about taking some of those job offers.”

“Yeah, maybe I will.”

And all of a sudden a sense of freedom washes over me. No longer do I feel the need to tie myself down to the endless stress of Bunny Hunnies taking the pictures I don’t really care to take.

I want more. I want to capture real life on camera. The life the everyday person normally overlooks.

The details that aren't noticed until someone snaps a picture and shows you...look this is special. This is love. These are the important things.

Not the paycheck handed out on Friday, or the nine am phone calls, or the meetings of the rat race we all deal with day in and day out.

No, I want to remind people what it is we’re living for.

The overlooked pleasures.

The simplicity of it all.

Glenda smiles as she passes my office door. I don’t have the heart to tell her I’m quitting. I’ll save that for another day.

But, my mind’s made up.

Chelsea, Declan, Booker….they’re all right.

All in different ways, making me into the man I am today.

Booker telling me I can do anything I want to do. So many times, he’s reminded me that life isn’t planned out, not everyone has to follow the corporate path.

Declan reminded me I can be my own man, and that I am a good guy.

Chelsea well, she opened my heart. She wasn’t afraid to throw her trust in me. I shouldn’t have been afraid. I should have been able to take her love and hold it close, telling her everything about Vegas.

On my way out the door of the Falcon building after work, I run into Randall. His blond hair catches the light of the fading sun, and he smiles. “You look like a man on a mission,” he says.

“Yeah, I need to talk to Chelsea.”

His smile gets bigger. “I always thought you two made the perfect couple,” he calls out. I keep moving to win back my girl.

* * *

The sun has long set, and there’s a faint smell of rain off in the distance. I don’t let it deter me though.

I’ve seen enough movies over the years to know how this needs to play out, how I need to tell her I love her. She’ll fling her arms around me, and we’ll live happily ever after. Right? It all sounds so easy.

But, this isn’t a movie.

I can’t yell cut if she’s not saying the right things back to me. I can’t redo the take if the outcome isn’t to my liking.

Hell, I can’t even send in the script for rewrites if she doesn’t say she loves me back.

It’s that fear of not knowing. The fear of knowing anything could happen. And it may not be in my favor.

Hell, this could be the one who gets away.

And then I’ll lead a lonely miserable life down by the sea, yelling at teenagers and smoking too many cigarettes.

No, she loves me. I know she does.

I see it in the way she smiles at me, her blue eyes twinkling just for me. Without a shadow of a doubt, this girl is crazy about me.

I just need to remind her of that.

I need to show her that what we have is bigger than any movie. Bigger than one drunken night in Vegas.

It’s bigger than the sun and stars. It’s a love that has built. She thinks she can’t trust me. But, she’s wrong.

Finally, a bundle of nerves, I drive to Declan’s, with a hopeful heart.

Streetlamps cast a serene glow over the asphalt when I pull down the street. It reminds me of my favorite movie.

When I hop out of my Jeep, I slow my steps.

Two lights are on in Declan’s house. But, I don’t knock on the door.

No, instead, at the top of my lungs I scream, “Chellllllseaaaa.”

I keep screaming, and I feel like a massive idiot. But, I don’t stop. Isn’t love worth a grand gesture?

The blinds move, and Chelsea peeks her head through. “Chellllllseaaa.”

Finally, she comes out the front door wearing yoga pants and a baggy ‘Drama Llama’ t-shirt.

She gazes at me with those baby blues that melt my heart. “What are you doing?”

I slide my hands in my jeans pockets. “I was an idiot.”

“Jonah, you really hurt me,” she says in a soft voice.

I step closer. “I know. I should have told you. I was afraid.”

“Afraid of what? Of me?” She points a finger at herself.

“Of everything.” Frustrated, I look up at the sky and back down. I need her to understand. “I was Blanche, Chelsea.”

“What do you mean?”

“Blanche Dubois. A Streetcar Named Desire.” She tilts her head at me, confused. “I liked the fantasy of my life. I kept it from you because I enjoyed being married to you. The reality of not being married to you was something I didn’t want to face.”

“But why didn’t you tell me?” She closes her eyes for a moment. “And oh my God, that picture. My parents have read that article.”

I step closer. “Chelsea, I’m so sorry about the movie deal, about the pictures, well, all of it.”

“It isn’t about losing the movie deal.” The hurt in her eyes is killing me. “Well, I mean, that sucks. But, that’s not why I’m mad.”

“Well, why are you?” I ask, hoping I can convince her that she’s the only one who means anything to me.

“I’m upset because you didn’t trust me enough to tell me.”

I blow out a breath and step closer. “I’m so sorry. I failed you. You trusted me, and I failed you,” I say, quoting Batman.

She throws a movie quote back at me, “I can’t stop thinking about you and I don’t know what to do.” Tears well in her eyes.

And then we keep going...

“What do you want, Chelsea? You want the moon? Just say the word and I’ll throw a lasso around it and pull it down.”

“I feel like an idiot right now for trusting you,” she says.

“You make me want to be a better man.”

She inches closer. “Well nobody’s perfect.”

I crack a smile. “You complete me.” I wrap an arm around her waist when she draws near.

She puts a hand to my chest, giving me the faintest grin. “Well, here’s another nice mess you’ve gotten me into.”

Having her in my arms, having her quote movies back to me. It’s heaven.

“Wait a minute. Wait a minute. You ain’t heard nothin’ yet.” I tug her flush against me, our lips hovering inches apart. “Hello, gorgeous.”

“You talking to me?” she asks.

“Yes.” I grin. “I love you.”

“Say it again.” Her eyes catch the glow of the moon, and I’m love-struck.

“Say what again?”

“Get down on your knees and tell me you love me.”

I smile as I kneel before her. “You have bewitched me, body and soul, and I love...I love… I love you.”

“You had me at hello,” she says.

I stand and cup her face in my palms. “I love you. If you’re a bird, I’m a bird.”

“After all, I’m just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her,” she says with a small giggle.

I laugh. “You just ruined it.”

“What?” She throws a hand on her hip.

“You can’t quote that movie back. We were doing so good. I was actually proud of you.”

She laughs. “Oh, come on Notting Hill is a good movie.”

“I take back everything I said,” I say, raising a brow.

She slaps my arm. “Oh my God.”

I spin in a slow circle, holding my hands out. “Are you not entertained?” I shout.

“I don’t know that quote.”

“It’s Gladiator.” I raise my hand, ready to give her a thumb down.

“Don’t you dare give me a thumb down, mister.”

I laugh, giving her a thumb up. “You win.”

“Well, I have a little something to tell you.” The nervous look on her face scares me. “Don’t get mad, ok? I kind of did something today.”

“What’s that?” I ask. “I won't be mad, baby.”

“I went to the courthouse and stopped the annulment.”

I pick her up, spinning her in a circle before setting her down and kissing the fuck out of her.

THE END

Epilogue

So, it was Stan. And we got a nice sum of money from suing him over it. But, that’s not all that has changed.

Sometimes life doesn’t always go according to plan.

Sometimes, something you think is bad, actually opens the door for many more good things to come your way.

After the article, Chelsea was contacted by a few agencies. Agencies that didn’t want her to change her image. Don’t get me wrong, she’s a good girl...but usually only for me.

She landed an even a better role than the psycho stalker. Her first movie debuts later this month.

It’s a Misery remake, and she’s been great.

Life for me is turning around as well. I did quit Bunny Hunnies and was offered a job with the LA Times. The LA Times, yo. Like I never knew I could even dream something this big.

It’s definitely been an experience. But, my website is booming, and so is Chelsea’s career.

We took a little trip back to Vegas, with our friends and family, and had a big ol’ Las Vegas wedding. Complete with an Elvis officiant.

And at the end of the day, when she smiles down at her beautiful ring on her finger, I have just one more surprise for her.

I whip out a black box, and hand it to her. She smiles, ever so gracefully.

Inside, a beautiful bracelet with a camera and a star. Camera to represent me. And the star to represent her. Together forever.

I still adore taking pictures of Chelsea. She’s one of my favorite subjects to catch on film. We’re always looking for a dark room to see what develops, get it?

But, we’re way more cautious.

Wouldn’t want the paparazzi getting their hands on the sex tapes I have hidden safely in our home.

No, those are for our viewing pleasure only.

And no, you’re not getting your hands on the tapes either. They’re private and if you touch them, I may have to shoot you...Get it? Shoot, Camera? Oh snap, maybe you do.

Acknowledgments

Thank you so much for reading PLAYBOY.

In this book, I used a lot of movie quotes, here’s a list of each quote and what movie it goes with.

* * *

“I’ve always depended on the kindness of strangers”… A Streetcar Named Desire.

“Fear is not real. The only place fear can exist is in the fear of the future. Fear is a choice”……………..After Earth.

“I’m so sorry. I failed you. You trusted me, and I failed you”…. Batman.

“I can’t stop thinking about you and I don’t know what to do”…… Something Borrowed

“You want the moon? Just say the word and I'll throw a lasso around it and pull it down”….. It’s A Wonderful Life

“I feel like an idiot right now for trusting you”……. Knocked Up

“You make me want to be a better man”….. As Good As It Gets

“Well nobody’s perfect”…...Some Like It Hot

“You complete me”……. Jerry Maguire

“Well, here’s another nice mess you’ve gotten me into”……...Sons of The Desert (Laurel and Hardy)

“Wait a minute. Wait a minute. You ain’t heard nothin’ yet”…….. The Jazz Singer

“Hello, gorgeous”…….. Funny Girl

“You talking to me?” ………. Taxi Driver

“I love you”…………. Star Wars

“Say it again”……..Casablanca

“Say what again?” …...Pulp Fiction

“Get down on your knees and tell me you love me”…..Home Alone

“You have bewitched me, body and soul, and I love...I love… I love you”..…...Pride and Prejudice

“You had me at hello”…..Jerry Maguire

“I love you”….. Star Wars

“If you’re a bird, I’m a bird”……..The Notebook

“After all, I’m just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her”…. Notting Hill

* * *

I knew at the end I wanted them to have a convo in nothing but movie quotes, that is no small feat. After studying movie quotes and trying to make the best fluid convo, that’s what I got.

Also, when I first started with the quotes, I hadn’t really picked a movie. I told my editor, “hey, go find me a movie quote.” and she came back with the Streetcar Named Desire quote.

I had always figured I would find a new quote...as it was just my filler quote while I finished writing the book.

But then, I decided to look the movie up.

I had never seen it (still haven’t) but after researching everything about the movie, I felt it was a perfect fit.

Blanche DuBois, portrayed by Vivien Leigh in the 1951 version, lied because she was unhappy with the cards life had dealt her. The main theme of the movie A Streetcar Named Desire was Fantasy versus Reality. And, I wanted Jonah to enjoy being married to Chelsea that he enjoyed the fantasy of it. So, he lied (by not telling her) and it kept escalating from there.

I really do hope you enjoyed this book.

As always, I have a few people to thank.

Paula thank you for all your blood, sweat, and oh so many tears of hard work you poured into this book.

Thank you to Lauren V., and Misty for all your hard work.

Thank you to every blogger, reader, reviewer for taking the time and sharing this book to get the word out.

Thank you.

If you’d like to have the bracelet Jonah gives Chelsea at the end of the book, it’s available on AMAZON

PLAYBOY: DELETED SCENES

Here’s a few deleted scenes:

As always, I tear a book apart while writing it.

These scenes are unedited, and were removed for various reasons such as, did not advance the plot, or did not bring the character into the best of light.

Many of these scenes did not paint Chelsea in the best of light, and she was coming off in the beginning very shallow and mean.

So, many of these scenes were cut for that reason.

Enjoy

* * *

“Where to now?” Jonah asks as he pulls out of the parking lot.

“Well, I’m starving. Can we grab a bite to eat?”

“Sure.” He smiles. “Want to ride with me?”

I glance out the window as the city rushes by in a blur.

“Can I ask you a question?” I say in a soft voice I don’t even recognize. Why am I so nervous?

“Of course, ask away.” His laid back attitude softens my nerves a tiny bit.

“Is there a reason you’ve been treating me like a five-year old at every photo shoot?” I hold my breath, waiting for his answer.

He stops at a red light and faces me. “What are you talking about?”

“You, Jonah. You cover me up. You crop me out of shots. It’s like you don’t want me working there, or something. Does this have to do with Declan?”

He blows out a steady breath as he moves through the intersection after the light turns green. “It isn’t that.”

I cross my arms. “Well, what is it?”

He taps his thumbs on the steering wheel before answering, “I just don’t want anyone staring at you. Wait, that came out wrong. I just know what the guys are thinking when they do look at you.”

“What does that even mean? What are they thinking about?”

“Nothing. It doesn’t matter.” He turns left into a parking lot of a small Italian restaurant. He shuts the Jeep off, but I don’t budge.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

He presses his lips together, creating a perfectly straight thin line. “Are you hungry? Let’s eat.” He opens his door, and places one foot on the concrete outside.

“I’m not moving until you answer.”

He smiles. “I guess you’ll starve then.” He gets out, and slams his door shut.

Asshole. I swing my door open, calling out after him, “I’m not done with this conversation, Jonah.”

He laughs, turning around to face me, and walking backwards with his hands in his jeans pockets. “Oh, I think the convo is done.”

“Not uh,” I smart back.

“Ok, see this is why I treat you like a five-year old. Look at how you’re acting.” He laughs.

I catch up to him, and he turns around to walk beside me. “I’m acting normal.” Ok, maybe I’m not, but still. He’s infuriating.

He opens the door to the restaurant, holding it for me so I can step through. The place isn’t that busy, and we sit immediately in a quiet booth in the back.

“I love Italian food,” I tell him.

“Me too. I remember your mom made the best spaghetti in the whole neighborhood.” His eyes light up and it makes me smile.

“It was Ragu.”

“Oh, well, I didn’t have anyone cooking any home-made meals for me back then,” He glances down to the menu, then shoots his eyes back at me, “Chelsea, the truth is...you’re like a sister to me.”

Ouch. It stings when he says those words.

How can he think that after the kiss we just shared?

“You’re an only child. Brothers and sisters don’t kiss like we did earlier.” My cheeks flush, slightly.

He rubs his beard as his eyes lock on mine. Is he remembering the kiss? God, I hope so. I hope he thinks about it every second of every day. I know I will.

The server stops by and does her thing, taking our order, and when she leaves the sizzling air between us is back in full force.

“About that kiss,” he says as if the interruption hadn’t even occurred.

“Yeah,” I urge. I bite my lower lip, afraid of the bombshell he’s about to lay on me.

I don’t want to hear him tell me about how it should have never happened. Or, that I’m his sister, or something dumb and asinine like that.

“It was really good,” he breathes, and I release a breath.

I want him to lean over the table and do it again, but I feel a but coming on. “But?” I ask.

He rubs his hand over his face, his forefinger brushing against his full lips. “But, it shouldn’t have happened.”

Stop the train. Stop the misery. I know it was not supposed to happen. It was dumb, childish. Just a prank to save me from a date, but still, I didn’t really know I wanted it until I was smack dab in the middle of it. Until the moment Jonah’s lips were fused to mine, I had never really thought about it. Ok, not true, but I hadn’t really thought about it in a long time.

“I know. Of course,” I agree, because really, what else can I say?

“Don’t tell your brother.” His questioning eyes meet mine, and my anger is back.

Does he really think I go around telling Declan everyone I kiss?

“My lips are sealed.” And they are sealed from ever kissing him again. “But, we still need to discuss how you treat me.”

“Look, I know I treat you like a kid. I’ll try to be better, ok?”

The server drops off our food, and I shrug at Jonah. He says he’ll try to be better and I guess I’ll just have to believe him.

He digs into his spaghetti and it brings me back to all of those years ago, Jonah at our house everyday after he lost his mother.

“Did she make good spaghetti too?” I ask.

“Yeah, I can’t really remember.” He shrugs.

“I remember her. She was great. I loved when she would make cookies for the whole neighborhood on Halloween.”

He cracks a smile. “Yeah, she loved that stuff.”

I reach my hand across the table. “I’m sure she would be proud of the man you and your brother have become.”

He twirls his fork through his spaghetti. “I haven’t really done much.”

“Are you kidding? Jonah, you’re an amazing photographer when you’re not being an ass.” I smile.

He laughs a sweet, small laugh and it makes my heart flutter. “Yes, I’m sure she’d be real proud of all the hunnies pictures I take.”

I smile wide and then take a bite of my pasta. “Well, I’m proud of you. You’re at least living your dream.”

He sits back, his eyes roaming over me. “You think it’s my dream to work for Bunny Hunnies?”

“Isn’t it every guy’s dream?”

His eyes light up. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. But, I don’t know, I kind of always thought I’d be doing more. What about you? Being a swimsuit model isn’t all it’s cracked up to be?”

I take a sip of my wine, wondering how much I should tell him. What if he laughs? “I want to be a movie star,” I say, deciding on telling him everything.

“Is that so?” He lifts his beer pilsner to his mouth and takes a hefty sip. “I never knew that.”

“Well, how would you? I thought it would be easy. Audition for a movie and get picked first try, but it’s not.”

He raises a brow. “How many have you been on?”

I shake my head. “You don’t even want to know. But, it’s always the same things. Too short, not short enough. Too blonde, not blonde enough. It’s like every part I try out for is just not the right fit. It’s frustrating.”

“Did you know Vin Diesel had a really hard time when he first started out? He went on hundreds and hundreds of auditions, and same thing, just never the right fit. But, he kept trying,” he presses his finger to his lips, “or he made a video about it. I can’t remember. Thing is, look at Leo.”

“Leo?”

“Yeah, Leonardo DiCaprio, man tried and tried for an Oscar so many times. I had kinda given up hope he’d ever win won, but you know what?” He leans forward.

So, I lean forward as well. “No, what?”

“He never gave up hope,” he says.

“Ah.” I sit back up, taking another sip of my wine.

I have so many more things I want to ask him. Like did he like kissing me as much as I enjoyed kissing him. But, I keep my mouth shut about it.

* * *

Tonight, I’ll lay it all out on the line. Tonight is my chance to try. And you know what they say, ‘You never really know if something will work out unless you try.’

That kiss, well, it was everything, and I want to try with Jonah. Crazier things have happened. Maybe things will work out.

Or, maybe he’ll shoo me away. At any rate, I’m going to do it. A few hours later, after saying goodbye to Gidget and assuring her I’ll let her know what happens, I drive home ready to make my move on Jonah.

When I step inside the house, the lights are off. Great. He’s not even here.

“Jonah?” I call out.

“Over here.”

“Why are you sitting in the dark?” I flick the light on in the living room and he raises his hand to block the light from his eyes.

“Thinking.”

I kick off my shoes and join him on the couch.

“About what?”

“Wayne.” His voice is raspy, moody and his brow furrows.

“The male model going to Vegas with us? Why are you thinking about him?”

“Doesn’t matter.” He gets up from the couch. “How was your date?” He makes his way into the kitchen and I follow.

“I didn’t have one. I went out with Gidget.” I grab his arm, spinning him around to face me. “Why the sourpuss mood?”

He crosses his arms. “The what mood?”

“Sourpuss. And why are you thinking about Wayne?” I lean against the counter.

He steps closer, boxing me in with his arms as he places his palms down on the granite countertop. “I don’t want him touching you.”

I swallow. “Why?” I barely get out.

He presses his body closer. “Because.”

“Come on, Jonah. Why?”

His eyes drop to my lips, and I dart my tongue out to wet them. “Because I can’t stop thinking about kissing you. And that’s fucked up, considering.”

“Considering what?” I can barely breathe. I want more than anything for him to kiss me again.

His hand lifts to my cheek, his fingers tracing over my skin. “Considering you’re Chelsea. And I’d never go there with you ever again.”

I don’t want his fingers to stop touching me. I don’t want his eyes to stop searing into my lips. I want him to kiss me. “

* * *

shakes his head. “Go to bed, Chelsea.”

I don’t like how he treats me. Not throwing a full on fit, I walk away. I want to yell at him. I want to tell him off for treating me like a child.

I slam my door. Ok, one childish action. But, as I get ready for bed, I can’t forget the way he stared at me.

Lust-filled eyes. Licking his bottom lip. The hunger in his voice.

Tomorrow I leave for Vegas, and I put the thoughts of Jonah behind me. I won’t ever make the mistake of throwing myself at him again.

He will never see the way I see him.

* * *

Sunlight slices through the curtains of the Bellagio suite. My head spins like a merry-go-round. Images from last night pound through my head, but I push them away as I open my eyes.

What day is it?

I glance over, Chelsea lays on her side, still fully clothed. Her leg is draped over me. I slide it off me, and roll out of bed...ever so slowly.

I squint at the bright lights of the room. It’s all so sunny and cheery. I glance at the clock.

“Shit, Chelsea wake up,” I whisper-scream to her as it’s all I can handle this early, or should I say late.

“Huh?” She stirs in the bed, but doesn’t open her eyes.

“We’re going to miss our flight. Get up.” I tug at her leg.

Her head bounces up, and then her hand flies to it, massaging her hair. “Oh God, I feel horrible.”

“Me too. But, we need to go.”

I pack things into suitcases as she heads to her room to do the same. Our flight leaves very soon. It’s a quick flight back, but one we don’t want to miss.

We race through the airport. We zip through security. We try our hardest to catch the flight on time, but we miss it.

And Chelsea’s face falls flat. “What are we going to do?” She faces me.

“It’s ok. We’ll just hop on the next flight going out.”

The attendant behind the desk stares at me with a blank expression as I try to make this right.

Here’s the thing, they aren’t that nice to you when you miss a flight.

But, it’s Vegas this kind of thing must happen all the time. Right?

We were both plastered last night. I’m sure we aren’t the only ones who’ve ever done this. But, with the expression ol’ Gretchen, I read her name tag, is giving us...I think we are.

She has zero sympathy and even less tolerance for our situation.

She tells us all flights are booked until tomorrow. But, Chelsea doesn’t like that idea.

She tugs my arm. “I have an audition tomorrow morning.”

I scrub a hand over my jaw and up through my hair. “Ok.” My mind goes blank.

Another airline. Another flight. Is there anyone who can help us?

After another hour of trying to work things out, we realize it’s hopeless.

“This sucks,” Chelsea says.

“I’ll get you home.”

And an idea occurs to me, and I grab her hand.

We rush down the terminal, and through another set of sliding doors.

“You want to drive?” she asks.

“Sure, why not. It’s a quick drive. We’ll be home in no time.”

She wraps her arms around me and I feel a zing inside my chest from the contact. “Thank you, Jonah.” She kisses my cheek.

“It’s fine.”

I rent the car. A hip little sporty number.

We pile in and I set off.

“I’m sorry about everything,” I say.

“I’m not. I had a great time with you, Jonah. Not loving today too much, but last night was great. Don’t really remember a lot of it.” She scratches her head.

“I think we need some food. It might make the hangover loosen up.”

“I love that idea.”

I spot a small diner and we pull over.

We step through the dusty parking lot, and head inside.

It’s tiny, and not many people around. We grab a booth and slide in.

“About last night.”

“No, we aren’t speaking of it. Remember, what happens in Vegas…”

“Stays in Vegas,” she finishes.

“Right. It was a one time thing. Nothing to get worked up over.” I don’t want it to be one time. But, I keep my mouth shut about it.

“Yeah, just please don’t tell Declan.” The sun bounces off her pretty blue eyes.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

The waitress stops by in her yellow apron and takes our orders. We order greasy bacon, eggs, and the whole nine yards.

Hangover cure

* * *

The food arrives and we eat in silence for a few minutes until Chelsea bursts into a fit of laughter.

“What’s so funny?” I ask.

“I’m just imagining what my brother would think if he knew we hooked up.”

I run a hand over my face. “Don’t remind me. He’d definitely kill me.”

“No, he wouldn’t.” She gazes upward, then her soft stare lands back on me. She leans closer. “I’m sure he’d murder us both and bury us in the desert.”

“That’s reassuring. Thanks.”

She laughs again.

It’s a sweet laugh, one that I catalogue the sound of. So I can replay it over and over.

We finish up our meal and get on the road again.

Nothing but desert for as far as the eye can see.

She leans over to take a quick nap as I turn the radio up a bit.

My mind wanders back to our fun we had in Vegas. One thing stands out amidst the drunken stupor of forgotten activities.

Holy fuck.

I pull off the side of the road. Need fresh air. I exit the car, and slam the door, loudly. So loudly she wakes up.

I don’t even dare breathe when she stares at me through the window.

I pace the side of the highway.

How fucking stupid.

How dumb could I be?

A wedding chapel.

The song.

Chelsea and I giggling down the aisle.

* * *

I turn to leave, and she calls after me.

“Will you join me?”

I slip into the tub behind her. She lets me shampoo her hair, and her mood improves. I kiss the back of her neck.

Such soft skin. After a few seconds we’re making out, forgetting about all of our problems in the world.

She lets me touch her in the most intimate of ways, and it hits me like a thousand heavy bricks. She’s my wife. And tonight, I make love to her like she is.

I treat her like the love of my life with each kiss and caress. We spend a while in the tub, getting well acquainted with each other’s bodies.

After the water runs cold, I lift her out and take her to the bedroom. I dry her off, slowly, seductively. She ooh’s when I climb on top of her. She cries soft tears when I enter her. I make love to her all night long, almost letting the words slip out of my mouth.

Almost telling her all of my secrets. Almost telling her I never want to let her go.

And I realize while I’m deep inside her, and her eyes cast their voodoo over me...that I don’t want an annulment. What if I could stay married to her?

Fuck, I think I might just love her that much.

Chelsea

Chapter you know what time it is

I think we’ve hit that spot. You know, the spot where we can no longer lie to ourselves. Where we can no longer pretend that the boy we grew up having a major crush on, has just become the love of your life.

It’s happened. I can’t describe it. I can’t let go of the feeling that this is forever.

And I don’t want to.

I can no longer pretend this isn’t real. I’ve been trying to keep things on an even keel. Tried to pretend this is casual, and that I didn’t want to scare him away.

He’s a playboy at heart, and who knows, what if I come onto strong? Or what if he gets bored of me?

So, I resolve to let him set the pace. To keep my feelings at bay hidden in the deepest part of my soul. That way I don’t send him running for the hills.

I wake in the morning, refreshed and ready to make the best of today.

We have our practice photo shoot, and I can’t wait to get all sexy with Jonah for the camera.

So what, I didn’t get the part. I push it all away and focus on the shoot coming up. It’ll be great for publicity.

It’ll be great for exposure.

I rush inside a coffee shop on the way to the practice session, and smile to the barista behind the counter.

“Oh my God, you’re that girl,” she says after I order my double macchiato.

“I’m sorry.”

“The one on the billboard off the interstate. With that sexy hot guy.”

I blush, and smile wide. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“Who is that guy?” The dark-haired girl smiles as she makes my drink.

“He’s my boyfriend.” And that feels good to say. My boyfriend.

