Fucker.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.” I scratch my hand over my face, attempting to rub away the fatigue and holy hangover.
Just as I go to slip out of the bed, a soft moan and delicate hand slide over my chest.
“Leaving so soon?”
I look over at the beautiful woman with the wild mane of dark curls.
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“I could persuade you to stay.” She drags her hand down my naked torso and strokes my semi-hard cock.
“That is definitely a persuasion tactic that works every time.” I groan readily. “Bring it on, Anita.”
“Anita?” She halts.
I look directly at her. “Lita?” Her facial expression darkens. I got it. “Katrina.”
“Lisa!” She punches me.
Shit, I wasn’t even close. “Well, thanks for the invitation, but I really need to be going.” I hop out of bed.
Lisaclutches the sheet to her chest as she irately watches me search for my clothes. Her stare is setting my naked ass on fire. I catch sight of the half-dozen used condoms littered all over the floor as I shrug on my jeans. We had a good ol’ time last night. Too bad most of our escapades are fuzzy at best. Once I pull my T-shirt over my head and find both my shoes, I flash her a cheeky smile. “I’ll call you.”
“Please.” She reaches over and grabs a stiletto off the floor. Then she chucks it at my head. “Asshole.”
I duck, and the sharp heel gets stuck in the wall. “Nice arm,” I quip just before I hightail it out of the room.
I find my way downstairs. The house isn't huge, but it’s large enough, and once I stumble into the kitchen, I find two tall, modelesque women standing by the island sipping coffee in just skimpy pajamas.
“Well, hey there.” I lay it on thick, slipping one boot on, then the next.
“Morning.” The blonde one cocks a knowing eyebrow at me.
“Morning.” I saunter over and steal her coffee cup, taking a generous sip. “Thanks for the hospitality.” I wink, backing away. As much as I would love to stay and converse with these two lovely ladies, I have a feelingLisaisn’t far behind me, stiletto in hand.
Narrowly escaping out the front door with my head still attached to my shoulders, I hop on my bike and ride off in the beautiful California weather. That’s one thing about living in LA — there’s no shortage of sunshine or sexual relations.
Once I figure out where the fuck I am, I can figure out where the fuck I’m going. And I’m not as close to my intended destination as I would like to be. Traffic isn’t helping my situation either. That’s another thing about LA. There’s no shortage of congestion at any given time of day.
Close to an hour later, I pull up to an enormous mansion situated right on a secluded Malibu beach. The front pebbled drive is cluttered with bikes, each and every one I recognize. I add my Breakout to the bunch. Its chrome exhaust and shiny, blacked-out fenders blend right in with the rest of the mechanical beasts.
Running my palm over my wrinkled shirt, I attempt to make myself presentable. In a last-ditch effort, I brush my fingers through my way-too-short hair. The barber went a bit snip-happy with the shears. I guess “a little off the top” meant something way different to him.
As I follow the paved path to the back of the house, a medley of male voices and low music becomes increasingly louder. Once I hook the corner, I find what I view as a surreal sight.
If someone told me three months ago I would be wining and dining at Gerard Parish’s beachfront mansion in Malibu like a motherfuckin’ baller, rubbing elbows with a cosmetic queen and her heiress daughter, I would have keeled over and died laughing. Yet, here I fucking am. Along with the rest of our motley crew.
Surreal, I tell you.
I make a B-line straight for Slash first, positive I’m going to get an earful about my tardiness.
When Ky, a.k.a. Slash, the current Baum Squad prez — and my best friend since I could walk — invited me and the rest of our lot to a barbecue at his future mother-in-law-slash-stepmother’s house, we all looked at him like he went a little cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs. But after the initial shock wore off, we got it. He’s making up for lost time with his father and building a bridge to mesh two very different worlds. The elite and the everyday. The A-list and the average Joe. The beauty and the biker.
Things between Ky and Gerard, or Gambit as we all call him, were a bit rocky *cough cough* — a fucking disaster — until Kira Kendrick, Ky’s estranged stepsister, showed up at The Lion’s Den’s front door and spun him on his fucking head. Now he’s just as happily pussy-whipped as his father, and apparently spreading the love. He sold the idea of the get-together as a frivolous promise to Kira, but watching him now, he’s eating this shit up, showin’ off his pretty new tail and future wife. Fuckin’ strangle me if I ever get so tied up over a woman. You saw what happened this morning. It’s definitely the single life for me.
“Well, look who decided to grace us with his presence.” Ky shovels shit at me right off the bat.
