2. Brent
2
Brent
I ’m stunned. First lover? I couldn’t have heard that right. Joey is a virgin? How can that be possible?
I shake off my confused, racing thoughts when she reaches for a drink someone else has ordered. “You’ve had enough, Joey.”
“Nope, just need this last one.” Before she can put it to her mouth, I pull it away from her and hand it to the cocktail server.
Joey stumbles again, this time into me. I hold her to prevent her from falling, and she inadvertently rubs herself against me as she wraps her arms around my neck. Her hot body wars with the cold reality of her words.
“You’ve got the most bee-u-tiful eyes.” She enunciates the word carefully.
“Joey. Come on. You need to go home.” I’m pissed. At her for drinking more than she can handle. At myself for not watching her more closely. I should have known she’d be a lightweight. She hasn’t changed at all. It’s simply the alcohol. And she’s had enough to go way past inebriated and well into shit-faced.
“Yes, absa…absa-lutely. Let’s go home to…to your place.”
Yeah, no, that’s never going to happen. Where the hell does she live anyway? It’s somewhere in Jersey, near the college she attended, but I have no idea exactly where. Shit, she could have moved since graduating, for all I know. I rack my brain for any mention my sister Charlie might have made, but come up blank. Must have been too busy trying not to form a mental image of Joey’s luscious body to actually register Charlie’s words whenever she mentioned her bestie.
“Let’s go find your friends.”
“They left,” she slurs.
Fuck. I can’t leave her to find her way home alone. If it was any other woman, I would have dumped her on someone else to handle, but this is Joey. Sweet, shy, stunningly gorgeous, and possibly this drunk for the first time in her life. A combination that’s just asking for trouble.
I close my eyes in resignation, ignoring the twinge of regret for what will never be. Letting it go, I open my eyes. “Joey, what’s your address? Where do you live?”
She smiles up at me dreamily, her eyes almost closed. “I’m going to live in Manhattan one day. I’m saving up,” she says with pride.
Her words are slurring more, her eyes closing as she slumps toward me. She moans, and not in a good way. I give her a small shake in an effort to keep her conscious.
“Joey, baby. Where is your wallet? Your ID?” I can find her address on her driver’s license. I try to remember if I saw her with a purse. Didn’t she have a jacket or something on earlier? Where the fuck is it?
She responds with another moan and a pitiful, “I feel sick.”
Shit. I need to get her out of here before she hurls all over the place.
With an arm wrapped around her to help her walk, we make our way through the crowd. I respond to the farewells from my teammates and ignore the lewd remarks and gestures. They think I’m about to get lucky; a little earlier and they’d have been right. Too bad I’m at least a couple of drinks too late.
I pause to ask a cocktail waitress to be on the lookout for Joey’s jacket and purse and give it to the manager if she finds it. Holding Joey a little more firmly, I guide her to the elevator that leads to the garage where I’ve parked my car.
“I don’t feel so good, Brent,” Joey moans. She wraps both her arms around me and snuggles her head under my chin.
“I bet you don’t, sweetheart.” All annoyance leaves me at seeing her misery. I wrap my other arm around her and kiss the top of her head. I like that I don’t have to bend over to do it. Granted, I’m not kissing her at the moment, but when I do…
Nope, don’t go there! Dangerous territory, especially since I won’t be taking her to bed tonight—or ever, after her drunken confession. I don’t do relationships, and I definitely don’t do virgins. I don’t want the burden of either.
A fucking virgin! I laugh without humor at the oxymoron. I need to get her home.
“What’s your address, Joey?” I ask as we step out of the elevator.
She suddenly stops and straightens, almost knocking the top of her head into my chin. Her eyes are unfocused on my face, but her words are surprisingly clear. “No, I’m going to do this! I’ll never get drunk again, and I’ll never have the nerve to ask you again.”
I’m not sure I want to revisit the topic of her virginity, so I patiently ask her where she lives once more.
“Take me to your place,” she demands.
“Not happening. Where’s your phone?” Hopefully I can unlock it with face ID so I can do a search to find her address.
“Don’t know.”
She slumps against me, her moment of clarity gone as quickly as it came. Shit. She’s going to pass out soon.
It’s past almost three in the morning. I can’t call my sisters. With a frustrated breath, I usher her into my Ferrari and buckle her in. God, please don’t let her throw up in it. At least we’re not in my brand-spanking-new Rolls Royce Phantom.
As I exit the garage, I consider my options. Take her back to my place? Nope. That’s my sanctuary where women are rarely allowed, and never in my bed. I don’t even invite my family to stay the night at my penthouse. It’s purposely designed with just one bedroom.