That’s right, back off. Just kidding, I’d never get that way. All territorial and such. Unless she tried to move in, but I trust Jonah. And let’s face it, it’s a great ego boost her thinking my man is hot. And well, he is. Damn hot.

She hands me my drink, and I take a sip as she smiles. It lifts me up with butterflies knowing I get to see Jonah soon.

I travel to the hotel where the photo shoot practice session will take place. Why we really need to practice is beyond me, but I’m sure there’s technicalities I don’t understand. Lighting, set design...all of that.

When I step into the room, Jonah is the first person I see.

His face lights up, and his white boxers grab my attention. Holy hell.

How am I supposed to not jump his bones when he looks like that?

I follow Glenda’s directions and head into the restroom to get ready.

When I step out, Jonah is on the bed waiting for me.

I’m nervous. For some unknown reason, I’m bubbling over with anxiety. Maybe it’s because we are together and I don’t want anyone to figure us out.

It could be because I won’t be able to stop with gentle touching and soft stares. My body will pull to him, and I might overstep some model ethic thing.

I wish these people weren’t in the room. Randall aims the camera at us, and I climb onto the bed.

“Ready?” Randall snaps a shot. “I’ll take a few practice shots, then we’ll really get you two to do some wild things.”

Wild things?

I hover over Jonah, like the shoot in Vegas, and his eyes gaze up at me. So full of desire and longing. I know the look well. It’s the look he always gives me when we’re alone together.

I have to say I love it. I have studied the look tons of times. Is it love he emits through those dark pupils?

Or is it just lust, passion, or something else?

Either way, I pose for the camera, trying my best to stay on course and remain professional.

We move together to a new position, and Jonah hovers over me now. My skin breaks out in goosebumps, and Jonah runs his hands along my arms. He smiles.

My body’s reaction is not warranted. My nipples harden, and I try my hardest to not appear too turned on.

But, I’m sure Jonah knows I’m soaked for him. I’m sure he can feel it. His dick hardens underneath the covers, and I smile up at him.

“Shh, I don’t think we’re both supposed to be getting turned on,” he whispers against my ear.

“You two are doing great,” Glenda calls out.

I forgot she was even here, and I really wish she wasn’t. Her brown eyes watch Jonah and I become as intimate as we can with a bunch of random eyes on us.

Randall snaps again.

Jonah rocks his body just a touch and a moan escapes my mouth. My eyes widen as I try to pretend it was anything but a cry for ecstasy.

No one notices, or else they pretend they didn’t. I’m mortified. Remain professional.

Why is Jonah so much better at this?

Like, I want to ravage his body. I want to make him pound into me, and have me screaming out my orgasm in no time. But, his stoic manner, and piercing eyes remain neutral.

“I want you so bad. I’m having a really hard time keeping it together,” he says for only me to hear.

My insides burst into a million tiny stars all blazing and on fire. “Me too.” I smile.

Randall snaps another shot, and the sound brings me back to the present.

Ok, this is torture. Pure agony.

“Ok, what we want to try to do is move you two to the shower,” Randall says. “Right Jonah?”

Jonah slides off me, a smile on his face. “Yeah, that’s what the client and I discussed.”

Shower? Will we be clothed?

“So, how it will work,” Glenda pulls me aside after I leave the bed, “is you’ll have to wear a very thin see through nude outfit.”

“Oh,” I say. I really don’t know what else to say.

Jonah pulls me aside. “I promise, it’ll be classy.”

I trust him. I mean, of course I trust him.

We step into the restroom while Randall and Jonah set a few things up. I slide over to a little changing area, and put on the thin scrap of material. Glenda hands me a towel, and I wrap it around me.

And then they turn the water on. Jonah steps in first, and I’m spellbound for a moment as the water cascades down his skin. He’s completely lickable, and that’s all I want to do. Lick his abs.

He’s still wearing the boxer briefs, and I drop the towel.

I’ve never felt more awkward in my life.

But, Jonah’s there and he holds out his hand to me.

I enter the shower, and the water feels good. Hot and it runs through my hair. A fogger is turned on, and it steams up the glass door.

Jonah pushes me against it, with him behind me, and fists his hands through my wet hair.

It’s steamy and really something him and I need to try alone.

I don’t even have to act for the camera, because I’m so turned on it’s not even funny.

And after a few heated moments, the snap of the camera drowns out against the rushing water. Then, it’s just me and Jonah. He’s touching me in ways I’ve never felt before.

It’s sensual and completely erotic. It makes it so much more because I know we can’t act on the instinct we both have to totally consume each other.

Instead, we show our want, our need, our pure passion for the camera. We are totally in tune with one another that Randall has stopped calling out cues and suggestions.

We glide around the steam-filled shower pushing and clinging onto the other.

His hands in my hair. My hands all over his chest and stomach. Him covering my neck with kisses.

It’s the most intense thing I’ve ever done.

And right before we both almost lose it, Randall calls for us to stop.

It takes a full three seconds before Jonah even does. And once the camera stops shooting, everyone leaves so Jonah and I can regain ourselves.

“You did amazing, babe,” he says as he hands me a towel.

“I was kind of nervous at first.”

“Well, it didn’t show. Now when we do the live thing you’ll do great.”

I smile and kiss his cheek and then rush off to change into my clothes. Once I buckle up my jean shorts, and slip on my sandals, I emerge into the room where everyone waits.

“You both did amazing,” Glenda says with a huge smile. I’ve never seen her smile so big before.

“Thanks,” I answer.

And after a while, Jonah and I leave together.

I follow him home, and when I step out of my car he grabs me and plants a huge kiss on my lips.

We stand together in the driveway making out, when Declan pulls up.

“What the fuck?” he says, stepping out of his truck.

Fuck, I guess it’s time for big brother to find out.

Jonah starts in first. “Declan, why don’t you come inside and let us explain.”

But, Declan doesn’t budge. He isn’t so much mad as he is confused, or so it appears. Maybe it’s more hoping.

He finally follows us inside and takes a seat on the stool in the kitchen. Jonah grabs a few beers and passes one to each of us.

How cute. Living with me, being my boyfriend...and he still doesn’t remember that I hate beer. I smile at him and put the beer back in the fridge and grab a bottle of water.

“Ok, explain,” Declan says, crossing his big arms over his chest.

Jonah expels a deep breath. “It all started when Chelsea came to work at the magazine.”

“Wait, you work there?” Declan stares pointedly at me.

“Yes, and before you go getting all big brother on me, let me just say, it’s a great job.”

“What about the copyediting?” he asks.

I put a hand on my hip. “Did you really believe I would do anything like that? No, I can’t stand to sit behind a desk all day. And besides this job is a great way to gain exposure for my acting career.” Or lack thereof.

“Ok, so how did you and he...this is so gross.” Declan points a finger at Jonah and I.

“I planned on telling you, man,” Jonah says. “It all happened so quick. We were in Vegas, and one thing led to another.”

“Stop. I don’t need fucking details,” Declan says, shaking his head.

I let out a little giggle. And then something catches my attention. A white envelope on the table.

Jonah

Chapter where the shit hits the fan

I see what’s in Chelsea’s hands before I even have time to react. Fuck. Wait.

She opens it as Declan rambles on about us dating and how horrible it is. Oh, man, he’s about to learn a whole lot worse.

“What’s this?” Chelsea asks.

“Nothing.” And like an idiot I snatch her from her fingers.

“Jonah, no seriously what was that. It said something about a marriage.” She tries to reach for the paper I’m already folding and trying to keep away from her.

“It’s nothing. I was going to tell you.”

The fact Declan is even sitting here with us is forgotten for a few seconds.

“Who’s married?” he asks, reminding us both of his presence.

I scrub a hand against my jaw. “We are.”

“Who?” Declan asks. “You and her?” He points to Chelsea.

I blow out a breath. “Yeah.” I sneak a glance at Chelsea and her eyes are huge. Like bigger than I’ve ever seen any eyes get in my whole goddamn life. “I can explain.”

“Give me the paper,” Chelsea says with her arm out for the paper.

I hand it over, because honestly what the fuck else am I supposed to do? I can’t believe this is all happening like this. And with Declan here too.

“Look, we got drunk in Vegas and got married, and I figured I could get the annulment without you ever even noticing,” I say and it’s the last thing I remember before I’m knocked out.

* * *

When I finally come to, Chelsea stands over me with a pack of ice. “How’s your head, husband?”

I try to sit up, and the pain splicing through my head is excruciating. “Where’s Declan?”

“I kicked him out.” She offers me a soft smile and I finally sit up.

The room spins for a minute, and I gaze into the questioning eyes of Chelsea.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

She holds up a hand for me to quiet and listen, so I do. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

I touch my swollen jaw, and it hurts like a motherfucker. “I thought things were going so well, I didn’t want to chance it. I’m sorry.”

She pouts her bottom lip. “What else are you keeping from me? No secret baby we may have adopted?”

“Oh my God, no. There’s nothing else. I swear.”

She packs the ice on my face, and not in a nice way either. “Well, I don’t know if I can trust you.”

Fuck, I’m an idiot. Why didn’t I just tell her. I had wanted to. I meant to.

I grab her hands, holding them close to my chest. “Baby, you can trust me.”

God, I sound like a man at a bar using a cheesy pickup line.

Her blue eyes well with tears. Please don’t cry.

She doesn’t. “I just need some time. Where’s the annulment papers? I’ll sign them.”

Fuck. My chest hurts. “I’ll get them.”

I leave her in the kitchen as I head off to retrieve the papers. I almost don’t want to give them to her. It feels like a real divorce.

I hand them over, and she reads over them.

“I’m going to stay with my brother for a while.”

“Chelsea, come on. I know you don’t like living there. You can stay here, I won’t bother you.” I pray silently that she stays.

Because the truth is, it’ll be easier to convince her she can trust me with her here.

Truth is, I don’t want her to leave. Ever.

I think I’ve gone and fallen for this girl.

She signs the papers, sliding them across the counter to me.

“Chelsea, wait…” my voice trails off.

“No, Jonah. I just can’t right now.”

I should respect her decision. Respect the decision that she needs some time away. So I stuff my hands in my pockets, rocking on the heels of my feet and say ok.

She packs up a few of her essentials as I stand quietly by. I want to shout, scream, anything. I want to get on my knees and beg forgiveness.

But, I am also trying to give her the space she needs.

When she leaves, she offers a soft goodbye, and I swear I might have a few tears in my eyes.

And then she shuts the door.

And I’m left alone with a swollen jaw and broken heart.

* * *

A few days later, my life has been a series of routine. I wake up, go to work, avoid Chelsea, and then come home.

I don’t want to avoid her. I try to see her actually...but the truth is...she’s avoiding me.

The one time I saw her in the halls of the Falcon building, she shot me a half-smile and kept walking.

It broke my heart even more.

To say I’m miserable is an understatement.

I can’t eat or sleep.

And as much as I want to beat down her door, and claim her and take her back to my place...I’m trying to be the ma she wants and respect her wishes.

When she’s ready to talk, she’ll seek me out, right? That’s the ounce of everything I have to hold on to.

The fact that she won’t avoid me forever.

And yes, I know we have a photoshoot coming up.

But, I push those thoughts out of my head, and when I leave work--there’s only one person I need to see.

“Hey,” I say, standing at the edge of the basketball court where Declan and I play once a week.

“I don’t really want to see you right now.” He continues to dribble the ball up the court.

“Yeah, I know.” I rush in, trying to get the ball away from him.

“Dude, seriously?”

But, we continue to play in silence.

Both of us punishing each other with each pass and block. I sink a shot and he curses.

The ball bounces off the court, and Declan stalks toward me.

“How could you, man? She’s my little sister.”

I stand and face him head on. “I know. I tried to fight it. Honestly, I did. But, I love her, dude.”

“Wait, you love her?” Declan appears shocked as he holds up both hands and backs up.

“Yeah, I love her. I never meant to hurt her, or you.”

“Fuck,” Declan moves to grab a seat on the bench overlooking the park, “I didn’t realize it was like that.”

The afternoon is bright and sunny, and a few birds fly overhead as I take a seat next to him.

“Well, it is.”

“Does she love you?”

I shake my head. “Fuck, I don’t know. I hope so.”

Declan’s tone is softer now, less confrontational. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. But, I’ll do anything.” And I will. I want to believe giving her the space she needs is a good thing, but I can’t wait any longer.

And the worst part...I can’t bring myself to file the damn papers.

I don’t want to.

Declan smiles. “Well, if I know my sister…”

And then he lets me in on a plan to win back her heart.

Chelsea

Chapter are we still counting?

Marriage. Married. I’m married. To Jonah. It’s something I have always wanted as a teenager. I remember writing Mrs. Jonah (last name) on all my notebooks in school.

A girl’s wedding is something they always dream about. Something they plan and plan, slaving over every detail.

And sure it was fifty percent my fault we’re married in the first place. Knowing me, it was probably my idea in Vegas.

It’s the not remembering that’s the scariest. To be so drunk that you don’t even remember a major life event. I’m thankful I had Jonah by my side protecting me. I really am.

But, why would he not tell me? Did he think I would be mad?

Gidget enters the coffee shop right off Melrose, and smiles. “I got here as fast as I could.”

“Thanks.”

“Have you seen him?”

“The other day. I didn’t talk to him, though.” I can’t bring myself to say anything to him.

She shoots me a sideways glance. “You need to talk to him.”

“What do I say? That I want to stay married? That I can’t believe he didn’t tell me?”

“Wait, do you want to stay married?”

I’m as shocked as she is those words flew out of my mouth. That’s the thing that’s been plaguing me. I do in fact want to stay married. Crazy right? I know.

But, I love him. I really do. Even though the trust has been severed, I still love him. He’s as sexy as they come, but it’s so much more.

His thoughtfulness. His humor. The fact he wants so much more out of life than just taking pictures of half-naked models. His vulnerability.

It’s all rolled into this perfect specimen of a man. Jonah.

And a part of me is scared. Scared he would never want to marry me. Weird right? I know.

Like if I hear him out, he’ll say ‘ok, but we’re still getting the annulment...but hey, let’s keep dating.’ It’s like the end goal has been crushed now.

I don’t know, it’s all making more sense to me in my own head.

“I don’t know what I want,” I tell Gidget.

She reaches a hand across the table and squeezes mine. “I know, sweetie.” She sighs. “Do you love him?”

The answer comes easily. “Yeah, I do.”

She tosses me an understanding smile. “Then you need to give him a chance. At least to explain.”

“Yeah.” Tears threaten to spill from my eyes, and I stir my coffee and breathe deep. “I know.”

“It’ll all work out. And if it doesn’t you’ll always have me.”

“Yeah, right. You’ll be married soon too.” I smile.

“Nah, Paul is ‘non-committal’.” She holds up her fingers to and air-quotes the last word.

“Take him to Vegas and get him drunk.”

We both laugh and I spend the rest of the afternoon sulking the day away on my brother’s couch.

* * *

“Hey, just saw your man,” Declan says, coming into the house like a bulldozer.

“Why are you so angry?”

He stops dead in his tracks. “I’m not angry. I’m hungry. That husband of yours beat my ass on the court today.”

“Oh ha ha.” I stand up and follow him in the kitchen. “Wait, beat your ass figuratively, or literally.”

He crosses his big arms over his broad chest, puffing his stance. “What do you think?”

“So you two made up?” I twirl a strand of my hair between my fingers.

“Yeah, we did. But, don’t worry he’s over you.” He turns his back on me, opening the fridge.

“Over me?” Well, damn that was fast.

He glances over his shoulder at me. “Yeah, come on, you had to know he never gets serious about anyone.”

I see red. All different shades of it. Like my life story could be titled fifty shades of red right now. I clench my teeth. “Oh, really.”

“Come on, Chelsea, you didn’t think that marriage was anything real, did you?”

I drop the strand of hair and push it aside. “No, of course not.”

Declan stills for a moment, searching my face for any signs of me lying. “Oh, good.” He goes back to whatever is in the fridge that has him so interested. “Cause, if you’re heartbroken, I’ll kick his ass.”

“No, I’m great.” And oh, am I.

I leave the kitchen and am furious. I leave the house. The sidewalk looks fun, and I take off down the street.

No, I don’t know where I’m going, I just need a minute.

Jonah is over me. Well, good for him. Glad he’s not hurting or anything.

Happy to hear it. So ecstatic.

Fucking asshole.

My anger is bubbling right through me. It’s hard to contain. I want to punch something. Or someone, like Jonah. And his stupid camera.

He’s over me. As if. I’ll show him who’s over who.

I won’t even look at him. I won’t even pretend I remember who he is.

He’ll say, “Hi, Chelsea.” And I’ll say, “Oh, who are you again?”

Asshole.

He thinks he can just marry me and then get it annulled and everything is done.

Ugh.

* * *

The day of the photo shoot, I am still a steaming mad mess. I march on set, and Garcia grabs me by the arm.

“Oh, no, hunny, you don’t look happy at all.”

I fake it, like any good actress would do. “Who me?” I smile. “No, I’m perfect. Make me look hotter than hot, Garcia. Work your magic.”

“I do have the magic touch. Sit down.”

I do as he says, and try to let the irritation roll off my shoulders.

The executives are here. And so is my boss, Glenda. So I need to be on top of my game. I need to be even better than that.

I need to be a goddamn professional. I can do this.

But, when I see Jonah...it all fades.

I square my shoulders, and lift my chin. Garcia has done his work, and by the power of his voodoo, I feel like a million dollars.

I get into my wardrobe and tie the white robe around my waist. I’m ready.

“Ok, we’ll start off with you two on the bed like in the practice,” Randall instructs.

I try not to stare at Jonah as I make my way closer to him. He’s on the bed. All ready and gorgeous. Did I mention someone must have done some magic voodoo on him too? Because he looks better than I’ve ever seen.

I shrug it off and climb into the bed.

“Ok, climb on top. Straddle him,” Randall says.

Oh, I hate Randall right now too. I hate them all. But, I do as I’m paid to do.

“Hi,” Jonah whispers and it almost breaks all of my resolve.

I shake it off. Get into character.

“Ok, ready?” Randall asks.

“Yeah,” Jonah says, all husky and sexily.

“Yes,” I pipe out.

And then it’s on. My body reacts like it always does when I’m this close to him. But, my mind is at war.

Every touch sends a tingling sensation all through me. My skin is on fire, and my heartbeat could power all of Asia.

How can he be over me? Did I mean nothing to him?

Shake it off. Don’t think about it.

He fists a hand in my hair, and his lips hover over my neck. Heated breaths tickle my skin, causing a tidal wave of emotion to surge through me.

I lean my head back.

Snap. “Good, keep going,” Randall calls.

And we do keep going. Suddenly, I forget anyone else is in the room, and I’m here with Jonah like I’ve always been.

I want to tell him so many things. But, I keep my mouth shut. It’s all just hand movements and pretend want guiding us to each perfect shot.

After a while, Randall calls us to stop.

“Ok, time for the shower,” Glenda calls as giddy as a schoolgirl.

This is gonna suck.

Jonah

Chapter near the end

I had originally had Jonah and Chelsea going to do another shoot together. Where they’re mad and it gets them back together. This scene was too hot to get rid of

* * *

This is gonna suck.

It’s a one-hundred percent fact Declan told her I’m over her. She’s not happy with me. At all. And I question for a few minutes if Declan steered me down the wrong path.

Her eyes are alight with a fire of hatred running through them.

Her every touch is calculated with malice.

If I didn’t know any better, I’d fear for my life with her.

But, it only strengthens my resolve to know...she’s upset because she does in fact love me too, right? Right? Please say, I’m right.

I have to be.

She goes off to change into her nude suit. The one that makes me hard as a rock instantly. Yeah, that one.

Doing this photo shoot with my best friend’s little sister is about to get hard...and yeah that’s my pun.

I step into the shower.

Randall rushes over. “The executives said they want you two to get a little more nastier in the shower.”

“Nastier how?”

“Well, I didn’t really ask. Should I go back and ask?” He’s such a kid. Barely twenty and no with no clue sometimes.

“No, don’t ask. I’ll figure something out.”

And then she walks out. And my jaw drops. Her nude suit she wore last time is different. Like barely non-existent.

Is she even wearing close? I have to squint to get a better glimpse of her. Barely clothed. Thank God. Cause I’m ready to yell at everyone in the room.

“Ready for Sincock,” Stan yells, and I’m ready to kill him too.

She steps into the scorching hot water with me, and my pulse picks up.

Stan clicks on the fog machine, and the room steams up.

Nastier, right.

“Chelsea,” I whisper in her ear. “The execs want us to get nastier in here.”

“What do you mean?”

But before she can finish her last word, I have her hair in my hand and am pushing her down to her knees.

Fuck.

Snap. Snap. Snap.

Randall’s going crazy with the camera, and I continue to stay with the moment.

Chelsea’s big blue eyes gaze up at me, and I swear...if all these people weren’t here...I’d be fucking her mouth right now.

But, she hates me.

She puts her hands on my thighs, and yeah, my cock grows. Fuck.

Get it together.

“Oh, I see part of you still wants me,” she says.

We’re both in the shower, and the sounds of us talking is drowned out by the rush of the water.

She rises to her feet, and turns around. I rush up behind her, leaning her head to the side.

“Every part of me still wants you,” I say as I brush my lips against her neck.

Her palms are flat against the glass door, and I stroke down her body, all the way to her ass. They want fucking nasty...fine.

I slap her ass.

“Yes, great. Do it again,” Randall calls out to us.

I shoot him a wicked smile and he snaps another shot.

Whack.

I smack her luscious ass again.

She moans.

“I want you, Chelsea. I’ve never stopped wanting you,” I say, smacking her ass one last time.

She turns around, and I lift one leg over my hip. “I thought you were over me.”

“Over you? Hardly.”

She pushes on my chest, and I grab both her wrists with one hand. I raise them over her head.

“Well, I’m over you,” she says with defiance.

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes I am.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Unable to take it anymore, I crush my lips to hers. And it’s game over for me.

She tugs away slightly, then fully succumbs to my touch. The room fades away, hel the whole Earth fades away.

It’s only me and her. And I want nothing more than to claim her again right here. I want her to forgive me. For us to be together.

Hell, I think I even want to stay married. No fuck that, I do.

Truth is, it was my idea in Vegas...and I wasn’t even that drunk.

It was the way her eyes caught the light of the city when she gazed into my eyes outside the Bellagio. It was her smile. It was when I was pounding deep inside her against the wall in the Monte Carlo, that I knew I never wanted anyone else ever again.

She took this playboy and made sure he’d never want to play the field again.

My hands tug at her hair, deepening the kiss. Her ass slams against the glass door, and I push my body into her.

“Cut, that was hot guys,” Randall says.

Chelsea pulls apart from me. My mind is cloudy and the water runs down my face.

“Wait,” I call out to her. But, Glenda is already handing her a towel as Chelsea steps out of the shower.

Glenda stops me. “Get dressed, the executives would like to speak with you.” She flings a towel at me and I cover myself up.

No need showing everyone the situation going on in my briefs.

I dress as quickly as humanly possible. I want to catch Chelsea before she leaves.

But, a man in an expensive suit stops me before I can even reach her.

“You’re Jonah (last name)?” he asks, straightening his, I don’t know, million dollar tie.

“I sure am.” I drag the last word to wait for a name.

“Mr. Feingold, editor-in-chief of the LA Times.”

He has got my attention. Keep talking. “Nice to meet you.”

“Let’s take a walk.”

I follow him out the hotel room door and through the hallway, then into the elevator.

“What can I do for you?” I ask when we’ve entered the lobby and have entertained enough small talk possible.

“I’ve seen all your work. Even the photo you submitted into The New Yorker.”

I smile. “Oh, yeah? The children playing in the busted fire hydrant?”

“Yes. You have a real eye for a great shot. I really was impressed with your ideas for this ad campaign.”

“But, you work for the lingerie (name)?”

“I’m more of a consultant. My friend told me I had to come and see your work, and I’m glad I did.”

“Thanks.” My cheeks grow hot and I tug at the back of my neck.

“I want you to consider coming to work for the Times.”

I’m about to shout yes, but he continues, “It would be different from your work here at Bunny Hunnies, but I’m confident you can handle it.”

“Thank you, sir. Wow.”

“Come see me on Monday. Bring your portfolio.” He hands me his business card and I shake his hand.

We say goodbye and I promise to meet him on Monday. I can’t wait to tell Chelsea. And then my heart plummets. First, I need to find her.

And beg her to forgive me.

And...and...and…

Chelsea

Chapter Nearing the End/First Ending

That shower scene was intense. I didn’t mean to get so carried away. I still hate Jonah. Ok, hate is a strong word. I really really dislike him. A lot.

I mean, he’s over me. Pfft.

I’ll show him who’s over who.

As soon as I find him.

I’ll march right up to him and tell him how I hate him. Not hate, just really dislike. Ugh. I can do this.

But, it’s a lot harder after the things he said to me during the photoshoot. His hands in my hair had me grounded to him.

I wanted it all back with him. Well, of course I did. I love him.

He stands in the lobby with his back to me, shaking the hand of one of the men in a nice business suit.

I don’t dare interrupt. I may be mad, but I’m not an idiot.

I hang back, waiting for my opportunity.

When he’s free of the man, I take a few steps closer. I tap him on the shoulder, more like poke him really hard.

“Jonah,” I say with a tone laced with fire.

He spins around. “Oh thank God, Chelsea, I wanted to talk to you.”

I cut in, “No, you don’t get to speak,” He snaps his mouth shut. “I’m talking now. How could you?” I poke a finger into his hard chest.

He raises a brow. “I...uh…”

I cut in again. “No, shh. How can you be over me? How could I mean nothing to you?”

“Chelsea, of course I’m not over you.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “I’m so mad at you.”

“I’m sorry. I should have told you about Vegas, but a part of me was happy we were married. I can’t explain it.”

“I’m not happy you didn’t tell me.”

He steps closer, holding his hands out. “I’ll tell you everything.”

“Well, maybe not everything.”

“Nope too late. You’ll hear everything.” He laughs.

He grabs me in his arms and I lean back. “I’m still upset you told Declan you were over me.”

“Hey, I had to get you to talk to me somehow,” he says with a smile, and then leans down to kiss me.

The End

Chelsea

Epilogue Deleted

Epilogue with Chelsea still working as a movie star had she never lost the part

* * *

It’s my first day. My first day on a new pilot. The story is great and I’m sure it’ll be picked up by the studio. And best thing, I’ve got one of the main roles.

It’s all thanks to Jonah really.

That ad campaign hit nationwide, and we became a sensation overnight.

He took the job at the LA Times, and hasn’t looked back. He’s so much happier now. Although I’m still his favorite subject to snap a picture of.

“You’re going to do great today,” Jonah says, sticking his head into the kitchen where I’m trying to manage a little food down before I go today.

I’m a bundle of nerves. “Stop, or you’ll make me lose focus...get it?”

