CHAPTER FOUR CECI #2
“My dear, you don’t have to know them to kiss them.” Aunt Delilah peered at her watch. “We’ll see if we can make it fifty-four thousand seven hundred and fifty-one when that waiter returns.”
“You’ve kept count?” Pixel asked.
“Of course. Haven’t you?”
“Well, no. But then, I don’t have that impressive of a record.”
Ceci shook her head at Pixel. “Full disclosure, Aunt Delilah. You’re not including me, or cats or dogs or anything that could count as a non-romantic kiss?”
“Uh-uh. All full-grown men. On the lips. With tongue. Legal too. Let me just make that clear. All were over eighteen.” She paused.
“Oh, wait a minute. There were those years when I was under eighteen. Oh goodness, in that case, the number is much higher. And then of course, there were some women. Oh dear, that number I gave you is well below the actual count.”
“Well, there is all that euphoria you get from the oxytocin, dopamine, and serotonin when kissing,” said Pixel. “I suppose it’s safer than cliff diving, bull running, or shark-cage diving.”
“That’s right,” Aunt Delilah said in a tone suggesting she’d actually used such reasoning while earning kissing stats that would beat Casanova, John Mayer, and Bluebeard. Combined.
“Besides,” her aunt went on, “given the stories written about you, dear, most people probably think your stats are equivalent to mine. At least mine aren’t fiction and I actually got to enjoy all that ’tocin, dope, and ’tonin that Piper mentioned.”
“Some of mine weren’t fiction.”
“Yes, dear, but too many are. And we both know why you promote such stories with so much verve.”
Ceci supposed she should be grateful her aunt didn’t say why. She hardly needed to. They both knew the answer. Her father.
“Okay,” Pixel said, “let’s just suppose Ceci somehow managed to create a situation where she kissed Sir Clarke. Would that be enough to give her the definitive answer? How could she be certain he was the Man in the Iron Mask just from kissing?”
“Trust me, she’ll be able to tell. If you can’t, you’re not doing it right. And if that were the case, we wouldn’t be talking about him now.”
Exasperated, Ceci huffed. “Can we stop talking about him already?”
Aunt Delilah’s right eyebrow shot up her forehead. “You, my dear, are the one who brought him up.”
“Uh, yeaaah,” Pixel agreed.
Had she?
Fuck-a-doodle-doo-doo.
Ceci looked from friend to aunt. They were smiling at each other. Something was not right with the world.
Enough, Ceci thought as she stood up.
“I’m going to the restroom. I’ll be back in time to bid on Ian, if necessary.”
It would only be necessary, she thought as she left the ballroom, if no one bid on the man, which was highly unlikely.
The F1 driver for Blue Jet Lightning who’d won the trophy this past season had pissed off virtually everyone but women.
Actually, he’d pissed off women too, but that did nothing to quell their interest in him.
That cool exterior like a force field around a bad boy that burned hot set fire to many a female loin.
Ceci had tried more than once to get him to tone it down.
Every PR person she’d hired to handle Ian Anker had quit. He was too much work. Too much hassle.
What Anker needed was the best in the business. That would be Roxanne Windsor. Sir Stick Up His Ass’s agent. Trouble is, she didn’t need the job and was way too smart to take it.
Sure enough, when Ceci reached the ladies’ room, there was a line. And of course, no line for the men’s.
Could anyone convincingly explain to her why? She could pull down her panties just as fast as any man could unzip his pants and pull out his penis.
In fact, she could do it faster. If memory served. It had been a while.
She shifted back and forth. She really needed to pee.
Screw this!
She hurried down the hallway and snuck into the men’s room. Finding it empty, she slipped into the first stall.
Once she’d finished, she flushed and was just about to open the door when she heard footsteps.
How many? Maybe four guys?
“Stop pushing,” Anker said.
“Tilney’s anxious to get out there.”
“Is it my imagination, or are the urinals getting smaller?”
“Just make certain you keep your whiz between the goalposts, I’m not looking to intercept what you’re passing.”
A chorus of laughter.
“Yeah, well, dribbling might come in handy on the court, but not here, so concentrate on what you’ve got in your own hands rather than what I’ve got in mine.”
“Hunter’s trying to intimidate us,” Anker said. “He wants us to glance over at his equipment and feel emasculated.”
Hunter Fields was a linebacker for the Steel Titans.
In addition to him and Anker, Ceci also recognized the voice of Duncan Brown, power forward for the Thunderbirds and F2 driver, Tilney.
They were all professional athletes. Dates with each were being auctioned off to the highest bidder, the money going to charity.
“Maybe we should make a wager on who garners the highest bid.”
Anker.
Cocky as usual. No doubt, he was certain it would be him.
“I care less about the dollar figure and more about the figure of the bidder,” Tilney said.
“Why?” Hunter asked. “Because you expect something to happen after you’ve wined and dined her? This is for charity. I don’t think you can expect more than dinner with a woman who’ll expect you to charm and amuse her.”
“Amuse her with what?” Duncan asked.
Anker chuckled. “Your stats.”
“Aw,” Tilney boomed, “well, in that case.”
“Stop waving your pecker around, Tilney. You almost doused my shoes.”
“Hunter’s right, dude,” Duncan said. “I mean, some of these women are married.”
“I fail to see your point.”
“You need to be put on a leash, Tilney.”
“I’m just saying, with some of the bidders, I think I can expect more than just dinner. Or they can. I’m sure there are some of them that’ll be looking for dessert. Like your boss, Anker. I wouldn’t mind if she was the one to bid on me. She’s thirsty. At least from what I hear.”
“I don’t have a boss,” grumbled Anker.
“We all have bosses,” Hunter said. “Yours just happens to have curves and a temper.”
“I wouldn’t mind experiencing that temper beneath the sheets,” said Tilney. “I’ve got nothing but admiration for the girl, the way she and you took that uptight superior Clarke out at Silverstone last season.”
Ceci waited. She was curious to hear Anker’s response, but he remained silent.
“She’s feisty,” Hunter said.
“Yeah,” Duncan agreed. “I can’t tell if the things that come out of that luscious mouth are serious or her version of flirting.”
“Foreplay, I think.”
“Really?”
“She seems like the kind of girl who would throw you down and have her way with you.”
“You’re probably right. And if you didn’t cooperate, she’d beat you into submission.”
“As I said, foreplay.”
More laughter.
“Don’t say anything that will make me feel obligated to beat any of you into submission,” Anker said.
“She’s not your sister,” Tilney said. “Besides, you can hardly blame a guy. Not given the vibe she puts out.”
The door opened. That was followed by a fresh set of footsteps.
“I mean it’s not as though you’re a gentleman,” Tilney said in a mocking tone.
Ceci noticed a change in mood.
“Definitely not.” Anker laughed.
She heard some chuckles, but the laughter wasn’t as boisterous as it had been before the newcomer entered.
“Okay,” Hunter said, “that look says it all, drop it. It’s time we got out there anyways.”
There was a medley of zippers, followed by footsteps and running water. Soon thereafter she heard the door open and shut.
Gone.
Ceci opened the stall door and stepped out but stopped abruptly when she saw she was not alone.
The man glanced over his shoulder. As soon as his eyes met hers, clearly startled, he shifted, spraying a stream of urine across the urinals and into one corner of the men’s room.
Sir Stick Up His Ass.