Well Hung (3 page)

I
’m counting
down the days till we leave, but I’ve got enough to keep me busy. Like seeing my little sister and brother on the way to my volunteer shift at the dog rescue the next morning.

“It’s time to nix Elizabeth Lecter,” I tell Josie as I bite into the seven-layer bar she gives me.

Josie’s green eyes widen, and she slashes her hands through the air. “Does that mean you’re done? Like totally done?” She takes a seat across from me at a lemon-yellow table at Sunshine Bakery. This is our mom’s bakery, but Josie pretty much runs it now.

I point at the bar. “This shit is good,” I tell her.

She hands one to Nick, my twin brother, and shrugs happily. “I know. I rock at baking.”

“You might even be better than Mom,” Nick says out of the corner of his mouth, as if he’s whispering. “But don’t tell her that.”

Josie mimes zipping her lips, then points to my phone. The Facebook profile of one fake “Elizabeth Lecter” is on the screen. “You’re really ready to get rid of our pretend friend Elizabeth? Even considering what she accomplished after Sunday night’s episode?”

I slash a finger across my throat. “Time to kill her off, and all the others, too.”

“Go out on a high note,” Nick says, agreeing, as he rips off a chunk of the evidence of Josie’s unparalleled talent in the kitchen.

“It won’t ever get better than this. Look at that.” I point at the phone. I grip my face and drop my jaw open, like Edward Munch’s
The Scream
. “It’s like my ex is melting from the pain.”

Josie reads out loud the response my ex, Katrina, wrote earlier this week on her page: “Is nothing sacred? Does anyone know how much spoilers hurt? Might as well take a knife and rip it through my chest.”

Nick mimes wiping tears from his eyes. “Wah, wah, wah.”

I lean back in the chair and stretch my legs out in front of me. “This might have been our greatest accomplishment ever. I’m quite proud of our factory of fake Facebook profiles. But I’ve got to hand it to little Miss Elizabeth. She really owned it when it came to her
Game of Thrones
final episode spoiler.”

Josie holds up one finger. “But let’s not forget our made-up friend Emma Krueger’s spoiler. Remember when she posted about the Hold the Door death? Katrina’s tears were all over her wall that night.” Josie high-fives me for that one.

“Only to be topped by Elinor Bates’s epic message that Jon Snow was alive,” I add, pride suffusing me at the memory of that greatest hit. “But even so, it’s time to say good-bye. Our work is done.”

Josie runs a hand through her pink-streaked hair. “Should we embrace a moment of silence before you kill them off?”

I affix a serious expression to my face, and the three of us bow our heads. A few seconds later, I look up and delete the profiles that rained sweet revenge on Katrina.

Elizabeth Lecter, Elinor Bates, and Emma Krueger are all made up, plucked from the names of Jane Austen heroines, Josie’s nod to her literature degree, then paired with last names of some of the greatest movie villains of all time.

Some might wonder why I’d punk Katrina, a seemingly harmless ex-girlfriend who’s also my former website designer. As in,
really
former. As in, I didn’t date her while we were working together, I swear up and down. Sure, I’d thought she was cute, and she’d clearly felt the same about me, since she’d asked me out a couple of times while on the job. But I’d already learned my lesson
not
to get involved with someone connected to my business, even though the first time it had happened, with my college girlfriend, Roxy, she wasn’t even properly connected to my business. She just
wanted
to be.

Anyway, once the website work was done, the log-in changed for better-safe-than-sorry reasons—thanks to my friend Chase’s reminder to change passwords as often as you change underwear—Katrina and I had dated for half a year.

Now, allow me to explain how six pleasant months of dating could lead to this sort of fall-out. Mind you, during those six months no one cheated and we even enjoyed picnics in the goddamn park, and if there is one thing I’m not it’s a picnic guy, but she liked them and I went along to make her happy. Alas, I didn’t want more from Katrina, and I swear it had nothing to do with the picnic torture, so I’d ended things.
Amicably.
Like a nice guy.

Then Katrina went full mental nutcase on me and used her web skills to hack my company site and delete all my files.

Out of the blue.

Even after the passwords were changed.

Like a total lunatic.

Yeah, it was shitty. It cost me business. I’d even had to hire a lawyer to deal with the mess left behind. The problems it caused were among the reasons I’d needed help from someone to get organized again.

So I’d hit Katrina, an avowed hater of books and lover of all things
Game of Thrones
, right where it had hurt her the most. Josie and I had made up fake profiles of women who might potentially be clients for Katrina’s web services, friended her on Facebook, and then posted spoilers every Sunday night on Katrina’s wall, live and in real-time as each episode aired. Our prank only worked because Katrina’s been on a job out of the country since the season started, and she can’t find an Internet stream right away to watch her favorite show in the universe.

