Текст книги "Screwed"

Автор книги: Kendall Ryan

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Chapter Four

Emery

 

Hayden comes trotting over almost the instant Roxy leaves.

Why do I suddenly feel all tingly? No. That isn’t part of the plan. He does not get to strut over here and make me go all lusty for his dirty, dirty man rod. Especially after what Roxy just told me. Has my vagina no shame? There are probably cooties crawling up and down that overused flagpole.

I blame my body’s indecent reaction on the current state of my love life. Which is sucktastic, thanks to my dipshit ex essentially ruining my trust in mankind.

As I watch that sexy beast of a man head straight for me like a cheetah approaches a gazelle, I give myself a mental pep talk. The plan is to keep my head down and work my ass off so that my aging mom can finally retire, and not fall for a cheating, lying asshole ever again. Period.

When he flashes me that gorgeous grin and asks me out, I’m unprepared, but I do my best to fend off his suggestive comments.

He keeps trying to charm me despite my clipboard, my short, bored responses, and my best bitch face. I’m absolutely not in the mood to fend off a won’t take no for an answer guy right now.

But at the same time . . . dear God in heaven, he’s even more handsome up close. How does that work? Isn’t closeness supposed to ruin the illusion? I guess he traded all his external flaws for internal ones. Or his cologne is some secret mind-control weapon; the smoky spice makes my mouth water, makes me wonder if he tastes anything like he smells. And it’s been so damn long since I’ve had sex—let alone decent sex.

Even remembering all the horrible things Roxy just told me, I still feel a little flip deep inside when he grins at me. And when he leans closer, I can’t even look him in the eyes. Which are a beautiful shade of blue with a hazel starburst in the middle.

Somehow I doubt his offer is just a “friend date” like he claims. Rambling about pussy kind of undermines that argument. But maybe letting him show me around Los Angeles won’t be so bad. It’s probably best to start off on the right foot with him. After all, he’s this building’s owner, its landlord, and my upstairs neighbor.

That doesn’t mean I’m ever going to sleep with him—God, of course not. I’m just being polite. Politely ignoring the way he’s already made a total ass of himself. That’s how classy I am. Winning friends, influencing people, all that jazz.

As I’m weighing my options, he watches me as if he’s never had to wait this long before. Finally I reply, “Okay.”

There’s that thousand-watt grin again. “Terrific. Just wait . . . I’ll show you where to get the best steak in town.”

“I’m a vegetarian,” I fire back. When he merely blinks, I smile at him, feeling slightly evil. Just because I’m playing nice doesn’t mean I have to go easy on him. Not right away, at least.

“Fair enough.” He rubs his chin. “Then I’ll take you to the beach. I know some spots with great views where we can avoid the tourists.”

I shrug, shaking my head. “I’m not really a beach person. Too many bugs and too much sand in unmentionable places.” Now I’m just having fun with him. Poor guy, he didn’t know what he was in for with me.

To his credit, he refrains from commenting on my unmentionable places. I’m guessing that takes serious restraint on his part. “Seriously? You moved to Los Angeles and you’re not a beach person? That’s like someone moving to Colorado when they hate skiing.”

My mouth presses into a firm line. “Or like someone moving to Colorado for work and not for goofing off.”

Hayden pauses to brainstorm another date idea. I wonder if other women ever make him work for attention like this. No, with other women, I’m guessing all he has to say is: You. My bed. Now. And they shimmy out of their panties and sprint to his bed. I’m not—and have never been—one of those women. Even if my body’s response to him is more primal than I would like.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice that the rental truck is empty and the movers are toting my last few boxes up the stairs. It’s time for me to see them off. I paid their fee in advance, so all I have to do now is order dinner, find the box with my pajamas, and call it an early night. I walk over to the stairwell, forcing Hayden to follow me if he wants to finish our conversation.

“Fine. Then what do you like to do?” he finally asks.

I think for a moment as I start climbing. Most of my life is work, study, sleep, then rinse and repeat. Well, that and I drink copious amounts of wine. But something tells me sharing a bottle of pinot with this dangerously sexy creature would be a bad idea with a capital B. But there is one thing I do to unwind . . . and I’m curious about how he’ll respond.

