Chapter Five #3
“You don’t know this girl. I’ve already hit on her, several times, and she shot me down every time. She hates me, thinks I’m disgusting. We’re not even friends.” Sounded convincing. Still, a knot tightened in his gut. The last thing he needed was Jo catching feelings.
“Men and women can’t be friends,” Kade tossed out, echoing Nick’s sentiments from the night of Marcus’ engagement party.
“I know that.” Avery dragged his fingers through his hair. “I’m trying to make a point.”
“Everyone else is, too.” Linc snagged Gage’s beer from the middle of the table.
Bryce sat forward to hiss, “But you’re not fucking listening.”
“Maverick and his goth girl are friends.” Thank fuck for Gage, even if he was lagging behind the conversation. “They even work together.”
Linc chuckled. “My point exactly.”
“What he said.” Avery jabbed a finger at Gage. Fuck, Avery was so confused, he was talking in circles, didn’t know what he was agreeing with or arguing against, but if he could get the focus off himself and onto someone else—Maverick—he didn’t care if he made sense.
Maverick shot daggers at Linc, as if daring him to speculate on his relationship with Goth-Not-Goth Girl.
Linc snorted and turned his attention back to Avery. “Just remember, fuck a girl once, and she wants a conversation. Fuck her twice, and she’s planning a wedding.”
“I’m not fucking her,” Avery countered too quickly and a little too loudly.
“But you will.” Linc reminded Avery of Nick. Bitter. Negative. “I know you.”
“Facts,” Gage said, nodding.
“Why not?” Blaze asked Avery. “Is she ugly? ’Cause no one’s gonna buy that shit, especially your mom.”
“Oh my god, can we talk about something else?” Avery slumped deeper in his chair. “If not, I’m out.”
A collective chuckle rolled over his frayed nerves, but Dane turned the topic to their annual Sigma trip—Greece this year—which marked the end of his agreement with Legs.
Avery breathed a sigh of relief, but it didn’t last long as his wall of self-defense lowered and their warnings finally seeped past his pride. What if they were right?
Of course, they were. If Legs gave him the slightest hint she’d changed her mind, he’d fuck her in a heartbeat. But he thought of the defiance etched on her face and the disgust lacing every word as she laid out her rules. Nah, he was safe.
Blaze leaned over until his shoulder butted Avery’s and whispered conspiratorially, “Still a good plan…and you can always do her from behind.”
A vision of Legs on all fours blasted his tired brain.
Naked except for those black stilettos. Ass in the air.
Dark red hair wrapped around his fist as he yanked her head back.
Her pussy choking on his dick like a velvet glove, one size too small.
And her tits jiggling as he rammed into her.
Hard. Fast. Until she cried out his name and he filled her with cum.
Aww, man, I’m fucked.
****
“How about this one?” A mischievous twinkle lit Brooke’s eyes as she held a hanger to her chest, showing off a tangerine wrap-waist gown that cascaded over her slender frame.
Cramming yet another not-good-enough dress back onto the overstuffed rack, Jo smiled, but the humor that tried to surface fizzled out. Waffles from their brunch churned in her stomach. This was the fourth consignment shop they’d been to, and so far, their shopping spree was a bust.
“Face it,” Brooke said, sighing, “you can’t shop bargain basement when you’re boyfriend’s a billionaire.”
“Not funny, and not my boyfriend.” Jo pursed her lips and studied the velvet sleeve of a maybe. Nope, the seam at the shoulder was frayed.
“I’m just saying, if you’re going to be his eye candy, you can’t look like week-old buchta. You have to be”—she twirled her hands at the wrists for flair—“pastillage.”
“You don’t even know what pastillage is.”
“You think I wasn’t paying attention when you binge-watched fifty-two videos on how to manipulate sugar for a cake topper? And then you spent every waking hour of a good month and a week’s salary on sugar to create a perfect swan for the Dalton wedding, only for Giselle to take credit for it.”
“Okay, okay, so you know what pastillage is. I just don’t know if I can be that.”
“You already are. You just need a little frosting. Think of the clientele you’re trying to attract.”
“I can’t afford that kind of frosting. Besides, there’s no frosting on pastillage.”
“You know what I mean.” Brooke returned the orange dress to the rack. “Stop being so stubborn. This is your chance to be whoever you want to be. I know it’s hard, but you need to get out of the rut you’re in and try new and exciting things. You deserve to have fun.”
“So you said before.” Jo pulled a black gown and flipped it around. Another plunging back. She’d fret all night about her butt crack showing. And she didn’t want to give Avery the wrong idea if she used his credit card. “I just don’t want to owe him anything.”