Boo-fucking-hoo.

It’s pretty much the trolliest trolling ever, and one of the best-deserved paybacks, too. I mean, the chick fucked my business with an unlubricated Phillips-head screwdriver for no reason, which might, just might, be why I’m a tiny bit cautious of getting involved with anyone work-related.

But all good pranks come to an end, and it’s time to say good-bye to this one. I close my Facebook app, then I clasp a hand over Josie’s. “Mom and Dad would be proud you learned from the best. Right, bro?” I say to Nick, since the two of us are the kings of pranks, and we’ve passed on some of our top tips to Josie.

“It really is impressive what we’ve done with the brains they gave us,” Nick says. “We use them for good, don’t we?”

“Completely.” I pop the rest of the seven-layer bar into my mouth, then stand up and brush one hand against the other. “We need to head to Little Friends to walk the dogs. Oh shit, that reminds me. Nick, can you handle the dogs on Friday? I’ve got to go to Vegas for a gig.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You working in Vegas now?”

“I might be. A client is flying me out. It sounds like an awesome job. Really hoping it comes through.”

“That’s great. Good for you,” Nick says with a pat on the back.

“Yeah, it should be a good trip.”

I’m headed for the light orange door—the bakery is an homage to all things bright and cheery—when Josie says, “Funny.”

I turn to face her. “What’s funny?”

She shoots me a knowing look. “That you didn’t mention Natalie is going along.”

“Why is that funny?” I don’t need to ask how she knows. Josie is Natalie’s roommate, and they both live in Natalie’s sister’s old place. When Charlotte moved out and married Spencer, she rented her old pad to her sister, giving her a break on rent so Natalie could live in the city and teach night classes at a karate studio here. A few months ago, Josie’s lease ran out so she moved in, too.

It’s not weird for me that my little sister lives with her.

I swear it’s not weird for me at all.

“I just find it odd that you didn’t mention you were going with her,” Josie remarks.

Nick shakes his head, laughing. “Dude, that’s a recipe for trouble if I ever saw one.”

“You should know,” I fire back.

“That’s why I said it.”

I press my palms down against the air, the sign for
chill out
. “It’s work, peeps.”

Josie tightens the knot on her apron, a light blue number with cherries on it. “Either way, Natalie seems excited for the trip and to see Vegas for the first time.”

My ears prick. “She does?” Fuck, my voice just rose at the end, like a ninth-grader rattling around in puberty. I shrug it off with a casual, “I mean, cool.”

My bluff doesn’t go unnoticed. Josie raises a knowing eyebrow but simply says, “Make sure she sees the sights, okay?”

“I will. Vegas sign. A gondola ride. Bellagio Fountains.”

“What’s underneath your zipper,” Nick whispers in my ear, and I elbow the fucker.

“Just be a good guy. Like you always told me a girl deserves,” Josie says as she returns to the counter, and her words tug at something inside me. At my heart’s deepest wish—to be a good guy. Because I wasn’t always. But if I am now, it’s because of Josie. I fucking love that girl like nobody’s business.

She points to both of us. “That applies to both of you as a general rule of thumb. I know exactly what the two of you are like. I grew up with you troublemakers, remember?”

I salute her and bring my heels together, standing at attention. “I’m always a good guy, Josie.”

Nick and I leave, heading for Little Friends dog rescue where we volunteer.

“Do you even know how to be a good boy?” he asks as we walk up Columbus, the warm spring air surrounding us.

I grab my shades from my T-shirt neckline and drop them over my eyes. “Yes. I do the opposite from you.”

“You are going to be so fucked,” he says, shaking his head as he laughs at me. We sidestep a jogger in neon pink leggings while cabs and cars chug along on the avenue. “You’ve had it bad for Natalie since Spencer’s wedding. Remember?”

I wave a hand dismissively. “Nah, that’s not true.”

“Dude, you told me she wanted you when she came over to dance with me at the wedding.”

“She did want me.”

“My point exactly. You only say that when you want a girl.”

I stare up at the blue sky. “Pretty sure I say that all the time. I’m a cocky bastard, right?” I wink, then clap him on the shoulder as we reach the crosswalk. “Relax, cowboy. Even if I once wanted her, I’m a master at self-control.”

He scoffs. “Self-control. Words never used before to describe my little brother.”

I pretend to laugh. “Maybe you don’t know me that well.”

“I think I know you better than anyone.”

“Then, tell me this, oh wise one—how else would I have managed the feat of the century in staying away from her for all these months?” I arch a challenging eyebrow at Nick, waiting for him to give it back to me.