“I like yoga,” I say. These pants ain’t just for show.

He hesitates, which doesn’t surprise me. What I hadn’t expected was for him to say, “Sure, I could do yoga. When’s good for you?”

Say what now? It doesn’t sound like he enjoys yoga, or even that he’s ever done it before. But hey, that’s no skin off my nose. If he wants to try it on for size, I could always use a workout buddy.

“I’m going to be busy unpacking all day tomorrow, so how about the day after? Meet me outside my unit at, say, six?”

“Six in the morning?” He says morning in the same tone that I might say, “Is that blood?”

I look over and bite back a smile, feeling evil again at the faint look of horror on Hayden’s face. “Of course,” I chirp as brightly as possible. “Yoga works best when you do it before breakfast. Gives you energy for the whole day.” Unless you’re not up for it? I add inside my head.

But smooth as silk, he replies, “Sounds great.” He steps ahead and opens the door to the fourth-floor hallway for me, playing the gentleman. “I have to get back to my office now, but I’ll see you on Sunday.”

Stunned, I step inside, almost sighing aloud at the frigid wash of air-conditioning. Without thinking, I say, “Looking forward to it,” then realize that I actually mean it.

Hayden waves good-bye and trots back downstairs. I follow the hall to unit 4B, thank the last few movers on their way out, and lock up behind them. Then I turn and lean against my front door, savoring the quiet. I’m finally alone in my luxury condo. My new home—hopefully for years to come, if I pass my bar exam and play my cards right at Walker, Price, and Pratt.

Even cluttered with dusty boxes, this place is gorgeous. The furniture is sleek and stylish, but comfortable. All the countertops are granite; all the tables are glass-topped. Although there are only two real rooms, they both feel huge compared to the apartment I shared with three roommates in law school. The kitchen is fully loaded and offers enough room for a dining area. The other half of the unit has a queen-sized bed, a walk-in closet with mirrored sliding doors, and a fifty-inch flat-screen smart TV mounted on the wall above the foot of the bed. Best of all, the porcelain bathtub is long enough to lie down in without concussing myself on the toilet.

I kick off my tennis shoes, feeling the cool hardwood floor on my hot, tired feet, and stow them in the entry closet. On the other side of the front door is a tiny table, just large enough for a glass key dish and a china vase holding three purple tulips. I gently stroke their velvety petals to confirm that the flowers are indeed real. Then I weave through the stacks of cardboard and slide open the door to my biggest indulgence: the small balcony.

Even when splurging, my guilty conscience has its limits. I chose a studio model rather than a one-bedroom, and I only ponied up for a furnished unit because it was cheaper than shipping my own furniture over two thousand miles. But the prospect of a balcony—of basking in the sun while I read, sipping wine on breezy evenings, enjoying what feels to me like year-round summer—had been just too tempting. I go outside and drink in the view of swaying palm trees, mansions with blue-green lawns, and Lake Hollywood sparkling in the distance. If I squint, I can even glimpse the blocky white letters of the Hollywood sign.

I spend almost half an hour just strolling around and inspecting the entire unit. Of course, I knew exactly what it looked like before mailing in my signed contract and down payment. I pored over the property management website, admiring the photo gallery, the floor plans, and the long list of amenities. But now is the first time I’m seeing it in person. All elegant and cozy. All mine.

Once again, the difference between anticipation and reality hits me—and not just with the condo itself. My landlord isn’t quite what I imagined based on Roxy’s description. But he hasn’t disproved any of that scathing story, either. It’ll take a lot to make me relax my guard with him.

Still . . . if Hayden actually shows up on Sunday, I think I just found a new yoga partner in my building’s man-whore owner.

This should be interesting.

Chapter Five

Hayden

 

Why in the fuck did I agree to this?

I swing my legs over the side of the bed, cursing at myself for this brilliant fucking plan I hatched with Emery—the girl in 4B—who I’m most decidedly not banging. That’s bullshit right there. I should be waking up with my cock in her mouth, not because I told her we’d do yoga this morning.

Yoga, for fuck’s sake.

