Accent Hussy (It Had 2 B U) (9 page)

Jessi pounces me the minute I walk through the door. From that gigantic smile on her face I know I’m about to play Twenty Questions for what just happened between Caleb and me.

“Holy fuck! That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. He actually summoned you with his finger; when that didn’t work, carried you from the room. Do you think he is a natural alpha or a closet romance reader who has perfected the art of being a sexy, seductive, domineering, asshole?”

“Whoa, slow down Jessi. There was nothing sexy about that. He was intrusive and domineering and that’s it!”

“Well, if you don’t want him, I’ll gladly take him off your hands. He’s quite possibly the sexiest man alive. He has jumped to the very front of my spank bank. Your brother has officially landed in the number two spot. Why didn’t you tell me Caleb was that sexy?”

“Because it wasn’t relevant,” I grumble.

“Sexiness is always relevant. It should be the first thing mentioned.”

“Can we not talk about Caleb? Saying his name makes me want to vomit.”

“Only because you want to fuck him—again.”

“I do not.” My cheeks warm.

“Holy crap you do! You’re blushing. You want his dick . . . you want it as your own personal fuck toy. Goodbye vibrator, hello sexy penis. What makes it even better is the fact it’s attached to such a perfect man specimen. Do you think he’s a science experiment? I don’t think it’s possible for a man to be born with that much hotness. It’s just not feasible.”

“If you weren’t my roommate slash best friend, I’d be kicking you out.”

“No, you wouldn’t. If it wasn’t for your mood cheeks, I would’ve actually believed that you hated Caleb. Mood cheeks don’t lie. You want to fuck him, and you want to fuck him bad.” She skips around the room laughing.

She reminds me of an obnoxious pixie: beautiful, playful, and deadly with her ability to manipulate me into saying the things she wants to hear. She may be my best friend, but Jessi is a sneaky little thing, and if I’m not careful, she may get me to admit things I don’t want to say—like how my lips are still swollen from where Caleb kissed me, and all I want to do is keep rubbing them so I can pretend he’s still doing it.

1 month later . . .

The annoying ringing of my phone at an ungodly hour on a Saturday morning awakens me. Whoever is calling me is going to get an earful when I hit the answer button. I pick up my phone and see that it’s Max. Why the hell is he calling me this early?

“This better be worth waking me up at five o’clock on a Saturday morning, Max.”

He chuckles. “Well, if you don’t want to know that you’re going to be an aunt, then I’ll let you go.”

“Shut up!” I bolt upright in my bed with the biggest smile on my face. “You knocked Breezy up?” I question.

“We are having a baby, yes. Knocking her up would mean it was a mistake. This baby has been planned for ten years.”

“I can’t believe my brother is going to have a baby! I didn’t think you were even capable of having kids. I’m gonna cross my fingers the kid gets Breezy’s looks and not your caveman unibrow,” I laugh. I can’t help teasing Max. He makes it way too easy for me.

“Yes, I pray for that, too. At least, he or she will have Breezy for a mom. Otherwise, this kid would be screwed.” Now we’re both laughing. “Anyways, I apologize for calling so early, but I was wondering what you’re doing next weekend?”

“Ummm, nothing, I just finished my finals and my graduation is the week after next. Why?”

“Do you have time to fly to Vegas?”

“Vegas? Why Veg . . . OH SHIT! You guys are going to get married, aren’t you?”

“Yup,” he says. Just from the sound of his voice, I know he’s grinning like an idiot on the other end of the phone. My brother has wanted to marry Breezy Hicks since he first laid eyes on her, eleven years ago. “I’m paying for everything. I just want to make sure you’re free. We need our Maid of Honor.”

“Hell yeah, I’m there. Just tell me when and where.”

Max gives me all the details. I’m too tired to write them down, but the basics are that I need to drive to my parents’ house on Thursday, and we won’t be back till Monday morning. I’ve never been to Vegas before, so I’m totally stoked about the trip.

“What was that about?” Jessi asks, yawning from her side of the room.

“Max and Breezy are getting married next weekend in Vegas. I’m the Maid of Honor.”

Jessi frowns. “So he’s officially going to be off the market, huh?”

“For sure. They’re having a baby, too.”

“Aww, that’s so amazing! I’m really happy for them, but Ev?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s five in the morning on a Saturday. Go back to bed!” She shouts.