He pushes his glasses higher and nods slightly. “Fine, fine. You have some self-control.” He shakes his head like he doesn’t believe it.

But I believe it.

I have to.

Especially when three days later, I get on a private jet with Natalie Rhodes, temptation made flesh, the All-American black belt with a tongue of iron fire.

As she settles down into a beige leather seat and crosses her legs, she shoots me a smile.

That sweet, sexy smile.

Fuck, being a good boy is way overrated. I want to be bad with her.

I
could get used
to this. The leather seats that recline all the way. The impeccable service, including a three-course lunch. A quiet ride in the lap of luxury next to Natalie.

Lila snoozes in her seat across the aisle. She popped a Xanax. Flying makes her anxious, she’d said, so she’s in the land of nod, a black satin eye mask snug on her face.

“Can I get you anything else?” the flight attendant asks us.

I do a double take. For a split second, it registers that she’s pretty. She’s been serving us the whole flight, but it just hit me—her looks. Silky red hair, full lips, and warm brown eyes, along with a tight, trim figure. But then, all thoughts of her fall out of my head. And that’s not just because it would be rude to hit on the flight attendant on Lila’s plane, and it would also be classless to hit on her in front of an employee. But the reality is I don’t really want to get to know
her
more. I’m kind of interested in talking to Natalie on this flight. Even though we tease each other at the office, and even though we’ve gone to dinner a few times, we mostly chat about work. There’s a lot I don’t know about her.

The attendant clears our Ahi tuna lunch dishes and asks if we’d like to watch a movie. I shift my focus to Natalie, letting her decide. She shakes her head and says, “I think I’ll read.”

But she doesn’t read. She doesn’t break out her Kindle or a paperback. Instead, she nudges me with her elbow and says, “I never imagined working for a construction firm meant I’d fly to Vegas like this. I should have tracked you down long ago. I would never have taken on all the crummy jobs I had before.”

I laugh. “Tell me more about your checkered work history.” I don’t actually know a lot about what she did prior to working for me. Her résumé didn’t score her the gig. Her gumption did.

She arches an eyebrow. “Like the time I worked for a phone sex operation?”

My eyes nearly pop out of my head. Then I school my expression and do my damnedest to act unfazed. “Oh, yeah?”

She nods. “It was kinda awesome. We did it all, but we specialized in furries and feet.”

I do my best to maintain a straight face as sights and sounds of Natalie twirling a phone cord as she purrs huskily about the high heels on her tiny feet, flash like a neon billboard before my eyes. I swallow then manage a dry, “Really?”

I’m not sure if I’m turned on or wigged out. Maybe both. Mostly turned on, though.

She nods several times. “You have no idea how many men have foot fetishes until you do phone sex. They want to hear you walking around in your heels. They like the sound they make on a hard wood—pun intended—floor.”

Damn, I love puns. I’m motherfucking crazy about them. But I’ve got no clue how to react to that one. I scrub a hand across my jaw. This is a whole new side to Natalie. And I can’t help but picture her strutting across the floor in stilettos. She’s already an intoxicating combo of cheerleader looks and tomboy heart—add in heels, and I’d be a goner. For the record, I’m not a foot fetishist whatsoever, but I bet she’d look sinfully sexy in four-inch pumps. Red ones. With her legs wrapped around my waist as I fuck her against the wall.

“And furries?” I ask, doing my best to stay rooted in the bizarre fetish portion of the convo, not the filthy personal fantasy part.

“People who wear full fur-suit costumes,” she explains.

“I
get
what that is.” I frown in confusion. “What I don’t get is that furries seem to be more of a real life thing.”

She nods exaggeratedly. “Oh, it’s
huge
in phone sex. You pretend to be wearing a full fox suit. Or sometimes a squirrel outfit. Raccoons were also popular. But mostly a sexy squirrel. That was the favorite.”

I’m trying. I swear I’m trying. But picturing Natalie whispering dirty words like
rub your furry tail against me as
I store nuts in my cheeks
doesn’t compute. “Men called in wanting to get it on with a gal in a squirrel suit?”

She nods. “It’s called yiffing. Crazy, huh?”

I run a hand through my thick hair, a little wavy today. “A bit, but whatever floats your boat.”

She arches an eyebrow. “Admit it. You’re shocked.”

“Nah,” I say, acting all cool. Then I think
fuck it
. “Okay fine. Maybe a little.”

A huge smile flashes on her face. “Gotcha.” She points at me, and victory sparkles in her light blue eyes.

“Got me at what?”

“I heard you like pranks. Josie told me.”

I crack up and shake my head in appreciation. “Well done,” I say, then slowly clap. “You win at pulling my leg.”