It’s not the best plan I’ve ever had, especially after the amount of Jack I downed last night. My head is spinning like a top as I grab my phone and dial Beth’s number. I know she’ll be up at this ungodly hour.

“Beth. Help me?” I croak once she answers.

“What did you do now, you fuckwad?”

“Jeez. Is that any way to talk to your favorite brother?” I cradle my phone between my shoulder and chin and head into the kitchen to fire up my espresso machine. Make it a double. Why in the fuck had I thought it was a good idea to drink so much last night? Oh yeah, because Hudson laid out all my demons, examining each one in the harsh light.

“You’re my only brother. Now get on with it. I have yogurt smeared into my couch, and I haven’t had my coffee yet.”

I should ask why her kids are allowed to bring yogurt into the living room, but I know from past experience that she lets those rug rats get away with anything, so long as they bat their little eyelashes at her. My niece and nephew are three and four years old. To say they’re a handful would be a huge underestimation of their abilities.

Instead I rub a hand through my sleep-styled hair and lean my hip against the counter. “Do you know of a good yoga place I can take my friend Emery this morning?”

“Friend?” she asks, choking on the word.

I grit my teeth and hit the Brew button on the machine. “Yeah, she’s new in town.”

Several moments of silence follow. If it weren’t for the two little voices arguing in the background, I might have thought she hung up on me. “Beth?”

“Yeah. I’m here. Sorry, just a little flabbergasted.”

“About?” I roll my eyes, knowing what’s coming.

“You have a female friend, and you’re taking her to yoga.” She enunciates each word in a tone of pure disbelief.

Precious drops of dark liquid drop into my waiting mug and I consider, briefly, licking them out rather than waiting for the cup to finish brewing.

“Yes. Why?” My tone is short, but shit—after Hudson’s pep talk, Beth’s attitude is pissing me off. Doesn’t anyone believe I can keep my dick in my pants? It only makes me want to prove them all wrong.

“Well, for starters, you don’t have female friends, and secondly, you don’t do yoga. Forgive me for being completely caught off guard here. Who are you and what have you done with my brother? Plus, why are you up so early?”

“I could do yoga,” I say, my male pride wounded. It can’t be that hard, can it?

“Of course you can, it’s a free country. I’m just confused. Are you feeling okay? Are you sick?”

My headache intensifying, I take a deep breath. “Will you help me or not?” All humor is gone from my tone. I didn’t expect a fight when I called her this morning. I called needing answers, not to play Twenty Questions. I knew Beth’s mommy friends did yoga, and I knew she wouldn’t steer me wrong. If she could focus long enough to give me the damn information.

“Take her to Deep Connections on Sepulveda.”

The name of the studio sends my thoughts spiraling—about just how deeply I’d like to connect with my new neighbor Emery—preferably my cock in her warm cunt. Mmm . . .

“Hayden, did you hear me?”

“Yeah. I’ve got it. Thanks, sis.”

“I’m on their website. There’s a class starting in forty minutes. Now, I want to hear more about this Emery.” I can hear the smile in her voice.

“She’s a lawyer.” Almost. Sort of.

“Wow. A girl with brains. That’s a nice change of pace for you. Tell me about her.”

Smirking at the memory of meeting Miss Succulent New-in-Town Brunette, I grab my cup of espresso. “I thought you had a yogurt situation to take care of.”

“What? No. That can wait.”

It’s then I notice that her kids have gone completely silent. Either that or she’s locked herself in the bathroom, hoping for some privacy while she grills me for details about my private life. Ding, ding, ding. That’s the much more likely scenario.

My gut instinct is to blow Beth off, to tell her it’s none of her business. But as I stride across my living room and sink into my favorite leather armchair, I realize that would be a dick move. Even though she’s annoying at times, Beth and I are super close. Despite being my older sister, she’s also one of my closest friends. I eat dinner with her family a few times a week. When she needed an emergency C-section with her second baby, I was the one who moved into her guest room for two weeks to help take care of her and the baby after her husband, David, returned to work. And she’s always been there for me no matter the favor, big or small.

“Hayden, stop holding out on me. There’s got to be a story here. Spill it.”

