Chapter 13
Fucking. Hell.
It was just a simple set of pajamas, but Avery made them look … fuck. I made a mental note to give my assistant a raise later.
Mesmerizing was only one way to describe Avery. My tongue was tied, the words stuck in my throat, completely blown away by her beauty. Sure, I provided her with clothes. But the rest … that was all her.
The way she had the ability to look like a ten when she dressed up for a night out—yet when she dressed down, it was so damn effortless for her to look like a twelve—damn near tied up my insides in the process of it all.
“So, you wanted to talk. Keep getting to know each other.” Shyly, she stepped closer to me.
“More than anything.” I reached my hand out for hers, guiding her to the same spot we sat last night. Only this time, I made sure there wasn’t as much space between us.
“What else do you want to know?”
‘Everything’ continued to be my answer.
This time, I’d try my hardest to leave her job out of it.
As badly as I wanted to know, I couldn’t risk another abrupt exit again.
My plan was to continue keeping it simple, like it had been all night long.
Surface level with the hope our conversation would grow deeper as the night went on and the vibe between us remained calm.
“What’s your last name, Avery?”
“Oh gosh, such a pressing question.” She held her hand to her chest and giggled before answering, “Anderson.”
“Avery Anderson,” I stuck my hand out, “Spencer Russo.” Jokingly, her hand met mine for a shake, and I took every opportunity to leave my hand in hers, drawing her body closer.
There was a weight lifted off her shoulders. Something in her demeanor changed while she was sorting through those bags of clothes, and I could feel her continuing to relax in my presence as we settled in.
A sprinkle of doubt lingered in my mind, hoping she wasn’t just putting on a face. Hoping this wasn’t just a job for her. I made it known that I was paying for the real her and not to be treated as just any other client.
“Russo. So Italian Stallion of you to have a last name like that.” She pulled her legs up and her knees brushed against the top of my thighs. Everything about us sitting this closely together felt so natural.
“Italian Stallion?” I gave her a quizzical look.
“My friend Peyton referred to you as the ‘Italian Stallion’ from the bar and I guess it just kind of stuck.” Shifting her gaze away from mine, she tucked her hair behind her ear, just for it to fall back in front of her eyes.
“Your friend has me pegged. My parents are Italian and moved to the States just before I was born. Couldn’t get more Italian than growing up the way I did.”
“If you weren’t born in Italy like your parents, where did you grow up then?”
“New York. Moved to California when I was a teenager for my dad’s job. Lived there until I moved here.”
“California?” Her head tilted in the cutest way. “That’s where I’m from.”
“Yeah? What part?”
“Small town that you’ve probably never heard of.”
“Try me.” I smirked.
“Julian. It’s a little town in the mountains. Only an hour drive to the beach. Best of both worlds, some would say.”
“I know exactly where Julian is. I grew up in San Diego.” I smiled at the irony of our hometowns being so close together.
“Small world. And now we’re both here.” Her lips curved into a smile. “What was your life like growing up?”
“Family, and lots of it. Sunday dinners were no exception, and holidays were a huge spectacle.”
Something about reflecting on my childhood, remembering those tableside conversations, the friends that weren’t family by blood, yet my mom would invite them over anyway—it made me miss the simpler times.
Life before I was surprised with the fact that I was a father. Before the grind of work took over my life so much that visits back to San Diego were rare. A time in my life that felt so long ago, yet I remembered those times like they were yesterday.
“Wow. That sounds like it was really nice.” Something in her tone slipped, like she was forcing herself to get the words out. Her once flirty smile turned down, and her eyes shifted to her lap.
“Hey, what’s that look for?” I reached up, tilting her chin to look at me.
“It’s nothing.” She shrugged.
“Avery, you can talk to me. If I said something wrong, please tell me.”
She took a deep breath, her voice turning timid.
“You didn’t say anything wrong. It’s just … by the sounds of it, we grew up very differently. But your upbringing sounds a lot like what I wished for as a kid.” The way I sensed the struggle in her voice not only made me curious, but sad.
“Tell me a little bit about your childhood.”