After making a quick call, I head uptown to the hotel I use if a woman doesn’t want to go back to her place. I drive at a steady pace to time the green traffic lights just right, avoiding the stop-and-go that might make Joey’s nausea worse.
Having called ahead, the concierge is waiting at the door when I pull up to the entrance. He hands me a key and apologizes for not being able to give me a suite. “We are almost at full capacity, but I assure you we gave you our best available room.”
“It’s fine.” It’s not like I’m here for the usual activity tonight. I realize everyone will assume that’s what Joey’s here for. Shit. I glance around for paparazzi. I don’t see any, but I keep her face hidden from the curious parking attendant as I lead her inside. She inadvertently helps by leaning on me heavily, her long hair doing the rest. She’s barely upright as I guide her into the elevator. I hold her against me so she won’t slide down in a heap.
“Joey, baby. Do you still feel sick?”
She opens bleary eyes and tries to focus on my face. “Don’t call me ‘baby.’ Charlie said you…you call all the women in your har…harem ‘baby’ ’cuz it’s easier than trying to ’member their names.”
It’s weird to learn my sister and Joey talked about my…harem. “I call them ‘babe,’ not ‘baby.’” Why I feel the need to reassure her, I’m not sure. “And I remember their names.” While I’m with them at least.
“You don’t think I’m a babe? I’m not…not sexy like all your other women?” Her lips form a pout, making them appear as if she’s waiting for a kiss, especially with her eyes half-closed. I look away from the temptation.
“Sweetheart, I’m going to tell you this now because you won’t remember it in the morning, but I think you’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever met.”
She sighs and snuggles closer, burying her face against my throat and kissing my neck. “Mmm, you’re sexy too. And you smell good.”
Ignoring her and the bulge in my pants that’s growing again, I carry her out of the elevator when the doors open.
“No, I’m too big. Put me down.”
The mumbled protest is too ridiculous to acknowledge.
When we enter the room, I settle her into the corner of the sofa before taking her sandals off.
Joey groans. “I think I’m going to be sick!”
I grab a bronze decorative bowl from the coffee table and shove it under her face. “Hold on to this.”
When she grabs the bowl with both hands, I pick her up again and practically sprint to the bathroom. Setting her down carefully by the toilet, I take the bowl from her and pull her hair back just in time for her to empty the contents of her stomach.
“Go away,” she cries in between heaves. “Go away, Brent.”
“I’m not going anywhere, baby,” I say soothingly, flushing the toilet.
“I don’t want you to see me like this,” she cries.
“It’s okay. I’ll still think you’re beautiful in the morning.” When she’s finished, I help her up to rinse out her mouth with the small bottle of hotel-provided mouthwash and persuade her to take a few sips of water.
Now that her stomach is empty, she’s ready to pass out. I carry her to the bed and pull the covers back, laying her down on her side in case she has to puke again. I move the wastebasket close to the bed, then stand back to take her in as she sleeps.
She’s rolled halfway onto her stomach, and the slit in her skirt has parted to expose a long, slim leg. The neckline of her top is barely containing her full breasts, squeezed together by her position. She’s wearing a black bra, the strap askew and visible on her shoulder.
Damn, she’s hot. I try not to picture her in exactly that position, except naked and not passed-out drunk, as I fuck her from behind. Groaning at the image, I cover her with the sheet, hoping that hiding her body will stop the reaction my own is having.
She moans a little in her sleep, and not in a sexual way unfortunately. I’m not sure how bad a shape Joey is going to be in during the night. What if she moves onto her back and throws up again? Fuck, I can’t leave her alone in case she needs help.
I eye the sofa and grimace. I doubt it would be comfortable to sleep on, considering my six-foot-seven, 270-pound frame. The king-size hotel bed isn’t as big as my custom bed, but it’s better than the alternative. I debate for only a moment before I strip down to my boxer briefs and lie on top of the sheet, leaving plenty of space between us.
Once I settle in, my thoughts go back to her earlier words. A virgin! My mind is still reeling over that. How is it possible? Are the guys she meets blind?
God, I’d love to introduce her to the pleasures of sex. To be the first man to touch her, taste her…
I cut off my thoughts before my body becomes too uncomfortable.
It’s my fault I’m not here with a conscious, willing, experienced woman. If I hadn’t practically forced Joey to stay at the club, she’d be tucked into her own bed.
Who am I kidding? Except for the fact that she drank too much, I don’t regret asking her to stay. What I regret is that I’ll probably never have the chance to hold her in my arms again.
That devil’s voice whispers as I float into sleep…
Someone’s got to be first.