Cover Model (15 page)

They can’t hear me.

—BOOM-cizz BOOM-cizz BOOM-cizz
—

I tug the blazer of the nearest idiot.

He turns around. His face can best be described as toad-like.

“
Please be more careful! You keep bumping into me!
”

He smirks, obviously drunk. “
Suck my dick, bitch
.”

My eyes headlight. “
Fuck you!”

“
Any time, baby. Any time.
” He stares down my top.

“
You’re disgusting!
” I turn around and fold my arms across my chest.

WHAM!

I’m thrown against the table, rocking it forward. I grab the edge of it so I don’t fall on my ass. When the table and I rock back to standing, several half-empty drink glasses keep going and spill into my lap. “
God damn it! You ASSHOLE!!
” I instinctively catch one of the glasses, but two more fall to the floor and shatter. The sound is buried beneath the music.

—
Cizz! Cizz! Cizz! Cizz!
—

I stand and yank on the sleeve of Toad Face.

He turns and glares at me sleepily.

“
Look what you did!
You spilled drinks all over me!
” My wrinkled blouse and my bare stomach are covered in sticky alcohol.

He scowls and turns away.

I grab his arm through his blazer and tug on it.

He shoves me and I stumble back. Nothing is behind me. I can’t regain my balance. I’m going to crash into the floor and get trampled by dancers. I wheel my arms, trying to catch myself. It’s too late. I fall right into—

Connor’s arms. “
You okay?!
”

“
That guy pushed me!!
”

“
What?!
”

I charge forward, circle around to the front of Toad Face and slap him on the cheek. “
Jerk!
”

CRACK!!

I reel, holding my hand to
my
cheek as I sink to my knees. My glasses hang cockeyed from my nose. Starlight twinkles in my vision as I sit down on the dirty dance floor. My cheek seems to have disappeared. I can’t actually feel it. But I do know one thing:

Toad Face. Just. Punched. Me.

With a fist.

—BOOM-cizz BOOM-cizz BOOM-cizz
—

My mouth O’s. I gasp.

Chaos ensues.

Connor slams Toad Face by the forehead against the bar table and he pours to the floor. The other four guys in blazers turn on Connor. He punches the next one in the throat and the guy crumples into the guy behind him, grabbing for his neck as he knocks over a barstool that clatters against the sticky floor.

—cizz-BOOM cizz-BOOM cizz-BOOM
—

Connor punches the third guy in the stomach and the guy folds over into a heap.

The remaining two guys stare wide eyed at Connor.

Everything happened so fast, I don’t know what to do.

Connor sweeps me into his arms and carries me away.

I wrap my arms around his neck and watch the two guys still standing at their table gape open-mouthed at us. They’re too scared to follow.

As Connor worms through the crowd, he spins me so I’m over his shoulder like a sack of rice. He pushes through the people jamming up near the front doors. We finally burst past the bouncers who let us in earlier.

The burly ex-Marine bouncer catches my eye as we pass. He looks as surprised as I feel. Connor is running so fast, I don’t want this guy to think I’m getting kidnapped. I wave at him and holler, “We had a great time! He’s taking me home. See you next week!” I laugh.

The bouncer grins and shakes his head, “Make sure you guys use protection!”

I’ve got all the protection I need carrying me over his shoulder down the sidewalk.

Chapter 9

ELECTRA

“It doesn’t look that bad,” Connor says, inspecting my cheek in the lights of his hotel bathroom.

I sit on the sink. “My cheek feels like it’s the size of a grapefruit.”

He grins, “It looks like a tomato.”

“What?” I twist around to see myself in the big wall mirror. Turning my neck makes my whole head throb. “Ow, shit. This
hurts
.”

“Let me get some ice. I’ll be right back.”

Fifteen minutes later, he still hasn’t returned.

I’m getting worried.
That
doesn’t make any sense. There’s no good reason why
I
of all people should worry about Connor Hughes. Then again, he just came to my rescue. Maybe I need to re-evaluate my position on him.

The hotel door finally opens. “They keep the ice machines hidden behind a secret door in this place. It took me forever to find it.” He sets the bucket of ice cubes on the counter and wraps a bunch in a washcloth. He holds it carefully to my cheek.

I wince. “That stings.”

“Sorry.”

“I’m fine.”