He kisses me on the cheek. “Yeah babe, I get it.”

And he does get it, whenever he wants. All the time. Get it?

Jonah

ANOTHER LUNCH SCENE WITH DECLAN

Declan will be a plastic surgeon once his story comes in 2018, but during this story, he’s still in medical school. So this scene was removed for a few of those reasons.

* * *

A few hours later, I decide to meet Declan for lunch. I’m kind of nervous for our meeting. Only because I feel like at any moment I may shout out the words ‘your sister is modeling swimsuits’. I won’t, but still it’s a thought that crosses my mind frequently.

I head into one of our favorite places to eat. A little small diner off Broadway. The door swings open as a group of guys exit out.

“Hey Playboy, over here,” Declan calls, waving his hand.

I spot him in a back booth and I easily make my way past all the other customers. “Hey.”

My nerves settle when I sit and he launches into his night with Zanna. I guess they went home together.

“I’m already loving the fact Chelsea isn’t living with me anymore. I feel free.”

“Yeah, great.” The nerves are back. “Did she get everything packed up?”

“I think so. Listen, you know how these LA guys are.” He laughs. “I mean, they’re kind of like us. Different girl every night of the week, right?”

I smile. “Yeah, I guess.”

“I just don’t want her to get mixed up in all of that.”

I nod as the waitress stops by to grab our order. “Let me ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Hooking up with Zanna, would you ever grab the magazine to check it out.” Let him say no, please let him say no.

He shakes his head. “No need. I’ve seen it all, my friend.”

I breathe a sigh of relief. “Cool.”

“That one girl was digging you last night. Who did you end up taking home last night?”

“Uh, I took home your sister remember,” I say, grabbing a straw and sticking it into the Coke the server just placed in front of me.

He doesn’t say anything right away. His eyes dart back and forth between mine. “But, nothing happened, right?”

I lean back. “Come on, dude. That’s your sister, and she passed out on my couch.”

He relaxes, and I don’t. I also don’t tell him how she ended up in my bed. But, I’m sure that was the liquor, or the extreme discomfort of my couch.

Either way, nothing happened. And nothing ever will happen. Case closed.

His phone chimes and he reaches into his pocket and stares at it. “Fuck.”

“What is there a boob emergency?”

“No,” he shoves the phone in my face, “fucking Zanna. She wants to hang out.”

I glance at the text message and sure enough, she wants him. “Tough luck.” I laugh.

In all actuality, I’ve heard Zanna is a pretty nice girl. I’ve never hung out with her much, but maybe Declan should give her a chance.

But, knowing Declan that would never happen. He’s a hit it and quit it kind of guy. And he really is too busy to even think about dating.

What with the boobs and all. He says they need his constant attention.

“She has great melons. But, she isn’t that smart,” Declan says, leaning back against the booth. His sandy blond hair appears disheveled and I’m sure it’s from the stress and him running his fingers through it all day long. Maybe if he cut his fucking hair. Or used gel like the rest of us.

Also, Declan is a total tit guy. He loves them, which is perfect for the job he has.

I guess we’re both kind of lucky in that aspect.

“I’ve heard Zanna is a real catch,” I say after our food arrives.

He takes a huge bite of his burger. “Not interested.”

I drop the subject because honestly, I am not here to be Declan’s matchmaker in his journey to finding a soulmate.

I honestly think there isn’t a woman around who could handle the likes of him.

“So, back to Chelsea.” He squirts a little ketchup on his plate. “She’s trying to start dating now. I don’t know, but just watch her. Make sure the guys are on the up and up.”

“Yeah, of course.” Images of Chelsea bringing guys over to the apartment fire off in my mind. I haven’t had a roommate since Declan back in junior college before I dropped out. And I’ve never lived with a girl.

One brother, only girl I’ve ever lived with is my mother.

So, it will definitely be something to get used to. Then the images switch to all things girly taking over my house.

Makeup in the bathroom. Bras and women lingerie all over the place. Ok, I don’t know what girls do, like I said, I’ve never lived with one. But, I’m sure there’s going to be an overabundance of feminine things.

I’ve lost my appetite.

Just kidding. I’m like Declan, I could eat while watching open heart surgery. Well, maybe not that but I can hold my own.

“What are your plans tonight?”

“It’s Monday. What do we do every Monday night?”

“Just checking to see if you’re still on,” he says.

“Of course I am. It’s a chance for me to win everyone’s money. No brainer.”

“Not tonight. I’ve been studying.”

“Yeah, ok,” I say with a hint of sarcasm. And by hint I mean a lot.

“We’ll all be at your place at seven.”

“Yeah fine.” Hmm, wonder what Chelsea will think of four drunk guys betting on video game battles?

“Tell Chelsea she’ll have to leave,” Declan says through a mouthful of fries.

“Dude, it’s her first night living there. I can’t kick her out.” I crack a smile.

He shrugs as he polishes off his burger. “Whatever. It’s guys night.”

“She’s your sister. You can tell her to leave.”

Chelsea

This is from the bar scene in the first few chapters. In the beginning Declan wasn’t going to know about Chelsea’s modeling job

* * *

eyeing Booker to keep his mouth shut about Chelsea.

We’ve been friends for years, so the secret language is understood. He nods his dark-haired head in understanding.

Problem is, we’ve been friends with Declan just as long, and he knows something’s up.

I won't have to hide my job from Declan. And if Declan doesn’t know, there’s less chance of my father finding out. Yes, I left that little tidbit out earlier. I didn’t really want to get into the psychological dynamics of moving away from my dad and only seeing him during summers and holidays. Seemed a little heavy to lay that on Jonah. ‘Oh, hi. I really don’t want to disappoint my dad with my career choice.’ No, I’m sure he would think it’s silly. And it probably is.

Jonah

DELETED KITCHEN STUFF

So many conversations in the kitchen that didn’t advance the plot

* * *

Her hands run down my stomach, tickling me, causing me to laugh.

“Ok, ok, stop.”

“Are you ticklish?” she asks, continuing to run her fingernails down my torso.

I smack her hand away. “No,” I say, smiling.

“Oh my God, yes you are.”

She chases me around the kitchen for only a moment before I grab my camera off the counter and snap her picture.

This stops her.

“Say cheese,” I say, taunting her. I laugh.

She poses for the camera and I snap a few shots.

Chelsea

Another Sex Scene

He pushes the tip inside, and I moan. It feels so good. It stretches me out, and I smile as he pushes in further.

“I love the way you feel,” he breathes against my skin.

And then he keeps pushing, and pounding. My legs wrap around his back, my feet dig into his ass. I grip his shoulders, hanging on for everything.

His rhythm is unmasked. The way he slams into me makes my body go bezerk. I’ve never reacted this way before.

I go wild. I go crazy.

I claw at his back and he growls in my ear. Pumping, thrusting, and jamming into me. It feels so, ahh, I’m so close again.

I match his movements, biting along his shoulder as my body quickly builds. “Oh God,” I moan.

“You make me so hard all the time. Do you like knowing that I want to fuck you all the time?”

I smile. My heart beating so fast I fear it may rip out of my chest. “Yes, Oh, Jonah.”

“I can’t stop thinking about you. I jerk off thinking about being inside you.”

Thrust.

“Your body's so tight. Your pussy feels so good,” he groans.

Thrust.

And now I’m lost. I no longer can remember anything before this moment. Nothing else matters. This is the beginning of something special. My heart expands. My dreams come true as his eyes gaze into mine, searching straight through to my soul. It’s magical.

It’s unlike anything I’ve ever had before.

His words carry me on. Closer and closer. Bringing me right to the edge. I scream, and yell. I moan and beg.

I tell Jonah I don’t ever want anyone else. I tell him he’s the only one I want.

He tells me he wants the same.

And somewhere during it all, I come so hard all over him.

He keeps pushing, at a thunderous pace. “I’m gonna come, baby.” And he does, pulsing inside me.

My body shivers, and he wraps a strong arm around me after he disposes of the condom.

We spoon, and it’s something I never imagined him doing, but I love every second of it.

“Sweet dreams, Chelsea,” he whispers by the light of the moon.

“You too.” And I drift off to sleep.

Chelsea

ANOTHER SEX SCENE

I always end up with a few extra sex scenes while writing

* * *

I want him, and I kiss his neck, and up to his ear, nibbling it between my teeth. “Take me,” I say, sounding like a classic movie like Gone With The Wind or something.

But he doesn’t seem phased by it, his heated eyes land on me, and he growls my name.

And then it is on. He picks me up and straddles me onto his lap. Yes.

I kiss his mouth full on. Sucking his bottom lip, gripping the sides of his face, and grinding along his cock. I’m so turned on, and it’s like a flip has switched because I’ve turned into this little minx. I rock into him as he grips underneath my apron and grabbing onto my ass.

He groans against my lips.

It’s almost too powerful to gaze at him sometimes. His great appearance and sexy attitude make him hot beyond compare.

I slip my panties off as he takes off his jeans and boxers.

I lick my lips.

“Hop on. This ride’s all for you,” he says, huskily, sexily.

I climb on top of him, grinding my body against his. He rolls a condom down his length and guides it right to my opening.

He fills me up and I slam my eyes shut. It’s too much and everything all at once.

It’s everything I want and then some.

I love it. I love the way his dick feels inside me.

He kisses my neck, and it sends shivers coursing through me. I feel it everywhere. Every little nerve ending bursts with a feeling of satisfaction.

“I love your kisses,” I tell him.

“I love kissing you.”

His confession warms me up.

I ride his dick, back and forth, up and down. It feels amazing. It’s as if every star in the sky shines down on us tonight, giving us their blessing and lighting up the night just for us. As if no one else in the world deserves their light.

Jonah is worth it though. He deserves all the flames each star emits. He deserves the night sky in all its glory.

I shut my eyes as he grips my hair with his hand. My body builds and builds. Climbing, reaching, flying until I can’t take it anymore and I’m shouting his name as he pumps into me.

“Don’t stop,” I cry out.

“I won’t.” His mouth hangs open and I take the opportunity to kiss him. Another soul-searing kiss filling his mouth with my tongue.

His tongue tastes mine, and together we tumble into an endless edge of bliss. A tumultuous thunderstorm of orgasms and pleasure.

Passion and desire come together mixing into a perfect cocktail of love.

Who will save me now?

I don’t think anyone can. I’ve had feelings for Jonah for too long.

A school-girl crush, turned into something so much more.

His protection, a vision of a life together all bend together to let me know I’m still alive.

He keeps pumping as he sucks along my neck. “I love the way you taste,” he groans.

Yes, keep tasting me. Keep making me feel like the sexiest woman alive. Keep feeling me Jonah. Oh God, it’s all so good.

I want to tell him things. Tell him everything about me. I want to tell him I’ll never leave him. That I want him always.

My orgasm is close, and I squeeze onto his shoulders. “Don’t stop,” I say again.

“Chelsea, never.” And I believe him.

My climax rains down on me like a weathering storm, battering my insides with an insane amount of feelings. I keep grinding as he thrusts a few more times, moaning and groaning. His growls turn me on even more.

He grunts and husks out he’s coming, and the sound of his deep voice makes me lose control again.

I cling harder than I ever have to him, never wanting to let go. Wanting him forever.

Jonah

Fight Scene 225

I had actually written the fight scene about 5 or 6 times. Which many of them were deleted. Chelsea just kept coming off very mean and unlikable.

* * *

Singing and swaying her hips a bit as earbuds fit snug in her ears.

I step up behind her, placing my hand on each hip. She startles a little, then leans her head back into my chest.

“Hey you,” she says, spinning around. When she catches what I must look like, she asks, “What’s wrong?”

“I need to talk to you.”

“Oh no.” She follows me to the living room, and sits next to me on the couch.

“Chelsea, when we…” A knock at the door interrupts my words.

I bound off the couch, and answer the door.

“You have a lot of explaining, asshole,” Declan barges through the door, thrusting a tabloid magazine in my face.

Chelsea leaps from the couch, rushing over. “What’s going on?”

“What is this?” I grab the magazine, and read the headline.

Oh fuck.

No.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Declan grabs it from my hands and gives it over to Chelsea. She reads it. Her eyes going majorly wide.

“Oh no,” she mumbles as she reads the headline ‘New Hollywood actress spotted out with her husband’

“What the fuck, guys?” Declan slams the front door and heads deeper into the house.

“I can explain,” I say, but what do I say? What the fuck do I say?

Chelsea and Declan sit on the couch, both waiting for me to continue.

I scrub a hand down my face. Let me get one more fuck out. “Fuck.”

It always makes you feel better.

“Maybe they just thought we were married? It’s just a mistake. These tabloids are always wrong,” Chelsea says.

“Read the article. They found a marriage certificate from Vegas.” Declan fists his hands together.

“Fuck,” Ok, needed one more, “listen, Chelsea, it was that night. We got too drunk and ended up married. I thought I could get it annulled and everything would be fine.”

Chelsea’s phone rings. “Oh, God, it’s my agent. Oh no, she’s probably seen this.” She gets up from the couch and heads off to her room.

“Look, man. I’m sorry. We were both drunk. I just happened to remember.”

“Yeah, you should have told me. But,” He shrugs. “Maybe you should have told her more.”

“Yeah.” I rub a hand over my shoulder, trying to ease some of the tension building there.

“I gotta go.” He leaves the house.

I sit as patiently as I can, tapping my feet waiting for Chelsea to come out of her room.

When she finally does, a few tears build up in her eyes. “They’re pissed. They wanted me to have this innocent girl persona. And I guess innocent girls don’t get drunk in Vegas and get married.”

“So, are you not doing the movie?” I stand from the couch and head in her direction.

Her shoulders lift, then slump back down. “I don’t know. I have a meeting tomorrow.”

“Fuck, I’m so sorry.” I go to wrap my arms around her, but she brushes them away.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asks, shaking her head.

“I don’t know. I guess I thought I could handle it on my own.” I gaze into her baby blues, praying she forgives me. “I’m sorry.”

“If I had known I could have told the producers. They could have hid it, or something.” She appears completely defeated.

“I’m sorry,” I say again.

“No, this has almost cost me my career. You lied to me Jonah. You lied,” she says, tears spilling down her cheeks.

“I tried to tell you, but with everything happening, it was just never the right time.”

She shakes her head again. “What good is a relationship if it isn’t built on trust.”

“I don’t know that movie.”

“Oh my God, it isn’t a movie quote, Jonah. It’s real life.”

“I’m sorry I lied, we’ll get it fixed. We’ll get the annulment.”

She steps away from me. “You know who you are?”

I stuff my hands in my pockets, my heart cracking. “Who?”

“You’re Blanche DuBois,” she says, pointing her finger at me.

“What? No, I’m not.” What is she saying?

“Yes, you are. You’ve been lying to everyone.”

I shake my head, stepping closer. “No, I haven’t.”

“But, most of all, you’ve been lying to yourself.” Tears stream down her face as she backs away more.

“What? How?”

“You dated so much, because you were afraid of anything real. You act like you’re happy working at Bunny Hunnies.”

“I am happy,” I say.

“No, you’re not. You can’t get out of your own fantasy life. Just like Blanche,” she says, rushing off to her room.

I follow after her. “Chelsea, you’re wrong. I’m happy with my life. I’m happy with you in my life.”

She slams the door, but I don’t budge.

When she finally exits with a bag in her hand, she brushes past me. “I’m staying with my brother.” She stops, and turns around. “Give me some time.”

“Chelsea, come on.” I can’t believe this is really happening.

She shuts the front door, and I slink onto the couch. Reliving the past hour of my life.

But, the more her words sink in, the more I think about everything.

Chelsea

Agent Meeting Scene

In the beginning, Chelsea was going to keep the movie deal and have a big blow out. But, I needed a real good reason for her to be mad with Jonah, and well losing a movie deal is one of them

* * *

Later in the evening, I lay my head down on the couch, and try to get some sleep. My head spins with uncertainty.

I said some very mean things to Jonah. It’s me who should be begging for forgiveness.

I just wish he would have told me, why wouldn’t he?

I close my eyes, fearful of my meeting with my agent tomorrow.

* * *

The next day, bright and early I travel to my agent’s office. Nerves are on high alert. I repeat, my nerves are a jumbled mess.

“Ah, Chelsea. Have a seat, please,” Carol says as I enter her office.

The walls are plastered with famous movie posters, and sitting in two chairs beside her desk are Les and Gary.

My nerves kick into overdrive.

Another lady sits beside Carol, and she sizes me up with her gray eyes.

“Chelsea, this is Tori Adams, your publicist.”

I shake her hand and then have a seat across from everyone.

Right behind Carol is a movie poster of A Streetcar Named Desire, and my emotions mix with my nerves and I sit dormant waiting for someone to speak.

“So, I’ve already contacted the press, and my team is working on hiding the story,” Tori says in a shrill voice.

“Hide the story?” I ask.

“Chelsea, are you married? Why didn’t you tell us?” Gary asks, appearing like I stole his favorite kitten.

“It’s complicated. It was a drunken night in Vegas…” I can’t even continue my sentence before Les cuts in, “Oh, so is there an annulment in the works? Or are you and he together?”

I shake my head. “Well, I’m not really sure. I was too drunk, I didn’t even remember…” Again I’m cut off.

“But, you’re a couple now? This is all so confusing, and not very good for business,” Tori spits out.

I don’t like her very much.

“If I can offer my two cents,” Carol starts. “I think we should play up the marriage thing. High school sweethearts, in love. It really gives off the wholesome image we’re going for.”

“High school sweethearts?” I ask.

“Yeah, we did some digging. Jonah and you attended the same high school before you moved to Texas, but you already know that,” Les says.

“And besides, we’ve already given you the stage name of Chelsea Sinder, but it’s so early in the game Chelsea Marshall has a much better ring,” Carol says.

“Oooh, people can wonder if she’s related to Penny Marshall,” Gary says.

“Now that’s a great idea,” Les says.

“Them being drunk in Vegas doesn’t bother anyone?” Tori snarls.

“The only people who knew they were drunk are sitting in this room.”

My mind has drifted, listening to these people who don’t know or care about me decide my fate. I glance at the movie poster. Marlon Brando’s grip on Vivien Leigh.

“I still think we handle the annulment, and they break up,” Tori says.

His grip on her. My mind drifts to a darkened theater, late at night. Jonah leaning so close.

“If they stay married, we can even get a baby after the movie releases. What do you think?” Les asks.

The smell of Jonah’s cologne wafting through my nose. Wanting to kiss him. Wishing and praying he would lean closer.

“I can put the paperwork in for the name change now,” Carol says.

Wandering still, us making love over and over. Wanting him for so long.

“Wait,” I say, jumping from my seat. “Don’t I get a say in all of this?”

All eyes are on me, and they all are shocked. Like maybe I’m the first person to ever interrupt.

“I’m the publicist, and I still say they break up.” She moves closer to me. She plays with my hair. “I mean, are you happy with a guy who didn’t tell you?”

I shake my head. “I won’t have my life dictated like this. Whether I want to stay with Jonah or not should be my choice.”

“We know, dear. We’re just urging you to break up,” Tori says.

“Enough.” I can’t believe these people.

“Chelsea, why don’t we all take a step back.” Carol closes her eyes and raises her hands, putting her fingers in a meditation Ohm pose. “Breathe.”

“No. If I want to stay with Jonah or not, it’s my decision.”

Gary and Les exchange a look of shock with each other.

“Carol, are you kidding? I’m the publicist. I say they break up,” Tori says, circling the room with her Blackberry in hand.

“Listen, if I have to break up with him, then I quit.”

Everyone’s jaws drop.

“Ok, I voted for the marriage. We can even do an official wedding in New York, maybe in the Gardens?” Gary gushes.

I shake my head. “I haven’t decided that either. I know Jonah and I need to talk whenever we’re ready.” I lift my chin. “But, whatever we decide, it’s our decision.” I move toward the door. “And whatever we decide, I’ll let you know.” I place my hand on the doorknob, after slinging my bag over my shoulder. “And, if that’s not good enough for you...then fire me.” I open the door and step over the threshold. Leaning my head back in the door, catching everyone’s eyes as big as quarters, I say one last thing, “Oh, and Carol, fire that bitch, I want a new publicist.”

I slam the door.

I may have just cost me my whole career, but I don’t care. That felt too good.

Jonah

I do want more. Right? I want to take pictures I enjoy taking. Maybe even win an award on one of my photos.

Like why else would I go through the trouble of having a website? For more, right?

“Hey man,” Randall says, stepping into my office.

“Hey.”

“Still radio silence from Chelsea?”

I shrug and mumble something incoherent. I’ve never been this miserable. This love-sick.

“You need to go and talk to her.”

Yes, I’ve told Randall pretty much everything about the situation. He actually offers some pretty good sound advice, but...it’s all stuff I already know.

I know I should go bust down her door and demand her to talk to me. Sling her over my shoulder, tie her up until she hears me out. Ha. I’m not doing any of those things. Duh.

“I know, I’m just giving her the space and time she needs,” I say.

“Nah, fuck that. You need to go and see her.”

“You know what, you’re right. Sometimes you just have to say fuck it.” I stand and grab my bag.

“Go tell her you love her,” Randall shouts as I rush out of the office.

I plan on telling her, there’s just one place I need to go first.

One thing I need to do.

“Jonah, there you are,” Glenda catches me on my way out the door. She hooks her finger. “Follow me.”

“Glenda, I really don’t have time for this.” I have to go win back my girl.

“Oh, trust me, this you’ll want to see,” she says, leading me into her office.

I sit down, waiting, patiently I might add as she steeples her fingers together and takes a deep breath.

“Suspense is killing me here, Glenda.” I crack a smile.

“Jonah, look at this…” She spins her computer around and I shake my head. Hot damn.

Chelsea

BAR SCENE IN VEGAS

I’d always hated this scene and it was the last scene to be deleted

* * *

“Yes.” I loop my arm through his.

We step up to the bar, beginning our celebratory fun with some champagne. After the bartender slides us each a flute, we toast.

“To taking great pictures,” I say, raising my glass.

“To making great pictures.” He clinks his glass with mine.

“Let the fun begin.” I glance over my shoulder.

He follows my line of sight. “Want to gamble?”

“Surprisingly, that’s the only thing I don’t want to do.”

He tilts his head and raises a brow. “Yeah? You have to at least do one slot machine, ok?”

“Ok. Let’s make a pact to gamble all night but not with money.”

“What exactly do you mean?”

I finish my champagne and set the glass on the bar. “Like wagers.”

“I love the idea. I’ll start. I bet you won’t do a shot of tequila with me.”

“Easy,” I say.

He orders the shots with no training wheels. Training wheels are the salt and lime, he informs me.

The bartender slides us the shots, and we hold them up, clink the glasses, and down the hatch.

I scrunch my face. “Ouch, that burns.”

“It goes down hard, huh?” he asks, setting his shot glass on the bar.

“I don’t mind things going down hard, but that was rough.”

He steps in closer. “All this talk about rough and hard is doing things to me.”

“Oh yeah, what kind of things?” The air sizzles between us.

I take a moment to fall into his eyes. So brown. So beautiful.

I want him to do rough, hard things to me.

He steps back. “Rough, like how you’re going to lose every bet. And hard at how I’m going to try to win.” His voice oozes sexiness, but the mood has evaporated. We’re back to being Chelsea and Jonah, friends.

Even so, my chest warms when he offers a soft smile. “Let’s go explore,” he says, stepping further away from me.

He drops a few bills atop the bar, and again his hand finds its way to the small of my back.

Note to Reader

In this book the characters quote movie quotes to each other. I have italicized all movie quotes in dialogue, instead of using the formal .’ ” seen here.

I did this because it is more eye appeasing, and with some of the formatting, quotation marks were ending on separate lines. So, please be advised.

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Logan Chance’s The Dark Side

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DATE ME

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1. Erik

“It isn’t a secret your dick needs some action.”

“Fuck, Lexi, can you please not talk about my most treasured organ?” I asked as we sat in a side booth at the local diner.

“It’s hardly an organ. But, that’s my point. It’ll shrivel up and fall off if you don’t use it,” she said, flipping her long brown hair over her shoulder.

“I use it plenty.” I picked up my fork and spun it between my fingers before digging into my egg special. This conversation couldn’t be more wrong.

“Oh, please. You haven’t been laid since Gretchen what’s her face, and that was over eight months ago.”

“I don’t know what’s more disturbing here, the fact you remember that, or you’re my sister.”

Lexi, my twin, the female version of me, only with a touch of snarky sass and a foul mouth to make a few sailors blush.

“What are we talking about here?” Marley’s soft voice filled the booth and I cringed. My sisters were double teaming me, and I knew it.

“Erik’s dick,” Lexi answered, through a mouthful of pancakes.

“Ooh, let me get my magnifying glass, and I can join in.” Marley, the baby of the family, pushed on my shoulder, and I scooted over so she could slide in beside me.

“Enough.” My deep voice was firm. “I’m not having this discussion again with the both of you.”

“Touchy. What’s wrong big brother?” Marley picked up the menu and gave me an innocent look. “Did the girl from the coffee shop not work out?” she teased.

The problem with both my sisters was they liked to meddle. And their favorite life to intrude on? Mine.

Lexi pointed her fork at me. “All I’m saying is, you would be a lot happier if you got your dick wet.”

“Tell me again how Jared puts up with you?” I asked.

“Oh, the relationship is still new, and I suck a mean cock. I grab it real good with both hands,” Lexi dropped her fork and wrapped her hands around an imaginary dick, giving a sly grin to Marley, “then, I swivel my head around and go to town.” She laughed as she picked up her fork and knife and sliced into her pancakes.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I asked while they both laughed.

“Nothing,” she said as a dribble of syrup oozed out of her mouth.

“Calm down, Erik. We’re only trying to help,” Marley said as the waitress approached and took her order.

“Yeah, what she said.” Lexi pointed her fork toward Marley and then continued to devour her stack of blueberry pancakes.

“And what makes you both think I even need your help?”

Lexi’s fork and knife fell from her fingers, clattering on her plate. Her head sprang up; mouth open with the remnants of chewed up pancakes. She grabbed her napkin and wiped her mouth while she finished off the food in her mouth. “Ok, shit just got real. You need us Erik. Have you forgotten what next month is?” Lexi asked.

Marley giggled beside me as my face heated. “I told you not to mention next month. I’m going to be doing some rock climbing in an undisclosed location.”

“Oh please, no you aren’t. You’re going,” Marley said firmly, turning over her coffee cup for the waitress to fill. “Just like all of us are going. To show that bitch what she’s missing out on.” The waitresses’ eyes grew wide, but Marley waved her off with an apology.

“Why would she even invite me anyways?” I asked, totally deflated once again.

“You know exactly why. Our moms are best friends. Mom doesn't realize she’s a life-sucking whore. And because Steffie wants to make everyone else just as miserable as her,” Lexi chimed in.

“On her wedding day?” I popped a slice of bacon into my mouth as both Marley and Lexi laughed.

