A-List F*CK Club - Frankie Love

A-LIST F*CK CLUB THE NOVEL

FRANKIE LOVE

CONTENTS ❤ READER NOTE❤ About The Book Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Epilogue Small Town F*ck Club Small-Town F*ck Club Prologue

Small Town F*ck Club Chapter 1 Small Town F*ck Club Chapter 2 Also By Frankie Love About the Author

❤READER NOTE❤

No cliff hangers … everything is here … promise!!! **Including the Prologue & Chapter 1 and 2 of Small Town F*ck Club!**

Now … go get naughty … no one deserves it like you do!!

xo, frankie

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Copyright © 2017 by Frankie Love Edited By: ICanEdit4U and Peppermint Editing

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

ABOUT THE BOOK

A-LIST F*CK CLUB

Life is hard enough as it is. A little p*ssy, a little c*ck—if that’s the something sweet you need to help make the medicine go down, open wide baby, and I’ll pour it right in.

When country-girl Juliana shows up at my club, she doesn’t want anything to do with a place so dangerous. She’s here in the city to make cash to save the family farm— not f*ck hard and fast—with strangers.

I won’t be a stranger for long.

She thinks I’m just the bartender. Not the owner of this place with a messed up Hollywood story of my own. I remain anonymous for a reason—and my privacy is the only thing that matters.

When stories about the dirty deeds at my club start getting leaked fingers are pointed.

And everyone is a suspect.

But who can you trust when lives are built on lies and an unforgettable fling is the only thing you can count on?

Dear Reader,

What do you get when you give a bad boy with a tragic past a virgin to fight for? Love.

And what do you get when you strip them of their clothes? Sex. Really hot sex. Get ready to meet Callahan … he’s ready to show you everything he has to offer. And ladies … I promise it’s a hell of a lot!

xo, frankie

1

I

took life’s lemons and made a mother fucking lemon drop. I’m talking sugar on the rim, ice cold glass, top shelf liquor—lemon drop.

No, I didn’t come up from the other side of the tracks, and yeah, I have enough money and privilege to recognize I’d sound like a fucking douchebag if I led with the properties I own, the places I’ve vacationed, and the trust fund in my name. But that’s fine by me—I don’t need to talk about that shit to feel good about myself. It’s superficial anyway. Hell, it’s fun and has given me enough memories to last a lifetime — New Year’s Eves in Bali, dropping a hundred Gs in five minutes at a blackjack table in Monte Carlo—but it’s not real. It’s all magic and mirrors. So, I change my facts. Made a story of my own. I strap on my helmet, jump on my motorcycle, and start cruising down the highway toward my club. It’s a gorgeous fucking day. The sun is setting and paints the sky in the way my mother always loved. Streaked in purple and pink—she said when the sky was like this, you couldn’t help but be happy. I rev my engine as I ride through LA. The usual bumper-to-bumper traffic dissipated in the evening glow and the constant feeling of being trapped in a city too small for my liking is past this horizon. I careen my bike toward the off ramp, feeling like the free man I am. It’s nights like this—when the city feels forgiving, feels open to whatever may be— that I forget what got me here, forget what made me the man I am now. But the moment passes as I look up and see a massive billboard off the Los Angeles Hwy. The faces of my best friend Sawyer and his supposed woman, Sondra. They’re posing in-character for the newest blockbuster film they’re starring in. I shake my head, focus on the road. It’s hard to see my best friend everywhere like this —his face plastered in the sky, his life a centerfold. Fuck, it’s not just hard—it terrifies me. Remember those lemons? It’s true, I’ve had a lot of fucking fun, but I’ve been forced to swallow the bitter along with the sweet. I do my best to make everyone’s life a little easier. I’m fucking Mary Poppins doling