Shit. I hoped this wouldn’t be another tender topic for her, and that the mention of her past wouldn’t cause her to shut down like she had when we talked about her job.
She cleared her throat.
“I lost my parents at a young age when drugs got the best of them. My later teen years were spent living with my boyfriend at the time and his mom. After college, we moved out here from California. It didn’t quite work out between us. And now I’m here.”
That was one hell of a way to sum up what I could only assume was a tragic life story.
She was giving me a part of her story. A piece to her intricate puzzle. The mystery that was Avery Anderson was a complicated one, but one nonetheless that I wanted to solve.
“You’ve suffered a lot of loss.” I rubbed my thumb along her hand.
“I have. But I’ve learned that without all that loss, I wouldn’t be who I am today. Independent, self-sufficient, and all that jazz.” Her smile started to peek through again, her vulnerability shining.
Even with a shitty upbringing, she had a way of seeing the light in herself.
With everything that Avery had gone through, you’d have no idea that she was in her twenties. By the sounds of it, she’d been through more in life than people my age had.
“You’re admirable, Bella.” She tugged on her lip, forcing back a smile.
Switching to a lighter topic, I recalled how we got here in the first place—her friend mentioning my Italian roots in an adorable way. “I like that you talk about me to your friends. I sure hope it’s nothing but good things.” I winked playfully.
“As much as I’ve tried to avoid you, avoid this,” she pointed back and forth between the two of us, “I’ve never said anything bad.”
“Good.” Breaking the hold between our hands, I brushed her hair with my finger and let my touch fall so my arm was spread across the couch behind her back.
Keep it light, Spencer. I scolded myself.
“As a pool girl, what’s the craziest thing you’ve seen on the job?” Avoiding one job, I talked about the other, hoping to keep this conversation fun. No escort talk, and for now, no more talk about her family.
“That’s a hard one. It’s Vegas, after all, and nothing is off the table, so I feel like I’ve seen it all.”
“First thing that comes to mind then.”
“Hmm.” She tapped her chin. “Last week I saw a girl getting fingered in the pool.”
“No shit? Just out in the open?” My eyes widened.
“Yeah. To be fair, I think they were trying to hide it. But honestly, it was kind of hot.” What was actually hot was the idea that this scenario turned her on.
The unexpected turn in conversation only made it harder to respect the fact that I told her tonight wasn’t about being physical. Her legs brushing against mine, and that damn cherry scent trying its hardest to lure me in, were doing everything in their power to break me.
Since the moment she walked out of my room in that thin cotton material, I’ve had to force myself not to stare at her breasts. She took being comfortable to a whole new level when deciding not to wear a bra.
My eyes betrayed me. Dropping to her chest, her nipples were hard, making it so simple for me to imagine what she looked like underneath that flimsy top.
Fuck.
How was I supposed to keep this conversation light? How was I supposed to avoid the topic of sex when she was talking about a girl getting finger banged and her nipples were begging to be pinched between my fingers?
“How long did you stand around and watch, Bella?” My thoughts betrayed me as my voice came out rougher than I intended.
“I … Um … Not long. I was originally heading to where they were because they had a couple other people with them. I wanted to deliver their drinks poolside. As I got closer, I realized the ones who ordered drinks weren’t there.
I got close enough to see his hands tucked under her bikini bottoms and got the hell out of there. ”
“Sounds like a better day on the job than what I go through.” Talking about a mundane day at work was the only way to avoid my cock growing harder under these sweatpants.
“What’s a day in the life of Spencer Russo?” Her hand snaked around the nape of my neck, toying with the long strands of my hair, making it impossible not to melt at the feel of her touch.
“When I’m not negotiating contracts for the athletes I work with, I’m usually securing the best endorsement deals I can find, arranging interviews, and scouting new talent.” I leaned further into her touch.
“Sounds like that can make for a pretty long day.”
“Just a little bit. Hence, the occasional night spent in a bar like Bluff City.”
“I’d been meaning to ask, what’s a guy like you doing drinking in a place like that?”
“A guy like me?” I raised an eyebrow and she gave me a get real look.
