Chapter 2
Chapter
Two
CONNOR
The morning after Trick’s wedding, my head’s dealing with a mild hangover so I pop a couple Advil before I head downstairs for coffee.
I find Zoe in the kitchen with damp hair that’s trapped in a tortoise shell clip.
A few rebel curls have escaped, but she still looks ready for public consumption in a slouchy caramel colored knit shirt over thin cream leggings.
When she leans over to pour coffee, the top rides up and flashes a view of her perfectly sculpted ass.
Thoughts roll in of me pulling the leggings down to get my hands on her bare ass as I fuck her against the cabinets. “You’re up early.”
She jumps, startled by my quiet entrance. When she turns, she’s got a small smile on her face. “You scared me. Don’t give me gray hair, C. That’s the last thing I need before our big debut.”
Mention of her upcoming broadway show makes me smile. I’m proud of her for how hard she’s been working on her career. Zoe’s got as much drive as any of my Crue. She’s also got a talent that shows off her body in ways that make my cock as hard as a steel pipe.
There’s a room in the house that’s been converted to a dance studio for her, and I stand in its doorway a lot to watch her work out new choreography. I never get tired of seeing her put her body through its paces.
Z fills a cup deftly and slides it down the counter to me.
“What’s going on?” I ask, thinking I’d like to take her back to bed for a couple hours before we really start the day. “Why are you dressed like you’re going out?”
“I’m hitching a ride with Trick’s sister Kathleen to Boston. We’re going window shopping and having lunch. I’m gonna be her beard actually.” She shrugs her brows suggestively.
“Her what?”
“Her beard. Did you know Kathleen’s bisexual?”
The coffee almost goes down wrong, but I manage to cover my cough. “Can’t say I did.”
“She is. A French foreign exchange student seduced her into being mostly gay for about two years and then on-and-off ever since. Marie-Colette is in town, and Kathleen thinks it’s a bad idea to meet up with her alone, since, according to Kath, that way leads to heartbreak and bad hair cuts.
” Zoe laughs. “Both Trick’s sisters are as funny as he is.
And as beautiful! If I were going to be mostly gay for any amount of time, Kathleen would be my go-to girl.
Those indigo Manolo's she wore to the rehearsal dinner had me at hello.”
I crack a smile. “Does Trick know Kathleen goes both ways?”
“Oh, yes. Apparently, you’re not Trick’s only best friend. But Trick doesn’t know Marie-Colette’s in America because, quote, ‘Scotty’s a lovely, loyal brother and therefore might murder MC on his way to the Boston airport.’”
“Does Trick blame the French woman for turning Kathleen onto girls?”
“Oh, I don’t think so. Kath said she was a teenager when she confided to him she was sometimes attracted to girls. His response was ‘Yeah, me too. I’m surprised all girls aren’t.’”
I smirk. “That sounds about right coming from him.” I grab my wallet from the counter and take out a credit card. Sliding it across the granite, I say, “Make some time to stop by that lingerie shop you like.”
“Just window shopping for us today,” she says as I pick up my cup again. “We bonded over being girls on a budget.”
My eyes study her from over the rim of my mug. “Come again?”
Zoe’s dark purple fingernail taps the credit card, then slides it back toward me. “You’re paying for too much of my life already.”
Frowning, I set my cup down. “Says who?”
“Me,” she murmurs, looking down at her coffee.
She takes a sip, and then, without looking at me, adds, “I’ve been living here rent-free for quite a while, C.
And then you bought an incredibly expensive piece of real estate in New York so I’ll have a place to stay when I’m in the city. It’s too much.”
I fold my arms across my chest. “Zoe—”
Her cup clatters as she drops it on the granite counter accidentally. “Don’t get me wrong. I really appreciate it,” she says quickly and a little too loudly. She gets this way when she’s upset, or nervous, or both.
I guess she needs me to soothe her and to remind her that I like having a place in New York so I can spend time with her there.
And to remind her that her buying sexy outfits benefits me too, since I get to enjoy looking at her in them.
The curve of her ass in her leggings already has me sporting wood.
As I’m thinking about what to say to get her to reframe how she sees the financial aspect of our relationship, my hand reaches out for hers.
The touch doesn’t land. Instead I find empty air because she’s moved farther way.