out teaspoons full of sugar. Why not? Life is hard enough, so I opened a club, decided to keep a low profile. Now I stand behind the bar and make drinks. Would my parents be proud of what I’ve accomplished? I like to believe they’d understand that I took life’s lessons and did something with them. The privacy of the people at my club is my number one priority. I’ve seen what happens when you lose that. I’m not saying all the A-Listers who show up have had a hard life and need some sort of reprieve—I know they are the 1%. Entitled fuckers on television shows and feature films, strutting down runways and making deals that middle America would roll their eyes at. People say the struggle is real, and hell, I’m not going to pretend that the struggle of the people who come to my club is the same sort of struggle as the people trying to pay their goddamn mortgage or put food on the table or buy their kid shoes. I know it’s not the same. But maintaining privacy in a world where iPhones and GoPros have taken away every bit of discretion from a celebrity—well fuck, that struggle is real too. So, I made a club to cater to the A-Listers in this town who need a safe place to go and blow off some steam. Off the highway, I take a left and then a right, another right, left, another right, driving in circles until I’m in the center of the maze of my own making. This club is exclusive and hard-to-find. There is no address, no signage. No Google map address. If you want to come here, you need to know someone. Well, know someone who knows someone. I park my bike, push open the back door of the warehouse, and step inside. Up front I see the manager, Jordan, leading a staff meeting. I may own this place, but that’s the end of the line for me. I keep a low profile, the one stipulation in my parents’ will. If I wanted their money, my face could never become a commodity. They never wanted what happened to them to happen to me. Jordan sees me, tells the staff to take five, and heads over to the bar where I’m already stashing my leather jacket and helmet. He signed a non-disclosure agreement before he was hired, and if he wants a gorgeous paycheck, he’ll keep his mouth shut on the truth of who owns this joint. “How’re things looking, boss?” I ask him. I trust Jordan, he’s been with me at this club since it opened, and while he may be a little uptight and OCD for my taste, I know it means he runs a tight ship. And that’s what I need here. Privacy and pleasure are the words we live by here at A Club. Well, I call it A Club, that’s what I named it. You can’t get more nondescript than that. But apparently, the place got a nickname pretty damn fast. The A-List Fuck Club. “Things are good, lots of VIPs coming tonight. Apparently, Danny Bruneau signed

some girls last week. A few from California, but he was out of town in bum-fuck Indiana, and apparently found a dark-haired Heidi Klum while he was there.” When I don’t respond, Jordan shrugs and keeps going, “I know, you don’t read those tabloids.” I lower my eyes as a frown forms. “I didn’t know Danny was still scouting these days. I thought his agency was on the fritz.” I hand Jordan a whiskey sour and then grab myself a beer. “Guess he’s trying to make a play. Seems models are his way back up to the top,” Jordan says. It’s interesting, Danny Bruneau has been coming here for ages, but he mostly has a few drinks and goes home to his wife. Bringing talent is something he hasn’t done in a year. “Good for him,” I say, knowing this business is a grind, and if he can keep hustling in his sixties, more power to him. “Agreed,” Jordan says, pulling out his phone and reading some notes aloud. “So, that crew is coming tonight, and Sawyer and Sondra will be here too. Beyond that, we have a list of regulars who we’re expecting. Oh, and the lead in that new HBO show, Vanka. And apparently, the singer Jack Harris will be here with his posse.” I nod, take a sip. “We have enough backup? I don’t want any more trouble like we had last week.” “I know, I got some more bouncers coming, but from where I’m standing, the Russian Mafia is going to back off. I think them coming here last week, asking for the owner was a fluke.” I shake my head, disagreeing. “That shit isn’t a fluke. I’m telling you, Jordan. These guys aren’t just talking.” “Well, we’re covered tonight. If it becomes more serious, we’ll deal with them then.” Jordan adjusts his narrow tie and raises his whiskey sour to me. “Okay, I got to get back to the staff meeting.” “Listen, if you catch wind about those thugs coming back, I need to know right away.” “I know, it’s just, I know how much you value your anonymity,” Jordan says. He’s never once jeopardized my cover, never once let the cat out of the bag that I am the boss around here. But I know what pressure can do to a person, and if the Russian Mafia starts putting pressure on Jordan, I need to know before it’s too late. “My anonymity means nothing,” I tell him, “if the integrity of this club is ruined.” Jordan nods and heads back to the staff meeting. The waitresses who are waiting for him wear fishnets and corsets, and stand in their stilettos, laughing. A group of dancers with their long legs and narrow waists head to their dressing rooms, getting ready for tonight and our DJ is setting up his gear in the corner. I grin; I love this fucking place. I may have wanted a club, a place you could get a