“Yes, ma’am,” I agree, snuggling deep within the depths of my blankets. When I close my eyes, a vision of Caleb with his shirt off floods my mind. He’s not even here and I’m still feeling his lips against my skin. I haven’t seen him since he went all sexy stalker on me, but it’s like he’s always with me, whether I want him to be or not. It’s on the verge of driving me insane. Maybe Vegas will be exactly what I need to forget all about him and the night he rocked my world. It’s aggravating, but he’s completely ruined me for other guys, just like he promised. I haven’t really tried to date. A couple guys have asked, but none have seemed worthy enough to go any further than making out. Yes, Vegas is definitely what I need to get over my Caleb coma.

Vegas is way too hot. It’s like the heat wants to choke me to death. The minute I got off the plane, the dry heat wound its way around my throat and squeezed. Miami can be hot, but this kind of heat is totally different. There’s no ocean air to cool my skin, just sucky, dirty, desert heat that might as well be a cloud of toxic gas slowly killing me.

“How can people live here? It’s way too hot. Only lizards and hookers should live in environments like this!” I exclaim as we load into the taxi.

Max paid for my parents, Maggie and Dashawn, Emma and Tony, and of course, Breezy and me to go on this trip. I wonder how he managed to get the money. My guess is that Max moonlights as a stripper and gets fat dollar bills stuffed down his jock by horny housewives who have no taste in men. He could also possibly be a secret spy that works for the CIA.

Nah, I’m going with the stripper scenario.

“Why hookers?” Dashawn asks laughing.

“Nevada is the hooker capital of the world. Think about it. What is the first word that pops into your head when you think of Nevada?”

“Casinos,” Maggie pipes in.

“The Hoover Dam,” Breezy remarks.

“Reno,” my mother says.

“Great shopping,” Emma states.

“Prostitution,” my dad, Max, Tony and Dashawn all say together. The women all look at their men and glare. I just laugh. They proved my point.

“Remind me to keep you away from bordellos,” Breezy coos, rubbing Max’s arm. “Tomorrow, you’re mine for good.”

“Breezy, I’ve been yours for the last eleven years. No bordello is going to keep me away from marrying the girl of my dreams.”

“You two are so cute it’s exhausting,” I groan, slamming the trunk on the taxi. There are too many of us to fit into one cab, so I climb into the front seat of one of the taxicabs while my brother, Breezy, and my parents pile into the back seat. Max’s friends all get into the other cab.

“Where to?” The taxi driver asks. I notice his accent immediately. German. Our taxi driver has to be from Germany. I know a German accent when I hear one.

I dated a guy who was German once. His name was Johan. Funny story about Johan. He was a virgin—a shy one at that. It took me a while to coax him into the bedroom, let alone out of his clothing. The first time we did anything with each other, he was so afraid I wasn’t going to enjoy his penis that he refused to take off his boxer shorts. Men. So consumed with their penis that they can’t even properly enjoy a woman when she’s standing naked in front of him. Anyway, when I finally got Johan to produce his penis, let’s just say I wasn’t enthused. It wasn’t tiny, but it wasn’t big either. I could tell he was so nervous about me seeing it for the first time that he was ten seconds away from bolting from the bedroom. In order to keep Johan from fleeing the house, I said the first thing that came to my head. “My, what a big bratwurst you have.” There was a major transformation on his face. All those nerves faded and a huge smile replaced them. Next thing I knew, Johan had my ass on the bed and turned into the German equivalent of a horny rabbit. There was no more awkwardness or shyness, and just like the Berlin Wall, that huge wall between us crumbled—bulldozed down by his massive sex drive. To think all it took was comparing his penis to packaged meat.

I wonder if my taxi driver likes penis compliments, too. He’s old enough to be my dad, but it’s been so long since I’ve heard a sexy accent that I’m almost tempted to ask him. I won’t, though. I’m not that desperate.

“I notice you have an accent. Are you from Germany by any chance?” I question, and of course, as I say it, I completely take on his accent. I can’t help myself. When I hear an accent, I have to repeat it. It just has to happen.

He smiles. “Sounds like you are German, too.”

“No, she’s just an accent hussy,” Max remarks. “She hooks accents like a prostitute on Fourth Street,” Max laughs.

“MAX!” Breezy snaps, smacking him on his bicep.

“What? It’s true, isn’t it?” He rubs his arm, still laughing.

I turn in my seat and glare at him. “Screw you, Max.”

“You two need to stop. We haven’t been in Vegas for an hour yet, and you are already fighting,” my mom remarks.

“I can’t help it, Mom. She sets herself up for it when she puts on those fake accents of hers.”

“Well, she had me convinced,” the taxi driver states, winking at me.

