The Do It List (The Do It List #1) (29 page)

Hannah and I picked up take out from Planet Burger and rented Beetlejuice, her current favorite movie of all time. When Sarah called to discuss sale shopping, Hannah said hello and quickly handed the phone over. I took the call in the kitchen so I wouldn’t disturb the Day-O dinner scene.

“You need sweaters and a great winter coat,” Sarah advised. “And party dresses. The holidays are right around the corner.”

Late as usual, Mitch picked Hannah up and I helped him get her packed for home. Rather than wander aimlessly around the apartment wondering why Bradley hadn’t called, I rummaged through my closet. I thought about the coming winter season and moved all my spring/summer clothes to the back of the closet. I even refolded everything in my sweater drawer. Still no text, no call. Then, at ten forty-five the phone rang.

“Gracie?” A husky male voice asked. Definitely not Bradley, and familiar enough to send a chill down my spine.

“This is Gracie…” My stomach fluttered, and not in the good way.

“Troy Lambert.”

“How did you get this number?” I blurted out, coming to my senses.

“I’d rather not say.” His soft, gravelly voice sounded strained. “I needed to know if you’re all right. You left early.”

“I’m surprisingly good. Strong as a matter of fact.”

“That’s great because I don’t think I am.” I heard his breath catch and an exhale. “Seeing you brought it all back.”

I wasn’t sure what to say. The very idea of Troy having problems seemed unreal, there was no space in my brain for it. To be sure evil men suffered regrets, moral dilemmas—the Bible and Shakespeare taught us that. It just never occurred to me that I would get a call like this.
 

“I’m sorry to hear that…I guess.”

“You were always better than all of us put together Gracie.” For a fleeting moment, we were eighteen again. “Would you meet me sometime, just to get some closure?”

My brain felt like it was imploding. “I’ll have to think about that.”
 

“I understand,” he said, adding an afterthought. “There’s something else you should know.”
 

His cautionary tone elevated my heart rate. “And what would that be?” I bit my lip and waited in silence. “Troy?”
 

“It might be better if we talk in person. As soon as pos—”

“Don’t call me again.” I suddenly felt strangely pressured by him. “If I want to talk, I’ll contact you.”
 

Before last night, it had been ten years since we last set eyes on each other. So what was this whole urgency thing about? And why now?
 

The phone rattled as I set it down.

“THIS IS CRAY-CRAY.” Bradley’s assistant, Peter Murphy, gawked at the sheer number of racks stuffed with sale garments.

“Isn’t it great?” Sarah grinned, ready to dive in.

 
We were practically carried inside Barneys Warehouse by the frenzied horde of sale shoppers. Any moment now I would get a contact high.

“Stake out your territory,” Sarah barked. “Peter, I need you to get over to menswear and find your size suit rack. Wait for me to get there.
 

“Madison, Gracie—find the tables and racks in your size, and locate the closest dressing room. Keep an eye out for Audrey, while I get Peter started.” She shouted over her shoulder. “Get going!”

In less than an hour, I scored two cashmere cardigans, one in soft violet, and the other in a color Sarah called Paris blue. And the best find of all—a pair of Phillip Lim moto-inspired, skinny trousers, which were the perfect length, super comfortable and they fit like leggings.

 
“The stitched Ponte details over the knee are great.” Sarah tossed a party dress at me. “Flirty and cute—try it.”

This went on all morning until we begged for a lunch break.

“Wimps.” Sarah stared at us. “All right. We’ll grab a bite at Mandoo Bar on our way uptown.”

Rather than schlep Barney’s bags through the subway, we split the cab fare and hit Armani, Armani X, and Ted Baker. As we made our way down Fifth Avenue, we passed the Apple Store. Peter remembered he needed a charger for his iPad. “My roommate’s Shitzu chewed the cord.”

Once we emerged from the dazzling underground store, I actually managed to flag down a cab.
 

“I want a watch. I’m not even a digital device addict and I want one.” Sarah whined.
 

I nodded. “I’d love to send a smiley face to Hannah—maybe someday.” There was another feature I failed to mention. I wanted to feel Bradley’s heartbeat next to mine.
 

We dropped Madison off at her apartment and made our way farther south where we finished our shopping spree at Cloak and Dagger and Atelier.