drink, have a good fucking time, but truth is, I never imagined it would turn into something so fucking sexy. So, decadent. So, disturbing. But sex sells, and I have no problem with that. We have dark rooms for the sole purpose of doing dark deeds. Remember, life is hard enough as it is. A little pussy, a little cock—if that’s the something sweet you need to help make the medicine go down, open wide baby, and I’ll pour it right in. This club is full of stripper poles and cages. Sofas where men can lean back and have performers straddle them, or more. Where a woman can slip into a room, drop her clothes and have a pleasure trove waiting for her. The A-List Fuck Club has everything— discretion guaranteed. Yes, there’s plenty of fucking at this place, but the beauty is, no one needs to know.

2

T

here aren’t a lot of things I consider to be beneath me. I’m one of those people who does what needs to be done. When I was a kid and the stables needed mucking, I grabbed a shovel and scooped the manure. When I was a teenager and my dad was working two jobs to keep the farm, and my mom was in hospice, I held my head high and got the free lunch at school. So, I can see how to most people it would see this opportunity as a freaking dream come true. I know most of the people in Resting Hollow thought I’d won the lottery. And I know a lot of people share their sentiments. Just two weeks in LA and already I’ve heard how lucky I am by everyone I meet. Apparently being plucked from the streets of a small town and thrust into the big city lights, handed designer clothing to wear, and a catwalk to strut down is a ticket most people only dream of getting—a way to bigger and better things. But for me, the farm was always big enough. And the city? I can’t imagine this place ever feeling like home. A few weeks in and it already feels as if the light pollution is blinding me. I go to bed dreaming of the wide Indiana sky, where thousands of stars shine brightly. I never thought I would shine bright like a star. Sure, I’m a girl who has her fair share of daydreams. But when it came to stardom, I thought maybe one of my most glittering days would be when I got married someday, where I’d walk down the aisle, with my father at my elbow. I thought maybe a shining day could be when I gave birth to a child, or when I won a blue ribbon at the county fair using my Grandma’s famous pickle recipe. So, I’m not saying I didn’t have any shiny star aspirations, they are just different shiny star dreams than the girls in this town. The girls I’m now living with. Because their dreams and my dreams don’t seem to even be in the same sky. “Juliana, wear this. It would look so good with your eyes.” Colette hands me a dress the size of a washcloth. “Or this one,” Gretchen offers, holding up a cheetah print patterned jumpsuit. I scrunch my nose up at both options. “Maybe I’ll just stay in tonight, really. I feel like going out with you guys is totally going to cramp your style.” Colette groans. “Danny insisted all three of us come out with him tonight. We’re VIP

guests at the A-List Fuck Club. Do you have any idea what that means, Juliana?” I shake my head. Truth is, I have literally zero ideas about what that means. I can take a stab at guessing, but honestly, I’d rather take a bath. I can just picture it now: the door closed, my high-energy, anorexic roommates far away. I’d pour a glass of wine, download a new book on my Kindle and pretend I was back in Resting, Indiana. Yes, that’s actually the name of the place I grew up. And right now, I want to take a nap there. Not here, in a luxury LA apartment with my roommates who grew up in this industry. “Pleases, Juliana,” Gretchen purrs. “I’ll do your makeup. And hair.” “And I’ll do the first guy who offers,” Colette says laughing. “I swear to God it’s been so long since I’ve hooked up with anyone. I’m hoping at the A-List tonight, there will be some super smoking celebrity who’s all, ‘who’s that fine new supermodel?’ And I’ll be all, ‘we should totally fuck.’” I raise an eyebrow at her suggestion—totally out of my comfort zone. “That’s really classy, Colette,” Gretchen laughs. “Truth is, I could totally stand to get laid myself. We’ve been working nonstop for the last two weeks. And I’m worn out as fuck.” “I hear ya, people say being a model is an easy job, but they have no idea. Stand straighter. Turn your head 3 centimeters to the left. I mean 2 centimeters to the right. I mean go back to how you were,” Colette says, reciting the way photographers have been speaking to us since we showed up in Los Angeles after signing with Danny Bruneau. “But I’m not personally all about the one night stands. However, I would definitely be okay with getting a boyfriend. Stat. What about you, Juliana? You gonna be on the prowl tonight?” “I still haven’t agreed to go out,” I tell them. I bite my bottom lip, though, knowing I’ll end up going. The last thing I want is to be on the outs with Danny Bruneau. Right now, my family farm is on the line. I’m here to take care of the people I love most back home. If that means going to the A-List Fuck Club, that’s what I’ll do. “Look,” Gretchen says. “You don’t have to wear any of the trashy dresses we suggested. Is there anything you brought you like to wear?” “I brought nothing but overalls, ripped jeans, and T-shirts.” Gretchen and Colette collectively frown. “Do you have any idea how sad that sounds?” Gretchen asks. “I am becoming increasingly aware.” Then I smile the smile that got me this job in the first place. The smile that seems to melt hearts, and not just men’s; apparently, the hearts of these girls too. Because one flash of my pearly whites and they soften toward me. “Let us help you, Juliana,” Colette says. “And we promise, once we get out tonight, we’ll stop giving you a hard time.” “I hope I find a hard time,” Gretchen laughs. “A really hard time.” At that, I laugh too. I may be a country girl at heart, small-town girl in the big city, but