A sudden blush creeps across my cheeks. I’m shamelessly flirting with a man who might as well be my father, all because he has an accent. I have an addiction. I really need to find that Accents Anonymous meeting.
Hello, my name is Everly. I am addicted to accents. It’s been one minute since I had my last fix.
Yeah, I’m pretty sure they would kick me out two minutes after I start talking.

Luckily, Mr. Taxi driver doesn’t say another word until he drops us off at the Mirage, the casino we will be staying at. My brother must’ve spent a fortune getting us rooms here. Poor guy.

“Geez, Max. This must’ve cost a fortune, Son,” my dad says whistling. A couple of bellhops run to get our bags. One of them smiles at me as he passes. I think I have a sign flashing over my head that says “single and desperate”. He helps my mother with her bags, placing them on the baggage cart. He has a nice backside, and from the glimpse I got of him, he isn’t bad looking either. When I bend down to pick up my own bags, strong arms circle my waist and come down on top of my hands.

“Here, Beautiful, let me help you with those.” I drink in his thick Boston accent like it’s a drug. When I spin around, I’m face to face with quite possibly the sexiest bellhop I have ever seen. His nametag reads Maddox, and his smile is to die for. Literally, I’m ten seconds away from pooling into a puddle of Everly right here on the sidewalk. The other bellhop I was checking out chuckles and shakes his head. Maddox may be in a bellhop uniform, but from beneath that god awful red fabric I can see the outline of a firm physique: well-muscled shoulders, massively sculpted chest, and from beneath his black slacks, I can see the cut of his thigh muscles.

I watch him in complete awe as he lifts my enormous bags like they are nothing. Instead of putting them in the cart with the others, he carries them in like Hercules. Each step, I watch his gluteus maximus flex; he must exercise his ass muscles in his spare time. Those cheeks of his are made of dreams.

After he puts my bags down outside of the check-in line, which is a mile long, he smiles and says, “I’m going to help you take these upstairs, Beautiful. Don’t you dare take them up without me.” He grins, making my heart flip like a gymnast.

I smile shyly, and mumble “Okay,” before he disappears again. Maddox may just make being single in Vegas a good thing. As we wait in line, I’m eavesdropping on a couple conversations around me.

“God, he’s so dreamy,” a group of girls is hovering over a phone as they scroll through pictures. “I bet he fucks as good as he fights,” one of them exclaims.

I roll my eyes over the comment. Obviously, these girls don’t understand that famous people just don’t date their groupies. Trust me, I know. I’ve sent Channing Tatum three letters of proposal, but he hasn’t called me once. I blame his wife; she must be trying to keep us apart. You can’t put a stamp on destiny no matter how hard you try.

I listen to the group of girl’s giggle and gush over whatever fighter is on the screen until they say his name.

“Caleb Conaway is a sex god,” one of them murmurs.

Shit, they’re talking about Caleb, the annoying jerk with an amazing penis. How do they know about him here in Vegas?

“With a small penis,” I say a little too loudly. I’m not sure why I’m so bothered by them thinking Caleb is hot, but it does bother me—a little too much. They all look over at me with the same expression of mock-horror. “How dare I chastise their sex god’s penis size”, is what each of their faces says.

“Excuse me,” the girl with the phone says.

I smile sweetly, “He’s got a small penis. Sucks in bed, too. Trust me you don’t want to go there.” I’m pretty sure my attempt to warn them away from Caleb has fallen on deaf ears because all of the girls still stare at me as if I’m a leper. I’m hoping the ridicule of his manhood will keep them all away from my epic penis.
Wait, I mean Caleb’s penis
. Nothing about his penis is mine. Besides, I haven’t thought about his genitalia in at least a month—okay, maybe a couple days. I’m in a dry spell. It was my last sexual experience; of course, I’m going to think about it at least once or twice.

“Right, like Caleb Conaway would have sex with you,” the girl with the phone spits, swiping her blonde hair over her shoulder. Somebody needs to hire this chick a better hairdresser; her hair screams beauty school dropout. “Caleb Conaway has taste. Being with you would be like sleeping with trash.”

Her friends giggle. Fortunately, I got my PH.D. in insults and deflecting these pesky fighter flies will be easy.

“Where’d you buy that dye job from, sweetie? A kindergarten class?”

Her friends gasp.

“If I were you, I’d be asking for my money back, because unless you were going for hair the color of a pumpkin, you got robbed, but I’m guessing you’re used to that because I wipe my ass with hundred dollar bills worth more than you.”