Sexy and Funny, Hilarious Erotic Romance Bundle (47 page)

“Oh, absolutely. These days, it’s basically inevitable. How about you volunteer to tutor at the high school and seduce a teenaged boy who’s just the other side of legal? That could be a good scandal.”

She dried her eyes and stared at me, blinking repeatedly as she tried to figure out if I was joking or not.

“Or maybe two boys,” I said.

“Brothers.” Her eyebrows gave away that she was kidding along with me.

“Definitely twins. Super hot.”

She made a gagging face. “Speaking of twins, remember how I made out with Golden’s brother, Garret?”

“Yes. You guys were in the bathroom all night at that party, and I had to pee super-bad. I hated you that night.”

“What I didn’t tell you is Garret had terrible back and chest acne. We had the light off in there, and he took his shirt off. I guess he thought I wouldn’t know, but I could feel it. I could feel all these gross cystic pustules under my hands.”

I covered my mouth with my hands. “Ugh.”

“But it was kinda hot, you know? Like making out with a monster. That mix of revulsion and attraction.”

Giggling, I tossed a couch pillow at her. “Stop! You’re making this up.”

“I totally gave him a hand job with one hand on his cock and the other hand stroking across his acne-covered shoulders. He fucking loved it, too. Guys love it when you accept them completely, warts and all.”

“I guess… I can relate.”

“And also when you make them come. Hand, mouth, pussy, ass… thigh crease.”

“Boobs,” I added.

“Who?”

“Toby.”

She got quiet, nodding. We didn’t usually talk about Toby.

Outside, a man with a pizza box walked by, looking confused. We jumped up and ran to the door together.

The pizza from DeNirro’s was the best in town, but the delivery driver had some sort of cosmic block that prevented him from locating our house.

We got our pizza and spent the rest of the evening eating and sharing details of dark sexual escapades. I thought I knew everything there was to know about Shayla, but there were some fantasies we’d not yet delved into.

I caught her up to speed on what had happened at the hot spring and Dolphin Falls, but I didn’t have to go over what happened Saturday morning when I was riding
Lionheart
. We’d accidentally left the door open and she’d gotten the general idea, even with her pink noise-cancelling headphones on.

Monday.

Kirsten at Java Jones was practically undressing me with her eyes as she made my mocha.

“Let me guess,” I said. “You saw the photos.”

She gave me a flirty look. “You should be proud! You were rocking that lacy bra. He’s a lucky guy. What’s it like dating a famous actor?”

“We’re just friends,” I lied, the goofy grin on my face probably giving me away.

Damn it, I was proud. My tits were all over the internet, and I was dating a hot actor. This was my life now! It was terrifying and also awesome.

“How did you meet him?” she asked.

“He just ran into the bookstore, Saturday before last. A TV crew was chasing him and he found—”

Kirsten interrupted with, “Sanctuary. In your arms.”

“I was the one who fell into his arms, but sure. Sanctuary.”

She handed me the mocha and gestured for me to wait a moment. She opened up the glossy celebrity magazine she was reading and showed me a picture of Dalton’s gorgeous face, his jaw speckled with a three-day beard. They’d done something with his eyes to increase their intensity and lighten them to a pale green.

“Sanctuary,” Kirsten said with a sigh.

Next to his photo was a quote from what I assumed was an interview:

The darker aspects of a role are no small things. When you pretend to be evil, even if it’s just for the camera, it robs you of a drop of your soul. Even a lake can be drained, one drop at a time. That’s why the thing I value most in a lover is the sanctuary they give. Only in loving arms can I feel my soul replenish.

I looked up at Kirsten’s expectant face.

“He does have a flair for the dramatic,” I explained.

She looked like she wanted to hear more, which was exactly why I needed to get the hell out of there.

I grabbed my mocha and was getting a matching lid when I noticed someone skulking nearby. She was trying to hide, with a baseball cap pulled down to her eyebrows, and she would have passed as a teenaged boy, but she made eye contact with me for just a second, and I knew.

