Filthy Gorgeous (18 page)

Her eyes narrow. “What? Why?”

“He’s an asshole.”

Short. Sharp. Straight to the point.

She bites her lip, and when she replies, she’s full of scorn. “Right. I get it. You’re jealous.”

Jealous?

Yeah, right. I hold my hands in the air. “He’s not marriage material, Ella, trust me.”

“Trust me, says the guy with the harem!”

I roll my eyes. “If you must know, I don’t have a harem anymore. The Sladies are on hiatus.”

“On hiatus? Sounds like a holiday retreat for those with an STD. Why are they on hiatus?”

I’m not going to tell her the truth, that my cock has been unable to get a hard-on for any other woman since she waltzed into my office.

That would be a little dramatic, don’t you think?

“If you must know, they needed a break. I allow them time off every few weeks to recover from exhaustion. You know something, Ella.  Judging by the way you were mewling like a cat on my kitchen counter, I’d say
you’re
the jealous one.”

Her jaw falls open, and she goes on the attack. “Are you kidding me?”

I make a V-sign and waggle my tongue between my fingers. Immature?

Possibly.

“Eww, that’s disgusting. You disgust me!”

“Really? That’s disappointing. And to think I was going to ask you to be my new Friday girl. You wouldn’t be able to keep up the pace.”

She balls her fists in front of her chest, like a boxer ready to knock out his opponent. “You’re pathetic!”

“Whatever.”

“I knew it. We can’t be friends, can we? It’s impossible.” She looks at me pointedly. “You exhaust me. I’m outta here.”

I’m exhausting? Pot. Kettle. Black.

She’s about to cross the threshold back into the bar when I cup my hands around my mouth and yell at the top of my voice. “He’s cheating on you, Ella!”

That did it.

She turns on her heels like a sergeant on drill and marches back over to me. And for the second time in our brief but complicated time together, Ella Bryant slaps me right across the moneymaker.

“Say that again.”

I roll my shoulders back and sigh. My voice is softer now. “That girl in the apartment the morning you came to collect Tyler?” I lower my eyes. “She wasn’t with me.”

She crosses her arms. “Bullshit! Of course she was with you. Most of Manhattan has been with you! And Brooklyn.”

Ouch.

I take a step back. “I’ll
prove
it to you!” I bring up the video of Jockass’ wooded sexcapade on my cell phone and hold it at arm’s length for her to see. Her eyes widen, and for a moment, her expression is unreadable.

“That could be anybody. I … I mean, you can’t even see this guy’s face.” She has a point. I skip forward to the moment he flips Brittany over.

Ella starts to sob gently. She’s immobilized by shock. When she finally speaks, her voice shakes with a reserved anger. “When was this? Tell me!”

How much do I hate myself right now? “Yesterday. At golf.”

Jockstrap’s booming voice cuts through the air. “What the hell is going on here? Have you upset my girl?”

I hold my cell in the air like an officer of the law flashing his ID. “Tyler Strickland, you’ve been caught deep-V diving without a license. It’s time to pay your dues.”

He grits his teeth and turns to Ella. “Baby, it’s not what you think!”

Oh, gimme a break.

I’ve seen that phrase in the
Manwhore’s Guide to Dating
. You’ll find it midway between ‘I need space,’ and ‘let’s take a break.’

“Don’t insult me! It’s exactly what I think!” She pummels both fists against his chest and then she slaps him.

Way to go.

We’re joined by my team. Ella’s really crying now, and it’s killing me. “Stay away from me! Both of you!” Her eyes pour tears as she flees across the balcony with Carrie in hot pursuit.

Well, isn’t this
awkward
?

I’m pumped. “You heard her, you pathetic piece of shit!”

I’m cruising for a bruising, aren’t I?

Tyler grinds his jaw and takes a cautious step forward. “What did you say, Slade?”

Karl covers his eyes with a palm and I clear my throat. “You heard me. You make me wish I had more middle fingers.”

Jockass’ chest swells like he’s just swallowed a helium balloon. Despite the imminent danger to my handsome face, I’m having way too much fun taunting this dipshit to quit. We’ve attracted quite the audience, too. In a crowd-pleasing move, I rip off my jacket and toss it to Raj, who’s cowering behind a nearby balustrade. Jockass ventures another step forward.

“Fuck you, Slade! If it’s a fight you’re after, I say let’s go!”

I scoff. “Well, I was going to challenge you to a battle of wits, but it wouldn’t be fair. I see you arrived unarmed.”

He grinds his jaw. Anyone else starting to think that that’s his only move? “You’re quite the smartass, aren’t you?”

I shake my head slowly. “One-hundred thousand sperm and you were the fastest?”

He yells, “Keep going, Slade!”

I flash him a benevolent smile.

Time for one more?

I think so, too.

“You know something, Jockass? Your empty words may be a little more believable if your lips weren’t coated in vagaga juice. Just sayin’.”

What happens next is a blur. Before I can say Jesus-Christ-and-ten-hail-Mary’s, I’m rolling around on the floor in agony. Dazed, I can just make out Jockass’s face floating above me. I’ve watched enough Bruce Lee movies to know that jumping to my feet is likely to result in the loss of an ear.

Or my balls.

So, I kick out at his shins. It’s quick. Clean.

Jockass tumbles to the ground. I scramble up off the floor.

“Bring it on, fuckface!” I expect him to come straight back at me. He doesn’t. He’s still flat on his back, breathing like Darth Vader after an energy drink binge. I have the advantage, right?

Wrong
. There’s a chorus of horrified gasps as I tumble backward from the terrace steps and splash into the water.

I start to swim toward the adjacent bank, but pause in the cold water for a few seconds to deliver one final insult. I raise an arm in the air. “Hey, twatwaffle, I’m over here! You’re level of douchary couldn’t clean the vagina of a blue whale.”