“Why did that guy knock you down?”

“He knocked me into our table. A bunch of drinks spilled all over me.”

“That’s why you smell like barroom floor.”

I frown at him, which hurts. “Anyway, I slapped him.”

Connor laughs. “You slapped him? Shit, Warmoth. You should change your name to Warhead.” He ruffles my hair.

“Stop,” I giggle.

“What am I gonna do with you, Lex?”

“Take me to bed.”

His eyes search mine. “Do you mean
put
you to bed or
take you
in bed?”

I snicker and hang my head. My loose long hair curtains my face. “The latter.”

“How about later. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast.”

“Do you want to order room—” My phone rings in my purse on the counter beside me. “Fuck. Hold on.” I look at the number. “It’s my editor. I have to take this call.”

“Go for it.”

I answer. “Yes, Vince?”

“Where’s my story, Warmoth!”

I press my fingertips against my forehead and sigh, “I’m working on it.”

“I don’t want to hear excuses, Warmoth!” His voice is loud in the quiet bathroom. I hold the phone away from my ear. “You’ve had all damn day! What is taking so long?! Do I have to come over there and hold your hand?”

“No, Vince.” I hang my head again, feeling like an incompetent child.

“Get this shit done, Warmoth! No article, no paycheck. It’s that simple.”

“Please, Vince. I’m working on it. I swear. But it’s… complicated. You have to believe me.” I can’t believe how
desperate
I sound. For the first time in my career, I’m blowing my assignment. And it pains me. I’ve dropped the ball all day long and I feel ashamed of my own incompetence. “I just need until morning. I promise.”

“Did you at least finish the interview? Tell me you finished the interview and you just have to polish the article.”

“No, I—”

“Jesus, Warmoth!”

Connor takes the phone from my hands. “Relax, buddy. You’ll get your interview.”

“Who’s this?” Vince barks.

“I’m the interview. She’ll get it done. And she’ll have your article for you tomorrow afternoon.” He gives me a look.

I nod and mouth the words, “
Thank you
.” I reach for the phone so I can talk to Vince.

Connor ends the call. “That guy is a dick.”

“You hung up on him!”

“He deserved it. Let’s order food and finish your interview.”

I can’t argue with that.

<<<<<<<>>>>>>>

ELECTRA

“Remember that time Elliot McKinney got caught sneaking into the girl’s locker room?” Connor sits shirtless across from me at the round room service table that was wheeled in here an hour ago. A white table cloth is draped over the table. It’s covered with everything on the menu. Connor insisted.

I laugh. “Oh yeah! I was there! Mrs. Navarro caught him and chased him across the quad during brunch and Elliot kept shouting ‘I am Seymour Bungholio! I am Seymour Bungholio!’ over and over! That was hilarious!!” I’m wearing a hotel bathrobe and my wet hair is up in a towel. I needed to shower off all the booze that Toad Face spilled on me.

“Elliot McKinney was crazy,” Connor chuckles, spreading butter onto a dark seven grain bun.

“Were you friends with him?” I take a bite of my wild greens salad.

“Sort of. I knew all the guys on the football team.”

I scowl. “I hated those guys. Whenever you were around them you were twice the ass you usually were.”

He looks at me for a long time before lowering his eyes. “Sorry.”

“Wait, what? Was that an apology?” I chuckle. “I can’t believe Connor Hughes is apologizing to
me
. Where’s my phone! I have to call Vince Pitts and tell him to stop the presses! Someone get CNN on the line! This is breaking news!!”

He snorts. “Whatever.”

“Oh, gosh, Connor. Do you feel bad? Did I hurt your widdle feewings? Grow up, Connor. The world is a harsh place. Anyway, I’m over it. What you did to me in high school is ancient history.” I stab a crab cake with my fork.

The truth is, I’m not over it. I don’t want to talk about it. What Connor did to me for four straight years is far too big for a simple sorry. And while punching out a few guys I could’ve handled myself was nice, it doesn’t make up for much. He could apologize for
years
but I doubt it would make any difference now. Connor
changed
me. Permanently. I see that now. A big piece of who I am is a result of how Connor always treated me. There’s no denying it and no taking it back. I just want to forget about it.

Changing the subject, I ask, “When are we going to finish your interview? You told Vince I’d be finished by morning.”