“Of course on her wedding day. Bitches want everyone miserable on their wedding day,” Lexi said.

I shook my head; the mysteries of women being revealed a bit more by my sister’s warped minds. “I don’t think most girls think like that.”

“Ok, not most, but Steffie Jamison sure the fuck thinks like that.”

Steffie, Stefany Jamison, my ex-girlfriend who I dated for five years and now the fiancée to a man she met while on an African safari a few months back. The point was, we broke up last year, and I was over her. But, when her wedding invitation came in the mail, I was once again devastated.

Not because I wanted her back, but because she was happy without me.

“You need a smokin’ hot date,” Marley said when her pancakes arrived.

I passed the syrup over after she nudged me with her knee.

“Erik, you not only need a smokin’ hot girlfriend, but you need to move on. I like to see those blue eyes happy. Let me see the baby blues.” Lexi snapped her fingers in front of my face as I closed my eyes.

Both my sisters liked to tease me about my hypnotic blue eyes or so they called them. I tried not to smile as their teasing continued.

“Seriously, all I’m saying is you need to find someone. Why haven't you?” Lexi persisted. “You’re a good-looking guy. Tall, lean, that slightly just fucked looking hair.” She winked at Marley. “And you’ve got those full lips just like me.” She made a kissy face and I glared at her. “And that’s why I called this meeting.”

I knew it. My assessment was right; this was an ambush.

“Meeting?” I asked.

“We kind of have something to tell you,” Marley said in a voice which I knew meant she had already done something I would not be too happy about.

“Tell me,” I demanded.

“It’s nothing really,” Marley hedged.

“Tell me, now.” Trying to get information from the two of them was like interrogating a national spy. Sometimes the thought of torturing them came to mind.

“Weeellll,” Marley drew out the word.

“Oh, for fucks’ sake, just tell him,” Lexi interrupted. “We made a profile for you on the new dating app, Cupid’s Happy Hearts.”

My mouth grew dry and my face burned with irritation. “Are you fucking kidding me? I don’t want to be on some stupid Cupid’s Crappy Farts or whatnot. I’m going to kill you both.” Anger shot through me as I thought more and more about the events of next month and my sisters’ meddling.

Marley turned in the seat, and her green eyes locked with mine. “Listen, Erik, we did this out of love. We don’t want you to show up to Steffie’s wedding alone.”

“Who cares. Steffie will be getting married not worrying about who my date is.” I shoved my plate away, too disgusted to eat. Disappointment washed over Marley’s face and I sighed. My baby sister was my weakness. “How many messages?”

“That’s the spirit,” Lexi said. “Well, you’ve received a few arrows and winks. And about seventeen messages.”

I sat back against the red vinyl booth, crossing my arms, as I listened to Lexi explain each message in detail.

“There’s one girl we like a lot. Lexi tell him about the one girl,” Marley exclaimed.

“Go ahead, Lexi, tell me about the one girl.” I stayed in my position praying the vinyl would suck me away, and I could return home.

“Her name is Violet, and she’s a saucy real estate agent.” I raised a brow and she held up her hands in mock surrender. “Her words not mine. Anyways, she’s twenty-eight, and she seems like a good match with you.” Lexi pushed her plate to the center of the table and crossed her legs in the booth. She leaned over with both elbows on the table and widened her eyes, waiting for my response.

“Oh, really. Why’s that?” I asked.

“Well, she likes airplanes.” Lexi placed her feet back on the floor, her nervous energy getting the best of her.

“Did she say that? Did she say she liked planes?” Lies, I could see right through Lexi.

“Not in so many words,” Marley interjected, placing her hand on my arm, “but she recently went on a trip on a plane.”

I dropped my head, staring into my lap, and shook my head. “You two are really reaching here. Fine, how about you give me the login info, and I’ll check it out.”

These two were relentless, and they would never give up unless I gave them something. They both squealed with delight, and I felt I had just signed my own death sentence. But, the truth was, I did need a date for Steffie’s wedding. As much as I wanted to ignore the fact, her wedding was coming, and I would not be the only dateless mother fucker there. No, I’d have a date, and I’d flaunt that bitch right under Steffie’s fake nose.

After the ambush at the diner, I returned to work with the login info to the crappy cupid site stuffed in my back pocket.

“How was breakfast?” Connor asked as I walked into the hangar and grabbed the pre-flight checklist clipboard.

“Breakfast with the sisters. What do you think?”

“That’s shitty. What did they want this time?” he asked, following me over to the Gulfstream.

The sleek private jet was fueled and ready to take its owners to the Caribbean Islands. The owners traveled to the islands a few times a week, and Connor and I made sure they got there.

As captain of the Gulfstream, and Connor as my co-pilot, we usually spent many nights sleeping away from our homes.

“Get this, they put me up on some dating phone app.” We climbed the stairs to the jet and entered. The flight attendant was there making sure the cabin was in pristine condition. We waved to her, headed into the cockpit, and shut the door.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Which one?” Connor ran a hand through his short, auburn hair and laughed.

“Cupid’s Crappy Shits And Giggles. I can’t remember the name.”

“I think I’ve heard of that one.” Connor laughed. “Anyone hot on it?”

“I haven’t even looked yet,” I said.

“So, what’s the big deal? Find some pussy on the site and move on.”

I shook my head before placing the headset on my head. A rap on the door had me biting back my words. I didn’t need to find pussy on a dating app to move on. If I wanted pussy, I could get it.

“Hi, boys. The guests will be here shortly. Did either of you need anything?” Selene, our flight attendant, asked.

“No, thanks. I’m all set,” Connor answered.

“What about you, Captain,” she slowed the word captain, dropping her voice an octave or two.

“I’m fine, Selene.” Selene was relentless in her pursuit of me. “Thank you.” Never fuck a flight attendant. That was my number one rule all through flight school. Especially on this gig. I loved this job.

She smoothed the side of her dark bun and turned on her heel, closing the door behind her.

“Man, fuck. She wants your cock,” Connor said, going over his pre-flight checklist. “Take her to the wedding.”

“Nah, I don’t want that. I’m not looking for anything serious.”

“Steffie really did a number on you, huh?”

I stared at all the knobs and gauges in front of me. “Yeah, and I’ll never make that mistake again.” And I wouldn't. I would never fall in love. My mind was already made up.

2. Erik

Once we landed on the island of St. Thomas, I made my way lazily to the penthouse suite I always stayed in when flying Mr. Bartlett and his family around.

I retrieved my phone from my pocket and glanced at the screen. Marley had sent a few text messages apologizing for Lexi, while Lexi sent a few apologizing for not yelling at me sooner.

Emptying the contents of my pockets, I gazed at the crumpled napkin from the diner with the login info scribbled onto it. Did I really want to do this? Guess it couldn't hurt to at least check it out.

I grabbed my phone, plugged in the info, and took a deep breath. Oh, fuck. I’m going to kill them.

My profile was nothing but idiocracy devised by my sister's lack of creativity.

Profession: A kickass pilot.

Hobbies: Kicking ass.

Favorite Quote: “Kicking ass and taking names.”

Did these girls not put any thought into my profile at all? A notification pinged before I could read any further.

A message in the app appeared from Violet, the saucy real estate agent. I squinted my eyes, bringing the phone closer to try and make out her picture. It appeared it had been taken in the Stone Ages, and I wasn’t too sure this was even the right decade for her hairstyle.

I read the message:

Hey sexy,

Care to meet up? Send me a message for a time and place.

Xoxo, Violet

Violet wasn't the only one who had messaged me. My gaze drifted down to the next message:

Hi,

Kickass pilot sounds interesting.

Answer back and let’s get the kickass party started.

Helen

Message after message, all reading the same in varying forms—they wanted to meet. I couldn’t find anyone interesting to even reply to. Finally, I stopped on one message which piqued my interest:

Hey,

I’m a normal girl looking for a normal man to get to know. I’m a lot of fun, just ask my best friend. She decided I had to share my fun on here.

I sent you a few arrows because that shit is fun.

Ah. It appeared this girl had been played on the site by someone meddling just like me. I glanced at her profile. Belinda. A picture of a golden retriever with soulful eyes stared back me. I smiled and decided to write back.

Great picture.

Now, is that a recent photo? I wouldn’t want to be duped into thinking you’re someone you’re not.

Thanks for the arrows. They’ll be used to hunt and shit.

I tossed my phone on the bed and moved to the en suite bathroom. A shower was needed and as I thumbed off the rest of my clothes, I turned the water all the way to hot. The steaming water helped relax my shoulders as I clung onto any ounce of dignity I had left. A dating site? Really, Erik? What was I thinking?

I grabbed the bar of soap and scrubbed over my tired muscles. I wanted to forget about Steffie’s wedding and everything it would bring. My mother was excited, and along with my sisters, couldn’t wait to attend.

I, on the other hand, was dreading every minute of it. Why did I have to be invited, anyways? Sure, our moms were friends, but our breakup was harsh. Mom didn't realize that, though. Only my sisters knew. It was a shit-or-get-off-the-pot kind of ordeal. Steffie wanted to get married; I wanted to keep dating. Why the rush? I was committed to her, so why did I need to put a ring on it?

Her father urged me every day to pop the question. The more he prodded, the further it pushed me away from the idea. I loved her, but I wouldn’t be forced into my nuptials. So, according to Steffie, I was a commitment phobe, she was wasting her time with me, and she moved on.

I worked the shampoo into my short dark hair and rinsed. Once I stepped out of the shower, I grabbed a towel hanging on the rack and moved closer to the mirror. Gripping the edge of the hard marble with both hands, I gazed into my foggy reflection. What the fuck was I thinking? I swiped my hand along the glass and stared into my eyes. For my mother’s sake, I would be the bigger person and show up to her wedding and then push it all into the past right where she belonged.

When I left the bathroom, I wrapped the white towel tighter around my waist and glanced at the clock. It was still early, so I grabbed the hotel phone and called for room service.

After the food was ordered, I picked up my cell phone. A new message from the site appeared. Belinda.

Hunting is kickass.

Hey, the picture is about 2 months old, and let me tell you how much I’ve grown.

Hope that won’t be a problem. But, I’m sure you’ll love leashing me up and taking me for a walk.

What about you? Are you really that sexy?

Leashing her up, that got my attention. I cracked a smile when I read the word sexy and already had the reply button hit and typing her reply.

Leashes are kickass.

Sexy? That’s like asking if the Miami Heat are kickass.

What do you do for fun besides chewing your owner’s shoes and barking at the mailman?

I smiled and flipped on the TV as I waited for Belinda to respond. The last of the Miami Heat basketball game was on, and I threw on my black gym shorts. Making myself comfortable on the bed, I swiped my phone off the pillow next to me and watched Bosh sink another shot. Another message sat pending in my inbox on the Cupid site, and my heart pumped with excitement.

You’re right the Heat are kickass.

For fun, I enjoy making baked goods, but I enjoy eating them even more. I also love to dance.

What about you? Hot shot pilot, huh? Commercial or private?

I only barked at the mailman once when he dropped the box to my Kindle I ordered. He deserved it.

I smiled and wondered what she looked like. Many ideas sprang to mind, but, for now, I was having fun.

Dancing and eating is a great combo, especially when done simultaneously. I fly a private jet for a family. I’m in the Caribbean right now, as a matter of fact. I guess for fun I enjoy flying, watching basketball, and barking at the mailman.

What color hair do you have? I see in the photo on your profile you have yellow. Is that your natural hair color?

I shouted as the Cavaliers scored another free throw. Fuckers. My hand kept reaching for my phone as I kept checking every two seconds for a response from Belinda. A knock at the door had me springing from the bed, and as I answered I heard my phone ping with the sounds I’d been waiting for.

Handing the man a few bills for a tip, I took the silver domed platter from him and set it on the table before checking my phone. Disappointment surged when I saw it wasn't from Belinda, but from Lexi trying to get more information on my dating agenda.

I sat down, opened the dish, and topped my burger. It was mouth-watering as I sank my teeth into the buttery toasted bun. The toppings mingled with the char-grilled meat to create perfection in my mouth. My phone pinged and my chewing stopped. Setting the burger down, I raced over to grab it.

Private jet? You’re right. That is kickass.

No, yellow is not my natural hair color. Again, the photo was taken months ago during a bad wannabe Taylor Swift era. It didn’t work out. I have brown hair and blue eyes. For work, since I know what you do, I run a kickass bakery with my best friend. I’m sure you’re wondering what makes it kickass. Well, my friend, maybe one day I will let you try my cookies.

When do you return to Florida?

I smiled and dropped the phone to continue with my burger. When I was halfway done, my phone rang.

“Yo, let’s go out,” Connor said.

“Give me an hour.” I hung up, not needing any more details. This was a bit of a routine of ours. We’d come to this island and hit the local bar scene while we were here. Same thing, over and over, and I would once again be left to diss Selene’s advances while Connor tried his hardest to get into her panties.

I glanced at the phone in my hand and decided to leave Belinda one more message before I left.

Brunettes are kickass.

Taylor Swift isn’t all she’s cracked up to be, and I’m glad you’ve outgrown that stage.

I can’t wait to eat your cookie. I love cookies.

I return to Florida in two days.

What do you want to do when I get back in town? Want to meet up?

I took a deep breath before hitting send. What if she didn’t want to meet up? What if she was like her picture showed—a complete dog. But, something about her seemed fun. I enjoyed talking to her and wanted to at least give it a shot. Hey, if it didn’t work out, maybe I would at least score a free cookie.

3. Erik

Flying back to Florida, I tried to remain calm. I messaged with Belinda almost the entire time while on the island of St. Thomas, and our conversations turned from fun and flirty to personal real quick. I enjoyed getting to know her.

For the first time in a long time, I was excited.

Somewhere along the way, I lost myself in the hustle and bustle of flying. My life had become sedentary, and I didn’t date. Maybe Lexi and Marley were right. I did need someone.

When I stepped into my high-rise apartment, I tossed my keys onto the glass table by the front door. Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I glanced down and smiled when I saw another message from Belinda.

Don’t you just hate when you lock your keys in your car?

I’m stuck waiting on my friend and wondering if it could get any hotter today.

Hope you’re having a good day, and welcome back to Florida. If I don’t melt, I think we should meet up on Friday.

I grinned as I read the message again. Friday was doable. It was really fucking doable. I typed my reply.

Friday sounds great. Let’s meet at the Clevelander. Around seven?

The leash is optional.

I smiled, pressed send, and went into my bedroom to get ready for another night out with Connor.

* * *

“So, you need a date for Steffie’s wedding? Why don’t you just look around? Plenty of hot girls here.” Connor laughed as he glanced around Club Ariana.

Even over the music, his words rang loud and clear—I was stressing too much about this wedding.

“I met someone on that dating site,” I said, leaning in to be heard over the music.

“Oh yeah? What’s she look like? Big tits?”

I took a long pull of my Heineken as I stared at Connor holding his hands to his chest to mimic a nice set of boobs.

“I haven’t actually met her yet, but I will on Friday.”

He drew his brows together. “You’ve seen her photo though, right? Come on give me the deets.”

“No, I haven’t seen her photo either.”

Connor perched his elbow on the wood table, leaning closer before hitting me over the head with his left hand. “Are you a fucking moron? What if this girl is a complete hag?”

I sipped my beer through my grin and set the bottle back down. “I don’t know man. She seems cool.”

“You pussy lacking mother fucker. That’s your problem right there, you need to stick your dick into something, and quick. Check it out.” He pointed to a blonde seated at the bar, and my eyes locked with hers from across the room.

She was stunning in a short red dress held up by two thin straps. My heart hammered in my chest. Connor waved his hand in front of my face as I smiled to her. “Go talk to her.”

Forcing my eyes away from her, I shook my head as I held tight to my bottle of Heineken. Connor set his beer down and stepped away from the table. He grinned. “Wish me luck.”

I laughed and raised my beer to my lips. He made his way over to her, and I laughed even harder as she shook her head and he walked back.

“She’s cold. Don’t even bother.”

I was even more intrigued.

She stood from her seat, and I couldn't look away as her sweet, round ass swayed off to the dance floor.

Her shapely hips rocked as she closed her eyes and let the rhythm overtake her. She was a sight to see—both arms above her head, her dress inching up her long pale legs a bit. Her tits bounced slightly as she danced. Nice. They were real. A few men stared along with me, mesmerized, as she continued moving.

“Dude, give up. She’s uppity.” Connor tried to get my attention but my eyes remained glued to her.

After a few minutes of watching her, I resumed chatting to Connor about the previous Heat game.

“I’ll be right back. Need to drain the main vein,” I said as I stood.

Connor shook his head. “If that’s your main vein than I feel sorry for the rest of you.”

I laughed. “I’ll be right back.”

I headed away from the table and skirted past the dance floor in search of the restrooms. When I turned the corner, I ran smack into someone.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” My eyes widened when I saw the blonde from the dance floor.

“Watch where you’re going,” she snapped.

“Let me buy you a drink and make it up to you,” I said, nodding toward the bar.

Her blue eyes were striking, and I smiled as she tugged on the bottom of her dress to reposition it.

“No, I’m ok. I’ll see you around.”

“Are you sure? Come on, let me at least buy you a drink.”

“No, I’m fine. I need to get going,” she said, taking two steps away.

“Can I at least get your name?”

She stopped and glanced over her shoulder and her sweet, pink lips curved upwards. “Kayla.”

As I headed home that night, I thought about Kayla for a second too long. She was unlike anyone I’d ever seen before. Her cute button nose, sparkly light-blue eyes, and her curvaceous body kept my mind occupied as I drove my truck.

When I stepped through my front door my phone lit up with a message from Belinda, and I clicked it open.

Clevelander works for me. I’ll be in a green dress and sitting at the bar. Hope your day has been better than mine.

Maybe you can send a few arrows my way, just for fun.

I opened the app and clicked on the arrow button and sent her a few. She was right, it was fun. The cartoon display of Cupid pulled back his bow and shot the arrows. They would land right on the person’s profile pic, in turn hitting them.

I clicked a few more, just for good measure, and then wrote her back.

I’m sorry you had a shitty day. Hope you got everything taken care of with the car. Want to talk about it? Or in this case, type?

I flipped on the TV and changed my clothes. Sinking onto the soft leather of my sofa, I waited for the ping from my phone. Maybe she didn’t want to discuss her bad night with me, but I hoped she would. Just when I started to doze off, my phone pinged beside me.

It’s ok. I’m much better now. Ever have a day where your whole life is thrown into perspective? You think you’re heading down one path, but life throws a curveball and turns you in another direction.

What got you into flying?

I knew exactly where she was coming from. My life was set on a certain course, until Steffie crushed my heart. Even now, I couldn’t pick up the pieces to better myself. I got up and grabbed a beer from the fridge, cracking it open. As I sank back down onto the couch, I opened the Cupid app to write her back.

Yes, I know the feeling all too well. Sometimes things happen for a reason, or so I’ve been told. I’m still undecided about it all, though.

I was in the military, and, well, planes are kickass. After I left the Navy, I got this job and haven’t ever thought about doing anything else.

I love flying. It’s freeing in a way.

Imagine you’re driving in your car, and the roads are empty. You just drive. Now, multiply that by ten thousand. That’s how flying feels to me.

I hit send and closed my eyes imagining how bad her day was.

The phone pinged another message.

I like that.

All of it.

Sometimes I think my life isn’t destined for much. Don’t get me wrong, I love baking, but I hoped for more.

Are you happy? I know that’s a loaded question, but are you happy?

I thought long and hard about her question and didn’t know how to answer. Almost fifteen minutes went by before I hit the reply button.

No.

I shut my phone off and headed into my bedroom to get some sleep. Tomorrow. I’d meet her tomorrow.

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STUDY ME

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1. Marley

Insanity-noun-extreme foolishness or irrationality.

That's me. I’ve lost my mind, but I can’t help it. Being so close to Professor Houston Dale does this to me. It’s led me to masturbating in the bathroom on a Boeing seven-forty-seven, thirty thousand feet in the air.

My fingertips race over my clit as I close my eyes conjuring up his dark irises, strong hands, his deep voice...oh, God, I’m going to come soon. I’m so wet, and the want swimming through my veins is too powerful to stop.

When we took off from the JFK airport, my nerves were shot from the idea of spending two whole days with my Anatomy professor.

Houston Dale, wait, I’m sorry, Doctor Houston Dale, was asked to speak at a prestigious medical conference in Chicago. As his assistant, he asked me to come along

At first, I was thrilled with the prospect of meeting some of the nation’s most brilliant physicians. In my excitement, I spent hours packing and repacking a variety of clothes—casual, business, even a slinky cocktail dress. My suitcase for this weekend trip is filled with enough outfits for an entire week. Then, my nerves took over. A weekend trip. With Professor Dale. Two whole days of being in close quarters with him, no buffer. Let me explain the problem with this scenario—even if my body doesn't agree, I don't particularly like Professor Dale most days. But, on the other days, I really do. It’s his brain, his intelligence. He’s so smart, and of course, it’s scary. To say he’s intimidating is an understatement. If you don't complete an assignment or if you fail a test, the ridicule is severe. Believe me, I’ve experienced it a time or two.

Miss Murphy, maybe you need to return to high school and learn the fundamentals of education.

Miss Murphy, will you tell your patients you had no time to complete their chart?

Miss Murphy, blah blah blah.

The gorgeous man can be downright terrifying. Keyword, gorgeous. Tall, distinguished, and fucking sexy as hell in his glasses. He's constantly running his hand through his dark waves, his frustration with his students leaving his hair in a sexy rumpled mess. It's distracting. So many times, he's chastised me, not knowing I was focused on the shape of his full lips forming the words. The way they sound coming out in his deep voice. Class is much harder when your Anatomy professor is talking about the human body and you’re checking out his.

Shit, my legs tremble as I try to steady myself in the small confines of the tiny bathroom. A burst of turbulence propels me forward a bit, and I lose focus momentarily. Until I remember the words Houston said to me five minutes before I beelined to the restroom on this airplane to touch myself.

We were sitting side by side, his muscular leg brushing up against mine, our forearms mere hairs apart on the armrest. Just a hint of stubble decorated his chiseled jaw, and I couldn’t stop staring at it. I wanted to touch it, see if it was soft. If it would scrape the sensitive skin on my thighs.

The flight attendant was no help at all. She kept setting those adorable, tiny bottles of vodka on my tray. So, I drank them. One after the other. All while watching him concentrate on the leather-bound note book he wrote in. He has really nice hands. Hands that have held someone's life in them. Obviously, that led to me wondering how they would feel on my breasts. With alcohol coursing through my veins, my imagination took off, like anytime I’m near Professor Dale. I couldn’t stop it. In my fantasy, he wrote about all the wicked things he wanted to do to me. Then, he leaned over, his warm breath fanning across my cheek, “Don’t get too drunk now. I wouldn’t want to have to take advantage of you.”

My green eyes slid to his dark brown, and he laughed, slightly.

I, however, did not.

My pussy pulsed and I excused myself, rushing to the bathroom, consumed with need.

Yes, you’re probably thinking I’m either an idiot who hasn’t had sex in forever, or, I’m a naughty little nympho. Which, as you can see, I fantasize about being his. I mean, uh hello, I’m masturbating here. But, sadly, I’m neither.

All I know is… I’m drunk. Drunk enough to admit to myself, I have a crush on Professor Dale. He may be an asshole, but he's a brilliant one, and for me that's a turn on.

Bracing my hand on the wall, my fingertips circle faster against my clit as I use our boarding the plane for inspiration. The way Houston’s eyes bore into mine, the cramped aisle, his hard body pressed against me. Yesss. His strong hand searing the skin on the small of my back, leading me into the seat.

Bend over the desk. You need to be disciplined.

Fuck, I pick up speed, circling faster. It feels so good. Desire runs rampant in my core imagining Professor Dale spanking my bare ass with a ruler. Another jolt of turbulence causes the walls of the bathroom to shake, and my orgasm crashes through me. Wave after wave of ecstasy. I moan his name as another bump of turbulence hits, this one causing the bathroom door to fling open.

My startled eyes meet his.

Dark.

Mysterious.

Shocked. Wondering what the fuck I’m doing with my skirt up and my hand in my pink panties.

Oh god. He heard me moan his name. Before I slam the door shut in mortification, the side of his lip lifts into a smirk.

One sexy ass smirk.

Fuck me.

2. Houston

February 28th

Two months until the anniversary. Sixty days. Like clockwork, my mood is on a downward spiral. I don’t want to go on this trip. Schmooze top doctors in the field? Who cares? I sure don’t.

I just want to sit in my apartment. Alone.

I definitely don’t want to be sitting next to this beautiful girl.

She’s cute, chugging vodka like it’s water. Like she needs it to live. Watching her legs bounce next to mine is all I can focus on instead of writing my speech. I should be doing that now.

Speech:

Hello, assholes, I don’t give a fuck. Thanks.

Marley just brushed past me to go to the restroom, and her unsteady hand rested on my shoulder a beat too long as she made her way into the small aisle.

Fuck, she smells so good. Like happy memories and sunshine all rolled into one. I almost want to follow her in there. Claim her body for mine.

“Wait, what do you mean you lost our reservation? I called three days ago to confirm.” I’m livid, these buffoons cannot expect me to share a room with my student.

“I’m sorry, sir. We have no record of your reservation,” the front desk clerk of the Hilton in downtown Chicago tells me. Her bright blue eyes are unapologetic as my anger boils.

“Well, check again,” I snap, pointing at her monitor. “It has to be there. I have the confirmation number. Two rooms.”

Her fingers tap against the keyboard of the computer she can’t seem to tear her eyes away from. “Oh, yes, here it is. Dr. Dale. One room, two queen beds.”

I shake my head at her. “No, that’s not correct. I booked two rooms.” I hold up two fingers, hoping she understands me better, because, right now, this chick has no fucking clue.

This is a nightmare. How can I share a room with Marley after seeing her masturbating? I glance over my shoulder at her standing in the middle of the busy lobby, oblivious to the problems I’m encountering at the front desk. She reminds me of a movie star with her brown hair falling in waves past her shoulders.

Her thumbs fly over her phone, texting. My mind drifts back to the plane. Pink panties. Her moaning my name. It's been a long time since a woman screamed my name, and maybe something I need to rectify, because my dick was hard instantly. Part of me wanted to step inside the bathroom and continue what she had started. The other part knew I could never do it.

“Sir, I’m sorry.” The clerk pulls my attention back to her. “I only have you booked for one room.”

“Ok, book me for two,” I demand. “I need two rooms. I have my student assistant with me. We can not share a room.” I tap my fingers on the marble counter to calm my frustration.

Her eyes narrow back on the computer, and then she glances up at me. “Listen, we’re all sold out due to this medical convention. All the hotels are.” She plasters a fake smile on her thin lips. “So, I have one room for you. I’m sorry.”

She's not sorry. If she were, she wouldn't be challenging me with her too thin eyebrows. But, there’s nothing I can do about it.