Peter turned out to be a tireless shopper with a flair for accessories. He had found a great pair of Giuseppe Zanotti double-zip quilted boots for me.
 

At four-thirty, we collapsed at the City Girl Cafe. We’d been shopping for six and a half hours, even Sarah needed something warm and caffeinated,
 

“Love my fifty percent off moto booties.” I grinned over a chai tea latte.

Sarah nodded. “They’re perfect with those Phillip Lim skinny pants. That was a score—what were they originally?”

“Five hundred fifty dollars marked down three times to one ninety.” I sipped tea and thought about the combination. “Too much moto?

“Not if we pair the boots and pants with a flirty la femme top.
 

I turned to Peter. “You need to have Sarah do a closet purge. She sent half my wardrobe to the Goodwill.” I shot her a wink. “So she can get to work spending all your money.”

Down from her shopping high, Sarah sighed. “Peter, you need to look for a warm gray shirt and a slightly darker, warm gray tie.”

Peter was an eager learner and wanted to get it right. “What color is warm gray, exactly?”

Sarah tried to be helpful. “Designers are calling it asphalt this season.”

I perked up. “Bradley has a shirt and tie that color—he wears them with the black on black pinstripe suit.”

Peter’s eyes widened. “Oh my God—he’s gorgeous in that suit.”

I grinned. “Yeah, he is.”

Peter checked his watch and gasped. “Drinks and dinner with friends tonight—gotta run.”

 
After hugs and air kisses, Sarah and I settled down and ordered a second cup.

I recognized Sarah’s text ring—it had been going off all day. “Something wrong?”

Reading the text balloon, she shook her head slowly. “Audrey’s texting crazy stuff about Bradley.”
 

I sucked up oxygen and steeled myself. “Like what?”

“Like you don’t want to know.”

“I wanna know.”
 

“Like,” she grimaced, “Bradley kissed her. Then she texts, ‘correction, we never got off the couch.’” Sarah grabbed my hand. “Think about it. She knows we’re friends and that we’re out shopping today. She’s fucking with us—trying to cause trouble.” Sarah bit her lip. “The worst part of it is, she’s probably texting others.”

If Derek and Bradley were more alike, I could chalk it up to the two of us being attracted to the same type of guy. Okay, they were both handsome, but in very different ways. And their personalities couldn’t be further apart. I had to believe I factored into this. Some sort of jealous rivalry thing, but I barely knew Audrey. What could I have possibly done to warrant this?

 
My eyebrows crashed together. “Why does she hate me so much?”

 
“Probably because Derek is still hot for you. And now Bradley.” Sarah’s grin was cute and compassionate.
 

I angled my café chair closer. “And what’s up with her marriage?”
 

“I don’t know.” Sarah turned her phone around. “I’m getting worried. She’s acting unstable.”

I read a few of the messages, and all it did was make me angry—at Bradley. He had to stop playing into Audrey’s games. Men could be unbelievably dense about these things, but honestly? I didn’t want to hear his excuses. “Are you still up for a girls’ night out?” I asked Sarah.

She perked right up. “We’re on both club lists. I also added Bradley, Derek, and Mark. Now we’re going to need another girl’s’ night out—a real one.” Her smile was contagious.

I leaned forward. “So, Sarah Springer, stylist to DWD—what should I wear tonight?”

Per Sarah’s instructions, I wriggled into a body-conscious bandage dress in a color called blush. The lines were sexy, simple and the dress had great optics on the dance floor—not too blingy, with a feminine, S&M vibe. I conditioned my hair so my curls were great and I wore the dress with nude Lady Peeps, my very first pair of Christian Louboutin heels.
 

We hit an uptown martini bar early, then worked our way down to the meatpacking district. Sarah’s cousin, Nikki, met us at J-Dizzle and we kicked it off with three pink cosmos. Nikki held up a glass.

 
“Where the bouncers are friendly and the bartender’s are hot and amazing. I love this club.”

As we clinked glasses, I received a text from Bradley.
Knicks won in OT. 124 to 119. Leaving MSG now. Driver needs address in SoHo.

I return texted the cross streets.
 