“Alexis,” I said, striding right up to the table where she was sitting. “Trying to get another photo of me to sell to the highest bidder? I hope you didn’t give me away for nothing.”

“I’m sorry,” she muttered, confirming my suspicions. That was all the proof I needed.

“Just great! Maybe later I’ll have my pants off, and you can get a nice, big one of my bare ass. If they pay by the size, that should get you a lot more than you made selling my tits off to the highest bidder.”

Some seniors having coffee at the next table over perked right up and trained their ears our way.

“It’s perfectly legal,” she said, not meeting my eyes.

“So is me telling you my opinion that you’re a parasite. You don’t do anything of value to society. You just take, and destroy.”

Kirsten called out from behind the counter, “You tell her, Peaches!”

I leaned down and put my face right in front of hers. “What’s your problem with Dalton Deangelo? Why are you in his business?”

She finally looked up at me, her eyes wide with fear.

“Because he left us,” she said.

“Left who?”

She shook her head. “Can’t say. Not allowed.”

I snorted. “You hide in bushes and sneak around photographing people without their consent. You’re not exactly a credible source.”

“I didn’t send all the photos I had,” she said. “I couldn’t do that to you.”

“Oh.” I put my hand on my hip. “You didn’t send all the photos you took of me without my permission. Well, gosh. Let’s be best friends. Come over tonight and we’ll give each other pedicures.”

And then, because there’s nothing you can say to top premium sarcasm, I turned and walked out.

I crossed the street, opened the bookstore, and tried calling Dalton’s phone again. Still voicemail.

I called Shayla and asked her to check if there was anything new online about me, or him. We’d installed an app on my phone to block my browser. She assured me nothing else had shown up. I could hear keys tapping in the background. We had internet on the computer at Peachtree Books, but I wasn’t going to risk googling myself and having another meltdown.

“That’s interesting,” she said.

“How bad is it?”

“Not bad at all, actually. A couple of prominent bloggers have picked up on the story and are talking about… oh, the usual stuff. Fat-shaming, bad; body acceptance, good. Evil media conglomerates, bad; bloggers who run the exact same advertisements on their websites, good.”

As she talked, I dumped the pens out of the can and started sorting them. “I’m not a person to them, am I? You know what? Seriously, fuck the internet and everyone on it. Bunch of losers need to get their own lives.”

Shayla gasped. “Noooo! You love the internet!” More keyboard tapping. “Oh, you’re a meme, apparently. Like with the funny text over your photo.”

“Fuck me!”

She giggled.

I sorted the pens on the counter by color and shape, the yellow vintage phone cradled between my ear and shoulder.

“Any good ones?” I asked.

“The usual assortment. Hah! That one’s good. It says, ‘My peaches. Let me show you them.’"

“People suck! They suck so hard right now.”

“Did he call you back?”

“No,” I said, then I caught her up on my run-in with Alexis at Java Jones before work.

She said, “That girl needs to leave town, and find a new career.”

A male customer in a business suit came in, so I quickly said goodbye to Shayla and hung up the phone.

The man came right up to the counter and lay a folder on the surface between us.

“I have something for you to sign,” he said.

“Get out!” I pointed to the front door. “I’m not signing some skeevy printed-out photo of me in my bra, you molestor. Those photos were taken without my consent. Actually, give me your name, and I’ll eventually get around to suing you, as well.”

He chuckled, as amused as I was annoyed. “I work for Dalton Deangelo, and I’ve come to collect your signature for an NDA. That’s a non-disclosure agreement. This is a very common and completely normal protocol with actors.”

My jaw dropped open with shock. I was half-naked on the internet, and now this?”

“Oh, hell, no,” I said. “There’s the door. Don’t let it hit you too hard on the ass on your way out.”

“I also come bearing…” He shoved an open envelope full of crisp bills—a money sandwich—my way. “Incentive,” he finished.

“You brought a bribe, to get me to sign a piece of paper to not say whatever, when I was already preparing to not say a word, for no additional fee?”

