Colt (8 page)

In the car afterwards, she’s silent, doing everything she can to avoid looking at me. She keeps her eyes trained firmly on her Blackberry. I know the photo shoot made her uncomfortable, but I wonder if it turned her on, too? Probably. There’s no way she’s ever seen a dick this big before. I’m glad the Cosmopolitan shoot finally gave me a chance to show it to her. And before I know it,
again
, just like always, I just can’t seem to stop myself from messing with her ... 

“So?” I ask. “How do you think that went? Did you think I looked good?”

I glance over at her. Is that a blush? She shifts nervously in her seat, her gaze fixed on the screen of her phone, like she’s too embarrassed to meet my eye.

“I’m sure your little
Playgirl
shoot is gonna scare the hell out of your business rivals,” she says, trying to keep her voice steady, but I can hear there’s a faint tremor in it too; she’s not quite as cool about this as she’s pretending.

I decide not to push things any further. Despite her little outburst, she doesn’t realize that I’ve only agreed to publication of the fully-clothed shots. Those nudes? They were just for the benefit of that foxy little photographer, and Stacey, of course. But she doesn’t know that, and I think I’m gonna keep it that way for now ...

“By the way,” she adds, “you’re going to be late. For your dinner reservation. Sexy Fish, remember? It’s almost seven now.”

“No I’m not,” I shoot back, trying my hardest to keep the grin off my face. “We’re on our way there now. By my estimation, we should be
exactly
on time.”

“But ...” she stammers, confused, finally turning to look at me.

“I take it you haven’t eaten?” I ask.

“You know I haven’t,” she murmurs. “I’ve been with you all afternoon at the shoot ... But, your date?”

“You really don’t get it, do you?” I grin. “
You’re
my date, Stacey. So? What do you say? Are you going to join me for dinner or what?”

“Fine,” she replies, obviously struggling to hide her awkwardness and embarrassment, “but this is strictly professional. Okay?”

“Of course,” I laugh. “You don’t need to worry about that.”  

But from the subtle blush that’s risen to her face, I can tell that she’s
way
more excited than she’s letting on ...

I don’t get it. Why is he suddenly fucking with my head like this? I mean, he could take
anyone
to dinner with him. Literally. He could call up a supermodel as easily as if he was ordering Chinese takeout. I saw him do it, just the other day. So why does he want to take
me
? And while we’re on the subject, why won’t he just leave me the fuck alone? This internship is torture enough already. If I hadn’t promised my mom I’d do this, I’d be on the first plane out of here. But instead of just being left alone to do a normal job, here I am about to go to
dinner,
with my
stepbrother
, the image of his totally naked, smoking-hot body forever burnt into my brain.

FML
.

I can feel him looking at me, his eyes burning into me, as the car drives us towards the restaurant, and I keep myself as composed as I can, giving away nothing of the fact that my heart is pounding and my clit is throbbing so hard I’m having to cross and recross my legs, just to release some of the tension. And as I shift in my seat, I keep my eyes fixed firmly out of the window, watching the buildings flash by, trying to ignore the animal heat and intensity that seems to be just pouring off him – fogging my head to the point of dizziness.

Don’t fuck him, Stacey
, I tell myself.
Whatever you do, don’t fuck him
.

But even as I’m telling myself that, the word
fuck
is causing me to picture the exact opposite, imagining him pinning me down powerfully beneath him, driving himself hard and deep into me, taking my trembling body,
fucking me
...

Just then, the car pulls to a stop and I quickly fumble the door open, my fingers shaking, my whole body trembling.

Don’t fuck him, Stacey ...

Whatever you do, don’t fuck him ...

§

Okay, so I have to admit, this place is kind of amazing
.
It’s like something from a movie set – the beautiful décor, the lit up ceiling, the whole place sparkling and shining in stunning shades of gold and red, and of course to complete the picture, here’s a man as stunning as any movie star sitting opposite me, smiling confidently, my ‘date’ for the evening ...
Colt
.

“What’s so funny?” he asks, arching an eyebrow.

It’s nothing, I shrug, unsure how I’d even begin to explain what’s got me smiling.

“I really don’t understand you, Stacey,” he says, a strangely serious tone entering his voice now.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.

“Well,” he continues, leaning forward a little in his chair, resting his elbows on the table, his piercing blue eyes never moving from my face for a second, “we were offered the exact same money to go to college. We had the exact same contacts. The exact same start in life. So answer me this. How did I end up where I am, while you’ve gone
nowhere
?”

He asks it honestly, like he’s actually really confused, and not just out to rub my nose in his success for the millionth time. But I know deep down that that’s
just
what he’s doing with this question.

Fuck you, how dare you
? I think, the anger rising up in me out of nowhere.