Yep—that did it. He pulls himself to his feet and rips off his shirt like the Incredible Hulk. “Keep swimming, Slade. You’re going to look even funnier when you’re sucking my cock with no teeth!”

Splash.

I crawl onto the bank, my wet clothes hanging heavy against my body.
Shit.
He’s right behind me.  Now we’re down on the floor again, going at it with all the energy we can summon.

We roll to the left.

We roll to the right.

Jockass gains the advantage. One-handed, he pins my wrists behind my head. His free hand reaches for his zipper. “Suck my dick, Slade.”

Then he spits on my face.

Gross
. Is he a charmer or what? Here’s a lesson for you folks, that’s applicable to both life and sex; when your hands are tied, use your tongue to deliver the knockout blow.

Watch.

“Knuckle-dragger, did I tell you about the time I tongued your girl on my kitchen counter? True story. She came twice.”

Okay, so I may have twisted the truth a little, but we don’t need to tell him that. He drags me up off the ground and raises his fist.

Hard swallow.

Dizzy sway.

And that’s the last thing I remember.

Chapter Thirteen

So there you have it; the rise and fall of Alexander Slade in six short weeks.

I should have told her in the parking lot. I could have told her in my office. If I had, we’d be in my bed right now. She’d be stroking my chest, telling me what a hero I am. Then she’d slide underneath the sheets and give me celebratory head, like a real-life Bond girl.

Shoulda. Woulda. Fucking coulda.

I’m a goddamn idiot. It’s only now she hates me that I realize I’m more than a little infatuated with Ella Bryant.

Do you think she knows?

I hope so.

I never tongue a girl on a first date, but I did for her. I lick my lips while remembering the rapidly fading memory. Now she hates me and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.

“Oof, nice!” Parker says as he shovels a handful of potato chips into his mouth.

I sigh and watch the video in horror. I punch like a goddamn girl. Parker points to the screen, his arms wild with excitement. “This part is pure gold. Do you remember this?”

I shrug. “Remember? I was out cold, you fucking idiot.”

Peering at the screen through my fingers, I can barely bring myself to watch. I’m down on the floor, and Jockass is straddling my chest as I buck beneath him. If the directors of
Brokeback Mountain
and
Rocky
put their creative shit together, this would be the result. I cringe as I watch Jockstrap swing for the knock out.

“For Christ’s sake, Parker, turn this off!”

Parker shakes his head. “No way, this was incredible.” A hunched figure with salt-and-pepper hair streaks across the screen. Tyler jumps up off my chest and the mystery figure assaults me with a …
pink handbag?

“Wait … who the hell is that?”

Parker can’t suppress a smile. He hits the pause button. “You remember Grandma Harrison? She came to our Christmas party.”

How could I forget?

My cell phone dances across the desk. Parker extends his arm. “Hey. Yep. He sure is.” He turns to me and mouths. “It’s Carrie.”

For a second, I sit stunned, like a rabbit caught in headlights. When I snap out of my daze, I grab the phone from Parker and clutch it between my hands like it’s an ingot of gold.

A high-pitched voice booms from the other end. “Listen, Romeo—quit with the romantic gestures.”

She’s referring to the flowers I had sent to their apartment. I confess; I called Carrie’s agent. He wouldn’t give me her residential address, so I had them sent by proxy. I know I said flowers are impersonal, but I was desperate, alright?

“Can I speak to Ella?”

She sighs. “No.”

“Did she like the flowers?”

I hear a rustling of plastic. “The bouquet of pink roses? Or the peonies arranged in the shape of a dove?”

Carrie gives a short, sharp sneeze before she corrects herself. “Wait, those are from Tyler. Listen up, Slade. While I’m grateful that you’ve saved her from that pig of a fiancée, I refuse to get dragged into this pissing contest of horticultural consumerism. It’s pointless, expensive, and it’s fucking with my allergies.”

With the phone still glued to my ear, I look down onto Central Park with glazed eyes and plead. “Carrie, I have to speak to her. Please? Just two minutes. I gotta apologize.”

I sound pathetic?

Yeah, I know.

“Too right you need to apologize. But she needs space, and you’re going to respect that.”

I swallow hard. “Carrie, I—”

“I’m sorry. I can’t hear you over the sound of my own awesomeness. Goodbye.”

Click.

I grind my jaw in frustration.
Jesus effing Christ
. I’ll make sure I have Raj book me in at her next gig and I’ll heckle the shit out of her.

Anyway, back to business.

That slimy goatfucker is still sniffing around Ella. I sense danger. She’s a smart woman, but even smart women aren’t immune from the charms of a bad boy.

I pick up my cell and hit redial.

Wait a second.

Carrie’s number wasn’t a cell. It was residential. Before you can say reverse-look-up, I have Parker on Google and stalking for her address.

“Parker, look at this! Carrie Larson isn’t her real name. It’s Perkins!

Carrie goddamn Perkins. Carrie Larson must be her stage name.”

Ella Bryant may not be ready to see me, but I know where she lives.

I win.

Overcome by a rush of adrenaline, I grab my jacket and head for the door. “Drop the sandwich, Parker. Let’s go.”

Parker coughs. “Steady, Slade. Aren’t you forgetting something?”

I still at the doorway and glare at him “What?”

“You’re still wearing your robe.”

***

I just rode the subway for the first time in five years.

Five frigging years.

I feel dirty just thinking about it.

“Will you just slow down!” Parker pants from behind me.

Slow down? He must be kidding. We’ve already jogged the three blocks from Christopher St. and I’m sure as hell not stopping now. I halt on the sidewalk and look up at the imposing brick townhouse in front of us. This is it. This is where she lives. I count the floors. That could be her bedroom window. I hit the buzzer.