“No, you said morning. I said tomorrow afternoon to buy you some time so you don’t have to rush.”

I sigh, “I’d rather just get it over with.” Then I yawn. My cheek throbs when I do. Before we started eating, I took some aspirin I had in my purse and it helped a little. “Fuck it. I don’t want to do your stupid interview right now. I want to go home.” I stand up. My feet ache the second I do. I walk into the bathroom and grab my skirt off the counter. It’s still sticky from all the drinks that got spilled on it and needs to be dry cleaned. I step into it, my robe still on. “Can we meet in the morning?” I holler. “Maybe talk over breakfast?”

“You’re not going home.” Connor leans against the door frame.

“Shut up, Connor. I don’t want to play any more games tonight, okay?”

“Sleep here tonight. You’ll be safer with me.”

Why does that make me feel special? I don’t know, but it does. But… no. “Thanks, Connor. I’ll be fine. Those guys aren’t going to follow me to my apartment or anything.”

“You never know.”

“Trust me. I’ve met way more dangerous people than those douches. I’ll be fine.” I pull my blouse off the shower curtain rod. It’s still damp from hand-washing it. Whatever. “Can I have some privacy?”

“No.” He puts one hand in his pocket, making his chest and shoulder flex impressively.

“Are you flexing your abs for me?”

“Maybe,” he grins.

It’s impossible not to be affected by his charming smile and the incredible body attached to it. Muscles and tattoos are an irresistible combination. I grin, “Do you think your model body is going to change my mind or make me forget about my black eye?”

“I have a black hand.” He holds up his ink stained palm.

I snort. “What’s that have to do with anything?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know.”

I roll my eyes and shrug the robe off. Now I’m topless. Nothing he hasn’t already seen. “Can I have my bra?” I hold out my hand expectantly.

He smiles, eyeing my boobs. “No. I told you. It’s mine.”

“Why do you want my bra?”

“It’s a memento. It’ll remind me of today.”

“Why do you need a reminder? I want to forget it.”

His eyes flash and he looks away. “Something tells me I’m not going to see you again.”

“That’s stupid. We have an interview to finish, remember?”

He does this non-committal shoulder shrug and head shake. He almost looks… sad.

I don’t believe it. It’s just part of his charming act. Injured Heartthrob Needs Shoulder To Cry On. It may work on unsuspecting girls, but I’m not a kid anymore. I know better. I know the real Connor Hughes. The one who lived to hurt me and insult me. All that talk about high school brought back an army of painful memories that I feel brimming beneath the surface of my thoughts. Everything that has transpired over the course of this epic day has left me completely drained and confused. I need space. I sigh, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Connor. Give me my bra. And panties.”

He grins and shakes his head. “Nope.” He locks eyes with me.

I am not amused. A wave of exhaustion whips through me, stealing the last of my good humor. I am
really
tired. “Whatever.” I break eye contact with him and jam my arms into the sleeves of my blouse and yank the tails into a tight knot around my ribs. I shoulder past him and grab my pumps from by the door. The second I slip them on, my feet sparkle with pain. I ignore it. I swipe my purse off the chest of drawers. “Thanks for dinner. I need to go.” I reach for the doorknob.

“What, no kiss?”

I smirk and walk up to him. He leans down and I peck his cheek.

“Is that it?”

“Yes, that’s it.”

He smiles hopefully. “You’re tired. I’ll drive you home.”

I sigh. “Is your car here?” I don’t know why I asked.

“My motorcycle is in the garage.”

“I can’t carry my laundry on your motorcycle.”

“Leave it here. Come get it tomorrow.”

“No. I’m going home. Tonight.”

He lifts an eyebrow. “You drove a car, right?”

I’m ready to fall asleep standing up. I sigh again, “Yeah, why?”

“I’ll drive you,” he grins.

“How will you get home?”

“I’ll call Uber.”

I consider it. I really am tired, maybe too tired to drive. But no. “No, Connor. I just want to be alone right now. I should go.” My freshly cleaned laundry is neatly folded and stacked inside my basket by the door. There’s even a folded card resting on top of the clothes with gold embossed B.H.R. initials in elegant script. I pick up the basket. “Good night, Connor.”

He opens the door and flashes a grin. “After you. I’ll walk you down.”

“You don’t need to do that. I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll carry your basket for you.”