“For your information,” I spit back, “I don’t think I’m
nowhere
. So I tried a few different things instead of keeping down one path, and sure, I guess you could say nothing’s stuck yet. But I’m young, Colt. And I’ve had fun, too. I’ve got lots of friends ...”

But even as I’m speaking, trying my hardest to defend myself and my life choices against this arrogant asshole, I can’t help but wonder if he’s right. Maybe I
have
wasted my life. I mean, it’s not like I’ve been out partying all the time. What have I even done? I haven’t got any wild crazy stories to show
,
and where exactly
are
all these ‘friends’ I’m supposed to have made?

“Who am I trying to kid,” I sigh, feeling my face fall. “You’re right. I’ve fucked up my life, haven’t I? You’re so successful, and look at me. I’m a bored waitress with a college degree ...”

I can feel the hot sting of tears in the corners of my eyes, but to my surprise he doesn’t gloat or laugh, relishing the fact that I’m making a fool out of myself. No, instead, he actually reaches out across the table and takes my hand in his, the warmth of his fingers as they envelop mine totally catching me off guard.

“Don’t say that, Stacey. You’re too down on yourself. And I for one think you’re really talented.”

I feel his hand squeeze mine, but I pull my hand from his, shaking my head.

“Talented?” I laugh bitterly. “That’s a joke ... What am I talented at?” 

“Your reports for a start,” he replies sincerely. “I’ve been reading what you’ve written so far, and I have to admit, I’m really impressed.”

“You’re just saying that,” I murmur, hoping to god that this stupid little fit of mine hasn’t caused my mascara to run.

“No really,” he continues, his voice brimming with sincerity. “You’ve only been here ... what? A week?  And I’m already really impressed with how much you’ve come to grips with the subtle nuances of this industry. I mean it, Stacey. You’re talented.”

“Thanks,” I say. “No one’s ever said anything like that to me before.”

“I think I might know why that is,” he replies.

“What?” I say, confused.

“You’re smart,” he says gently, “but you’ve never put yourself out there, have you? My guess is that you’re frightened of failure. So you’ve never
allowed
yourself to fail. But at the same time, you’ve never allowed yourself to
succeed
either. Well, I’m giving you permission to succeed, Stacey. Starting now.”

I can feel myself sitting up a little straighter in my seat, swelling with pride, and for maybe the first time since I’ve got here to London, I really allow myself to look deep into his eyes, and as I do, I feel something pass between us, and this time it’s
me
that’s reaching out for his hand, my fingers enclosing his for a half-second as I say, “Thank you.” 

I wonder if we’re both thinking the same thing ...

But just then, before I can wonder any longer, our moment is interrupted by the waitress, who has suddenly arrived at our table to ask if we would like anything to drink.  

“What do you think?” Colt grins. “Champagne?”

“Why not,” I smile back, the butterflies in my stomach telling me that maybe – just maybe – I’m not the only one who’s sensing a change between us.

And sure enough, as the champagne starts to flow, the conversation becomes easier between us, and before I know it, we’re laughing and joking about old times, about how damn clueless we both were as teens, even though we pretended we knew everything.

“I remember one night,” Colt laughs, slamming his hand down on the table, “I grabbed a bottle of vintage whiskey from my dad’s cocktail cabinet and headed down to the creek with it. There were these older kids hanging out with us, and I wanted to impress them. Little did I know that a
certain someone
,” he says, looking straight at me, “had already informed Alexander that I was getting intimate with his bar. So, there were all these kids, excited to party and relying on me to bring the booze. Man, I felt on top of the world, heading out to meet them. Of course, it didn’t take us too long to realize that I’d brought along nothing more than a vintage whiskey bottle full of
apple juice.
”

“Yes!” I laugh. “That has totally made my day! Thing is, your dad never gave me the satisfaction of knowing that he was gonna get back at you. He just made some little speech about why people called informers
snitches
. So it just felt like you’d won again.
Colt Grayson
. The perfect boy. I can’t believe you were busted!”

“I sure was,” he grins. “It took me months to live it down. Thanks, Stacey.”

“Don’t mention it,” I smile back.

But even as I’m laughing, I sense something changing again, and I notice a strange, playful glint in his eyes, his gaze once again piercing me across the table.

I blush, and look away for a moment, but when I turn my head back again, he’s
still
staring at me. Am I imagining it? Is this just the champagne, going to my head?

“What?” I say, finally, when I can’t take the way he’s just
flat-out
staring
at me.

“Well, I was just wondering,” he begins, pausing again, making me ask – just as maddening as ever.

“Wondering
what
?” I say, knowing exactly what’s coming next but still needing to hear him say it ...

“I was wondering if you’d like to come back to my hotel room after this?” he says, slowly and confidently.

I take a deep breath, as the whole room seems to fade into silence for a moment, and then I answer ...