I can hold my own when it comes to having fun. I just need to get acclimated to the kind of fun these girls are used to. And I may be out of my comfort zone, but I won’t let these girls, or Danny, down tonight.

____

Two hours later, the three of us are in tiny pieces of fabric that barely cover our asses, our hair sleek and shiny, and our makeup is done so perfectly it’s as if we don’t have any on it all. And when we slide into the Uber EX toward the A-List, I listen as Gretchen explains exactly what corner we are to be dropped off on. After the ride, we make our way through an industrial neighborhood, definitely not where I was expecting to go. It’s pretty empty out here, but street lamps light the way, and Gretchen tells us she knows exactly where we’re going. “Danny told me Sawyer Bennett was going to be here tonight,” she says. “Now that is one man I’d be okay with sinking my teeth into.” “No way, not me,” I say. “He’s so not my type.” This apparently is enough of a comment to get a reaction from my two roommates. “What is your type then? If not the hottest man in Hollywood at the moment?” Colette asks. I shake my head, not wanting to explain. But Gretchen nudges me with her elbow and, knowing that I want to stay in their good graces, I decide to be more open with them. “Sawyer seems a little… fake? Like he’s trying too hard. I’d like, I mean, if I were to have a guy, I would want him to be a little bit more rugged. You know, a man’s man?” “When you say if you were to have a man, what do you mean by that, exactly?” Gretchen asks, having no shame in prying into my personal business. Actually, neither of them do. They are identical hyenas. Amazonian bombshells, and, I guess I am too. They’re both blonde, and I’m dark haired with darker lashes—but all of us tower at 5 foot 10, though Colette and Gretchen have a little bit more of a plastic look to them. Their noses have been shaped perfectly, their cheekbones have an almost sculptured sheen, and their hair swishes as they move. Literally, it swishes. They have swishing hair. “I don’t know, I just haven’t ever really dated.” I try to brush them off, looking for a sign that tells me that we’ve arrived at the A-List Fuck Club. Can you even make a sign that says the word ‘fuck’ on it? I really feel out of my depth at the moment. “What do you mean, haven’t really dated?” Colette presses. “Like haven’t really dated or haven’t dated at all?”