“Fine,” I agree, sliding my glasses up to pinch the bridge of my nose. She enters my information and then hands me the key cards.

I walk over to Marley. Her striking green eyes don’t meet mine as I tell her about the situation with the rooms. She hasn't looked at me since she returned from the airplane bathroom.

Silence fills the elevator as we head up to our room. It’s late, and I need to prepare for my lecture tomorrow.

The convention is one day of numerous conferences, and I’m set to speak at seven-thirty tomorrow night, during a dinner with some of the top doctors of the country. I just want it to be over already.

Most men would be nervous. Hell, two years ago, I would have been petrified. But, now...nothing.

If I thought the elevator was silent, the hallway is deadly eerie. The red and gold carpet is Marley’s focus as we approach our room. Maybe I would try to ease the uncomfortable silence if I wasn’t replaying the actions of her in the bathroom on the airplane. It’s wrong, but the sight of her flushed face mixed with the sound of her moaning my name won’t leave my mind. I may be her Professor, but...

I am still human.

I am still a man.

And she is damn hot.

The keycard clicks in the Ilco lock on the door. Stepping aside, I let her in first.

She rolls her small suitcase to the middle of the tan carpeted room and stops, dropping her handbag in the green armchair by the TV stand. “Cozy,” she says, glancing around the small space. It seems even smaller alone in here with her.

“Yeah, sorry about this.” The air in the room is uncomfortable, and she crosses over to the thermostat and adjusts it. I wish I could ease the tension, well, not really. Coddling her isn't my priority. Instead, I toss my suitcase on the bed closest to the bathroom. “Guess I’ll take this one.”

With her eyes still not meeting mine, she deposits her suitcase on the other bed, unzipping it. Only a foot apart will separate us when we sleep tonight. Which, let’s face it, I never sleep much anyway.

“I’m going to take a shower,” she says, grabbing a change of clothes from her suitcase. She does it so swiftly, it's almost comical. Until I get a glimpse of white lacy panties in her hand. I loosen my tie. Why is it so goddam hot in here? Her face heats when she follows my gaze to the thin scrap of material in her hand. She pulls a toiletry bag from her suitcase and rushes into the bathroom.

Closing my eyes, I pinch the bridge of my nose. I need a fucking drink.

“I’m going to the bar downstairs,” I call out to the closed bathroom door. The hiss of the shower sounds. Is she naked?

I need out of here.

Five minutes later, I sip my scotch and stare at the liquor bottles behind the bar.

This situation is fucked up. Never have I had to fight an attraction to a student. She’s showering right now. Fuck. My cock stiffens as thoughts of her soapy figure come to mind. She's shorter than my six foot frame by at least half a foot, breasts full enough to fill my large hands, and her ass is perfection. What I wouldn’t give to bust in through the bathroom door and take her from behind in the shower.

But, I won’t.

I won’t lose control ever again.

I need control. My life is a fucking mess.

And it’s all my fault.

Shame fills me as I think about everything that’s led me to this point in my life.

A failure.

That’s me.

I once lived and loved Chicago; a shining star, one of the top doctors in my field. I devoted my time to work and loved saving lives.

So, why am I now a professor at NYU? Yeah, good question.

It’s hard to pinpoint exactly when your life heads down the wrong path. One day you wake up and there you are—in a different state, doing a job you don’t really love.

I hate teaching. And my students hate me. I'm aware of the whispers and rumors about me. Some have called me one of the hardest, most difficult professors on campus. I take pride in that. Life is hard, messy even. They'll have to learn the hard way.

It makes me sick watching the students, day in and day out, enter my classroom, their hopeful hearts mesmerized by the dream of being a doctor. Once, that was me.

Saving lives was my calling, my one true mission. Now? I’m a miserable has been.

Giving myself a cheers in the mirror behind the bar, I down the rest of my scotch and signal the bartender for another. Laughter catches my attention, and I spot a few of my old colleagues sitting at a table not too far from me.

Shit. I try not to be seen, hoping like hell they don’t notice me. No such luck.

“Dr. Dale, over here,” William calls out across the small room. His bulky frame presses along the buttons of his Oxford shirt as he signals his hand as if I can't see him.

I lift my glasses and rub my eyes momentarily. Smiling, I grab my drink and head over. No avoiding the unavoidable.

The three men, all bald, all older than me, sit at a glossy wooden table. Empty glassware overloads the table, and I laugh for a second before I take a seat. Elton John belts out a sad song about a candle or something from the sound system, and the ambience in the bar lets me know it’ll soon be closing time. Thank God, this torture should be short-lived.

“Hello, long time,” I greet them. My voice is smooth, solid, not giving a hint of the animosity I feel. A long time has passed since I’ve seen these men. I silently wish it could have been longer. I’d rather be anywhere than here. Where I want to be is in the shower with my assistant.

“Dale, how are you?” Gary, a prominent Doctor at Chicago Hope, asks. Here it comes. “My nose has healed, thanks for asking.” And here comes the rest. “I know you had a rough go, so I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt. Spoke to your father, I hear you’re teaching Anatomy over at NYU now?”

I lean back in my chair, stretching my legs out, eyeing him over the crystal tumbler filled with Scotch. Downing it, I let the burn subside before I finally answer, “I owe you an apology. I'm sorry. But, that was a long time ago. And yes, you hear correctly.”

Gary and William exchange an expression of pity, and already I want to bail. There's nothing worse than pity. The need to escape crawls up my spine and nearly lifts me from the chair. I have to get out of here.

“NYU’s a great school,” Charles adds. “How’re you liking it?”

When I worked at Chicago Hope, Charles was an advisor of mine. He's a good man, always looking for the positive that doesn't exist. One of the top neurosurgeons in the world, he can do miracles with the human brain. I’m half-tempted to have him work on mine, so I can stop thinking about a certain naked student I have up in my room.

I choose the lesser of two evils and decide I’d rather fight the temptation of my student than sit here another minute.

Standing, I toss some bills on the table and finally give him the truth before leaving, “I fucking hate it.”

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SAVE ME

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1. Cryin’

Semper Fi Motherfucker

Life. Life has a funny way of turning things inside out and upside down. Joining the military was supposed to be fun, and it was at first. It was something I felt very deeply about, fighting for my country, defending our lands. College paid for? Sign me up.

But, it changed me. It took me from the boy I joined as and made me into a man. The journey wasn't always easy. It was hard as fuck, actually. There were many times during boot camp I was ready to give up. Many times, while stationed in Afghanistan I wanted to quit. But, I never did.

Of course, I never did. I didn’t fight for a greater purpose. No, I fought for my fellow comrades, the men serving alongside me. My friends.

I went into the military right out of high school, wanting to live a bigger and better dream. What I got was a culture shock to my senses.

I was a boot shipped to Afghanistan right out of basic training.

And my time there is something I want to forget. Improvise, adapt and overcome. That's exactly what I did.

“Wagner, Ryan Wagner?” the nurse calls out.

I nod my head to her before rising from my seat. “That's me,” I say, my 6’4 frame towering over her. She glances up from the chart she's holding and smiles.

The stark white room she leads me into makes my palms sweat. All clean and sterile. I glance at the instruments laid neatly on a silver tray and sit on the small bed, wrinkling the parchment paper.

“The doctor will be right in,” the pretty blonde nurse says as she smiles to me. It’s a nice smile, white teeth and full of reassurance.

The doctor enters, and spectacles and thinning hair encompass the room as his stocky frame takes a seat on the stool. His eyes are glued to my chart, and he hums softly, thumbing through the pages.

Finally, he glances up, observing the specimen sitting on the table. “Ah, Ryan. How are you today, son?”

“Great. The shoulder is still giving me problems.” I’d love to tell you it happened while I was fighting off enemy intruders on our camp or during a raid in the middle of the night, but, nothing that dramatic or thrilling. I injured it during a football game between me and my men. Private Hammel tackled me, and my shoulder has never been the same.

The doctor, Dr. James, slides his glasses further up his nose as he rises to his feet. He pushes and tugs at my shoulder, and the pain is a little unbearable. Ok, more like a lot unbearable.

“I’d like for you to meet with a therapist, a physical therapist. I’ll refer you,” he says, making notes.

“Thanks,” I say, rubbing my tender shoulder as he sets the chart down.

Dr. James grabs the light shining thing and shines it in my eyes. “Any headaches?”

“No, no headaches,” I say, choking on the tongue depressor he’s now trying to kill me with.

He lifts his lips, only slightly, as he checks my ears and heartbeat.

After finishing his examination, and giving me his stamp of approval, he says I'm good to go.

I hop into my red truck, remembering back to when I arrived home only a few months ago. My mother picking me up at the airport with a big smile on her face. Her eyes lighting up two shades brighter than the sun as she saw her little boy return home. I was happy to be home as well. But, when the questions overwhelmed me of my time spent overseas, I clammed up.

I didn't want to talk about my time served.

Still don't. Once I get home, my brother, Devin, knocks on my door. “Ready to go?”

“Sure, where are we going?”

He shrugs. “Out. Bar. Anywhere there’s alcohol.”

I laugh. “Sounds good.”

Devin is not only my brother, he's one of my best friends. We’re close in age, and he’s always had my back.

We head out to South Beach, both of us ready to blow off steam. The bars are already packed with a good amount of people, and we decide to go into Mecca. Flashing neon lights bounce off the sweaty, gyrating bodies filling the dance floor as we weave through people on the way to the bar. My eyes roam from one hot chick to the next. A curvy brunette winks at me. Nice.

Devin smirks when he notices me eyeing up a few of the ladies and shakes his head as he orders us both a beer. Not to sound like an asshole, but he knows I'm a pussy magnet. Women love a military man. But, he's not hurting for attention. From what I hear, his band is well known in the local club scene. He’s the lead vocalist for some group, Twisted Monks, he and his friends started a few years ago. I’ve heard a few demo cd’s, but have yet to hear them perform live. That's what happens when you're gone for four years—your brother becomes a local semi-celebrity.

He hands me a beer and I glance the bar once over, and that’s when I see her.

Elizabeth Packer. Lizard. I haven’t seen her since I’ve been back. We were best friends growing up, from as long as I can remember. Since we were knee-high to a grasshopper, plucking seashells from the Miami shore. Since we both could stay the night at each other’s homes with no questions asked. Of course, sleepovers stopped once puberty hit, and I was waking up with morning wood.

Lizard, Lizzy Packer, sits with a group of girls, and I take in her clingy, little black dress and heels. Her long blonde hair tumbles past her bare shoulders. She’s pretty. Beautiful, actually.

“Look who’s here,” I say to Devin, pointing in the direction of Lizzy and her friends.

“Who’s that?” His eyes flit over to her and then back to me.

“Lizzy. You remember her, right?”

He turns back around to get a better look. “Holy shit. She’s hot.”

“Yeah,” I breathe before taking a long pull of my beer.

She’s definitely changed from when we were kids.

I set my beer down, square my shoulders, and make my way over to her.

“Lizard?” I ask, stepping up close to her ear to be heard over the loud beat of the music.

She looks over at me, and her light brown eyes go wide as she smiles. “Oh, my God, Cryin’?”

Her nickname for me makes me cringe. Let me explain something before you hear it from someone else.

Third grade. A huge tree. You’re invincible when you're nine. I felt I could climb to the top, maybe jump from the branches onto another neighboring tree. I was so wrong.

I’ll never forget falling, nothing to break my descent but a rock...I slammed into it hard. Luckily for me, nothing broke. Kid’s bodies are much more resilient to superhero actions and stupid conquests. A few tears might have been shed. Hence, the nickname Cryin’ Ryan.

But, if you call me that I may have to hurt you…and not in the fun, kinky way.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s me,” I answer her, with the biggest shit-eating grin on my face. It feels so good to be talking to her.

2. Lizard

Every girl has that one guy, she has a crush on forever.

Wow, now that’s a blast from the past. It’s been four years since I’ve seen Ryan Wagner. Four years since I've heard from him at all. I forgot how tall he is. Even in my heels, I feel tiny next to him.

He looks good. Really, really good. Gone is the boy from high school and in his place, is this... military man. A very sexy military man with sculpted muscles and chiseled features. I feel like saluting him and doing anything he commands. Ok, no more cocktails for me tonight.

Lexi elbows me as I gawk, and I clear my throat to introduce Ryan and his younger brother, Devin, to my best friends Lexi and Belinda.

“Hey, I've heard you sing,” Lexi says, pointing at Devin. “Remember,” she says to Belinda, “we went out after the Heat game.”

“Ah, Heat fans?” Devin asks, and before you know it, the three of them are lost in a basketball conversation.

“How have you been?” Ryan asks, smiling the boyish grin that used to get him into trouble in high school. It got him out of trouble many times, too. It's its very own lethal weapon.

“I’ve been great. How was the war?” I slur the words, and someone should really take my drink away from me.

Ryan cracks a smile. “Well, I survived. So, I guess that’s a win.”

“I’m glad you’re here.” I lean into hug him, and Ryan’s strong arms wrap around my body, lifting me off the ground. I want to live in this moment. Not wanting him to put me down ever. He smells delicious.

The moment my feet hit the floor, the spell is broken. This is Ryan. I’m not going to act like some school-aged groupie.

No, I did enough of that in high school. So, I reposition my skirt and return my senses back to the friend I have always been to him.

But, fuck he’s gorgeous. And, I know Belinda agrees. She stares at him like he’s the next new item on the value menu at McDonald’s.

I’ll let you in on a little secret, if you haven't guessed already—I had a major crush on Ryan in high school. He never felt the same, and I never pursued anything, but the minute he wrapped his arms around me, and the smell of his cologne wafted over me, it took me right back there. Sixteen and starry eyed. Seriously, someone cut me off.

I push my Margarita away from me and gaze back into his light green eyes as he leans in closer. “How many of these have you had?” He motions to my sour cocktail, and I smile.

“That obvious?”

“It’s cute.” He winks. “Last time I saw you drunk was at Julie’s graduation party.”

Oh god, you know how you have a moment you wish you could take back? That was mine. I was drunk. All the big mistakes start with those three words, don't they? Anyway, he was leaving for the military, and, well, I was feeling sentimental. Liquid courage led me to kiss him that night. There was no tongue involved, just a lingering kiss on his full lips. But, a week later he shipped off to boot camp, and that’s all she wrote. Not that he took it seriously or anything. I shake my head. “Don’t remind me. That was a bad night.”

He shrugs. “Not too bad.”

My cheeks heat. “Yeah, right.” I slap his arm. “I promise we won’t be having a repeat of that night.”

“Oh, that’s too bad.” My eyes widen. Is he serious? He gazes at my lips for a second too long and it warms my skin.

I lean in, contemplating replaying the kiss I planted on Ryan at Julie’s graduation party, but before I can make a fool of myself for a second time, a familiar voice interrupts, “Ryan Wagner?”

I'd know that voice anywhere. It taunted me many times in high school. Ryan's ex-girlfriend, Anna Scott. Maybe girlfriend is too strong. They dated a week before Ryan cut her loose. Casually, I straighten my posture and smile at the girl who hated me for no other reason than I was Ryan’s best friend. Lots of girls did. It wasn't easy being his friend, but I stuck it out.

She gives me a tight smile, and then steps closer to Ryan. “What are you doing here?”

He looks down at her and then steps closer to me. “I'm catching up with Lizzy.”

She looks between us and then barely hides the disdain in her blue eyes. “Well it was good running into you, Ryan,” she says, taking her drink from the bartender. “See you around.”

“Not if I see you first,” I mumble.

Ryan laughs. “She didn't seem very happy to see you.”

“Well, I'm the devil, remember?”

He laughs again, stepping even closer. There is no space left between us. “Yeah, well, where are you hiding the horns in that get up?” Am I imagining we’re having a moment? I really wish I hadn't had that third margarita. His eyes drift down my body as he takes a long pull of his beer.

Devin, Lexi, and Belinda have all abandoned us for the dance floor, and it's suddenly hot in here. Mainly because, here’s Ryan looking sexy as hell, and Connor and his friend, Erik, Lexi’s brother, are coming this way.

Shit.

I’ve been on one date with Connor. Maybe there’s a second date on the horizon, but it’s not something I want to think about right now. I plaster on a fake smile as they walk over. Kayla, Erik's girlfriend, waves to me.

“Hey, Lizzy,” Connor says, walking up to Ryan and I, placing his arm around me. He's posturing, and it’s uncomfortable and my eyes immediately seek Ryan's out. He doesn't seem to mind, so I pretend I don't either.

After I introduce everyone, and explain how Ryan is an old friend from school,

Ryan and Devin end up leaving, and I’m left alone with Connor. But, my mind is all occupied with Ryan Wagner.

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BREAK ME

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Prologue

A brand-new day. A fresh start. Another chance at life. A new beginning.

Ever heard of these phrases? Yeah, well they’re all bullshit. Why? Well, I’ll tell you. The new life you think you’re having isn’t new at all.

Your past mistakes. The hurt you may have caused. The lives you’ve ruined. They’re all still there. Hiding. Dwelling deep within you.

I could have a thousand new lives and it would never erase the people I failed. The mess I caused. The years of heartache I’ve dealt with.

I failed her.

She wasn’t meant for the life I caused.

She was meant for so much more.

But, she couldn’t see that. She hid her pain well. She cried herself to sleep every night, and I never noticed.

I overlooked her sorrow.

And then one day she was gone.

Leaving the rest of us behind. And breaking us all.

1. Katy

“Oh fuck, you like it when I choke you?”

Hell yes. His handsome face, with the faint scar jutting through his left eyebrow, blurs. No one has ever choked me during sex. It's not actually a full choke, just light pressure on my windpipe by his large hand. I am too far gone to even answer this sex God, so I nod. “You're such a dirty girl. Your pussy is so wet for me,” he husks out, tightening his choke hold and driving his thick cock faster into me. I am. I am so dirty. Filthy. I can't tell him, because I can barely breathe.

My ass slides across the cool marble of the bathroom counter as he rams into me. I bump and scoot along the small surface, and the basket of tissues flies to the floor when I reach out trying to get leverage. Tingles ignite low in my belly, fanning out. I'm going to come before he kills me. It's going to be epic.

The heels of my red Louboutin’s dig into his firm ass, pulling him closer to me. My head falls back, and pricks of light fire off behind my eyelids as my orgasm rolls through my body.

I can finally breathe when he releases my throat to grab my ass and lift me off the counter, thrusting into me until his tall, lean body shudders with his own orgasm. “Goddamn,” he mutters.

He slides out, removing the condom and tossing it in the trash can. The swanky bathroom is no longer filled with the grunts and groans of sex, only an awkward silence. My short, red evening gown bunched around my waist is a wrinkled mess. And ripped. Fuck. I shimmy it down covering myself, trying to fix the delicate lace hanging from the bodice. His deep brown eyes meet mine as he tucks his weapon of sex voodoo back in his black tuxedo slacks.

He grabs the tiny bit of dangling lace from my dress and rips it.

“There, you won’t be needing this.” He tosses the material into the trash. “Your eyes are a little bloodshot,” he says, running a hand through his dark hair. “They'll just think you're drunk.”

“What?” I ask, spinning around to look in the gold-framed mirror stretching across the wall. Shit. They are. Worse than the roadmap of my eyes is the love bite on my bare shoulder. Large and purple, where his full lips sucked. It was hot when he bit me, so hot I bit him back, but I'm not sure the wealthy people filling the ballroom will appreciate the hostess of the charity event to save their precious Dales pony looking like a two-dollar hooker.

I lock eyes in the mirror with the sexy stranger behind me. Yes, stranger. The only thing I know about him is his name. Pollux. I'm assuming he must like ponies since he's here tonight.

He reaches out and releases the snake pit of black curls on my head. “Now you really look like you've been fucked.” White teeth rake across his bottom lip. “Should've done that a while ago. I could've wrapped it around my fist.”

Let me just say, I'm not used to men saying these things to me. The men I've been with would rather get off to stock portfolios than pulling my hair. Katy Dale Vanderlin, daughter of a prominent New Jersey physician, senior consultant of Master's Consulting Firm, and semi socialite, does not have sex with strangers in bathrooms. Actually, she doesn't have much sex at all, which is probably why I ended up with my panties by the door. The panties he’s now sliding in his pocket.

“Okay, listen,” I tell him, “I don't usually do this kind of thing.”

“Why?” he interrupts. “Too busy mingling with the stuffy asses out there?”

Well, the tall sex God has good looks and brains. That's exactly why I don't. Fear of judgement, I guess.

A knock on the door halts our self-examination of me. “Katy,” my assistant, Anne, calls out, “are you in here?”

I hold a finger to my lips and shake my head at Pollux. “Yeah,” I answer.

“James is looking for you.”

Of course, he is. Anger courses through me. This prick has been on my ass all night. His neediness led me to seek solace in the hallway leading to the restrooms. That’s when Pollux stumbled upon me, and well, one thing led to another.

I peer over at Pollux, smile, and rustle my fingers into the now mess of wild hair on my head, smoothing down the ends. “See ya around,” I say, as we walk through the bathroom door.

A smile lights my face. Spur of the moment sex with a stranger is so not me. Not even a little bit. But it felt good to let my hair down, metaphorically speaking.

I only get a few steps before James scowls in my direction. His balding head reflects the lights from above, blinding me momentarily.

“Hi, sir. Did you need to see me?”

“Yes, I know we’re not working, but did you get the AR-2 file to me this afternoon?” As if I would forget. I’m up for partner, and I wouldn’t make any mistakes now when I’m so close. I can almost taste the sweet victory of it all.

“Of course,” I answer.

“Who’s this, Katy?” James asks, sizing up Pollux.

I can't exactly tell him this is the guy that choked me in the bathroom, so I step closer to Pollux and smile, or at least I try to in this awkward predicament. “This is, uh, um,...”

Pollux cuts in, “Pollux Clark. I’m Katy’s boyfriend.” He smiles, extending his hand out toward James’s.

Our eyes meet, and right now, I wish I could telepathically scold him. But, I weigh my choices and go with the charade. “Yes, he’s my boyfriend. I’m sure I’ve mentioned him before.”

“Nice to meet you,” James says, shaking Pollux’s hand.

Pollux drapes an arm over my shoulders. “Yeah, Katy here loves these events, but she needed some quiet time. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

His hand moves further south, smacking my ass cheeks as he winks.

I want to strangle his neck. “Yeah, honey. Sure,” I say through clenched teeth.

James is unimpressed. In fact, he appears like he wants to murder us both.

I step out of Pollux’s grip.

“Pollux, are you coming Sunday to the company picnic at the park?” James asks.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Great. See you then.”

James leaves, ambling back to the twinkling lights of the party, and I turn to Pollux. “What are you doing? What was that?” I want to scream more things to him, but he laughs slightly, crossing his strong arms over his chest.

“Calm down, princess. You looked like you could use the help.” He steps closer, pulling me against his firm chest. “I’ll see you Sunday, sugarplum.” He salutes me with a wicked grin before striding away.

Asshole.

2. Pollux

Fuck. My night went from great to complicated to even more complicated.

Grabbing my MacBook, I sink down onto the large, overstuffed sofa in the grand penthouse suite of the Plaza, my home away from home while I stay in New York. It’s nice here, very accommodating, but the color choices are God awful. Blue and gold? It looks like a lot of the hotels I’ve stayed at in the South of France. Frilly, overdone, and just plain gaudy.

Surfing the latest stock portfolios, I narrow my eyes as I come across Masters Consulting Firm. I click on Katy Vanderlin’s link and stare at the picture. Tight body, fiery eyes, and red, plump lips. Reading about her slew of top clients and hard work ethic is overshadowed by the way she felt coming on my cock.

The idea of seeing her again makes me smile, but I need to tamper down the school-boy crush and focus on my main objective. And it sure as fuck isn’t falling for an executive at Masters.

No, that’s the last thing on my agenda.

It's probably best not to see her again, but, I need to be at that picnic. Hell, I need to be anywhere Craig Kendall, president of Masters, is. I’m finally making progress with my plan, and I won’t let some smoldering temptress persuade me otherwise.

What's my plan? I’m a corporate raider, for lack of a better word. Sounds kickass, huh? Well, it is. I buy companies, tear them apart, and resell off the parts for big money.

Right now, I have my sights set on one of the top consulting firms in New York. Yeah, you guessed it...Masters.

I’m still unsure what I’ll do with it once I buy it. Tear it apart? Sell it whole? Run it myself? That’s why I want the inside scoop. I want to get a vibe for the employees. Not only how they work, but how they function as humans.

This is how I operate. It’s how I work. Some may think it’s not a traditional approach, not old-school, but that’s the beauty of it all. Being unconventional is how I’ve become so successful.

Staying incognito to achieve my objective is the main reason I threw out a fake name. Seemed fitting, a gala to save a pony...so I chose Pollux, the Greek patron god of horses.

At thirty-four, I’m a beast in the boardroom. And an even bigger one in the bedroom. Katy Vanderlin just made things even easier for me.

* * *

Sunday morning rolls around, and I smile at my new plan, and maybe a little bit because I get to see Katy again. This is the first time in years I've felt a spark of excitement. She’s fun. I’m sure she won’t be too happy to see me, and it makes it all the more fun. I keep it semi casual in black Armani. Trim button down shirt and slacks. Can't go wrong with Armani.

I step off the street corner, weaving into the throng of people rushing to the Subway on this brisk afternoon in Manhattan. I hit the stairs and slip inside the closing Subway doors to grab a seat. I don’t think I’ve been on the Subway in well, ever. I’ve never ridden this hunk of junk. And now I see why. I'm shoved in between an earbud wearing yuppie and a religious zealot trying to give me a pamphlet on how to get to heaven.

“No thanks. Hell has a spot reserved for me,” I tell him.

The sub pulls in at Grand Central Station, and I hop out, passing by the panhandlers with cardboard signs and street artists trying to get attention. Ninety percent cons. Like me, I guess. Pretending to be someone you’re not.

Fuck it's cold. My breath hangs in the freezing air, and I wonder how great this “picnic” is going to be. The people last night don't strike me as the type to picnic. When I think of a picnic, I imagine summer green grass, a wicker basket, and sitting on a red and white gingham blanket. Like the kind I used to take with my kid sister, Harper.

Not the large white tent up ahead with the company logo for Masters.

I step inside the chatter filled heated tent, removing my jacket and handing it off to the coat check girl by the front. How is this a picnic? The only ants at this picnic are the army of black clad servers circling the white linen covered tables. Ice sculptures of the board member’s heads sit on each table surrounded by a moat of crystal glasses. I almost laugh. I’ve been to many corporate functions, but this may set a new bar for pretentious.

“Oh, Pollux, you showed up,” Katy’s sultry voice trills from beside me.

I look down at her. “Yeah, of course.” I try my best to smile, but honestly my body freezes as I gaze at her.

A small red flower is tucked inside the dark curls on top of her head. It matches the short red dress she’s wearing that hugs her curves.