I chuckle at her desperation before taking another sip of my scalding-hot beverage. “There is. And I’ll tell it to you.”

“But not right now?” she says, the hope in her voice fading.

“If I’m going to make it to that class, I’ve got to go meet Emery.” Glancing at the clock, I see it’s already almost six.

“Fine. Dinner Tuesday night?”

“Of course. Will you make those little crab roll-up things with the sweet chili sauce?” I ask in the kindest voice I can muster.

“No one likes those but you,” she says with a sigh. She sounds tired, and hell, I would be too after chasing around two mini humans all day, hell-bent on destroying everything in their wake. Damn, I shudder just thinking about it.

“No, you don’t have to bother, then. Forget I asked, and I’ll see you on Tuesday.”

“Have fun at yoga,” she says, a teasing lilt to her voice.

Despite the caffeine coursing through my veins, I don’t feel any better than I did when I woke up this morning, grumpy and hung-the-fuck-over.

Heading into my bedroom, I step inside the walk-in closet, trying to figure out what one wears to do yoga. I settle on a pair of loose-fitting navy athletic shorts and a gray T-shirt. After brushing my teeth, I grab my wallet, keys, and cell phone where they’re resting on the kitchen island, and head out into the bright sunshine of yet another perfect day in LA.

I grunt the whole way down the stairs, wondering why in the fuck I agreed to this—hell, I practically insisted on it. I’m grumpy. I’m pissed off. And as I knock on Emery’s door, I stand there seething and silently cursing at myself.

When it opens, Emery’s waiting there, looking delicious in a formfitting pair of black leggings and a pink tank top, and I remember exactly why I invited her out today. Hello there, inappropriate boner. Nice timing, dickhead.

“Are you ready?” I ask, my voice thankfully sounding calm in a way that doesn’t match the way I feel when she’s near.

“You actually showed.” She treats me to a smile. Her lips are full and natural, without any gloss or lipstick, and her teeth are straight and white.

“Of course I did.” Placing one hand against the door frame, I lean in close. I catch notes of citrus and something floral on her skin. She smells freshly showered, and good enough to eat. “I’m a man of my word. You may have heard some unsavory stories about me, but don’t you think you should decide for yourself?”

She lifts her chin, meeting my gaze head-on. “I always decide for myself.” Then she bends down to pick up what I assume is a yoga mat—it’s rolled into a neat cylinder—and a bottle of water, before closing and locking her door.

“Let’s go. I have just the place.” I help Emery into my BMW while she shoots me curious glances.

She buckles her seatbelt and tucks her hands in her lap before turning to face me. “Why are you doing this?”

As the engine roars to life, all 445 turbocharged horses, I say, “Just relax, okay. I’m not going to try and get into your panties, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“You’re not?” She sounds almost offended, and I can’t help but smirk.

“Not unless you ask very, very nicely.” And that’s the honest-to-God truth. For me to betray Hudson like that, she’d have to be literally begging for it. I don’t think I could stop myself if that were the case.

“It’s good to know the option’s there.” She smirks back at me, and I can’t tell if she’s joking or serious. She’s unlike any lawyer I’ve ever met before, and I like that.

“What kind of law do you practice?” I ask as I drive.

“M&A,” she says, staring straight ahead as though she’s trying to take in every detail of the palm-tree-lined boulevard we’re cruising down.

I give her a blank stare as my fuzzy brain tries and fails to make meaning of those two letters.

“Mergers and acquisitions,” she says, helping me out.

“Ah. The good ole M&A. What do you enjoy about it?”

She thinks for a moment, those wide blue eyes never straying over to mine as she watches the landscape change when the Santa Monica Mountains come into view. “I like the challenge of getting the best deal I can for my client. Mostly I like the fun of negotiating and winning. I’ve never been very good at sharing—I was an only child—and I think it’s served me well in this field so far. I work hard and I play to win.” She smiles, and I want to kiss that grin right off her face.

“You said you’re just an intern this summer . . . ,” I say, encouraging her to tell me more. For some reason, I like hearing her talk. With most women, I’d be happy to sit in peaceful silence without having to listen to their incessant chatter.