“I don’t know, I mean, I dated someone in high school. His name was Todd. He had braces and played Pokémon.” “So, you’re telling us five years ago you dated an awkward boy with metal teeth?” “He wasn’t awkward, it was me that was awkward. You know how it is, long legs and super skinny. It’s hard to ever feel like you’re in your own skin. I could never find pants that fit me, everything was too short or too big. It took me a long time before I felt… like myself?” “Yeah, so,” Gretchen says slowly, “I can’t actually relate, I’ve always used my body as an asset. These legs literally got me where I am today.” Colette agrees, with a slight variation. Her family always had money, so she had designer everything— meaning, she had clothes that actually fit. Apparently, my thrift store cast-offs weren’t exactly doing me any favors. “Well, this is shocking,” Gretchen says as if she is literally shocked. “You are a supermodel for one of the oldest talent agencies in the country. You’re drop dead gorgeous, haven’t had a lick of plastic surgery, and I saw you eat a cheeseburger yesterday. An entire cheeseburger. You’re pretty much the epitome of everything the world hates. Perfect without trying.” I throw my hands up in defeat. “Sorry, I don’t mean… Look, it’s not as if there are dozens of possible suitors in Resting.” “Your first problem, darling,” Colette starts, “is using words like suitors. People say ‘hookup’ or ‘hottie’ or ‘let’s go to the boneyard.’” “Nobody says ‘let’s go to the boneyard,’” Gretchen laughs. “But, honey, I think it’s time you started spreading your proverbial wings.” “Not her wings,” Colette says, cracking up. “Spreading her thighs.” “I know, I know,” I tell them. It’s not that I’m opposed to it, the opportunity has just never presented itself.” “So, what you’re saying is,” Colette begins, “that if a ready and willing, not too perfect, but ruggedly handsome man—were to ask for your V-card you would give it?” “First of all, I wouldn’t call it my V-card because this isn’t 1964, but if a man wanted to sleep with me—a man I was highly attracted to and who I wanted inside of my body— then yes, I’m not morally opposed to sex. It’s just… never happened.” “Well, we’re all virgins tonight,” Gretchen says, pointing to a nondescript door. “Because tonight we’re all going to the Fuck Club for the first time in our lives.” I shake my head, loving these girls, while simultaneously feeling like I should run away from them forever. “To the Fuck Club,” I say, laughing. I throw my hand in front of me, and they press theirs down on top of mine. “On the count of three,” I say, grinning. “One, two, three —Fuck Club!” As if we unknowingly shouted the magic word, the door opens, and the three of us

enter, with absolutely no idea what is going to happen next.

3

T

he club’s packed and it’s nights like these I need to keep my focus on the crowds. Especially with all the bullshit of those fucking gangsters showing up here last week, standing outside the door and threatening our bouncers—demanding to speak with the owner. The bouncers, though, don’t know who I really am. They don’t know my role here. In their mind I work the bar, that’s it. Jordan’s the manager, and everyone knows he’s accountable to an anonymous owner. There are plenty of celebrities that wouldn’t want to be outed, who want a night to themselves—and if the thugs show, Jordan knows what to do— call in back up. Our bouncers know their responsibility is to our guests, above all else. As I scan the crowd, I see Sawyer and Sondra making their way through the club, but there’s no trouble in sight. Well, no trouble with the mob—there is always trouble brewing between those two. I focus on making drinks, filling trays for the waitresses and keeping the bar clean. No one comes to the club to hang out with the bartender and that’s fine by me. I’ve got no interest in a high-profile relationship. In fact, I want the opposite. I want someone who’s above the bullshit, the fucking charades. I want a woman who knows how to have fun but doesn’t need to be in front of the camera to have it. Which is fucking hard to find in this town. Every woman arrives in LA looking for a leg up—the guys too. All anyone wants is a connection to a bigger and better name. So, when a girl finds out that I pour shots for a living, I’m not exactly the guy they want to bring with them on the red carpet. Not that I’d go on a red carpet anyway. Heading down a red carpet would be a walking trigger, so, for now, the only mention of a red carpet is making fun of Sawyer, my oldest friend, for being such a sellout—for strutting his stuff at some ridiculous award show owned by a studio. Even now, at the club, he’s here with his arm candy Sondra—a woman pretty much assigned to him. I watch as he makes his way to the bar, no doubt wanting to talk to someone who doesn’t buy the bullshit he’s usually selling. I’m guessing they’ve been fighting because Sondra’s arms are crossed and she turns away from him, headed for a table. Good. I have no interest in dealing with her bitchy