She grabs my arm, leading me to a less crowded area. “Why are you here?” she whisper-yells at me. “I didn’t think you would really show up.”

I rub the tension in my neck. “Well…”

James is my saving grace when he spots us and rushes over. “Pollux, so glad you could make it.” He shakes my hand. “Let me introduce you to a few people.”

“Uh, sure.” I smile at Katy as I walk away.

He stalks through the crowd, leading me to a table of old guys with thin gray hair and thick glasses.

They exude wealth and old money, wearing designer suits and chatting over bourbon and some fancy leafy shit in a crystal bowl. Fucking perfect. I know who these men are before James even rattles off the next line, “This is the board of directors for Masters,” James says. “Gentlemen, this is Katy Vanderlin’s boyfriend.”

At the perfect moment, Katy slips her arm through mine and plasters on a huge smile.

The men at the table pull their attention from their lunch and all smile, welcoming me.

John Gilmore, the youngest at the table, and that’s an overstatement cause he’s still like eighty or something, speaks, “Katy’s a valued employee. I’m glad to see her settling down so soon after her divorce. We like people we consider for partner to be solid.”

Solid. Divorced. Things click into place. Katy’s not getting this partnership unless she lives up to the family standards on their logo.

“Yes, Pollux is, well, he's great. He’s really something else.” Katy smiles beside me.

He nods. “That’s very well. Why don’t you join us?” the man asks.

“Oh, thanks. But I need to speak to my wonderful boyfriend here about a few things. Please excuse us,” Katy says, grabbing my arm once again.

“Actually, I’d like to sit and chat with these fine gentlemen.” I wink.

She rolls her eyes and turns away, and I chuckle as I watch her hips sway all the way to the bar set up in the far corner.

I pull out a chair and redirect my attention back to the men at the table.

The server slides a bourbon in front of me, and I wrap my fingers around the glass.

“Pollux, what do you do?” Frank Peters asks. He’s only been on the board for less than five years, but they all worship him like a God. And maybe they should, he did graduate MBA Harvard.

“A little of this, a little of that.” I straighten my grey silk tie.

Their craggy eyebrows pull down in disapproval of my answer, and I smile with the confidence I’ve always exuded in these types of situations.

“Pollux, what’s your last name?” a bow tie clad Harold Porter asks.

I see the game they play. Pedigree. Am I from a well-connected family. Next, they’ll ask about my college and where I vacation in the winters.

I tug at my cufflinks. I’m half-tempted to blurt out who I really am. That would wipe the smug glares off their faces.

“Clark,” I answer. “But not like Superman. Batman is way cooler.”

They chuckle. And holy shit. A hand wearing a platinum band on the ring finger lands on my shoulder. The owner. Craig Kendall. At thirty-five he landed this company by marrying Gabi Masters, daughter of the now retired founder, Phillip Masters.

“I like this guy,” he says, taking a seat in the white wicker chair beside me.

If I play my cards right, I won’t even need Katy.

As we converse over politics, I make mental notes. I’m a hit with the board. I’m not sold on them, though. The more we chat, the more I realize if I want to get inside this company, really get a feel for the character, I need to up my game.

After a few more minutes, Katy returns, tugging at my arm. “Honey, I really need to talk to you.”

I gaze briefly at her, and then back at the men of the table. “Women.” I shrug and rise from my seat. “Nice meeting you.”

We walk away and head to the bar. When we’re seated, she orders a Moscow Mule, and I do the same.

After the bartender slides the copper mugs to us, she redirects her focus on me, narrowing her blue eyes. “What are you doing here? Please start answering some questions.”

“Fine,” I say, “ask away.”

“Why were you at the party?”

I take a swallow before I answer her, “Horses. I thought there’d be some for sale. You?”

“Very funny. Do you take anything seriously?” She sips her drink, gazing at me from over her copper cup.

“Sure, I do. Don’t you?”

“Do you answer every question with a question?” The red sole of her Louboutin flashes me as her foot bobs in agitation.

“No.” The urge to ramble off another question is nixed when she re-crosses her legs, and I get a glimpse of her inner thigh.

“To answer your earlier question, I take this job very seriously.”

“Why?” I lean back, getting more comfortable in the high-backed barstool. Why does she? It's not hard to figure out these guys are in the wrong era. Based on what I've learned about her, she should have made partner long ago.

She gazes out at the mingling crowd, then focuses her soft eyes back on me. “It’s my livelihood. I love working here, most days. What about you? Do you work?”

“Yeah. I have a job. What do you do here, Katy?”

“Wait. You’re turning everything around.” She holds her hand up, stopping me from going any further. “You’re supposed to be answering my questions. Why won’t you leave me alone? You kind of put me into a predicament here. Now I'm going to have to explain why you're not around.”

Well, we can’t have that. I grab the silverware from the bar, clanking it against the hard copper of the mug.

“Can I have everyone’s attention,” I say, rising from my stool. The drone of chatter stops, and all eyes land on me.

Clearing my throat, I smile and capture Katy’s hand. The place is silent, waiting. “Katy, my dear. I’m the luckiest man in the room. No, world.” I get down on one knee. “My shooting star in a sky full of constellations, will you do me the honor of being my wife?”

Her jaw hits the makeshift marble floor. Figuratively, not literally. Hope that comes later, because I could think of a few ways to give her jaw a workout.

To continue reading, you can now purchase Break Me on Amazon

DARK DON

Logan Chance has a Naughty Newsletter Novelette, read the first four chapters here.

1. Rhiannon

It takes a lifetime to fall in love, and for me, a moment to fall out. Right now, on my knees, in front of my executioner, is when I fall out. I hate him. Red trickles from his knuckle, down his fingertip, forming a red teardrop that falls on the tip of his designer shoe. It splatters and spreads across the glossy black leather. Such a shame his five hundred dollar shoes are ruined. My scalp screams for mercy when he fists my hair tighter and yanks my head back. His handsome face I dreamt about for years is contorted into a mask of rage I don't recognize.

“Answer me, Rhiannon,” he demands.

“No.” My knees scrape against the pavement when he pulls me closer.

He bends down, until his icy blue eyes are an eyelash width from mine. “Rhi,” he whispers. “I won't show you any mercy.”

“I don't want your mercy, Xavier,” I whisper back. “Kill me.”

The lifeless eyes of my bodyguard lying an arms width away tell me that's probably not the wisest thing to say to the man who ended his life moments ago. I don't give a fuck, though. I've loved this monster since he was ten years old. Now, I feel nothing. I'm glad he never knew how I felt about him. My nanny’s son with the bright blue eyes who wrote poetry and kept me company when I was five is gone. In his place is a cold blooded killer. Like my father.

His warm lips brush against my ear. “What about Ian?”

My heart races. “You wouldn't.”

His suited men watch in the darkened parking lot, waiting to see who comes out the victor in this battle of wills.

He pulls me to standing. “No? Haven't you learned yet I mean what I say?”

“Do it,” I taunt. A muscle ticks in his jaw. “I don't want this life.”

The breeze rustles through his dark locks. He releases my hair and turns away. “Put her in the car,” he orders.

His henchmen get no resistance from me as they lead me to the black sedan.

I'll figure a way out of this. Just like when we were kids and played kidnap the princess. Except, this time, Xavier isn’t smiling and laughing. And this time I'm not the princess of some imaginary land. I'm a different kind of a princess. Something I want no part of. A Mafia princess. And Xavier isn't my white knight coming to rescue me. He's the dark Don willing to kill me to get what he wants.

Power.

* * *

“What are you doing in my room?” I wrap the towel tighter around me.

“This house belongs to me. Why wouldn't I be here?” Xavier’s blue eyes flit to the band aids on my knees. “Isn't this where we fuck?”

“Xavier,” I hiss, “get out.” I've never fucked him, and I never will.

“What's the matter, Rhiannon?” He crosses the distance between us. “Still shy around boys?”

“Why are you so mean now?” I whisper, looking up at him. His eyes sweep down my body. This towel suddenly feels the size of a washcloth.

“You've changed since I saw you last,” he says, ignoring my question.

“Well, six years makes a lot of difference,” I tell him. “I'm not a naive eighteen year old anymore.”

“I'll say,” he murmurs, his gaze lingering on my breasts. He crosses his suited arms. “I brought you clothes.” He nods to the bed now filled with designer shopping bags.

“Why, Xavier?” I ask. “You can't keep me here.”

“Sure I can.” he says. “Who helped you?”

I turn from his piercing blue gaze and cross to the bed, rifling through the shopping bags. I can't look at him anymore; it makes my chest ache to see what he's become. While he worked his way up in the organization to become a ruthless mob boss by the age of thirty, I chose to follow through with what we’d always said--never become a part of this life.

I left, graduated college, got a job, distanced myself. Until my father decided it was time for me to marry one of his associates. ‘It's your duty,’ he said.

So, with the help of someone trusted on the inside, I ran. Until Xavier found me.

The heat from his body sears my back, and the towel is yanked from around me. I spin to face him. He dangles it from his fingers.

“Xavier,” I yell, grabbing a handful of clothes to cover myself.

“Don't ignore me, Rhiannon,” he warns. “One way or another,” his heated gaze sets fire to my skin, “I'll get what I want.”

He drops the towel and slams the door on his way out.

2. Xavier

“Boss,” Frankie calls out to me as I make my way down the hall.

“What?” My anger rages as I try my best to calm down.

Seeing Rhiannon again was not how I imagined. I pictured her agreeable, sweet, submitting to my every command. But, she had some fight in her.

She had always been in this life, but remained untouched by it all.

And when we were young, we both agreed to leave it all behind. Not together in some young lover’s way. But, we both hated the life and the strings attached to it.

Yet, here I am. A boss to a family.

And I planned on being different. I planned on making my way to the top and changing the whole organization. Although once I got in it, once I made my first kill, there was a shift in me. A darkness that descended. So, I had every intention to change things, but, things don’t always go as planned.

“Justin is here. Did you want to see him now?”

“It’s late. You know how much I hate being disturbed.” I make my way to my office and sit behind my desk.

I hadn’t planned on it taking so long with Rhiannon, but when the call came in that my men had her...I dropped everything I was doing.

Six years. Six long years of wondering about her.

“He needs to talk to you.”

My eyes lift from the stack of papers on my desk and meet Frankie’s cold, dead eyes. “Fine, send him in.”

Minutes later, Justin walks into my office.

His squirrely eyes bounce around the room.

I don't have time for this shit.

He takes a seat and bobs his legs with nervous energy. “Boss, I’ve been noticing some crazy activity over at the DeLaurio estate.”

I run a hand down my face. “What kind of activity?”

Sometimes it’s like pulling teeth to get anyone to tell me anything.

He squirms in his seat. “Seems they know Rhiannon is missing. Mr. DeLaurio says he’s offering a lot of money for her safe return.”

“Safe return? Ah, ok.” I let this information roll off my shoulders. So what? So he knows his daughter is missing. Good, cause I’ve got her. And I’m not letting her go that easily.

Let him offer all the money in the world.

I dismiss Justin and go to check on my little prisoner.

I make my way down the hallway while the rest of the house settles in for the evening. It’s late. But I never sleep.

The house is massive and sits on forty acres of secluded land, guarded land, that I keep a close eye on.

It wasn’t always like this.

I grew up with nothing, and now I have everything I could ever want.

I come to the door where Rhiannon stays and don’t bother knocking. Why would I? I own this manor.

And I’m the king here. The boss.

I grab the key and turn the lock, stepping into the room.

The lights are dim and I move to the bed where she sleeps.

Unsure what I’m going to do with her, I pull back the covers.

Motherfucker.

Two large pillows under the down comforter are all that occupy the bed.

My eyes search the room, and she’s nowhere.

“She’s gone,” I say to Frankie after pulling my phone out of my double-breasted suit.

“Don’t worry, boss. We’ll find her.”

“You better.” I hang up and slam my fist against the wall.

This little bitch.

I glance around the room once more, looking for any small clue she could have left behind. There’s nothing.

The window is shut. The door was locked. “I’ll find you,” I mutter to myself.

I leave the room in a flash and head to my security center to look over the footage.

“Anything?” I ask the men assembled.

“Nothing. It’s like she’s vanished,” Gio, the head of security says, swiveling around in his office chair.

Thirty monitors and not one of them has her on it.

“Play back the last half hour. Find her.”

Thirty monitors of the halls and common areas. Not one fucking camera in her room. Which, originally I wanted, but a sliver of me that still has a sense of decency decided to give her some privacy. I never expected this.

I never planned on kidnapping her.

Never have I kept someone as a prisoner before. The people I take captive, don't come out alive.

This is what I get for wanting her to be comfortable. I should have just locked her in the fucking basement.

I leave the security room and head down the hall. Unsure of where to even look, I head back to my office, swinging by her room along the way.

There’s a frenzy outside, the lights are on, the dogs are out. She has nowhere to go.

No way to run.

I spot something out of the corner of my eye leaving her bedroom door. The flash of black-and-blue hair rushes past and I follow her.

There she is.

She has no idea I’m behind her.

The halls are dark.

The night is even darker with a moon overrun by clouds.

She tiptoes, turning each corner carefully. I stalk her like the prey she is. Oh, Rhiannon.

I laugh ever so quietly that she thinks she can outmaster me.

I’ll admit, it was smart of her to hide in her room knowing I’d leave the door open. Then when the frenzy starts, slip out.

We’ve been focusing on the outside as she makes her way through the house.

Clever girl.

She gets to the door that leads to the side of the house and waits, finding a small alcove to hide herself.

“Hello, Rhiannon. Going somewhere?” I stand over her, my power exuding off me.

She cowers at my words and then throws her hair over her shoulder. “Actually, yeah, I am. I’m leaving. Don’t try to stop me, Xavier.”

I laugh. “Rhiannon, sweet little Rhi. I’m not only going to stop you, but now I’m going to punish you as well.”

Her eyes widen. “I’ll put up a fight.”

“Oh, I hope so. I really hope so.”

I swoop in and lift her by her legs, draping her over my shoulder and carry her back to my room caveman style.

I’m pissed she would want to run from me.

To run from the beast she thinks I am.

And who knows, maybe I really am a beast. There’s only one way to find out.

3. Rhiannon

Punish me? It’s no use trying to wiggle free. The only thing it's getting me is half naked. All the bumping and jostling has my black tank pushed up to my armpits and my yoga pants easing down.

The dark wood floor of the hallway passes quickly beneath his angry strides. I've no idea where he's taking me, but I'm not giving up without a fight. So, I balance on his shoulder as best I can and reach down his broad back to slip my fingertips beneath his slacks, right to the edge of his briefs. And then... I grip the cotton band and give a yank. Hard. Take that, asshole.

“Goddammit, Rhiannon,” he spits out. I nearly let go when he slaps my ass. The sting is sharp, and he lands another one when I tug with all my might. “What are you fucking five?”

“What are you? A Neanderthal?” Another slap lands before tiles blur as he stalks faster, and then I'm forced to let go when he maneuvers and drops me on the granite countertop of his kitchen.

The air sizzles between us. “What's wrong? The big bad Mafia boss doesn't like wedgies?” I taunt.

I'll admit, I've never been afraid of Xavier until this moment. It's not fiery anger igniting in his blue eyes, it's glacial iciness. Anger I can handle, form a defense against. This cold silence, with his chest rising and falling, scares me.

“Give me your shirt,” he orders.

“What?”

“Do it.”

He removes his suit jacket and tosses it aside. Pick your battles. This isn't one I'm going to win, so I remove my tank and well, I should really listen to myself. Because, I don't place it in his outstretched hand, nope, instead I fling it at his gorgeous face. He's not too happy when he snatches it off his head. Before I can blink an eye, he twists it around my wrists, binding them.

His eyes drop to my lacy black bra before he steps between my legs, bracing his hands beside me. “You're going to regret that, Rhi,” he warns, barely above a whisper. “Bad girls get punished.”

That line coming from his lips, scares me more than what he's become. It does something to my insides, causes a flutter low in my belly. I shouldn't like the way it sounded. Before I can think of a plan, he flips me over and bends my upper body against the counter until my cheek rests against the cool surface. Everything happens so fast. So fast I can't think. A drawer slides open and my pants are yanked down, exposing my ass. Something solid and wooden thwacks my left cheek. Five times. Each harder than the last. My ass is on fire, but I refuse to cry out. He repeats it on the right cheek, then drapes his body against my back. I buck against him. My movements come to a confusing halt when I feel his hard cock press against my bottom.

He whispers in my ear, “Ten more to go. Not so funny now is it?”

As much as I dislike him right now, my body reacts to his hand massaging my cheek. His touch is sensual, caressing the tender skin until the burn subsides.

“Maybe I like it,” I pant out, not wanting him to have the satisfaction of thinking he's winning. But, god help me, he is. I'm wet. The more his large hand strokes, fondles, and squeezes, the wetter I get. These are the fantasies I used to have of Xavier. Fantasies I've fought hard to put behind me. I'd be lying if I said I wouldn't take the pain to experience the pleasure of what he's doing right now.

The weight of his body leaves me, and I grit my teeth through ten more punishing spanks on the opposite cheek.

“Are you done?” I ask, biting back a moan as his fingers erase the pain.

“You have a really nice ass,” he murmurs. “I don't remember it being this nice when you walked away and left me six years ago.”

Why did he have to say that? Memories of an uncorrupted Xavier flood my mind. And then the worst thought enters my brain: what if I can save him from this?

He flips me over and lifts me onto the countertop, then leans in to whisper in my ear. “I'm not done with your punishment yet. Although, this may not be quite a punishment.”

“What do you mean?” My brain formulates another plan, don't fight and maybe I can run.

He slides my pants off and licks his lips. “What do you do in a kitchen?” he asks.

“Cook?” I answer like a nitwit.

He shakes his head and runs his hands up my thighs, creating a frenzy of chills to race along my skin. My breath catches when his thumb strokes along my pussy. “You eat.”

4. Xavier

Her eyes widen, and my heart races. To say I haven’t thought about getting down and dirty with Rhiannon before would be a lie. I’ve thought about it a lot.

“Xavier, don’t touch me,” she wisps out.

“Come on, Rhi. Just let go.” I continue gliding my thumb along her pussy.

Her breathing speeds up, and her eyes flutter closed. She’s enjoying this. “Please,” she says on a whisper.

“Please what? Beg me for it.” I move a little closer and suck along the soft skin above her collarbone.

“I’ll never beg.”

Her defiance turns me on. But, this isn’t why I kidnapped her. I didn’t abduct her in the middle of the night so I could have my way with her. As bad as I want her, she’ll have to beg me for it.

I know she used to think about me. Long ago, I’d sneak into her house and watch her take matters into her own hands late at night in her room.

The door was always cracked, and I used to wonder if she left it open for me. I wasn’t brave enough to ever enter her room and finish the job she would start.

But, I’d watch her. Watch her fingers slip under the waistband of her panties. Watch her eyes close, her mouth open. I would listen to the sounds she would make.

All while imagining it was me bringing her to her pleasure.

One night, I watched her. I can't remember how long I sat outside her door, praying for the courage to go inside and claim her. Then, the moment she came she moaned my name. I made it a vow to ask her about it the next day, but she was gone.

That was the last time I ever saw her, until now.

Now, she’s all grown up. She’s a sexy, feisty woman, and I am once again no longer in control. Well, I need to get the control back. Let her know that she isn’t the one I’ve been pining after all these years. That I’ve moved on. And I can fuck her and leave her. And she means nothing to me.

I run my hand down her neck, to the column of her throat, and down the side of her chest, grazing my thumb along her breast.

“I want to make you feel so good, Rhi,” I say.

She doesn’t move as her eyes gaze into mine. My cock throbs, and I’m half-tempted to walk away and finish off the job in the shower.

“What do you want to do to me?” she asks so innocently.

I’m leery for a moment. Is this another ploy to attempt another escape?

I trace my fingers along her ankles, up to the back of her knees, and then, into the inside of her thighs. She doesn’t move a muscle, just watches.

Her black, lace panties is the icing on the cake for my cock. He’s hard and ready to pound his way deep inside her.

I run my thumb over the panel of her soaked panties and offer her a smile. “Are you wet for me?”

She nods, biting her lower lip, and it drives me insane.

She asks again, “What do you want to do to me?”

I slip my finger past her panties and plunge it deep inside her. So fucking wet. “Everything, Rhiannon. I want to do everything you imagined me doing back then.”

Her eyes glisten with understanding, and she grinds against my hand. “Xavier...” her voice trails off.

“Give me it. Give me everything tonight. In the morning if you still want it, I’ll set you free.”

Her eyes bore into mine as I continue to work her pussy. “Ok.”

She gives me her blessing, and I am already pulling her panties down her legs. I toss the thin, black lace over my shoulder and smile in appreciation.

In one quick motion, I have her legs spread. Her eyes are wild with lust before she closes them.

“Open your eyes, Rhiannon,” I demand.

I open the freezer next to me and dish out one small ice cube.

Her leg flinches when I bring the cube to touch her inner thigh. “That’s cold.”

“Do you like this?” My fingers trace the cube closer to her hot heat.

She arches her back. “Yeah,” she breathes.

I follow the ice’s path up her leg with my tongue, drinking the wetness from her soft skin. I’d imagined this scenario in my head a million times in the past. I never thought I’d ever be this lucky.

And I don’t give a fuck what she says, there’s no way I’m letting her leave me in the morning.

I run the ice cube along her seam and circle her clit.

She moans, loud, and her eyes slam shut. “Xavier, please,” she begs. Ah, there it is.

I crush my mouth over her pussy, warming her skin with my hungry mouth. The ice cube clinks against the steel of the sink when I toss it and continue sucking her.

I enter a finger into her again, she’s so tight, and toy with her clit, sucking it between my teeth.

Her hands fly into my hair, digging into my scalp. She moans and yelps and it urges me on. I suck, nibble, and lick my way to her satisfaction.

She grinds her body against my face, her pussy wanting more. And I give it to her. I read her body like it’s the best book in the world, keeping me engaged with each page. I edge her close to her orgasm, and then pull back a bit to let the desire build.

I grip her thighs, spreading her legs a bit, and continue eating her in my kitchen as if this whole fucked up situation doesn't exist.

She wants this though. Who knew Rhiannon would have such a little wild streak?

I’m so fucking hard. So turned on. And all I can think about is sinking into her heat.

I pull back, pushing my fingers in deeper.

“Xavier…” she pants, her voice trailing off.

“Do you want me?” I ask.

Her big brown eyes search mine, the answer hidden deep within. “Yes.”

I dig even deeper inside her, and she crumbles around me. I kiss her. I kiss her hard and rough. There’s nothing I want more right now.

Her mouth opens, her orgasm spiraling throughout her body. She shakes as I suck her tongue into my mouth.

“You feel so good.”

The aftershock of her orgasm slams through her. Tiny tremors clench my fingers. When her body calms, I free her hands and she pushes me away. Regret settles in her eyes, and she scoots off the counter.

“I want to go home.”

Fuck. There’s no way I can let her. Maybe she is ok with the fact her father sold her to be married to the next in line in the DeLuca family mob.

I’m not.

And I’ll be damned if Rhiannon thinks for one second I would ever let her leave to fulfill that duty.

There’s no way. Now that I’ve had my taste, I’ll never want anyone else but her.

“I said in the morning. I’m not done with you yet.”

“Xavier, you can’t keep me here. My father will kill you,” she answers.

“You think I care about what he does to me?” And I don’t care. Let him try.

Let him send his little army. They’re no match for me.

“You should.” She purses her lips, finds her clothes, and gets dressed.

“Are you worried about me?” I ask, crossing my arms as I watch her.

“I don’t want to see anyone get hurt.” She tugs on her shirt. “I care about you.”

“Really?” A feeling I’ve never experienced before spreads through my chest.

“Yes, stupid. I’ve known you my whole life. We were friends once.” She stands with her hand on her hip, eyes on fire.

“We still are,” I say, lifting her over my shoulder and once again carrying her caveman style. This time, to my bedroom.

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The Boss Duet Box Set

Logan Chance has just recently released LIKE A BOSS and LOVE A BOSS into a box set, complete with over 50,000 words of Bonus Material.

Read on for a few chapters of Like A Boss

1. Theo

“Fuck, I need to get laid.”

If I didn’t find a woman in this bar to fuck tonight, I’d lose my mind. I was overworked and stressed beyond belief. I had no time to focus on the finer things in life. I almost forgot what the inside of a pussy felt like. Lately, I felt this champion cock I owned between my legs was just for show.

Two words:

Fuck.

That.

Nectar was packed when I stepped inside; pink and purple neon lights blinded my eyes as they swept the room. Women in leopard-print leotards hung from giant swings as the loud bass shook the floor beneath my feet. I found Xavier, my friend, at the bar with a shot of Macallan in his hand. He passed it to me as I nodded.

With my drink in hand, I ‘surveyed the land’ as it were. A curvy brunette, wearing painted on jeans with red heels, smiled at me. She took a small sip of her Cosmo and the lipstick stain left behind on the glass matched her sexy shoes. She was pretty. She was absolutely fuckable. Let’s be honest, most men aren’t even that damn picky, but tonight I craved above average. It’s why I picked Nectar—the hottest place to be on a Friday night—but while sexy, curvaceous asses and pumped up plastic tits painted the room like a surgeon’s personal advertisement billboard, I wanted something closer to the liquor in my hand. I wanted a girl fresh out the damn bottle, warm in my mouth, burning on the way down, and fucking me up until I couldn’t see straight. I wanted the good shit.

A raven-haired beauty, in a skimpy dress leaving nothing to the imagination, and fuck me stilettos, locked eyes with me. The hot pink-stained cheeky smile she flashed my way did nothing for me...total stage five clinger potential. Pass.

I nodded, and continued studying the club.

My eyes drifted to a group of girls celebrating across the bar—a bachelorette party. Penis straws in their mouths, pink boas around their necks, and falling off the barstools drunk. Double Pass.

“It’s getting late. I might head out,” Xavier, said, glancing at his gold Rolex. He grabbed his Corona by the neck and took a long pull.

“It’s South Beach, this city doesn’t come alive until well after midnight.”

“There’s not much action here tonight. But, you stay, relax, you deserve it.” His eyes drifted to the crowded dance floor. “The sale is a shoo-in; you’ll be the proud owner of the Bearded Goat within a few months.”

“Thanks, man. Yeah, it’s been stressful as fuck these past few days.” I lifted my glass and took a sip, letting the liquor ease the tension in my shoulders.

He laughed, chugging his beer, and spun in his seat to slam the empty bottle on the bar.

“I think I got the brunt of your stress.” Xavier, also my lawyer, had been busy working his ass off for me. He scoured over paperwork and legal documents making sure I got the best deal possible.

“Fuck you, buddy. It’s my ass on the line here. First thing I’m doing with the bar is changing the fucking name.” I threw some cash to the bartender and returned my attention back to him. “Bearded Goat, really? Why not call it the lamest bar in Miami?”

