Random Acts of Fantasy (4 page)

Long, honey-brown waves of hair stretching down over nearly naked breasts, the curls at the ends of her long locks licking at her hips. Tiny little bright red strings dotted her smooth, tanned, taut skin, and eyes the color of blinding lust looked into mine, nervous and uncertain.

Her shy smile showed the kind of evenness only years of orthodontia could produce. Marley was an incessantly tweaked, optimized twenty-three-year-old piece of lovely ass.

That I couldn’t tap.

But I could look and tent-pole my pants.

“Hi, Joe,” she said, breathless and suddenly more relaxed, as if showing up at my door in a string bikini in December, in Philadelphia, were the most normal thing on earth.

Sure it was.

In a porno movie.

Excitement flushed through my veins. Was that what she did for a living? Every time I’d asked her about her career she’d shied away. Holy shit, she was a porno actress. The tent pole became a flagpole.

“Where’s Demon?” I blurted out.

“D’Man,” she said flatly. “Like ‘the man.’”

“Whatever.” I bent forward, pretending to crane my head around her to look for D’Man, but really just getting my face closer to those amazing breasts. I inhaled deeply. She smelled like lemons and vanilla lotion and freshly washed pussy.

Someone needed to make a car freshener with that scent. They’d make millions.

“So, um,” Marley said, and then I realized she had something in her hand. Hard to notice when half a mile of perfect flesh was stretched out in front of me, an ass begging to be grabbed, tits that wanted to be sucked, and hair I could yank—

“Yes,” I choked out, needing to stop my thoughts before they made my hands do things that would make Darla cut them off and feed them to Mavis.

“You got this envelope. The guy who delivered it interrupted me,” she added, pointing toward her door. She looked up at me with a coquettish look that made my heart stop and my cock beg for sweet mercy.

Handing me a thick delivery envelope, she licked her lips. My throat closed. Time stood still. My eyes raked over that fine, nubile body stretched out before me. This was how I would die, wasn’t it? Drooling uncontrollably over a woman whose heart beat feet from mine, whose blood rushed to all the right places, her nipples now tight little buds under that red, stretchy fabric I wanted to eat. A sudden image of Darla catching me gnawing on Marley’s nipple made me think of Trevor, how unfair life was that he got Harvard and my woman, and how he was probably banging Darla right now without me.

Without me.

But if Darla ever did catch me with another woman, I wouldn’t be alive. I’d be hanging from a crane in the back of some construction site in Ohio, naked and covered with honey while she released swarms of bees.

And I’d be hanging by one testicle.

That quelled my fucking insane libido as Marley looked at me like I was a bit addled. Which I was. Enough Red Bull can lower anyone’s IQ.

Even a super-high one like mine.

A quick glance at the envelope and I noticed my signature on the front. Except it wasn’t mine. It looked like a squirrel with a broken paw signed it.

Under water.

“You signed for me?” I asked, a bit incredulous.

“No. D’Man did.”

“And the delivery guy let him?”

She pinked. “The delivery guy was kind of surprised by what, um, he saw when D’Man told him to just walk in.”

Intriguing. The hair on my arms started to tingle. “And what were you doing?”

“Modeling.”

The envelope became an afterthought, something to throw backwards into the living room like a frisbee. “What kind of modeling? And do you want to come in and have a…” Shit. I trailed off because the only drink in the house was my Red Bull/Mountain Dew/coffee combination, and I didn’t want to offer the gastronomical equivalent of sweet diarrhea to a chick wearing a string bikini who was about to confess that she modeled—

“Dinosaur erotica book covers.”

I blinked stupidly.

“Dinosaur
what
?”

She brightened. “Ever watch the Stephen Colbert show? The one with that super-conservative guy my mom and dad say has such great American values?”

Cognitive dissonance. I opened my mouth to try to explain that Colbert was a hyper-ironic parody of the conservative talk show hosts her parents clearly adored, but I realized it was hopeless.
Bite your tongue, man. Just go with it
.

Curiosity overrode my need to be right, so I just made a noncommittal sound, which she took as encouragement, her excitement showing in the gentle grace of her boobage bouncing.

“So, he talked about dinosaur erotica on his show a while ago, and how it’s, like, this big industry, m’kay? And Bigfoot erotica, too.”

“Bigfoot—what? How is Bigfoot erotic? Like, Wookie porn? What kind of woman wants to fuck a guy who doesn’t ever wipe?” That poured out of me like jizz coming out of a fourteen-year-old during his first nipple contact.

Marley frowned. “I never thought of it like that, Joe.” She looked like she was about to cry. “Maybe D’Man is wrong, but we’re making a few thousand a month selling these modeling pictures online.”

I made a face that showed her I was impressed. “That’s…interesting. The delivery guy, though—what did he find?”

“We were shooting covers for T-Rex sex.”

“T-Rex sex?”

She nodded. I wanted for her to elaborate. She just gave me the Bambi eyes.

“You were being fucked by a T-Rex?” I asked. Surreal. Were these words really coming out of my mouth when I had half a day to finish my final paper for a contract law course?

“You’ve read one of the books? Because that’s totally a title.” Her hips shimmied and my dick whimpered.

“I…” At least this conversation had one benefit: I was now as limp as D’Man’s hair tail.

“The delivery guy walked in while I had a big plastic T-Rex between my legs, and D’Man was shouting, ‘Lick her good!’ He just trembled when D’Man signed for you.”

“Gotcha.”
Bzzzzz
. My pocket roared to life.

Saved by Steve Jobs. Even from the grave.

“I have to go, Marley,” I said with genuine regret. Hearing more about prehistoric fucking or Sasquatch eating someone out would be way more interesting than whatever—I looked at my screen—my mom wanted.