“Good! You’re a smart girl. We won’t have to spend long going over the terms.”

“Is this happening because my tits are all over the internet now? Plus that badly-edited video where it seems like I’m admitting to sleeping with Dalton? Because I’m afraid the horses have left the barn.”

“Horses and barns notwithstanding, we would prefer things do not escalate.”

I sighed and looked around me, at all the books lovingly stacked on bookshelves all the way up to the ceiling. So many words, so much wisdom, and what did I know? Nothing.

I thought of phoning my father, who was just down the street. He’d negotiated plenty of contracts, and he’d know what to do.

The man opened the folder to show me the NDA was a “short” three pages, and “not too scary.”

“You’re shushing me,” I said. “I don’t like being shushed. I can’t believe Dalton would do this to me.”

The man didn’t reply.

“Was this all his idea?” I asked. “Does he want me to sign this? Is that why he hasn’t called me back?”

The man withdrew a fancy pen from within his suit jacket and handed it to me.

“This need be but a simple matter,” he said.

My blood was rushing into my head, making it harder for me to think straight. I certainly wasn’t going to blab about Dalton to anyone, so what difference did it make if I signed the paper?

I took the pen and initialed the boxes on each page, then signed and dated the back page.

He handed me the envelope of cash, a satisfied smile on his face. “Don’t spend it all in one place,” he said.

“I don’t want the money. I signed that for Dalton’s peace of mind. You’ll tell him that, won’t you?” I pushed the envelope across the counter, back his way. “I really don’t want this cash.”

“Then give it to charity.” He handed me a copy for my own records, and walked back out the door. He was so smooth, the bells didn’t even jingle.

For the rest of the morning, I organized the shelves and helped book customers in the regular fashion, but nothing felt regular. At every moment, I was sure if I turned around, there’d be people watching me, and people with cameras just outside the window.

They say when you shiver for no reason, it’s because someone’s walking over your future grave. What do they call that unsettling shivery feeling you have, when you know the world is talking about you on the internet? Besides paranoia?

Whatever it was, the only cure was to keep myself busy.

I probably would have gone completely bonkers by the end of the day, if Dalton hadn’t phoned me around lunch time.

“Are you through with me?” I asked.

“That depends on how angry you are, and if you’re through with me.”

I sighed. “It’s good to hear your voice.”

“The NDA was not my idea, but it is standard. And I wanted to be sure everything was taken care of for tonight.”

“Tonight?” A warm feeling was creeping through my body, which was a welcome relief from all the crazy.

“Vanity Fair is doing a photo shoot with me tonight. It’s all happening around sunset, after we wrap shooting for the day. It’s going to be a long day for us, but I was hoping you’d come along and be my girl.”

I didn’t say anything in response, because I was too busy smiling.
Be his girl?

He continued, “I’d love you to meet the director. He’s a great guy, plus the rest of the crew. It’s a small production, but full of talent.”

“Are they all standing around you now?”

He laughed. “Actually, I’m alone. And I have another favor to ask you, but I’ll wait until you’re here, because I’m more convincing in person.”

“You sure are.”

“But when I turn my back, you disappear.”

“About Saturday,” I said. “I’m sorry I ran off like that after you told me your secret. You took me by surprise.”

“I’d rather not discuss that matter,” he said curtly.

“Oh.” Now I felt like a jerkbag for bringing it up.

Gently, he said, “Vern showed me a bit of what’s going around with your pictures today. I’m really sorry that’s your first taste of the spotlight. It hurts like a motherfucker punching you in the guts with a knuckle full of rings, but you get used to it.”

“I guess the money helps.” As soon as I uttered the phrase, I regretted it. I hadn’t meant the money I got for signing the NDA, but earnings in general, from being a star. I opened my mouth to explain, but he cut me off.

“Hey!” he said. “I’m holding everyone up. I have to run, but I’ll send Vern to pick you up at your house at eight. Sound good?”

He barely waited for me to agree, and he was gone.