Emery’s not like that at all. When she speaks, it’s because she has something to contribute. I’ve always liked that Gandhi quote: “Speak only if it improves upon the silence.” And in this moment, I understand what he’s saying. Hearing her talk, learning about her and what makes her tick, it’s fascinating. It most definitely improves on the silence.

“Yes, it’s not uncommon for the top students in law school to be offered positions before they’ve passed the bar. I take my exams later this summer.”

“So basically, you have to pass a test to keep your job?”

She nods. “It’s three days of tests, and yeah. No pressure, right?”

Suddenly I admire her even more. She’s set a lofty goal for herself, moved across the country, and has to prove herself to just keep her job.

“Are you from around here?” she asks, turning the topic away from herself.

“Born and raised. My parents live up north now, but I have an older sister who lives in the valley, and a younger sister who lives downtown. I attended UCLA, and after graduating, I saw no point in moving from a state with near-perfect weather and plenty of opportunity. Plus it’s great working every day with my best friend, Hudson.”

She nods. “It sounds perfect.”

I chuckle. “It’s not. Trust me. But I enjoy it, and like you, I work hard, and play even harder.”

She turns toward me, treating me to a warm smile just as we reach our destination.

I like how things are already so comfortable between us. It’s unexpected, and while she keeps me guessing about what will come out of her mouth next, I’m certainly not bored.

“You ready to get your yoga on?” I ask, parking the car near the studio’s entrance.

Emery steals glances over at the unimposing building. “Deep Connections,” she says, reading the sign hanging above the door. “I’m ready if you are.”

I shrug. I’m game for an adventure. How difficult can yoga be? Isn’t it just breathing and stretching?

I soon find out no, no it is not. Fuck, I’m going to kill my sister. After we paid our fee and enter the studio, I find out that we’ve signed up for Advanced Hatha Techniques III.

The instructor asks the class if everyone has completed the level-two course, and there are nods all around the room, while Emery and I share an apprehensive look. I’m about to try to talk her into leaving with me. A big plate of eggs and pancakes and a cup of coffee sounds way better than doing god-knows-what for the next sixty minutes. But she unrolls her mat and looks ready to do this.

Around the room there are more than a dozen people, but they’re all women—believe me, I checked. There are twenty-four boobs in this room, plus the female instructor, so that makes twenty-six and only one cock. Usually that would be like unleashing a kid in a candy store, but instead I feel like a fish out of water.

The instructor begins in a warm, almost saccharine tone. “Raise your arms above your head, lengthen your spine, and allow your body to prepare for this beautiful journey we’ll take together this morning.”

Seriously?

I look over at Emery, and her eyes are closed. She’s standing tall, her bare feet on the yoga mat and a small smile gracing her lips. I think I’ve just discovered her happy place.

As we begin, I push my body into the warrior pose, sun salutations, and downward dog. There should be a special place in hell reserved for the person in charge of coming up with these names. For instance—the plow pose—that’s nothing like what I would have assumed it would be. At the very least, it should be done with a partner.

I can’t help my gaze from straying over to Emery every so often. She’s flawless with her poses, graceful and elegant as her body seamlessly transitions from one pose to the next. I’m intensely attracted to her. But remembering my vow to Hudson, I tamp down the feelings of lust stirring in my gut.

Maybe this morning’s yoga will give me a new outlook on life. I will prove to myself, Hudson, and Emery that I can keep it in my pants and have a meaningful platonic relationship with a woman.

Even as my thoughts wonder, my body continues attempting the poses. I can’t even imagine how I must look. I’m not flexible or graceful, and would rather be in the weight room or jogging on the beach.

At last, the class is done. Emery’s practically glowing; she looks so content and at peace.

“What did you think?” she asks, bending down to roll up her mat once the instructor has dismissed us with a “Namaste.”

I could pull some alpha-male attitude and tell her that men shouldn’t twist into those positions, but instead I offer her my hand and smile. “It was cool.”

She grins widely. “Really? You’d do it again?”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Next thing I know, she’ll be trying to get me to go to Jazzercise or Zumba. And I’m not about to turn in my man card. No fucking way.

