Filthy Gorgeous (26 page)

I stop and try to swallow away the lump that’s appeared in my throat. I’m not going to tell her I love her.

Truth be told, I don’t know what that feels like.

I have nothing to compare it to, except Goldie, my Labrador puppy. Mom accidentally backed over him when I was in sixth grade. She didn’t notice until our head teacher informed her that there were intestines hanging from her exhaust pipe. I was devastated. I buried him right here on this very beach.

But no woman likes to be compared to a dead dog, so I’ll save my sob story for later.

“Alex, I’m attracted to you, but I don’t know if I’m ready to
trust
you.” She takes a deep breath. “It’s like you don’t have any boundaries. One day, when I’m ready for a relationship, I want to be with a guy who respects his own boundaries.”

One day?

Is she ending this?

God, this is shit.

For a second, I can’t breathe. Maybe it’s just the noise of the ebb and flow of the waves that’s fucking with me, but I feel like I’m underwater and my insides are drowning in sorrow.

My voice is soft. “I do have boundaries.”

“Riiight. That’s why you let Juliana take your pants off. Please tell me, at which point during your gum job were you going to ask her to quit? Just after you’d blown?”

That’s why she’s upset?

“You’re not serious? Juliana has been sniffing around my ass like a cat around a door for months. I have to keep her happy to keep my father happy. Of course I wasn’t going to let her suck me off. Nobody gives head like you do.”

Okay, so that last sentence just slipped out, but it’s true.

Ella Bryant sucks like a vacuum cleaner, a high-end vacuum like a Dyson or a Hoover, not one of the shitty models you pick up in a Target sale.

Ella remains tight-lipped. I’m not the kind of guy who likes to be left with his balls dangling in the wind, so I blurt, “What are you trying to say exactly? Are you saying you need space?”

She takes a deep breath. Before she can speak, my pride jumps straight on the offensive, making sure I draw first blood. “You need space then? Good. I just had my little black book digitalized. I now have the Sladies on speed dial, 24/7. Don’t worry, you won’t be missed.”

God, what the fuck have I just said?

Now I’m the hysterical one.

Unlike women, there’s no chance I’ll be cured by sticking a vibrator up my cha-cha.

I reach out to touch her until I hear Parker’s voice boom behind us. “Guys, I hope you two aren’t fucking in dunes.”

He’s with Carrie. They jog over to us.

“Slade, you have got to come see this. Raj just won the dance-off. Jack thought he had it sewn up. Man, he is so pissed. Raj pulled off this snake-charmer move in the dying seconds of Bohemian Rhapsody. It was freaking awesome. Now the whole marquee is doing the Bhangra!”

I cut him off. “Parker, can you leave us alone for a second?”

Ella finally turns around to face us. “No. It’s fine.”

There it is again.

My favorite word:
fine.

She hugs Carrie. “Can we go home?”

Carrie glares at me. “Wait. What did you do to her?”

I open my mouth ready to protest, but it’s too late. She’s already kicking me in the balls.

My knees buckle and I hit the floor faster than stocks on Black Tuesday. Parker, torn between his loyalties to both parties, steps between us.

Carrie prods him in the chest with her finger and snorts. “Sparky, I’m going to try and find a sober person to drive us back to the city. You stay here with this jerk. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

They kiss, and I roll onto my back. Carrie looks down at me like I’m the biggest piece of junk on the beach. Ella’s seems unfazed, like I’m dead to her. Her expression is blank. Passive.

God, this is killing me.

I want to reach out and touch her, but she’s already walking away, and I don’t even get the courtesy of an up-skirt.

Chapter Eighteen

Red Alert: New York, I’ve been drinking whisky and listening to Usher all afternoon. 

It’s the day after the night before. I’m back in Manhattan, holed up in my apartment-slash-man cave with nothing but a bottle of Jack, my guitar, and a hyperactive cockatoo.

Ella Bryant sucked me in like a tractor beam.

I bared my soul to her.

She pussified me.

I even let her stick a finger up my ass, for Christ’s sake. It was freaky at first, but I let her massage my prostate because it was, well …
her
.

Now she’s taken those talented fingers elsewhere.

I guess the heart has reasons that reason doesn’t understand. I read that in a free fortune cookie that came with my Chinese takeout. But, it rings true, doesn’t it?

Contrary to popular belief, men take break-ups harder than women. Some guys say they don’t cry. That’s bullshit. We do. We just make sure the drapes are drawn.

No one is allowed to see us cry. No one can see our pain.

Ella Bryant will never witness my hot man tears.

Men meet with the guys. We drink the bar dry. We flirt with the hot bartender. We play
Call of Duty
for two days straight. Some men skip all of that and just hit on the next girl they see.

I have a confession to make and you’re going to hate me. Before you throw your Manolo Blahniks at me, just hear me out.

Last night’s developments left me devastated. I was numb and lonely, like an Eskimo’s gonads. After Ella left me lolling around on the sand like a beached whale, I was in shock.

In denial.

And then angry.

So I went back to join the party, I got shitfaced, and danced the night away.

Then I fucked Renée in the swimming pool.

Twice.

Chlorine kills spunk straight away, right?

I sure hope so. I don’t want to find out in a few years from now that she bottled my swimmers and put them on freeze.

Okay, you can throw your shoes at me now. Heel first—I deserve the pain.

You think I should feel guilty? Well, I don’t. Ella walked away. She chose this. She left me. There will be no drunk-dialing this time. I’ll give her the space she so desperately fucking craves. Better still, now I’ve salvaged my inheritance fund, how about I build a spaceship, send her to Pluto, and put five billion miles between us?

