Page 37 of The Golden Pecker


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“The contract is waiting for your signature. We can’t move forward unless you sign it.”

I tried to look annoyed. The truth was I’d spent all night tormenting myself with vivid, dirty dreams about what would’ve happened if I’d signed that contract. I imagined Landon carrying me to demented sex tables in dark rooms—tying me up and using more than just his breath to torment me.

The most embarrassing element of the whole thing was that my conflicting feelings somehow made the idea of his touch all the more appealing. He was the forbidden fruit hanging from the tree—at least if forbidden fruits had six packs, tattoos, and jawlines like razor blades. And no, I hadn’t fully committed to pulling the fruit off the tree, per se. But I had basically licked it, sniffed it, stuck my tongue down its throat, and maybe even taken a nibble.

“What happens if I change my mind after signing it?”

“Good. So you’re considering it. And if you change your mind, you’ll have the only copy of the contract. Just tear it up and we’re done. It’s much less about legality and more about the formality of defining your boundaries.”

I mimicked a large box around myself and gave him a dry look. “That’s my boundary. You on the outside of it, me on the inside.”

“No,” he said. “This would be more nuanced.”

“It was a joke,” I said.

“If I stopped to indulge all of your ‘jokes,’ we would never be able to finish a conversation.”

I sighed. “That’s a decent point.”

“Do you want to meet me in the club to sign it, or would you be more comfortable in your room?”

“I don’t remember agreeing to anything.”

“Do you want to give up your inheritance?”

I glared. “Sometimes, I can’t decide if I should be pissed at you for statements like that or at my grandpa.”

“Hate whoever you like but make a decision.”

I wondered how he’d feel if my decision was to throw a lemon in his eye. One thing was for sure, he’d have trouble looking so frustratingly calm and collected with a bit of citric acid in his sinuses. “How about this? I take you on a date this time. If I’m not scared off by the end of it, I’ll sign your contract.”

“A second date, then? Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t that the one where you usually come?”

Blood rushed to my cheeks. “It usually doesn’t snow in Florida, but that doesn’t mean it has never happened.”

“What?”

“Forget it. And no, this would be a first date, because I still never agreed to call the aquarium a date.”

Landon looked like he was trying to decide if he’d accept my little diversion. I could tell he was practically chomping at the bit to get me to sign his contract. “What sort of date?”

“Does it matter?”14LandonAndi was playing with fire. First, she’d strung me along and assumed I’d give her as much time as she wanted to finish William’s list. Then, she’d been in no particular hurry to sign my contract. And now? Now she had the nerve to tell me we’d go on this little date of hers in two days.

I wanted to growl with annoyance. In part, I just didn’t like when I wasn’t the one in control. The other part of me… Well, that part just wanted to have her to myself again, and sooner, rather than later.

Of course, there were also two very large problems between me and what I wanted. One was the inconvenient truth about my father, AKA Andi’s “grandfather.” The other was that the more I came to appreciate her, the more trouble I had forgiving myself for thinking I deserved her. I was just the bastard using every excuse I had to manipulate her into spending more time with me. Even if I got what I wanted and she started to have feelings for me, I’d be building one lie on top of another.

I stopped by the apartment to check on mom and found Grant sitting on the love seat. He was in the middle of a story. If it was anything like his usual stories, it was probably at least ninety percent fabricated.

Grant was something between a business partner and a friend who ran the Platinum Pecker, the third sister club to the Golden Pecker.

When he saw me, he stood and clasped my hand tight. He was dark haired and built like he’d spent his life trekking through the Outback on foot, wrestling wild animals. Although I knew he’d only actually lived in Australia until he was about five. He didn’t even have an accent, but something about him always did seem to scream “Australia” to me.

“Do I want to know why you’re here?” I asked.

“Grant was just telling me about when he used to lead safaris,” mom said, punctuating her sentence with a hacking cough.

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