But the image of D’Man, a BPA-covered dinosaur, and Marley’s parted thighs made my cock do push-ups. Up. Down. Up. Down. It didn’t know what it was supposed to do, and started to spasm. Not in a good way.

“I hope your package is fun.”

I looked at my crotch. Shit. Could she tell?

“My what?”

Gesturing at the envelope, she twisted her body, giving me a healthy eye full of side boob. “Your envelope. Whatever’s in there, I hope it’s fun and something good.”

Bzzzzzz
.

The flounce of her hair as she opened her apartment and disappeared made me feel like my balls were permanently lodged in my throat.

Ignoring my fucking phone, I ripped the envelope open. D’Man would pay for scribbling what appeared to be a facsimile of a drunken preschooler’s forgery of my signature. A fine linen envelope greeted me.

Bzzzzzz
.

I opened the letter and within seconds I realized I wouldn’t need my Red Bull any more.

Because I was permanently turbocharged.

Chapter Three

Darla

Joe was on the screen, that chiseled jaw covered with stubble, his hands twitching like Christian Grey with a set of handcuffs.

“Joe, honey? You all right? You look like you’ve been run through a car wash and force-fed a half-dozen Ritalin after going through a haunted house a few times,” I said to the screen, touching it with my fingertip lovingly.

“I hate when you do that!” he snapped, running a hand through his mane of curls, which were a shaggy mess. He hadn’t cut his hair since he went off to Penn and it framed his face just so, curling at the ends and making me want to rub his head against my naked breasts so I could feel it.

“Do what?”

“Act like touching the screen is a form of affection. I hate it.”

“Sorry I’m not a pussy pocket you can attach to your tablet and fuck, with sound effects and vibrations and all,” I teased.

Liam and Sam had appeared out of nowhere within minutes of me getting to Trevor’s place. The four of us were clustered around Trevor’s tablet, all clutching our separate copies of what we now referred to as The Invitation, the capital letters etched into the hushed tones we used when referring to it.

Three sets of eyes turned to me, eyebrows to high heaven after I uttered that remark. “Is this another Ohio-ism?” Sam whispered to Liam out of the corner of his mouth. Liam shrugged.

“We’re not supposed to talk about that,” Joe shot back in a strained voice. His screen blacked out but we could still hear him.

Amy was furiously texting Sam, who was texting back faster. He looked up from the screen, his hair as long as Joe’s but the color of Ron’s from the
Harry Potter
movies. “Amy wants to know what a pussy pocket is. So do I,” he added, face scrunched up in a look of fear and curiosity.

“And how do
you
know what that is?” Trevor asked me.

“Mama’s romance contests.”

His eyes closed slowly, and a sound of defeat hissed through his parted lips.

“Of course.”

“That’s supposed to be an answer?” Liam said, laughing. “What are your mother’s romance contests, and what do they have to do with Joe fucking Steve Jobs’ baby?” Everyone ignored him as Joe gave him the bird and spoke up.

“Read yours again,” Joe told me. I pulled that fine, fine piece of paper out of my envelope like it was the Golden Ticket from
Willy Wonka
and read:

Dear Ms. Jennings,

You are cordially invited to join me for a four-night stay at my island, accompanying the band Random Acts of Crazy as its manager. All of your transportation and travel expenses will be paid for, and I offer you the sum of $5000 for your role in assisting the band. In turn, the four members of the band Random Acts of Crazy will be contracted to perform one ninety-minute set on the Saturday night of your stay.

Should you wish to accept this offer, please contact my assistant at…

Holy motherfucking shit yes
I would be contacting your assistant, Mr. Island Man. An all-expenses-paid trip and $5000? I’d lick the resort’s toilets with my labia for that deal. Hell, I’d have an open conversation with my mama and Uncle Mike about my life with Trevor and Joe for $5000. Make it $10,000 and I’d throw in Joe’s mom and James Dobson.

“And you checked with your mother?” Joe asked me after I finished reading. “This isn’t some sort of sweepstakes she won, like the Mount Everest of kitty litter or that S&M gift pack?”

Liam and Sam snorted. That got Sam’s attention, and he looked up for the first time since they’d barged through the door, waving their envelopes.

“S&M what?” Liam sneered. You know those guys in teen movies who are the gorgeous, surfer-blond, tanned rich boys who act like they own the world? The ones who are breathtakingly gorgeous and even though they’re mean-as-fuck bullies, you want to fling yourself into their arms and dry hump them?

Yeah.

Liam.

“Shut up, Magic Mike,” I snapped. That silenced him. Sam snickered and tapped away.

“Are you going to finger fuck your phone all night?” Trevor asked Sam, whose head snapped up so fast his overgrown bangs bounced like he was one of the Jonas Brothers.

Ding!
The apartment bell rang. “You guys invite the neighborhood?” Joe cracked.

In walked Amy. “Hi, Joe. Good to see you, too!” All long, brown hair and clear, quiet brown eyes, Amy walked in with a laser focus on Sam. The two kissed and she settled in his lap as he handed her his invitation. Those brown eyes got as big as full moons and I could tell the exact moment she saw the dollar amount.

“Ten thousand dollars!” she gasped. The guys were each being paid more than me, which was more than fair. But it was too bad Amy wouldn’t get to go.

“You didn’t get an envelope?” I asked her. “Maybe yours is late?”

She looked up and frowned. We were friends. You can’t help someone pull a smart phone out of their vagina without being buddies.

(For the record, the phone was stuck in
her
vagina. Not mine. Mine does not have that kind of roaming capability.)