She chuckles and we head from the studio with a light sheen of sweat over our skin, and feeling energized.

“Oh. They have wheatgrass shots there. And fresh juices.” Emery’s voice is excited as she stops in front of the small café at the front of the building. “You want anything?” she asks.

I shrug. “Sure.”

I discover that juice is a relative term. Because theirs are green, and brown and chunky. I order a bottle of water while Emery gets a little glass of something green and downs it quickly.

We find a table in the café, and sit down. I continue sipping from my water bottle, trying to rehydrate.

“Thanks for bringing me here today,” she says.

“Of course.”

As we sit here, chatting about mundane things like the disgusting wheatgrass she’s currently drinking, I realize that we challenge each other. She keeps me on my toes.

“Tell me more about you,” Emery asks, leaning in toward me.

“What do you want to know?”

“Enlighten me.” She shrugs.

Leaning back in my seat, I cross my ankles. “My job is pretty much my life, and I love what I do. Taking an old run-down building and turning it into luxury units that rent for top dollar is awesome. It never gets old. I love seeing the transformations.”

“That’s amazing.” She nods. “What else . . . surely there has to be more to you than just work.”

“You want to know something deep, huh?”

She nods, eager.

I think about it for a second, and memories of my checkered past flash through my brain. But rather than watch her expression turn to one of sympathy when she learns of my past, I’d rather see her face light up with a smile. “Blow jobs are my spirit animal.”

She rolls her eyes at me, but laughs.

Mission accomplished.

“You seem normal enough. What in the hell did you do to piss off Roxy?” She chuckles as she says this, and suddenly all the blood in my veins turns to ice water.

I scrub a hand across the back of my neck. “Roxy and I . . . it’s a long story, and not one I care to discuss right now.”

She pouts. “Fine. Regardless of your history with Roxy, you didn’t deny what she told me about you.”

“What exactly did she say?” Now I’m actually curious.

She shrugs, playing with the long strands of hair from her ponytail that rest on her shoulder. “She just warned me to stay away from you. Told me about your man-whore background.”

“Well, your virtue is safe. I made a deal with my business partner. No more sleeping with tenants.” I’m not sure why I’m telling her this, maybe because it’ll be easier to enforce the friends-only rule I’ve set for myself if she knows that she’s off-limits to me.

“So sleeping around in general is still fine?” There’s a mocking tone to her voice.

“Absolutely. This will be just friends.” I gesture between us. “Unless, you naughty girl, you’re trying to tempt me.” I give her a flirty wink.

She frowns and shakes her head. “Not a chance in hell. I told you. I’m done with men, and you, Hayden Oliver, by all accounts are a piece of shit.”

“Excuse me?” I cock an eyebrow at her.

“I’ve dated guys like you before. And I classify all men who think with their dicks under S for Shitty.”

“I do think with my cock on a regular basis, so I can’t argue with you there. But he’s so much more fun than my brain.”

This gets a small smile from her, and my heart beats just a little faster.

“Seriously, why would I take a chance on you and have my heart broken again?”

“Because I have a nine-inch cock and I know where the G-spot is?”

Her cheeks turn pink, belying her cool, confident tone. “Tempting, but not good enough.”

I shrug. “Then I guess I’ll settle for just being friends.”

“Do you even have any women friends?”

I think it over. I have Dottie and Susan, but they’re more employees than friends, and of course Beth and Gracie, but they’re my sisters, and I doubt blood relatives count. “Of course I do,” I lie.

She narrows her eyes, obviously on to me. Nothing gets by Emery. She’s going to be a kick-ass attorney. Of course I don’t tell her that. Her self-esteem is robust enough. She doesn’t need me overinflating her ego.

“Just relax, princess. I won’t try to get in your panties unless you ask nicely, and I’m serious about the friends thing. I’ll show you around town. It’ll be fun.”

Her mouth presses into a line, but she doesn’t say anything else.

Our bantering has left me with a half hard-on I’m trying to conceal under the table. Emery doesn’t need to know that I’d like to fuck her six ways from Sunday until she’s clenching around my cock and screaming out my name.