Next, she blurts out, “I think I should remind myself that I’m not rich.
I’m a dancer who’s between shows. The only reason I have any income at all right now is because I’m on the payroll for our production company, which is funded completely by Rachel.
And she got that money as a wedding present from Sasha.
My situation is different from Rach’s, which is hard to remember when I have your platinum card in my purse.
I don’t want to get addicted to sugar baby money. ”
I try to school my features so I don’t scowl.
On and off lately, we’ve had some rough fights about our relationship.
In my opinion, everything’s great the way it is.
There’s no need to rush forward or to back up.
But for Zoe, standing still is a hard thing to do.
Our friends are getting married and we’re not, which doesn’t sit well with her.
Now she’s gonna hit me with a sugar daddy label for spending money on her, like I’m buying her company or keeping her as a mistress?
Come on, I think. Why go there? She’s my live-in girlfriend because we’re in love with each other.
She submits to me because I’m dominant. Neither of those things has ever been associated with a price tag.
Ever since I shut down talk of getting engaged this year, she’s been trying to play the independence card more often.
She’d never ditch me of course, but when I’m not with her in New York, she’s been known to slip away from her bodyguard in favor of taking the subway alone to wander around the city and live off street tacos for a day.
I try not to make a federal case of it when she rebels against what she’s decided is too much oversight.
I do worry about her though. My enemies in New York might take notice of her roaming around alone.
Now that Trick’s wedding is behind us, I hope everything will get back to normal.
So far there’s no joy on that account if she’s refusing to go shopping on my dime.
With a disapproving shake of my head, I put my credit card away. “Do what you want, Z.”
“I will, thanks,” she says softly, putting her cup in the sink.
“Do I get a kiss goodbye? Or is sugar baby sugar something I shouldn’t get addicted to?”
She chuckles and then comes to me, sliding her arms around my neck and giving me a lingering kiss on the mouth. “Have a good day, meu amore.” Then she slips out of my arms and out of the kitchen.
Hmm.
My phone buzzes, and I open the group thread for the five of us, Zoe, me, Anvil, Rachel, and Trick.
There’s a new message. Trick’s posted a black-and-white picture of the five of us plus Laurelyn from the night before.
Looks professional, so probably came from one of the photographers.
There are big smiles from everyone except Anvil.
There’s maybe a hint of smile on his face, but that’s the most anyone ever gets from him in pictures.
It’s not a reflection of the kind of time he was having.
Rachel on the dance floor had his undivided attention, and his expression said he wanted to use her as an ice cream topper that he licked into oblivion.
Heart emojis appear instantly from Rachel and Zoe in response to the pic.
I study Zoe’s face in the photo. She looks radiantly happy, but she’s a performer so what’s on the surface isn’t always the whole story. She definitely had a great time when we were dancing, and last night in bed was as hot as always. But in the sober light of day, something’s off.
My phone buzzes, and I look down at the text thread.
Trick: Headed to airport. got satellite phone in case of crue emergency
I type a quick response and send it.
C: We’ve got it covered. Have a good time.
Trick: always
I set my phone down, thinking again about Zoe and about what—other than diamond rings—matters most to her these days. “Hey, Z?”
The buzzer for the gate goes off, and she rushes to the foyer to answer it.
I step into the hall to watch her.
Kathleen’s voice has a slight Irish lilt from all the time she’s spent in Ireland over the years. “Hello? Connor? It’s Kathleen Patrick here, it is.”
“Hi, girlfriend! Come on in,” Zoe calls into the intercom, the laughter in her voice bubbling up. She presses the button to open the gate and then hurries over to me. “Yes, C?”
“You asked me a few weeks ago how I figured out how to get the upper hand in business negotiations, and I said I learned by watching the bosses in meetings and seeing how their deals played out.”
“Yes, I remember.”
“If you want, I can try to teach you.”
That lights her up. “Oh, my God, really? That would be amazing, C. Yes!” She throws her arms around me and kisses me.
Better, I think. Here’s my Zoe.
The doorbell rings.
“And just think, if I don’t do my homework, you can make me dress up as a naughty schoolgirl when you punish me.” She winks at me as she pulls out of my arms. “I’ve gotta go. See you tonight.”
I wink at her. “Have fun, baby.”