Filthy Gorgeous (25 page)

Pathetic, I know, but it’s all I’ve got.

Cougar climbs to her feet, and exclaims triumphantly. “I found it!”

The look of murder on Ella’s face tells me that she’s not going to fall for that well-worn excuse so easily.

***

“Don’t just stand there, son. Get your mother a drink!”

Mom is still in shock. Ella and I carried her back to the house so that she can recover in the privacy of her own bed. Ella seems okay. I mean, how’s a girl supposed to act when she discovers that her new beau is about to get a blowie from a woman old enough to draw her 401k? I roll up my sleeves. I don’t want to get them dirty when I kill Parker Harrison. I beat a hasty retreat outside and join the gang.

“Glad to hear she removed her dentures before—”

“Don’t even!” I snap at Karl.

Carrie raises her glass. “Karl, you beat me to it.”

Susie licks her lips and smiles. She’s enjoying every second of this. She has evil eyes, don’t you think? Like a cat.

I glance over my shoulder. “She’s gone, right?”

Parker nods. “Yep. We called her a cab. She was pretty wasted.”

Ella is quiet. I wrap my arm around her waist and kiss her forehead tenderly. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I was telling you the truth.”

She leans in and forces a smile. “It’s fine.”

Did you hear that?

It’s fine.

It’s so
not
fine.

Alexander Slade has some serious groveling to do.

***

It’s cake time.

There’s a tradition in the Slade household that just won’t die. With each passing year, my birthday cake gets bigger. It started when I was five, when I complained to mom that her Spiderman offering was too small; my superhero needed a bigger web. By my twenty-eighth year, the cake was up to one meter in diameter and shaped like a golf ball.

What can I say?

I’m spoiled.

My father is buzzed and ready to present this year’s offering. He made me sit in a chair in the middle of the lawn and wait. There are
oohs
and
ahhs
from the crowd as this year’s gift is wheeled in.

You heard that right, I said wheeled in, because it’s fucking enormous.

Dad jogs over and gives me a man hug. “Happy birthday, son. I’m sorry your mother didn’t have the time to bake it herself. Besides, our oven isn’t big enough so we had to get this one specially made.”

See, he loves me really. I’m the golden only.

Dad rejoins the throng and I count thirty candle sparklers burning brightly on top of the cake. He whistles to the band. The ‘Happy Birthday’ song strikes up, and that’s when the confusion kicks in.

Holy mother of …

A topless brunette with perky tits busts out of the top of the cake. I search my father’s face for an explanation—a wink, a knowing smile—
anything
.

He’s coughing and pounding his chest with a clenched fist. Meanwhile, Cake Girl is dancing. She wiggles over to me and sits on my lap. Holding my face between her hands, she buries it between her frosting-clad cleavage. I lick my lips.

Butterscotch.

My favorite.

From the corner of my eye, I see Auntie Judy dragging my six-year old cousin toward the house by his ear. Mom, refreshed from her bed rest, has a tablecloth in her hand. She wraps it around Cake Girl to protect her modesty. Grandma Harrison has armed herself with her trusty handbag.

While this shitstorm is going down, Cousin Timmy is calmly devouring the top tier of the cake. My team is doubled over with laughter, except Carrie—she’s giving me a death glare. As for Ella, her arms are crossed tightly across her chest. She looks …
uncomfortable?

I untangle myself from Cake Girl and stalk over to my father. “Seriously, Dad, a cake stripper? That’s so frigging nineties.”

He shakes his head in disbelief. “It wasn’t me, son. I swear to God. I was pressed for time and had Karl order the cake.”

Karl’s hands are raised in self-defense. “I’m innocent. Raj said he’d sign off the order.”

That explains everything.

I scan the room for Raj, ready to unleash my wrath. He’s sucking face with Claire in the corner. I’d go over there and kick his ass, but I don’t have the heart when he’s finally getting his freak on.

I’m not that cruel.

Ella wipes a blob of frosting from my nose and sucks her finger. “Very tasty.”

I flash my dimples. “I’m sorry …”

She just shrugs. “It’s fine.”

If I hear that word one more time….

My father grabs a microphone and takes the stage. In his best radio voice, he makes an announcement. “Ladies and gentlemen, please accept my heartfelt apology for that unexpected interruption.” He’s swaying like a Weeble. “Now, it’s nine-thirty. You all know what that means.”

There’s a whoop and cheers from his business circle cronies. They know; they’ve seen it all before.

Ella leans in. “What’s this all about?”

I bury my face in her neck and mumble. “It’s time for my father’s dance-off.”

“Seriously?”

I nod. “It’s a summer ball tradition. Each year he picks an unsuspecting guest and they go head-to-head over three songs.”

A couple of years back, Parker did the can-can on a bar stool. We uploaded it to YouTube before he insisted we dial 911. He’d broken his collarbone. The crowd chooses a winner. My father hasn’t lost yet.

I hook an arm around Ella’s shoulders while my father prowls the stage. His eyes roam over the sea of heads, and he stalls, his eyes fixed on his next victim.

“Alrighty, I’ve made my choice.”

He points toward a hammock behind us. “Raj Kapoor, if you’d like to make your way up here.”

Raj doesn’t answer—he’s still got his hand stuck up Claire’s skirt.

I consider my father to be a fair guy, but he’s gone too far this time. This is going to be like Napoleon Dynamite versus Michael Jackson.

And so it begins. My father is up first and he tries to bring sexy back with Justin Timberlake. The garden erupts into wild cheers when he spins on his heels. Ella whistles between two fingers.

“Are you crushing on my father?”

She winks. “Maybe.”

I’ve seen this a thousand times before so I head toward the bar for more drinks.

When I return, I see Ella is gone.