I ran my fingers through my thick hair, before answering, “The idea of a drink after work is to wind down. No way in hell anyone I work with would be caught dead in a place like that. And after a couple visits, I realized it’s not too bad after all.
” I shrugged and licked my lips. “Good bourbon, a bartender that remembers my order, and a beautiful woman across the bar after a long day. Can’t really ask for much more than that. ”
“You want to know one of the first things I noticed about you that night when you walked up to me?” Her fingers untangled from my hair and danced down my arm, leaving goosebumps in her trail.
“Please.”
“This tattoo.” Her delicate touch roamed over the black ink on my hand.
Spread across the back of my hand were four playing cards, each suit from a standard deck of cards, and all four were jacks.
“There has to be a meaning behind it. Are you a poker player in your downtime? Was it a lucky hit of four-of-a-kind that made you a millionaire?” she speculated.
“There is a meaning behind it, but none of the above.” I smirked.
“When I first met you, I told you I had a son that came into my life not long ago. I wanted to finish off my sleeve with a tattoo on my hand. Around that time, we had just connected. His name is Jackson. I felt like the jacks were fitting, a play on words, of sorts.”
While tracing the outline of the playing cards on my hand, she said, “That’s really sweet of you to get a tattoo for him. I hope he’s a good guy.” She huffed, the last few words so quiet I was almost positive she didn’t want me to hear.
“What do you mean by that?”
“Sorry. Obviously, I’m sure your son is a good guy.
” She chuckled, a laugh laced with little to no emotion behind it, and shook her head before adding, “Technically, my ex and your son share the same name, but Jax has never gone by the name Jackson.” Hearing her speak of an ex sent a wave of jealousy rushing through me.
“He’s like any boy in their mid-twenties; he has his good moments and bad.” Not wanting to dive into the complicated topic of my son, I focused on what she’d said about her ex. “Tell me about your ex. What makes him a bad guy? That way I know why I have to kick his ass if I ever come across him.”
“I walked in on him having an orgy on Valentine’s Day a few years ago.
Guess he forgot to invite me to the party.
” A pitiful laugh slipped from her red lips, every ounce of it faked.
Shaking her head, she finished, “He’s not worth my energy to talk about, though. Especially on a night here with you.”
Jesus Christ.
A fucking orgy on Valentine’s Day?
“It was a blessing in disguise,” I wanted to tell her. A breakup with a boy as dumb as that one only pushed me harder to show her what it would be like to be with a man.
“Come here,” I said instead, my voice turning dark and my need for her growing the more I thought about someone hurting her.
“I’m about as close as I can be, Spencer.” Her gaze dropped back to my tattoo. Each brush of her fingers against my skin lit me up inside.
“You can always be closer.” Fuck, I hoped I was reading her body language right. She’d been cozying up to me all night, not once had she tried to move. Her fingers had weaved their way through my hair, danced along my tattoos, and with every touch it was like she was striking a match in my veins.
I know I told her I just wanted to hold her, and be near her, but fuck if I didn’t want to kiss her right now. To make a mess of that red lipstick and taste her cherry scent on my tongue.
“If I were any closer, I’d be sitting on your lap.” Her breathing picked up; her chest was rising and falling at a faster pace.
“Would that be so bad?” I shrugged.
Balls in your court, Avery.
“Feeling you pressed against me is a tad more than just holding hands, wouldn’t you agree?”
Her body held up against mine was all I could think about tonight.
The main reason I requested that I hold her when we fell asleep was for that very reason.
I wanted to feel how her small frame tucked into mine.
I wanted to nudge the line and see if she’d allow my hands to wander.
To explore her body with a feather light touch.
I wanted to nuzzle my nose into the crook of her neck and breathe her in, dreaming of her scent.
“Correct. It’s beyond holding hands. But what if I wanted to cash in on holding you now and not wait until we went to sleep tonight to feel your body against mine?”
A fierce heat flickered in her gaze. Her resistance to being with me was slipping through the cracks. The woman in front of me tonight was a more open, willing, and free version of the person I spent time with last night.
At this point, I wasn’t sure where this night would lead. All I knew was that she was mine until the morning.