I hadn’t exactly made peace with Audrey’s provocative texts, and my apprehension returned when Sarah tapped me on the shoulder.

“Check this one out.” She handed over her phone, and I read the text bubble:
Leased 2 Gramercy West. Received more than $$$ from BC.

“Who do we know, who really knows Audrey?” I asked.

 
Sarah leaned close to hear over the music. “Besides Axel and Frank? Probably Derek.”

I nodded, formulating a plan. A few weeks ago, I would have expressed self-righteous indignation and not done much about Audrey. But seeing the way Bradley had handled Derek sparked an idea. I wasn’t going to put on boxing gloves and call her out, but I also wasn’t going to let her ruin my evening.

 
Feeling restless and edgy, I downed my drink. “Excuse me while I go rub up against something hot and amazing.” I smoothed my skirt and zigzagged through the crowd standing two deep at the bar. Exotic, colorful drinks were in everyone’s hands.
 

The disk jockey rocked a crazy mix of electronica—throwback nineties and current pop tunes. Up for a wu-tang in my skimpy, skin-tight dress, I braved the dance floor.
 

I used a side-to-side hip roll to slip past gyrating dancers. Careful with the skirt, I kept it cute, not sleazy-ratchet. Base notes slid into another track of similar rhythm and I added a little up and down body movement to a throbbing-hot Rihanna tune.

S-S-S & M-M-M. The voices hissed.

A lovely, tall thing with great cheekbones and buzz-cut hair, edged up close. Well-built and mixed-race, he lowered dark almond shaped eyes to my hips. I did a little body roll groove, and he rocked with me—bodies in motion, moving to the beat.
 

From the corner of my eye, I caught another tall, dark and handsome man on the move. My pulse double-timed the beat as my hips swept me into a turn. Bradley was headed straight for me, with eyes that smoldered with pure heat.

S-S-S & M-M-M.

“Hey, baby.” He wore a dark gray, banded collar shirt, open at the throat, and black jeans—banging hot. He placed his hands on my waist and rocked me hip to hip, thighs rubbing against each other. His half-lidded, sultry gaze moved over every curve, as we did a little bump and grind.

“Nice moves, Stranger.” I raised my arms and swung my ass around.

 
The bass notes vibrated through my body, as I backed up against him. In no time, I was emanating ylang-ylang pheromones. His hands gripped my hips and he dipped with me.

 
“Christ, you smell like sex,” he whispered, nuzzling my ear.

 
I answered with a slow bootie roll and stepped away. The guy I‘d been dancing with saw his opportunity for a three-way and moved up from behind. Bradley stabbed him with a caveman glare. The kind of territorial snarl lesser males understood immediately.
 

She’s mine.
 

The man at my rear stepped away with his hands in the air. A cute gesture and I smiled as he retreated.
 

 
”Alpha dog, much?” I rubbed up against Bradley’s rock-hard erection and gave him a double bump.

His hands returned to my hips. “This dress should be illegal. It makes me want to do things to you in public.” He thrust his leg between my thighs.

“Like?” I challenged, rocking with him.

He narrowed his eyes, and I thought about the black leather flagellator back at my apartment. He grabbed my hips and yanked me against him.
 

His hand swept up the back of my leg, and he cupped a bare buttock. “Like this.” He snapped my thong and a shower of tingles shot through my body.

“Or this.” He backed me against a nearby column as both his hands moved up my skirt. “I’m going to get you so wound up, you’re going to beg me to fuck you right here in the club.” His lips ravaged my ear, as he spoke.
 

 
We were both grinding against each other—one of his hands on my ass, the other between my legs. He slipped a finger under my pantie and pushed inside.

“Hands in the air.” He ordered.

 
I moved my arms up in surrender and thrust into him. His finger slid over my clit and I cried out as pangs of arousal shot through me. Other couples danced around us, but I didn’t care. I grabbed his ass and pressed him against me.
 

I rolled side to side and his finger slid over my clit. Jeezus—every move had become publicly dangerous.
 

 
We took it down to mostly hip action, smooth and slow. “I don’t want to see another man touch you ever again.” Piercing, sapphire eyes locked with mine as he pumped his finger in and out of me.
 

Never in my life had I been this close to orgasm in public—or while dancing.