attitude tonight. Sawyer greets me with a fist bump and a shake of his head. “Did you see that?” Sawyer asks. “She literally pitched a fit because I refused to go to one of the rooms with her.” “And, why won’t you?” I fill three martini glasses for a waitress who is on stand-by. She takes them and Sawyer leans back to answer. “No one is in the two-way mirror room right now.” “Because last time we went she just closed the fucking door and took a nap for ninety minutes. And look, I get this relationship is staged, but she could at least play nice.” I laugh. “And playing nice means a BJ?” “Hell, I’d reciprocate. It’s just been a long ass time.” I frown. “You really don’t have anyone on the side?” Sawyer shakes his head, reminding me why we’ve stayed thick as blood for so long. Even if he is a Hollywood puppet, he’s still a good guy, through and through. “Naw,” he says. “Though I’d be lying if I haven’t considered it. I just don’t want any shit to blow up in our faces—the studio put so much money into this movie.” “Maybe you should seduce her then. I mean, if she’s your girl for the next what, month? That’s a long ass time not to have any pussy.” I’m only half joking. The relationship is all coordinated by their agents, it’s a staged partnership centered around the recent blockbuster release. “Fuck, right? Thought you would be the one who knows all about that. Hell, you haven’t had a woman in a real long time, bro.” “Haven’t seen anyone worth my time.” “Fair enough. But truly, I couldn’t sleep with Sondra. She’s everything wrong about this town. Fake, forced and tired.” Sawyer shakes his arms as if he has the heebie-jeebies. I laugh. “Dude, she can’t be that bad. She’s gorgeous for starters, not my type—but she is beautiful,” I say. Sondra is a Hollywood beauty, black hair, dark eyes, an ass even the Kardashians would die for. “Gorgeous sure, she was made for this city,” Sawyer says. “But the girl has no sense of humor. Talking to her is like talking to a robot,” Sawyer says, looking around. “Maybe you should cut yourselves some slack, the two of you should have a real conversation about the relationship and then come here and have some fun, no strings attached.” Sawyer smirks. “That’s the whole point of this place, isn’t it?” Just then I see a group of women enter. I watch as Jordan introduces himself then leads them through the room toward a table. About that time, I see Danny Bruneau stand from the couch he’s been sitting on. “Those must be the new girls he signed,” I say. Sawyer’s eyes travel around the room and land on the trio of tall women I’ve already

detected. Two are blonde and look like carbon copies of one another… and every other woman in this town. But the other woman is different. She’s looking around with wide eyes, not scanning the room for the people who are here like her friends. No, she’s taking in the club—and it’s clear she doesn’t like what she sees. Not in a mean way… she just looks uncomfortable… but she’s also take-my-breathaway beautiful. Her long dark hair falls over her shoulders, her breasts are pushed up high in the skin-tight dress she wears. My cock twitches just thinking about taking her to one of the rooms upstairs. I watch as Danny hands her a flute of champagne and she offers him a smile as she takes it. But without taking a single sip, she sets it on the table. She crosses her legs, and my eyes travel up the length of them. Her hands reach for her phone inside her clutch and I see her focus is on the screen. Strange. No one focuses on the outside world when they are at the A-List. Anyone who is anyone is already here. And she needs to put the phone away, stat. They are strictly forbidden at the club. “Good for Danny,” Sawyer says, whistling. “I thought he was out of the business.” “He was. His wife got really sick last year,” I tell him, knowing the inside scoop on most of the guests here, courtesy of Jordan. “Cancer. But she’s better and looks like Danny’s back in the saddle.” “Good for him,” Sawyer says, “And looks like he found a pay day with those women.” I nod in agreement, watching as the brunette raises her phone to take a selfie. My eyes crease in concern. There are only a few rules at the club—and no photographs are the absolute number one rule. I see Jordan walk over to the table and tell her to put her phone away. She looks so sweet when she answers, and I can’t tell if it is real or not. Deciding a woman who looks so delicious can only be sweet, I turn my attention back to Sawyer. “So, why not have fun with one of them?” I say. “One night, no questions. Before this agreement with the studio kills you.” “Sondra and I just have a few more weeks of things lined up and then we get to call it quits. Don’t worry about me, I’m done playing this game, man.” I make Sawyer a Manhattan, not wanting to argue with my oldest friend. Sawyer and I grew up together, he’s one of the only people who know my whole story. I also know his, and because of this, I know Sawyer isn’t going to stop being a puppet for the studio anytime soon. I’ve heard him talk big before. Every time he gets some fancy offer, he can’t seem to refuse. I’m not judging him. All of our priorities are different. Sometimes we gotta do things even if we don’t want to do things. We all have our reasons. And Sawyer, he’s the son of an Oscar-winning actor and actress—just like me. He was born into a legacy and it’s not so easy walking away from that. So, I don’t judge him. But sometimes, like when I’m watching him right now, I do feel bad for him.