By the way, the sex with Renée was the best we’ve ever had. Rigorous. She was eager to please. Needy. We were wasted, but I can’t deny that the anxiety that swelled in my gut as we fucked was invigorating. Like a bungee jumper going over the Hoover Dam, I bounced back and I screwed her all over again.

Just because I could.

It was easy and merciless; an instant gratification that got me through the first painful hours of my new reality.

Cruel? Sure. I closed my eyes and pretended it was Ella. Do you hate me yet? Fine. I don’t need your approval anyway. 

***

It’s Thursday afternoon.

I’m working from home. By working, I mean binge-watching
Breaking Bad
on Netflix. I haven’t been in the office since the party. I can’t face it. Renée. My team. The barrage of questions. The rumors. The speculation.

I’m not moving off this couch until I figure out where it all went so wrong. I rarely wish I was somebody else. After all, you’d be insane to trade down this face. But right now, I wish I was a scientist. I’d build a time machine and go back to a place when I felt less hollow. Less lonely.

What do you think she’s doing right now? Interviewing bachelor’s I expect.
Shit
. I know she still had to interview Brett Booker, some finance hot shot. He makes the wolf of Wall Street look like a frigging poodle. My mind dances with paranoid fantasies.

I shovel a spoonful of Rocky Road ice cream in my mouth and let a montage of the events of the past few weeks roll through my mind. Has Ella’s opinion of me hit such an all-time low that she actually thought I’d accept a gum job from Cougar?

I mean, really?

However hard I try, I can’t be mad at her. I should have told her earlier about the stupid advert. I should have told her about my father. I should have told how special she is. That she was the only girl in my harem.

That I was beginning to …

Well, you know what I’m trying to say, don’t you?

***

I lay awake, staring at the ceiling.

I can’t sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I see her. Only a week ago our warm bodies twisted together under this very duvet, and now I only have my hand for company.

Too much?

I apologize. I’m really horny. What’s a lonely, sex-starved reject to do to relieve the frustration? Sure, there are 1-800 numbers for that, but I’ve never paid to jerk off and I’m not about to start now.

Ladies, I’m folding faster than an origami chair.

I give in.

I’m weak.

Call me a pussy. I don’t care.

There’s only one way to fix this. I’m going straight to the source of my malaise. I don’t need to see her. I just need to hear her voice again. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.

Christ, will you calm down? I’m not going to stalk her at home. I’m just calling her office. It’s eleven in the evening. I know she won’t be there; I already used Caller ID and listened to her outgoing message at least a dozen times this week.

Like I said, not a stalker, I’m just an unpaid telemarketer. Got that?

I pick up the phone and punch in her number, like a junkie dialing his crack dealer. A few seconds later, I’m greeted by the soothing sound of her voice.

“Hi. This is Ella Bryant at NY Style. I’m sorry I’m unable to get to the phone right now, but I will return your call as quickly as possible. Please leave your name and telephone number after the tone. Thanks for calling. Good bye.”

She has such a sweet voice, don’t you think? My dick thinks so, too. I hang up and grab a bottle of Passion Lube from my side table. Using my free fingers, I redial her number. I don’t think I need to tell you what I’m holding in my other hand.

I hold my deep breath as I wait to hear her dulcet tones serenade me once more.

“Hello?”

Fuckety-fuck
.

She answered?

At least, I think it’s her.

“Alex, is that you?”

Yep, it’s her.
Think fast, Slade.

I exaggerate the huskiness in my voice. “Hey, I, umm … Ella? I must have accidentally rolled on my phone.”

I hear her sigh. “Riiight. How many times is that this week now? Thirty? Forty?”

Busted.

“Maybe.”

“I was getting worried I had a stalker. I asked you to give me some space. Isn’t this inappropriate?”

I say through a smile. “I am inappropriate, but you know that already. Anyway, you picked up.”

“Because I didn’t know for sure it was you.”

“But you had your suspicions, and you still picked up anyway.”

Caught her out there, didn’t I?

I sink back against my plush pillow, close my eyes, and pretend she’s next to me. “What are you working on?”

“If you must know, I’m finishing your article.”

   
“Did I make the top ten?”

“What if I said no?”

I suck in air and feign shock. “Then I’m afraid you leave me with no choice.”

“Choice?”

“I’d have to date you relentlessly until I was number one. Long walks along the beach, nude picnics in the moonlight, naked chess tournaments, naked theater nights. Naked anything.”

She’s silent for a moment. “That’s a whole lot of naked. Actually, I passed that decision to my colleagues. To stand any chance of a top ten finish you’d have to date every person in our office. Including Jake the intern.”

That’s a cruel conundrum. It’s like promising a guy a free pass to The Corrs sisters every single day for life, but only if he sticks it to the brother first. I mull over the dilemma. I’m going to have to bleach my brain to cleanse it of that visual.

“Ella, I’d take Jake if it meant you’d see me again. But, please warn him that I go no further than first base on the first date.”

She snickers. “Alex, we’ve been through this. Space, remember?”

Click.

I redial. She doesn’t answer, so I leave a message.

“If you don’t pick up, I’ll break into your apartment and drown the kittens. One for every day you ignore me, starting with Parsnip. Don’t think that I—”

She picks up. “Don’t you dare, Alexander Slade. Touch my pussies and the cock gets it.”

She’s lying. She would never hurt Petie. My cock on the other hand …

I roll on my side. My voice turns serious. I can’t hold back any longer. “Ella, I miss you. I have to see you.”