“Think about it, one day you can have a place just like this.” He lifted his arms, pointing to the bright lights of Nectar that showcased the energy of the nightclub.

I grinned, turning to rest my elbows against the bar. “I’m sure my place will be a hell of a lot better.” My eyes traveled around as I scoped the joint once more. Yeah, my club would be much nicer. I could see it all now. I would soon own South Beach. How hard could running a bar be? I’d never failed at anything I’d gone after before, and this time wouldn’t be any fucking different.

“On second thought,” Xavier said, eyes trained on the party of pink madness a few yards away,

“I’m going to join the action over there.”

I nodded, and watched him stalk over to make his play on one of the bachelorettes from the party. She offered him a drink from her penis straw and laughed when he grabbed it and directed it back to her mouth, shaking his head. I grinned—what an idiot.

“Hi...what’s your name?” a drunk plastic blonde asked, as she slid onto the stool next to me, arms hanging around my neck. Her platinum hair hung straight and fell past her tits. She leaned in closer, giving me a glimpse straight down her plum-colored, v-neck dress to her manufactured cleavage.

“Theo.” I threw back my whiskey, and signaled the bartender for another before turning to face her.

Her ass left the seat and she stepped between my long legs, her fingers running up the length of my red tie. “I’m Ashley.” Her breathy words fanned across my lips as she lifted her hand to run it through my beard. “I’ve never seen you around. Do you come here a lot?” she asked, her voice thick as honey, seduction dripping off her tongue.

My brown eyes focused on the gigantic rock on her finger before removing her hand from my face. “No.” I’d been coming here for the past week, to check out the competition for my newest acquisition, but tonight I needed release and this girl wasn’t the one.

I stood, giving her a tight smile, before making my way to the other end of the neon lit bar.

I squeezed my tall frame to an empty stool and signaled the bartender. “Whiskey,” I called out to her.

She glanced my way, locking eyes with mine. A brief nod and a slight smile was all she gave me before she turned and slammed a few bottles back in the well. The sexy bartender finally slid her ass over and my eyes narrowed on her as she poured the whiskey in a glass. Her shimmery hair clearly wasn't hers. The wig on her head matched her silver bikini top, which barely contained her full breasts. The skinny strings strained, as if at any moment they would snap, letting her tits fall free. A silver short skirt hugged the curve of her ass as she turned to pour a few shots for the bride-to-be.

The few times I’d been here, I’d never seen this girl. I’d remember a face like hers, even in the dark. My eyes scanned her flawless features. She wasn’t hard and overworked like some of these girls. She hadn’t allowed a scalpel to redraw the map of who she was designed to be. And she sure as shit wasn’t shy about showing it off. My dick stiffened. That hunger to claim and guzzle down the good shit surged. And I’m not talking about fucking whiskey, either. I wanted her.

Nights like these were sort of like the Sabbath to me, a holy day to worship my most favorite idol, a woman’s sweet body. This woman with silver hair and spilling breasts was in need of worship and I had every intention of fucking her like the goddess she was. I’d spend many nights doing just that, but… first, I had to get her attention.

Again.

After a few minutes, I decided to use the secret super power I owned. It would require the use of a couple of ladies with penis straws in their mouths. When she finally returned to ask if I wanted another, I leaned in, talking close to her ear over the loud music.

My scruffy cheek whispered across her smooth skin. “As a father, I have to beg you to please cut those girls off.” I nodded in the direction of the bachelorette party. Her eyes flitted to them and then back to me. “If it were my little Lucy, I’d be devastated to know they’d be driving home like that.” Daddy role never failed me before.

“Relax,” she shot back. “They have a limo waiting in the lot. Daddy Dearest.”

I smiled at her and leaned back in. “Just so you know, you’re the hottest girl in this whole fucking place.”

“Just so you know,” she said, touching my shoulder this time, “you’re the millionth guy who has said that tonight.”

I pulled back, palms splayed on the bar as I met her eyes. “But there’s a difference—you want to know what it is?”

She shrugged, causing her tits to squeeze together. I grabbed my empty glass and held it up to her, leaning in close again, not breaking eye contact. “I’m the only fucker in here who will say please.”

* * *

“Fuck,” I groaned, breaking from the lips of the silver goddess. Tongues twisting, mouths sucking, her sexy moans were pulling me under. “You want to do this here?”

With a strong grip around her waist, I pulled her even closer, grinding my cock against her.

“You have to live a little,” she said as she pushed away and ran toward the shoreline.

The waves crashed as I strolled along with my hands in my pockets, fascinated by her.

Her silver wig and long legs held the moon’s glow as she laughed. Her toes dipped into the salty ocean and as I watched—my arousal deepened.

I took a long breath as I saw her dance in the moonlight. Fucking hot, the way her ass shook, the way she grooved to a rhythm playing along in her mind. I wanted to hear it too.

I’d been overworked for so long, and she made me feel like I’d been set free.

She shimmied over, her arms landing around my neck as I gazed into her glitter-shadowed eyes. “Dance with me.”

We swayed and rocked into one another as I caressed the dip of her spine with one hand. “Your name, what is it?”

“Penelope.”

Penelope. It rolled along my tongue as I said it aloud.

“Are you going to tell me yours or do I have to guess?”

“Take your best shot,” I egged her on.

She placed a finger to her suckable lips, gazing skyward before returning her copper eyes to mine. “I don’t know. Maybe Frank. You look like a Frank.”

I cocked a brow. “Do I? No, not Frank. Name’s Theo.”

“Ah...Theo...I see now.”

I raised a brow. “See what?”

“Your name...I see how you managed to get me out here. You had God on your side.” She laughed, moving closer. “Theo means God given.” Her eyes met mine with intensity. “Feeling like a saint or a sinner tonight, Theo?”

“Oh, definitely a fucking sinner,” I said, grabbing her, “and worshipping, namely, you.”

Where can I fuck this girl, already? The beach—too sandy. The ocean—too wet.

A lifeguard station sat off in the distance and I was already pulling Penelope in that direction.

“Get your sexy ass up there.” I grabbed a handful as she stepped her first foot in the rung of the ladder.

“Race you to the top,” she said, laughing as she glanced down to me.

Damn, this sexy temptress teased me. A snap decision and I took off running toward another staircase off to the left.

I’d get to the top before her if my life depended on it.

A sexy smirk, fingers playing with the strands of her shimmery top, and a wicked gleam in her eyes awaited me when I reached the large deck.

“Damn, you’re quick,” I breathed out fast.

“Not quick at everything.” The way she batted her fake eyelashes made my heart beat faster.

“Yeah, I like to take things nice and slow, too.” I grabbed the handrails, leaning over slightly as I gradually made my way to her.

“Just the way I like it,” she paused as I stalked even closer. “Well, sometimes.” She winked as I reached her. My hands moved to the sides of her face, drawing her in, my lips capturing hers once again.

The feel of her tongue tracing along mine and my cock sprang to life. Her sexy curves pressed against me as I guided her back toward the lifeguard chair.

A soft summer breeze, a light touch of air, a slight shiver of Penelope’s body had me holding on tighter.

Breaking the kiss, I glanced over her, memorizing the way she sparkled with the backdrop of the ocean behind her.

“You’re stunning,” I whispered across her glittery skin.

She blushed, even with the heavy makeup, before she ran her hand along the front of my pants gripping my hardness underneath.

“Yeah, stroke my cock,” I growled against her silver wig, rocking my hips into her hand. Her mouth sucked my neck as my fingers worked the ties of her bikini top, freeing her tits for me to see.

Edging her closer to the seat, I ran my hand over her heightened nipple—squeezing, tugging, and then sucking it with my hungry mouth. She whimpered, running her fingers through my hair, pulling it roughly.

I was in control now, and I wanted her to know it.

“Where do you want me to touch you?” I asked as she gazed with a fire in her eyes.

“Everywhere,” she whispered.

I would get her to say what I wanted to hear.

Lightly, I traced a finger down her neck, feeling her pulse quicken as she moaned. “Here?”

“Yeah,” was her breathy reply.

My finger traveled down through the valley of her cleavage. I groaned feeling the soft skin of each tit as they pressed against me. “Here?”

She sighed heavily. “Yes, please.” Her back arched off the wood railing as she tried to press her body further into my eager touch.

I slid my finger to the right and grazed over her hardened nipple and snapped it gently between my thumb and forefinger. “Here?”

“Oh God, yes.”

My lips lifted, my hand cupping her perfect breast as I etched the outline of her stomach. I slid further down until I reached her leg and brought it to rest on my hip. My fingers traced under her silver skirt, squeezing her ass. “Here?”

“Yes, yes.”

The lace of her panties was rough on my finger as I ran it underneath, feeling her wetness. “Here?”

With a sharp inhale, she answered, “Fuck, yes.”

My finger slipped inside her and her breathing sped up when I added a second. “Is this where you want me to touch you?”

She rocked her hips as I sucked along her collarbone. “Yes, don’t stop,” she begged.

“Tell me, tell me you want me to touch your pussy.”

“I want you to touch my pussy,” she echoed.

“Louder.”

She spoke up and I drowned out her admission with my mouth on her lips. I sucked down her words as my fingers picked up their rhythm.

Her silver-coated nails dug into my back, clawing at the material of my Oxford shirt. “Tell me you want me to fuck you,” I demanded, my voice husky with greed to claim every god damn inch of her.

Eyes gleaming in the moonlight, she repeated my words.

I pulled my coated fingers from her and smeared the wetness across her full lips. “Lick your lips for me.”

Her sparkling lashes fanned across her cheeks as she closed her eyes and her pink tongue licked along the curve of her lips, savoring herself. Goddamn, this girl.

I slid my fingers inside her and soaked them once more. I lifted my hand again. “Open, Penelope, taste yourself.” Her eyes never wavered from mine as her pouty lips pursed around my finger. My mind filled with images of what they would look like around my hardening cock.

“Fuck, that’s right,” I bit out. “See how sweet you taste? I want to taste it too. I want to kiss you with the flavor of your pussy in our mouths.”

Smashing my lips to hers, starved to taste every part of her, I devoured what she offered. A low, gravelly sound rumbled in the back of my throat. So fucking good.

I could come from the taste alone.

“Turn around,” I commanded. She complied as I unzipped my pants, freeing myself.

“Take off your panties.” She glanced over her shoulder and lowered them down her long legs. I watched with needy eyes as the lace fell to the weathered boards beneath our feet.

She bent over, hands on the arms of the chair, baring her pussy for me to see.

Damn, she was gorgeous. I was one lucky son-of-a-bitch tonight.

The condom was on my cock in record time and I reached out feeling along her wet pussy. I growled; she was fucking soaked.

I ran the tip of my heavy dick along her seam, toying with her clit. Her head fell back in ecstasy. “Fuck me, Theo. Fuck me like you own me.”

“Fuck yeah, are you ready for me to worship you?”

“Yes, yes. Please.”

With desperation I slammed inside her. Jesus. Jaw clenched, my eyes closed and I gripped her hips as the feel of her insanely hot pussy overcame my senses. Dripping and sweet—oh so fucking sweet. I pumped, and pushed deeper inside her, as she writhed and bucked with me.

I trailed a hand up her back, feeling her tender skin beneath my fingers. When I reached her neck, I spread them around her throat and nipped along her earlobe. “Fuck, it feels so good.”

Her wet, tight cunt made my fingers race to touch her clit. I snapped it within my fingers as she cried out a string of unintelligible words.

We screwed like only two strangers on a deserted beach could, rough and wild. She moaned loudly as I went deeper and deeper, harder and fucking harder. My mind was sewn with lust, yearning and craving more from this silver temptress. I needed to feel her come on my cock.

With my focus solely on her pleasure, my fingers tightened around her throat as I kissed and licked up the nape of her neck. When I brushed the wig aside to find more skin, I noticed a small tattoo. Tracing my thumb along the tiny turtle of ink, I slowed for a beat before resuming my rigorous tempo.

She was sexy as fuck and I didn’t want it to end.

She was definitely the good shit. Hell, she was fucking better than that.

My thumb circled around her clit as I pressed against it. “Penelope, your pussy... so good.”

I pumped inside—fuck yeah, she’s hot.

I went harder—Oh damn.

I plunged further—her pussy. Oh God.

She was like magic, making me see my orgasm coming along the skyline. Soon it would slam into her with such force I’d need both hands to hold me up when it was all over.

She pushed her ass further against me, meeting my punishing strokes. I licked along her soft skin and breathed in the scent of coconut, feeling her tighten around me.

“Oh God, I feel you. Damn.”

“I’m coming,” she screamed.

The most heavenly of sounds; her voice like an angel singing only for me.

I slapped her ass, rugged and harsh, as she climaxed over and over. I kept pounding, enjoying the feeling of her clamping down around me.

My climax built as I kissed along her tattoo once more.

“You’re beautiful,” I murmured, as the need to come overpowered me.

I couldn’t contain it any longer and the beast inside unleashed. Untamed, I came with such force I wouldn’t have survived if her body didn’t grip mine.

I kissed the turtle tattoo once as I slid out.

* * *

The next morning, I awoke to the sun beating down on me. Seagulls flew high in the clear, blue sky and the dried out wooden boards under my head made my skull ache. A man in yellow swim trunks stared down at me as I took my time sitting up.

“Rough night?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I grumbled, searching for Penelope.

She was nowhere to be found.

That very night I went back to Nectar, with the lights dancing around the club and the music blaring, it felt very reminiscent of the night before.

I went directly to the bar, searching for the silver siren whose body was a work of art.

A burly bartender tossed bottles in the air as women around the bar cheered. After he finished, his attention landed on me.

“What can I get you to drink, man?”

“Is Penelope working?” I asked over the loud music.

Confused, he shook his head back and forth. “No one works here by that name.”

“Are you sure? Penelope.” I put an extra emphasis on her name, saying it loud and clear.

“No, she doesn’t work here. Sorry dude.”

I stepped away from the bar with a sinking feeling coming over me. I searched the club for a while before making my way home.

For weeks I wondered about her, who was she? I sometimes thought I saw her pass by me on Collins Ave. Other days, I swore I saw her in the tourist shops along Ocean Drive. Each day she haunted my thoughts as I longed to be inside her once more.

2. Penny

“Come on my cock, Penelope.” He pulled me closer as my orgasm rolled through my body over and over.

My eyes flew open. Another dreamgasm. Panting, my pulse racing, I tried to return my breathing back to normal as I pulled the covers up higher over my head. Trembling, I blew out a shaky breath and stretched my body along the cool cotton sheets trying desperately to return back to sleep, back to the dream I had every night for the past few months.

Silver wig, ocean view and one of the greatest nights, ever. Theo. His name fit him perfectly; he fucked like a God. Our night meant everything to me, until I left the gorgeous stranger. I’d wanted to stay with him until he woke, but an urgent text from my boss of Nectar put a damper on those plans. I took one last look at the sexy man and watched the rise and fall of his perfectly cut, tanned chest as the sun turned the darkened sky light-blue and pink. His full lips were slightly parted as he slept soundly beside me. I brushed a soft kiss against them and rushed off to Nectar.

My manager, and his hideous toupee falling off to the left side more than the right, waited with fuming red cheeks. I’d been fired right then for not getting permission to leave, even though I made sure Garcia watched the bar for me. No amount of pleading on my part would get him to change his mind.

Back then, I felt as if I’d never find another gig paying as much as Nectar. The regret about losing a job for something so foolish entered my mind many times, but I quickly squashed it when I remembered how magical the night was. I needed work though. South Beach was competitive as hell. Sure, I could make bank in one night, but try finding the job. I’d finally lucked out getting hired at The Bearded Goat, a tiki-style bar close to the beach. Half indoors, half-out, it was a laid back, chill job.

“What’s that far off look you have?” Margo, my roommate, asked, making her way into my room and sitting on the orange-flowered comforter on my bed.

I kicked back the covers and ran my hands through my long, sun-kissed hair. “I dreamt about sexy stranger again.” Crossing to the white oak dresser, I opened my drawer and peered inside.

Her perfectly arched brows rose. “Oh, Lord of the O’s?”

I laughed, slipping on the just shy of ridiculous Bearded Goat tank. It was a far cry from what I barely wore at Nectar. “Yeah him,” I said, grabbing a pair of jean shorts and sliding them up my legs. “Did I tell you his name meant God given? Well, God definitely gave and kept on giving. If you know what I mean.”

“Yes, I know, I know. He was a sex God,” she said, laughing.

“Among other things.” I laughed along with her as I thought about Theo once more. Something about him drew me to him. I’d never left the bar with a customer, let alone had sex with one in the middle of a shift.

“But, you have Dex now,” she said, pulling a plump pillow into her lap. “You’re happy with him, right?”

“Yeah, I’m glad I met Dex, of course. I just hate how he works all the time.” And how different he seemed since he left.

“Things are okay between the two of you, right?” Her eyes grew serious as she gazed at me.

“Yeah, sure.” I brushed off her question. “I sometimes wonder what would have happened if I stayed with Lord of the O’s.” I sighed and sat down on the bed next to her.

“Well for starters you wouldn’t have met Dex,” she said, giving my knee a nudge with hers.

“Well, true.” My fingers played with the hem of my shorts before my eyes slid to hers. “Dex is great don’t get me wrong, I just wonder sometimes.”

“Oh Penny, don’t feel guilty. It was only a dream. It’s normal to wonder about the greatest sex of your life from time to time.” Her laughter filled the sunny room as I slapped her lightly on the arm.

“I never said he was the greatest sex I ever had.”

“Oh please, you haven’t stopped talking about him for months, even after you met Dex.”

I blushed. She had a point. “You may be right.” I laughed.

“So, today’s the big day, right?” Margo’s question brought me back to the dread I felt.

I sighed, rising from the bed. “Yeah, from what I hear this guy’s like some hot-shot real estate guru. So, this should be interesting.” I swept my long hair off my shoulders and threw it into a low ponytail.

“Has he ever owned a bar before?”

“I’m sure he’s never worked hard a day in his life.” I thought about my father, and knew this hot-shot was probably exactly like him, relentless how everything revolved around money. I applied my lip gloss and pursed my lips together.

“I’m sure. So, any hot plans with Dex tonight?” Her long blonde hair flowed down her back as she ran her fingers through it, playing with the ends.

“Truth is, I haven’t heard from him in a few days. He’s on a ‘business trip’,” I raised my fingers to signal the air quotes, “and who knows what he’s doing.”

“Have you tried calling him?”

I shot her a look, with a raised brow. “What do you think?”

“I’m sure he’ll call. You two haven’t been dating long. He probably needs a good ass-kicking to get his head on straight.” She laughed but I didn’t find her words very funny.

It bugged me he hadn’t called—who doesn’t have time to call their girlfriend? Although I didn’t really feel much like a girlfriend anymore.

“What does Richie think about the place getting bought out?” She rose from the bed and smoothed the wrinkles out of the skirt of her pink sundress.

“Oh, you know Richie, he only thinks about retiring.” I stuffed my gloss and phone into my red stylish purse. “I hope he does as he promised before he leaves.”

“About putting in a good word for you for bar manager?” Margo’s baby blue eyes grew curious as she waited for my answer.

“Yeah. I should get going or I’ll be late. Have fun at the gym.” I grabbed my keys and headed for the door as Margo called my name.

“Penny, don’t worry about Dex. I can see how much he likes you. I’m sure he’ll call, maybe he’s really busy,” she said.

I sighed and threw my bag over my shoulder. I knew he was busy. I knew he had important meetings. Working for a land developer left him little time for phone calls to his girlfriend, I guessed.

“Before you go, do you think I should wear the pink yoga pants or the black? Which ones make my ass look hotter?”

I shook my head, laughing.

“Pink,” I yelled over my shoulder as I rushed down the hallway.

* * *

The breeze off the ocean only helped ward off the heat a little. I hoped the first thing this new owner would do is put in large oscillating fans. They would fit nicely in the large space between the top of the tiki roof and the bar.

In my off time I priced the fans and knew they would be cheap and easy to install, so I hoped he would be open for suggestions.

The traffic on the way to work was heavy. Of course it was. It figured on the day I’d meet the new boss everyone in Miami would decide to take the same route as me. I glanced down at the built-in clock to check to see if I would be late. “Go,’’ I mumbled to the car in front of me.

I rushed through a yellow light at the moment it turned red.

Flashing blue and red lights followed me through the intersection and I silently cursed myself. Shit.

Being late to meet the new boss wasn’t something I wanted. How bad would it look going in there and saying, ‘Hi, nice to meet you. Sorry I’m late. Can we get big fans? I’m hot.’

Glancing in the rearview mirror, I watched as the big, burly officer approached my driver’s side window. I lowered it and grabbed my purse, pulling out my license.

“Ma’am, do you know why I pulled you over?”

I sat there quiet for a moment, thinking. This felt like a test. I chewed my lip debating on whether to lie. Should I try the waterworks to get out of a ticket? Should I lower my tank and show him my cleavage? With his pinched face, he didn’t look like he would appreciate my assets.

I decided on honesty. “Yes, sir.”

“License and registration.”

I nodded and gave him a tight smile before I handed over the paperwork. “Would you mind if I called my work to let them know I’m running late?”

The cop nodded and I dialed the number.

“Fiona, it’s Penny. I got pulled over by a cop. I might be a few minutes late.” With the pace of how slow the cop moved it appeared I would be later than a minute or two. More like half an hour at his snail’s pace.

Hurry up please.

“Ok, get here as soon as possible. Mr. Sullivan is already here. And you’ll never believe it, Richie quit. Said he didn’t want to work for a new owner.”

Great, just what I wanted to hear. I hung up, tossing my phone in my handbag as the cop ran my license.

My mind reeled with news of Richie, who would manage the bar now? I wanted to.

I tapped the steering wheel hoping the movement would hurry him along. It didn’t. I blew my wispy bangs from my eyes as I tapped my foot in rhythm to my hyper fingers.

My body heated as the warm air drifted into the lowered window of my little red Jetta causing a tiny bead of sweat to trickle down between my breasts.

My eyes drifted to the clock again. The Bearded Goat would be opening in twenty minutes. I ran a mental checklist through my mind as I thought of the quickest way to handle the workload.

After what seemed like hours, Officer Snail finally returned my paperwork and sent me on my way with a ticket for running the red light. Asshole.

Getting to work ten minutes before opening didn’t leave me much time and it certainly didn’t give off the best first impression I hoped for. Ever since I heard about the buyout and new owner, I was upset—with myself mostly. Mainly because I planned on speaking to Richie about giving me more responsibilities at the bar. At Nectar I was head bartender, and even sometimes a shift leader, taking care of inventory and scheduling. I was more than qualified and knew all the regulars by name. The Bearded Goat needed an overhaul, and I knew what to do to turn it into the money maker it should be. Just because I was new at this bar didn’t mean I was new to the industry. I knew my fucking shit.

Instead of speaking to Richie, I chickened out while waiting for the ideal moment, which was like waiting for rain in a desert. Funny thing, there never was a perfect time and if you waited for it, then you’d be left waiting an eternity. My whole life I waited for the perfect moment, you know, the one where your whole life falls into place. I wanted more than anything to be a success without my father’s help, but all I ever had was a lifetime of regrets, it seemed. Talking to Richie should have been easy, but instead I let it slip away. Now, with a new owner, who apparently knew nothing of the industry, according to the rumor mill, I worried I wouldn’t get the opportunity again.

When I finally got to work, I ran to the heavy wooden door of the Bearded Goat and swung it open. The coast was clear except for a few cocktail servers setting up the seating area along the back deck. Making haste, I threw my bag behind the bar and assessed exactly what needed to be done before opening.

Everything.

Hustling my ass from front of the house to back of the house, I set everything up as the first customers entered through the doors. My bangs stuck to my forehead from the early morning humidity in the air, and a few soft waves escaped my ponytail.

“Penny, check the Heineken tap, it was running low yesterday,” Seth said from across the bar before heading back into the kitchen.

Behind the bar, I pulled on the brass handle of the spigot. Foam overflowed and I quickly slammed it off. The Goat offered thirty beers on tap, so when a keg went empty I became a pro at changing them in a second.

Cold air blew in a rush over me when I entered the cooler and found the new Heineken keg wasn’t where it should be. As I tried rolling it over to the spigot, I realized it was pointless, it wouldn’t even budge. Determined, I nearly threw my back out as I tried again, grunting slightly as I made little progress.

As I bent over trying to finagle the keg, a shadow blocked the bright light from the kitchen shining into the dimly lit space.

I glanced over my shoulder, not really noticing who walked in, only noticing how the door was quickly closing behind him. “Hey,” I called out, “don’t let the door…” The door slammed, locking us both inside. “shut,” my voice trailed off.

“What?” the stranger asked, turning to face me, but I was already racing toward the door.

“The door is locked now, genius.” I brushed past his tall frame and jiggled the handle. I dropped my forehead to the cold metal and let out a sigh.

“Well, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Really?” I asked, glancing over my shoulder up at him. If looks could kill, he’d be dead.

His gaze met mine for the first time since our predicament and a shiver coursed through me. I didn’t know if it was from the cold of the cooler, or his eyes. His eyes.

I’d seen those before, deep and dark, holding mine months ago as he owned my body in the moonlight.

It was him. Theo from the beach.

Oh God. Theo.

The Lord of my O’s.

“You should have a sign or something on the wall about the door locking. Why didn’t you tell me when I came in?” His deep voice brought me back from my memories and it took a moment to register his question. “Are you going to answer me?”

My eyes met his harsh stare and it dawned on me. The Lord of my O’s didn’t recognize me.

3. Theo

Whoa, who the fuck is she?

Normally being locked in a cooler with a girl would be a good excuse for a chance to fuck. But, I was the boss now. I couldn’t screw my employees. Even if they were as hot as her. Hell, this little vixen with the copper eyes and cute, petite figure would certainly find her way into my personal spank bank. But, that’s as far as she’d ever get with me.

Who made a door which locked from the inside, anyways? Dumbest thing I ever heard.

Her eyes were wide as she stared at me. She looked like she saw a ghost. What the fuck was she thinking? And why did I care?

This wasn’t supposed to happen. Finding my employees irresistible wasn’t what I should be focusing on.

Getting the fuck out of here as quickly as possible before my cock got rock solid is what I should I be focused on.

This girl was trouble. I already knew it.

Turning to face me, she rested her back against the cooler door. “I did tell you.” Crossing her arms, she slanted her head at me, waiting. “Besides, who doesn’t know to leave the door open?”

Unbelievable. I stood with my arms crossed over my chest, looking down at her. “Are you blaming me?” I asked, drawing my brows together. “This isn’t my fault. There should be a sign or something.”

She laughed. “A sign? What bar uses a sign? It’s common knowledge.”

“Common knowledge? Says who? You?” Was this girl for real? What if we got locked in here during a busy Saturday night? She was a bit sassy, and it was really getting on my nerves.