I straighten out my left leg, and she does her best charade to yank it. I pretend she captured it, and she tugs harder at the air, my leg like a big fish she’s captured.

She grunts as she reels it in, then I set my foot down on the ground and knock fists with her. “Seriously. Dinner is on me tonight.”

“It better always be on you,” she says, then adds for emphasis, “
Boss
.”

Ah, there’s that reminder.

“Anyway,” she continues, “I might have been pulling your leg. But everything I said is true. I never said
I
made the calls. And I do know all that because I did work for a phone sex company. I just wasn’t an operator myself. I screened the girls who wanted to work for us, set up the schedules, made sure they were paid, logged all the calls. It was weirdly fun.”

“And I’m weirdly impressed.” I would never have pegged the phone sex business as part of Natalie’s work history, but the way she describes it completely fits her organizational skills.

She punches my bicep playfully. “And I wasn’t technically lying.”

“You were technically entertaining the hell out of me, though.”

“Good,” she says with a bright smile. “Want to know about more of my past jobs? I’ve had some interesting ones.”

“Sure,” I say, stretching out my long legs and thoroughly enjoying the legroom, not to mention the conversation.

“After the phone sex company I worked as a pet pedicurist.”

“That’s a job?”

She nods, the look in her eyes intense. “Hell, yeah. And it’s not a bad way to make a living. You have no idea what wealthy Manhattanites will pay to have someone come to their home and clip the chihuahua’s claws.”

“Why not stick with it then?”

“Shockingly, I didn’t want to spend my entire life working on dog feet. Don’t get me wrong. I love dogs, and paws are awesome, but when it started conflicting with my schedule at the dojo in the evenings I had to let it go.”

I tap her knee. “Which brings us to your true passion. Administering a side-kick to the head.”

She pretends to punch me in the chest, coming
this
close. “Or the heart.”

Her eyes glint. For a flash, I see something in them. Or maybe it’s just that her words feel like a warning, like she really could deliver a blow to my heart.

I blink then look away.

She lowers her arm, placing her hands in her lap. “I do love it, though.” Her tone is calmer now, more serious than when she riffed on yiffing and feet, on paws and claws. “Always have.”

“Since you were little?”

“My parents sent me to karate class when I was six. I had a lot of energy, and it was a great place for me to burn it off. I grew to love it. The techniques, the skills, and most of all, the fact that you can always improve.” She raises her eyes, meeting mine. In this moment, she seems to be shedding a layer that was between us—the boss-assistant one, maybe—as she ventures into more personal territory. “I also really love teaching it. My favorite is the self-defense part. I really want to keep teaching women self-defense and using martial arts for that. I feel like it’s this one special thing I can do, you know?”

Her voice is vulnerable, like she wants reassurance that her admission means something to me. That I’ll treat it with care. And I will. “I completely know what you mean, and I suspect you’re fantastic at it.”

“Don’t get me wrong. I love working for your company, too, and my job at WH is a fantastic one,” she says. Then a soft smile curves her lips, spreading until it turns into a yawn. A huge open-jawed yawn. She brings her hand to her mouth. “I think I hear a nap calling my name.”

A few minutes later, she’s sound asleep in her seat. A little after that, her head slides to my shoulder. Then, when she’s deep in REM, her upper body slouches down, down, down . . . her head hitting my lap.

And that’s how I spend the rest of the flight with Natalie curled in my lap.

Yes, it turns me on. Yes, I’m fucking aroused. And yes, my mind is filled with a reel of images of where her head could be if she woke up, shifted a few inches, and opened her mouth wide.

I inch back in the seat, trying to give Natalie’s face some distance from the family jewels.

Soon enough, we begin the descent into Las Vegas. She wakes as we land and shoots straight up, her eyes darting all around as if she’s registering where she is as she comes to. “Did I . . .?”

She points at my legs.

“Sleep on my lap?”

She nods.

“Yes.”

Her eyes widen to saucer size. “Did I do that?” She points frantically at my crotch.

Ah, fuck. She noticed the banana in my pocket. I cycle through a litany of potential excuses for sporting wood during her afternoon lap nap when my eyes follow her finger. It’s not my dick she’s pointing at. It’s the wet spot on my jeans. The huge wet spot that could only be caused by—

She brings a hand to her chest. “I’m so sorry I drooled on you.”

I crack up. “Sweetheart, you can drool on me anytime.”

She flashes an apologetic smile, then reaches into her back pocket for her phone, presumably. When she comes up empty, I peer around, spotting it on the floor by my feet, where it must have fallen while she slept.

I reach down to grab it for her, and I do my best to look away, but I can’t help but notice the end of a message from her sister that appears on the screen.

I knew you’d feel this way!

What way, I wonder?