“Carrie, where’s Ella?” Keeping half an eye on Raj’s dance, she tells me. “I don’t know, she was talking to some girl. Regina … Renata or something?”

“Renée?”

She claps. “That’s it! Renée.”

Oh, fuck.

I throw the tray on a nearby table and hunt around the garden in desperation. I find Renée first. She’s sitting alone in a dimly lit corner of the pool, smoking a cigarette.

I’m cautious when I approach. After the staple-gun incident, I’m taking no chances. “Hey.”

She replies, her eyes fixed on the water. “Alex, how very good of you to stop by.”

Can you feel the sarcasm in her voice?

“You’re smoking now? Come on—that shit’s no good for your health.” I pull the cigarette butt from her mouth.

She throws her head back and laughs, but she’s not happy. “Not good for my health? I’ll tell you what’s not good for my health.
You.
You’re not good for my health!”

Sighing loudly, I look up to the starry sky. “You’re drunk?”

“What do you think?”

I grab the empty wine bottle she’s clutching and lob it into the pool. “I think you’ll wind face down in that water if you drink anymore.”

“Why would you care?” she sniggers.

Women.
Why do they have to make everything so goddamn complicated?

I scoot up next to her and put my hand on her should. “Renée, I do care. We may no longer have our Friday night,” I pause to find the right word, “… meeting, but I care. We’ve known each other for a long time.”

Her eyes widen. “Meeting?”
Shit
. Wrong word.

She continues in a tear-choked voice. “Five years! I’ve been working with you for five years—we’ve been fucking for four. It was the night of my first Christmas party. When you asked to dance with me, I felt like the luckiest girl in the world. You were so handsome. You just oozed charm.”

How much of an asshole do I feel right now?

I’m silent for a few moments. Reflective. I’m sincere when I tell her, “I’m sorry. I didn’t think, I mean, I thought you were okay with our arrangement.”

“Arrangement?” she snorts with a half-laugh. “I love you, Alex. I always have. How’s that for an arrangement?”

“Shit, Renée. That’s … nice?” I go to stroke her hair, but withdraw my hand.

If I comfort her, she’ll eat my face.

You think I should feel guilty? I don’t. She made her decision. I didn’t force her to fuck me, but I guess I’ll shoulder some of the responsibility for being so damn irresistible.

“Renée, you’re great. You’re attractive. Smart. You’ll find—”

“Don’t patronize me! I’m not her, though, am I? I’ve never, ever wanted to be somebody else until I saw you with her. I was standing behind you earlier, watching you. Watching you, watching her.” She wipes tears from her eyes with the back of her hand.

She chokes on the last word. “I’d sell my apartment if you’d look at me like that for just one second.”

Jesus, she makes me sound like a swivel-eyed stalker.

I drum my fingers on my lap. “Renée, what exactly did you say to Ella earlier?”

Now she smiles. It’s a twisted smile that doesn’t do her pretty face justice. “I told her the truth. I warned her about you.”

My eyes narrow when I question her. “The truth?”

She grins and lights up another cigarette.  “The truth. I told her the truth about that dating ad and your father’s demands, and that you’ll drop her ass once you’ve dealt with your daddy issue.”

I feel like Scrooge; the girlfriends of my past, present, and future have all been neatly wrapped up together with a bow and delivered on my birthday as a ‘go fuck yourself’ gift.

I push my hands through my hair in desperation. “You did what?”

“You heard me. Happy fucking birthday, Slade.”

God.
Twist the knife in my back a little more why don’t you?

I pull myself to my feet. I’ll deal with her later, but right now, I have to find Ella. I jog back to the garden, ducking and weaving around partygoers.

She’s nowhere to be seen.

I check the house.

Nothing.

My father and Raj are still grinding away, now they’re going head-to-head to
Tequila
. I could use a shot of the good stuff right now. My veins pump with alcohol-soaked anxiety. If there was ever a hint of doubt in the back of my mind about her ...
us
… it’s gone.

I can’t bear the thought of losing her. Hurting her.

Now I’m energized. It’s like I’ve finally solved one of those stupid fucking Magic Eye puzzles. You spend hours, days, staring at brightly colored squiggles until you go cross-eyed, and then bam! Everything becomes clear.

I follow the path around mom’s azalea beds. It’s from there I see her lone silhouette on the beach. Her hair is down, dancing in the light breeze. Everything is dark, except for the warm glow of the party, the moon, and a sprinkling of stars.

I carefully jog down the rocky path and on to the sand. I call her name, but she doesn’t turn around until I reach her.

“I can’t do this, Alex.”

Say that again.

“Ella, ignore Renée. She’s just bitter.”

She pushes me away, like I’m a leper.

“The advert, the urgency … it all makes sense now. How stupid was I to think that I was anything more than a Friday night girl. Same shit, different guy!”

Remember when I got sucker-punched by Jockstrap?

Well, this is worse. More painful to the ears than mating cats.

I grab her by the wrists and try to calm her down. Absolve her of her pain.

“Ella, listen. That advert was sent without my consent. It was a joke. Just sit down with me and let me explain everything.”

She bats my hands away.

Here’s a quick factoid for you: Did you know that the vibrator was invented during the Victorian era by a physician in an effort to treat women with hysteria? It’s true. Female patients waited in line at a surgery for hours and hours to receive their cure; a lady hand job delivered by an oily-fisted doctor.

Anyway, back to this mess. Do you think I’ll be able to get Ella to chill the fuck out by asking her to lie on her back and open her legs?

Nope, didn’t think so.

Look like I’m going to have to let my tongue do the talking.

I stand with my hands on my hips. “It’s true that my father gave me a stupid ultimatum, but that’s not why I wanted to be with you. Ella, I really … I …”