“No, not me,” she said, pushing off of the door, “Anyone who ever worked a day in a bar knows.”

My jaw ticked as I narrowed my eyes, was I that obvious? Sure, I’d never worked in a bar before, but come on, how hard could it be? “I’m sure other bars have a sign, or some other way to know the door locks. What kind of company makes a cooler that locks from the inside? It’s stupid,” I said.

“All companies. I guess they want to trap people inside for the hell of it.”

“Yeah well, I’m making a call.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone.

I held the phone in the air watching the bars disappear. Fuck, no signal.

“What’s wrong, hotshot?”

I closed my eyes briefly, lifting my chin toward the ceiling before finally glancing back at her. “I have no service.”

“I could have told you that,” she said as she brushed past me.

“Well, if you’re so smart, how do we get out of here?” I asked, turning to face her, watching as she plunked her curvy ass down on a keg, her tits bouncing as she sat. The tank she wore had a huge caricature of a bearded goat drinking a beer and I cracked a smile as I glared at it. The way the shirt was designed made her nipple look like it was in his open mouth, it was bizarre.

“We wait for someone to open the door.” She ran her hands briskly up and down her arms.

“What if no one comes?” I taunted.

Her eyes widened in mock horror. “Well, I guess we freeze to death.” She smiled and all I could think was, oh fuck she’s pretty.

“Funny,” I said, sliding my phone back in my pocket. “What’s your name?” The white cotton of my shirt pulled tightly across my arms.

“Penny. Let me guess, you must be the new owner. The hot-shot real estate guy?”

“Hot shot?” I grazed my teeth along my lower lip before releasing it. “That’s the second time you’ve called me hot-shot. You also called me genius. So, I guess you can call me hot-shot genius if you like, or Theo Sullivan.” I closed the distance between us and leaned in. I needed to remind myself more than her nothing would ever happen between us. “Your boss.”

4. Penny

The Lord of My O’s was my new boss?

My body froze, and my jaw dropped as his stern stare held me captive. His hair, once neat and close cut, was now an ink-black, tousled mess on top of his head. And those lips, framed by a close-cut beard, which grazed along my shoulder as he used them to trace over me, were currently frowning at me. Memories of our chance encounter flooded my mind as I remembered his strong, muscled arms holding me close. Silently, I seethed. Was I unmemorable? Maybe I should tell him. My make-up must have been really caked on, and the wig must have done the trick, because this guy had no clue who I was. And now I worked for him. My hands stilled on my arms. Realization set in; my boss. What were the chances he would keep me around after he knew who I was? I couldn’t imagine he would feel comfortable working with me everyday after the intimacy we shared. This was bad, I didn’t want him to recognize me now. I couldn’t lose this job. He gazed over my hardened nipples from the chill of the cooler. I crossed my arms over my chest, paranoid he would know my tits were from the night we shared. His eyes shot back up to mine, and I waited for recognition to light his thick-lashed, dark eyes. It didn’t. A tinge of hurt crept in. I understood he didn’t recognize who I was, but knowing his charming act I fell for was one he’d probably rehearsed and played out many times before stung. What a player.

I stood abruptly and he retreated from my space.

“Since we’re stuck in here, would you mind helping me lift the keg so I can change the tap spigot?”

“Ok, sure. Since we have a little free time. I didn’t think I’d be working hard on my first day, though,” he said.

“What’s wrong, afraid of a little hard work?”

He walked closer, towering over me. The way he gazed down on me made my body erupt with goosebumps, more so than the air of the cooler. My traitorous body pulsed and thrummed deep inside and my legs shook slightly. I noticed a tiny faint scar slashing through the edge of his left dark brow. Oh shit, he’s so good looking. How could I get through this every day?

“I’ve never been afraid of anything in my life. Where’s the keg?” he asked with a slight bit of teasing in his voice.

“There,” I pointed, motioning toward the Heineken keg I attempted to move earlier.

He grabbed the keg, moving it over with little effort and brought it closer to the coupler.

His warm hand brushed against mine as we tried to get the spigot hooked up, and I didn’t want to be touching him. Touching would lead to remembering. Deflated, I made a decision to never tell him about our one night on the beach, which obviously meant more to me than him. I quickly backed away, sliding my hand into the pocket of my shorts. A few moments later the door swung open.

Theo stalked out, not even taking a second glance my way.

What the hell? New owner. Fuck my life.

“Penny,” Theo called from behind me. “Come join us on the patio.”

A few of the employees gathered at a table on the deck as Theo instructed. I made my way over and took a seat next to Fiona.

“What’s this?” I whispered next to her ear.

“Not sure.” She shrugged her tanned shoulders. “He wanted to talk to all of us.”

“I’m glad I could get a few of you together.” Our attention turned to Theo as he spoke. “I wanted to introduce myself. I’m Theo Sullivan, the new owner.” His hands grasped an empty wicker chair in front of him, and I fidgeted in my seat remembering the way they trailed over my body. “I know it’s a big shock to everyone about Richard quitting this morning. It’s definitely something I wasn’t expecting, but let’s move forward. Until he’s replaced, I’ll be filling in for him.”

My brow furrowed and we all glanced around at each other. Maybe it was shock, maybe we were curious, either way, we were riveted.

“Any questions?” he asked.

No one spoke.

He smiled and my stomach did a little flip at the boyish grin. “Ok, good. Now let’s get back to work. If anyone knows of anyone looking for a management job,” he laughed, slightly, “send them my way.” He raked his fingers through his dark hair as we all slowly rose from our seats.

This was my moment, my opening to take the leap. I wanted the management job and I was determined to get it. I stepped away from the chair, eyes trained on Theo and took a deep breath.

Nerves churned in my stomach, of course, but I hid them with the biggest smile I could muster in the moment. “Hello, again, Mr. Sullivan.”

“Hi, Penny, what can I do for you?” he asked.

“I was wondering about the management job. I’d like to apply.”

He raked his eyes over my clothes, and I felt underdressed. With his grey dress slacks, and white button down, I felt I should be wearing a pencil skirt and silk blouse to apply. Maybe this was a bad idea.

“I’m kind of looking for someone different.” He unbuttoned the top button of his shirt, tugging his tie loose. “Man, it’s hot.”

My disbelieving eyes grew at the audacity he would discount me so easily. He didn’t even give me an opportunity to list my qualifications.

I squared my shoulders and raised my chin. “Well, Richie said he thought I’d be a good fit for management.”

“Penny, can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.” I saw a seagull land off the back deck as my eyes returned to Theo and I kind of hoped it would shit on his head.

“You were late today, are you always late to work?”

Damn. I gazed at him with what I hoped was a doe-eyed expression as I tried to figure out what to say.

This wasn’t going at all as planned, but I tried to make the best of the situation. Always the optimist, or so I pretended. “No sir, I’m never late. Most days I’m early. I work hard, and I’m always the first person called when they need a shift covered. But today I was pulled over.”

“So you want to be the boss, huh?” His eyes bore into mine as I shifted on my feet. “I would start by being on time for work in the future. Maybe leave your house earlier, so you aren’t speeding.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, giving him a nod before turning away.

An older woman with a bright orange and green moo moo dress called me over, and I was happy to escape him.

I conversed with her as Theo walked around glancing at different things. He never let go of the clipboard in his hands, taking notes every so often with a pen he perched behind his ear.

Sexiness oozed from him. It was hard to believe this cocky as hell man was the same one from the beach.

By the next day, it was obvious he didn’t know the first thing about running a bar. On Wednesday, he wanted me to alphabetize the liquor bottles, which, of course, made me laugh in his face. I thought he was joking. He wasn’t. I told him no functioning bar could run that way. Bottles were displayed according to well, call, and brand names. He listened stone faced as I explained how the phrase ‘top shelf’ actually meant the bottles on the top shelf were better quality, as well as more expensive. It applied in all bars, not because they’re organized alphabetically.

When he wasn’t walking around with his clipboard, endlessly taking notes, he spent most of his time on the phone, or joking with other employees. They appeared to love him. I felt like I was the only one concerned our new owner knew little to nothing about the industry. I wanted the management position, and one way or another I would show him I was the best person for the job. My resolve strengthened to never tell him who I was. He didn’t make it easy though. Watching how he would nibble on the end of a pen, or run it across his lips, when he thought about a new ridiculous idea for the bar, made me want to strangle his neck while I kissed him.

By Thursday, I was sure he lost his mind when he wanted all of us to stop what we were doing to acknowledge each time a guest entered or left the establishment with a ‘hello’ or a ‘goodbye.’ Sure, it was a fun idea in theory, but it was impractical.

Friday came and Theo still had no clue, but I gave him one thing—he wasn’t giving up. He had a big heart, which was evidenced by how he let some of the older locals tell him story after story about the ‘good ol’ days.’ He would lean on the bar, his dark eyes lighting with laughter, as he listened. He worked hard, I could begrudgingly admit, even though the work he did was all wrong.

“What do you think?” Fiona asked as she leaned against the bar.

“Of?”

“Mr. Sullivan. Too bad he’s our boss and not a customer. I’d flirt my ass off with him. So damn handsome.” She closed her eyes for a moment and made an “Mm” sound.

“I don’t think he’ll last. So maybe you’ll get lucky.” Vomit. I wanted to vomit as I played with the top of a Vodka bottle in the well by my side.

“Apparently he has a ton of great ideas.” Her dark hair flew around her face as a breeze swept in. “Not that we’ve seen any yet.” She smiled.

“Yeah, I don’t think this guy would know a good idea if it slapped him in his bearded face. He’s just another pompous asshole, playing bar owner, and I’m sure he’ll run this place into the ground.” My cheeks heated, my heart pumping, maybe I was being unfair, but so was he. Two more times I approached him about the management position and both times he shot me down.

“If he runs it into the ground then I guess it’s time to start looking for another job.” She winked as she walked away. The problem was I didn’t want a new job; I liked the Goat.

My eyes traveled to the spacious patio with its more than half empty wooden seats. People would rather spend their days at the Clevelander or The Mango Tropical Cafe than to come here. A gentle ocean breeze stirred the loose strands of hair escaping my ponytail as I stood behind the bar watching the waves crash in the distance.

“And she wants to be manager.” I jumped at the sound of Theo’s weighty voice behind me. He motioned to an empty lounger with his head. “Would you like to take a nap, Boss?” he quipped.

My eyes widened and I bit back a retort. “As you can see, we have no customers to take care of.”

“Time to lean,” he pulled a bar towel from his shoulder, “Time to clean. Boss.” He motioned to the bar he knew damn well I kept impeccably clean as I gazed at his reflection in the mirror.

“I’ve already cleaned the bar. You know I always keep it in order. You want me to do it again?” I challenged.

“Yes. Yes, I would.”

“Why don’t you say please.” I seethed, wanting to remind him of our night together, but he still didn’t catch my implied meaning.

The Lord Of My O’s could fuck off.

5. Theo

Say please, my ass.

Listening to them talk about me—the way they thought I would run this bar into the ground—pissed me the fuck off. Pompous asshole? Who me? They didn’t know what the fuck they were talking about.

I wasn’t born yesterday and I worked hard for everything I had. There was no silver spoon in my mouth when I was born, and I never failed at anything I ever set out to do before in my whole goddamn life—and that was a fact.

I tugged at my tie as the heat coursing through my agitated veins compounded.

The previous owner told me business was good, and even showed me his books. Glancing around at the empty bar area, I questioned if he fudged the numbers, somehow. If we continued to do business like this, The Bearded Goat would be out of business before I could run it.

All in all, the staff was efficient, nothing I couldn’t work with. There were even a few who I would consider for management. They worked hard and I appreciated it.

But, this Penny Marks, now standing around twiddling her thumbs, doing nothing, tested my patience. I stood behind her as she polished a liquor bottle, and my anger heightened.

“Would you please clean?” I asked, stooping to her childish level.

She held up the bottle she was wiping, glancing at me through the large mirror behind the bar. “I am cleaning, Mr. Sullivan,” she said in an overly exaggerated sarcastic voice. Irritation rose inside of me. She couldn’t even take a second to turn around to face me.

“Cut the crap, Penny.” I cracked my knuckles in annoyance as my eyes tightened. “You’re polishing a bottle.”

She spun around with wide eyes to face me. Her breathing picked up and her cheeks reddened with either embarrassment or anger—at this point I didn’t care which.

“Excuse me, sir. The bottles get dirty when we pour drinks. If we don’t polish the bottles then we’ll get fruit flies. Do you want flies?”

“Of course I don’t want flies.” I leaned back against the bar. “Did you have a nice chat with Fiona?”

Her mouth hung open and the sassy expression was replaced with guilt. “Um, I can explain,” she said.

“Save it, Penny. Let me explain something to you. Do your job, show up on time, and work hard and maybe in a year we can discuss the management thing again.”

“A year? You’re kidding right?”

I cracked a smile. “Sure, of course I am. I would never say a year. Maybe two.”

“Oh ha ha very funny, Mr. Sullivan.”

“You can call me Theo, as for the management position, try not to talk bad about me anymore.”

“Theo, I didn’t mean to be…”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me. I never fail at anything I set my mind to. You best be remembering that.”

“Oh I remember things quite vividly.” Her eyes flashed to mine, and a hazy spark of recognition flickered and extinguished. I shook my head. I never saw her before; I was sure of it.

She was pretty the way her bangs fell right above her eyebrows. And this type of thought would have me out of business in a heartbeat. So, I would not be tempted.

I would keep her at arm’s length and not let myself be attracted to her. She was an employee and not a very good one.

“Ok, get back to work,” I said.

She shot me a look, and I grinned, leaning in close to her ear. “Please.” Big mistake, my cock pulsed. She brushed a hand across her cheek as she swiped away a strand of hair, and I wanted nothing more than to feel the softness of her skin. Her body trembled slightly and I stepped away.

“Yes sir,” she breathed.

“Also, next time you decide to open your mouth,” That pretty little mouth, “and trash talk me,” You’d blush at how filthy I talk, “or call me an asshole...” You’ll get an ass spanking. I faltered, unable to focus my thoughts as she stared at me curiously. What the fuck was happening? My dick throbbed. “Just remember, I’m your boss, and I’m not going anywhere. Decide if you can handle it.”

She took in a deep breath as her expression hardened. “I won’t quit,” she said after a moment of silence.

“Fine.” Grabbing a black server tray to hide my growing erection, I stalked away and left her there.

“Oh, and Theo,” she called after me.

God, would she stop talking already? The last thing I needed her to see was the massive hard on I sported in my trousers.

I stopped dead in my tracks and glanced over my shoulder. “Yeah?”

“If you’re interested, they have a ton of books on running a bar. It may come in handy.” Her underhanded comment, disguised as helpful, grated on every nerve in my body and my jaw tensed.

I shook my head. “Get back to work,” I retorted through clenched teeth.

She smiled wide. “Sure thing, boss.”

I stormed out of the bar area and into the tiny office off of the kitchen.

I couldn’t even talk to this girl for five minutes without my anger boiling over and my cock getting hard.

Who the hell did she think she was? Queen bartender? Give me a fucking break.

By evening, I made it home to my two-bedroom condo. The first week of owning a bar didn’t go how I envisioned. My general manager quit, and I had a bartender who’d been given a glowing recommendation for management, but required a major attitude adjustment, which only turned me on more. All week long Penny continually shot me a perplexed stare every time I voiced an opinion or idea. There were two customers in the bar this afternoon, how difficult was it to stop and say goodbye as they left? Not fucking hard to me.

My phone pinged with an incoming call and I glanced at the caller ID. Fuck, Blair. What did she want?

I debated on ignoring the call, but after the third ring, I answered.

“What?” I huffed into the phone.

“Hello, Mr. Moody. What’s got your panties in a bunch?”

“What do you want, Blair?” I rubbed a hand across my forehead. Her games were the last thing I wanted at the moment. Cracking open a beer and putting this mess of a day behind me were the only things appealing to me right now.

“You’re still coming this weekend to grab Lucy, correct?”

“Why would you think I wouldn’t be?” I asked, reaching in the fridge for a beer.

“I’m just checking.”

“Then I’ll be there. Haven’t missed a time yet.”

“Alright then,” she huffed. “See you soon.” She hung up without saying goodbye, and I didn’t blame her. My attitude was borderline pure asshole and instead of taking my frustration out on the person who caused it, Penny Marks, Blair felt the brunt force of it.

I tossed my phone down on the black granite countertop and clasped my hands behind my head. What a fucking mess. It was now clear, the previous owner of the Bearded Goat fucking lied and I fell for it. Also, the pressing issue of my employees thinking I didn’t know what I was doing created havoc on my system.

I put the beer back in the fridge, unopened, and made my way down the hallway. Inside the bathroom I grasped the marble sink with both hands and leaned over, staring into the mirror. A look of defeat stared back at me. Fuck that. I wasn’t going to give up. Pushing off the counter, I removed my clothes.

I turned the shower on and stepped inside the glass stall, the hot water relaxed me instantly.

My cock grew heavy as I tugged it firm. I needed to come. I’d wanted to jerk off since the second I laid eyes on Penny at the bar. Her smile intoxicated me, and her eyes were like a well- worn penny casting her hatred at me. Her tight ass and tanned slender legs did things to me, wicked things. Things I should bury deep away in the bottom of my mind. Mostly though, it was the freckles, a splattering of a few light brown freckles which crossed over the bridge of her nose. I shouldn’t jerk off to her—it was so fucking wrong.

Instead, I tried my damndest to conjure up my silver moon goddess from months prior.

“Fuck,” I said on a groan, my balls heavy with lust. I tried to remember the way I slammed into her from behind and how she felt as I took her to new heights. Her pussy wet just for me.

How would Penny’s wet pussy feel? No, stop thinking about her, think about the goddess.

I fixated back to the beach, the moon and stars shining down on us as I fucked the gorgeous woman who haunted my dreams at night.

I stroked along my cock remembering the way her skin tasted as I trailed my tongue along her neck. I pumped harder—fuck I wanted her again.

“Oh, God.” My panting picked up as I braced a hand against the wall.

My mind played tricks on me as Penny’s golden hair sprang through my consciousness and I clutched my cock tighter. Stroking my dick, which ached for one moment with her, down to my balls, I tried to push away the thoughts of Penny. Get out of my head.

I grunted, loudly. The sound echoed off the tile. I groaned not able to fight my mind any longer against her.

The hot water cascaded over me as images of Penny in her bright pink tank crashed through my mind.

Pressing my hand harder on the shower tiles my cock throbbed.

Closing my eyes, fantasies of Penny naked, slowly exhaling and panting from arousal were taking over. I’d take a handful of her hair slick from the wetness of the water, wanting control, and kneel her before me. Her shining eyes would gaze up to mine—captivating and hungry. God, she’d be perfect below me, taking my cock in her sweet, open mouth.

“Damn,” I moaned.

My arm flexed as I tightened my hold. Pumping, throbbing, and needing her more than I wanted to admit.

I squeezed my eyes shut, fucking my hand, and enjoying every moment of it.

I grunted as I picked up speed. Her head bobbing in between my legs played in my mind like a slideshow.

My arm grew weak trying to hold myself up, the hot water scalding my skin, my hand pumping vigorously as I imagined Penny’s sweet lips sucking me off.

What would she feel like? I was so close to coming I couldn’t stop the rapid images flashing behind my closed lids. Big, round tits. Sucking them in my mouth. Biting her nipples. She was so fucking hot.

As I grew closer, my thoughts shifted as I imagined slamming her against the tile and fucking her hot, wet cunt.

My breathing was heavy and my body was in agony from not having her here, her tight pussy wrapped around me, her body begging for my touch. The muscles in my thighs tightened as soon as I felt the first wave of my orgasm rip through me. Fuck, I wanted her.

I jerked my hand faster as I came hard, my chest heaving from the force of it.

Damn. I wanted her the hell out of my bar and my head.

I needed to make a list. Lists always made me feel better. I toweled off and slipped on a pair of black gym shorts.

Not bothering with a shirt, I made my way into my bedroom. After grabbing a pen and spiral notebook from the drawer of the nightstand, I settled into bed and flipped on my Boondock Saints night lamp and started writing.

Reasons To Fire Penny

● Her attitude

● Her complete lack of respect for authority

● Her sassiness

● The guests really do like her

I paused briefly before furiously crossing through the line when I thought about the way they did in fact like her. Can’t fire her for that. Shaking my head, tapping my pen on the notebook, I narrowed my eyes. Back to the list.

● Her complete lack of regard for me

● The way she smiles at me

Ok, this list wasn’t working out well. I wasn’t finding any real reasons. I thought long and hard for anything which would warrant firing her.

● Late

Chewing on the top of my pen, I stared at the word Late scribbled on the paper. It really was a one-time thing, and she’d been on time since then. Actually, she was usually early. It remained on the list anyways. Maybe I should make a list about what to do to get rid of her. I crumbled the paper and tossed it to the floor.

New List How to get rid of Penny

● Fire her

No, I guess I couldn’t outright fire her. It would probably cause more problems for me. Think.

● Ride her harder at work, so maybe she’ll quit

Yeah, I’d ride her ass hard. Ok, thoughts like these weren’t helping. They got me in this mess. What could I do to get rid of her? Maybe a list of what to do to stop thinking about her would help.

New New List How to Stop Thinking About Penny

● Make her wear a long sleeve shirt.

● No makeup at work

● Freckleectomy

Did they have a surgery to remove freckles? I could always add it to the list to find out. Either way Operation Forget Freckles was now underway.

● Focus on anything else

What could I do to stop thinking about her? She was slowly creeping in. I clutched the pen tighter in my hand as I freed my mind and started writing.

● Read more

● Search high and low for the Boba Fett action figure (priority)

● Watch Star Wars over and over until you have every line memorized

● Buy a new video game (GTA is coming out)

● Play the video game until my fingers break

● Stop staring at her

● Tell her she’s no longer allowed to talk at work

Fuck, this list was pointless. I yanked the paper from the spiral notebook and crushed it into my fists. Throwing it into the air, I cursed again.

I rubbed my eyes as I threw the notebook and pen across the room.

Flicking off the lamp, I tossed a while until sleep finally pulled me under.

* * *

When I entered the bar, bright and early, I found Penny behind the bar, leaning over into the beer cooler with her ass in the air. Rooted to the spot, my eyes lingered longer than they should have.

Her heart-shaped ass begged to be smacked by my flat palm. Yes, exactly what she needed, a good ass spanking. Unable to look away, I watched as she stretched her tight body upright before she turned and saw me gaping at her.

“Oh, Theo. I didn’t see you there.”

“Right,” I clipped. “How could you with your ass in my face?”

She took in a sharp gasp of air before a scarlet stain spread across her chest.

“Why don’t you bend at the knees from now on, Penny.” Fuck. A vision of her kneeling in front of me raced through my mind.

Her pouty lips pressed into a thin line before she turned, setting the Samuel Adams bottles on the glossy, oak bar. “Maybe you should post a sign,” she muttered.

“And where should I post this sign? On your ass that’s always in my face?”

“Well, you’d be the only one reading it since you seem to always be staring at it.”

“Me, stare at your ass? No, not likely. It’s common knowledge you bend from the knees to pick something up.”

“Like this?” She lowered to the ground, bending her knees in a sexy squat before me and I couldn’t think straight as she slowly rose up from it.

We were standing inches apart, and my body buzzed with excitement. “I’m sure that’s not what they intended when they made that rule.”

She propped a hip against the wash sink and crossed her arms. “No? And just what did they intend?”

“To not stick your ass in people’s faces, I presume.”

“Yeah, we wouldn’t want that.” Her eyes grew wide in mock horror. “Call the back police, there’s an ass in my face. Hey, look officer, there’s an ass right there,” she said, pointing directly at me.

I leaned in closer. “You think you’re so fucking smart, don’t you?”

“Maybe a little.”

“We’ll see how smart you are when your back’s broken.”

She laughed and the sound was like nails on a chalkboard. A really fucking sexy chalkboard. “Thanks, Theo, for always watching out for my backside.”

“Ok, enough sass from you. Let’s get to work.”

“Sure thing, boss.” She saluted me.

A fucking salute. My frustration with her grew as she smiled sweetly which was in complete contrast to her sour attitude.

“Today you’ll be showing me exactly what it is you do here.”

My plan was to watch her closely and find a reason to get rid of her.

After an hour of her showing me all the liquors and how to pour a beer from the tap, I realized there was more to bartending than I previously believed.

A group of women entered the bar and seated themselves right before me. Confidence coursed through my veins. I felt more in my element. Maybe I didn’t know how to pour a drink, but I sure knew how to take care of the ladies. I made my way over to the group of twenty-something year olds dressed in their beach wear and leaned an arm against the bar.

“Can I help you ladies?” I gave them a lazy grin and they giggled. There were five women in all, and each one ordered a Cosmopolitan.

“Penny, five Cosmos,” I called over my shoulder.

A moment later, Penny slammed a shaker, a bottle of vodka, triple sec, and some cranberry juice in front of me. “Here you go. Have fun.” She gave me a slight smile, which didn’t reach her eyes, and stalked off to the opposite end of the bar

Fuck. I can fake this shit.

I scooped some ice into the stainless steel shaker and poured the vodka in first. I poured for a while then, added the triple sec and cranberry juice. Easy. I topped the shaker and shook like I’d seen in the movies.

Grabbing a few martini glasses, the ones I always saw women in the clubs drink their cosmos from, I lined them on the bar and poured away. Two drinks down. I repeated the process until all five glasses were filled.

Owned that shit.

The ladies laughed as I slid over their drinks, winking to each one.

The brunette took a sip and turned her nose up as she tried to swallow it down.

“Is this a Cosmo?” she asked as she set the drink along the bar.

The other girls all took a sip with the same reaction as I tugged at the back of my neck with my hand. “What’s wrong, ladies?”

“Sorry, it doesn’t taste right.”

I examined the drinks and they were fucking pink. What did I do wrong? “Penny,” I said over my shoulder. “Can you come make the Cosmos for these lovely women?”

I emptied the five drinks into the sink as Penny stomped over.

“Fine, Boss,” she said through clamped teeth and a fake smile. She made the drinks like a pro, all while trying to show me the process.

When the new drinks were finished, I slid them over to the group of chicks.

“Thank you. What’s your name? Are you new here?” one of the girls asked.

“Yep, and you can come back to see me anytime.” I glanced at Penny as I said the next line. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

After telling them all my name, I joked and laughed with them, trying my best to keep them entertained while I left Penny to handle the rest of the bar.

For a Tuesday afternoon we weren’t slammed, but Penny appeared busy as she shot me her evil glare every so often. I laughed to myself—yeah suck it up.

To continue reading, you can now purchase The Boss Duet Box Set on Amazon

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Like A Boss | Love A Boss | Love A Boss Duet Box Set

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Date Me | Study Me | After Class (Behind the Scenes of Study Me) | Save Me | Break Me

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