“You need to stop thinking of him as the big bad wolf and start thinking of him as your fairy godmother.” Brooke bumped her hip against Jo’s. “Maybe check out his magic wand. Better yet, let him make that V-card disappear.”
Heat blazed in Jo’s cheeks as she looked over her shoulder and behind Brooke to make sure no one was listening, then whispered, “I did that already. Sort of.”
Brooke’s eyes widened and her eyebrows shot up. “What? When? Why didn’t you tell—”
“Not the V-card.”
“Oh.” Brooke’s shoulders slumped.
“Sorry to disappoint,” Jo grumbled. They’d done a lot of crazy shit over the years, but just because Brooke dated one loser after another, trying to find true love, didn’t mean Jo would jump off that cliff. It had only taken one loser for Jo to understand there was no such thing.
For me, anyway.
“Well?” Brooke scooted to the rack behind Jo and whispered, “Was he, as Viv would say, hung?”
Fire-breathing butterflies stirred in Jo’s belly as she remembered the exact length and width of Avery’s monster dick pressed against her. The heat in her cheeks flamed hotter and her breasts tingled.
She shrugged and flipped to the next dress, without really seeing it. “He’s a lot bigger than Chase.”
“That’s not saying much…well, you know, from the way you described him.”
“True.” In the year she’d been with Chase, he’d pressured her for sex, and she’d tried to get into their make-out sessions, but as soon as his hands and lips started wandering, her grandma’s warnings rang in her ears.
To put him off, she’d given him a hand job.
When that wasn’t enough, she’d learned how to blow him.
The few times she’d tuned out her grandma and let him get to third base were total fails.
He’d become frustrated and suggested actual fucking might do the trick, but by her reasoning, if he couldn’t get her off with a triple, she sure as hell wasn’t rewarding him with a home run.
That was pretty much when she realized it wasn’t working between them. Guess he realized it first.
Jo sighed. “Come on. Let’s go spend some fairy godmother magic.”
“Really?” Brooke beamed.
“Why not?”
Avery and Brooke were right. Just as she couldn’t bake a cake without the right ingredients, she couldn’t do the job he’d hired her for without the proper tools.
She pointed at the orange dress sticking out of the rack. “Let’s just hope I find something that won’t turn me into a pumpkin at midnight.”
Brooke looped her arm through Jo’s. “I’ll drive. You google.”
Two hours later, Jo stood at the cash register of a boutique she’d never heard of, ready to spend an ungodly amount on a dress she’d never wear again. Or maybe she would, someday, when she catered to clients like Avery’s brother’s fiancée, Charlotte Reese.
Jo had tried to stay in a range she could afford to pay back, but even the winter sale rack—lucky for her, the spring line was already out—cost as much as her beloved mixer. Still, the moment she saw herself in the mirror, all her reservations vanished.
It wasn’t flashy.
It was deliberate.
The kind of dress meant to survive scrutiny rather than invite it.
At the last minute, she’d added a black satin bolero because the nights still held a chill.
But the matte black card in her hand felt foreign as she grudgingly handed it to the saleslady. She used her debit card all the time, but she’d never owned a credit card. Every time she’d even thought about applying for one, she heard her grandma saying, “The borrower is slave to the lender.”
Yeah, Grandma, but you have to spend money to make money.
Even if she wanted one, rejection was inevitable for the same reasons the bank declined her loan application. No credit history. No job, therefore, no income. Blah, blah, blah.
As she stuffed the receipt in her coat pocket and took the hanging bag from the saleslady, regret was already gnawing at her.
By the time, Brooke pulled up outside her apartment building, she was in full-blown panic mode.
But no matter how many ways she looked at it, she couldn’t think of a better way to get what she needed to move forward with her life.
Brooke put the car in park and reached across the console to grip Jo’s hand. “Get out of your head.”
Clinging to Brooke’s hand as if it were a lifeline, Jo forced herself to relax. “Tell me I’m doing the right thing.”
“You’re doing the right thing,” Brooke said with a decisive nod, giving Jo the push she needed to open the door. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come up?”
“I’m sure. I’ve got this.” At least I hope so.
As she opened the back to grab her dress, Brooke jumped out of the driver’s side and ran around the car to drag Jo into a quick hug. When she pulled back, she latched onto Jo’s arms. “You’re gonna knock his socks off with that dress.”
Jo scrunched her nose. “I’d rather he keep them on.”
Brooke giggled. “Socks on. Socks off. Clothes are optional.”
Rolling her eyes, Jo grabbed her dress. “I’m not having sex with Avery Preston.”