“So then, after Sondra—then what?” “Maybe I’ll hold out for what you’re holding out for. Someone who wants me for something besides my status.” “I hope you get that, man,” I tell him. I nod toward the models who walked in with Danny. “You never know, one of those girls right there might work.” As I finish my sentence, Sondra sidles up to him, grabbing his elbow as if just remembering her job in this relationship is to be his arm candy. She scowls at me and for a second I think she may have overheard me, then I remember her resting bitch face. “Sawyer, come on, I wanna get out of here.” She pouts—as if any man ever found that attractive. “You want me to take you home?” he asks her, brow raised. “After you made such a thing out of coming here tonight?” “Plans change,” Sondra says, not meeting his eye. Her lack of eye contact tells me everything I need to know. Sawyer may not be screwing around, but she certainly is. “I have a friend coming over.” Sawyer deserves more than this. But he must realize that for himself. I just hope he figures it out before it’s too damn late. “How about you just take a cab home and I’ll stay here?” Sawyer asks. Sawyer staying here, at the Fuck Club, by himself, might be the first step in the right direction. “No way, my agent says if we come together, we leave together.” Sondra may be an immature brat, but she plays by the rules. I’m not one to talk, considering I own the club that’s catering to everything I don’t want to be. Still, I try to go easy on myself. It’s an industry, I know—hell, the only industry I know. And I like sex and nice drinks and discretion. And I like feeling like I’m doing something good with my life, even if most people wouldn’t understand having a revamped warehouse with black velvet curtains and sofas everywhere, where half-dressed women dance in cages and plenty of rooms line the perimeter for acts that won’t be discussed. Sawyer, realizing he has nowhere to go but home, throws back his drink, gives me a fist bump, and tells me he’s out. “Have a good night, Sondra,” I tell her. She looks at me with annoyance. I’m not surprised. Sawyer told me how she hates that we’re friends, thinking he is way too good to be best friends with a bartender. Exactly why girls like her make me sick. Everything she does or doesn’t do—every move she makes—is based on judgments and assumptions. With her gone, I return my focus to the bar; to mix drinks and watch the club from a distance. A few hours pass and the later things get here, the more dangerous, desirous, and risky

things become. A-Listers find themselves in dark corners, strangers now confidants and sex is no longer just a whisper on the dance floor. People leave the swanky dance party and find themselves uninhibited. Seduced by the allure of the privacy. This is why I made this place. For this hour. Everything becomes heavy, quiet. People come here with a purpose, and in the late-night hours, wishes are fulfilled. Which is why it’s so fucking surprising to see one of Danny’s girls, sliding on a stool at the bar—nearly falling off it before she’s even seated—asking for a cocktail menu we don’t have, with a voice on the verge of cracking, wearing the least pretentious half-smile I’ve ever seen. “Is this place always so weird?” she asks, looking at me as if I can provide her with a real, honest-to-god answer. “You haven’t seen anything yet,” I tell her, hoping she doesn’t look away. My eyes aren’t leaving hers. On the surface, she may look like her agency sisters, but she’s not your typical supermodel. No. This woman may be in LA, but she isn’t in this city looking for a leg up. One look at her and it’s clear she’s already looking for an out.

4

T

his club is literally the largest leap I’ve ever taken from my comfort zone. The tiny strip club at the edge of town in Resting, IN is a sorrier excuse for entertainment than any of us back home realized. The A-List lives up to its name. It is swanky, sexy, and more risqué than HBO television. The dancers here are gorgeous—and I know I just got signed as a model at the most exclusive agency in the country and by all accounts am gorgeous too—but there is a huge gap between these women and me. They know the power they hold over the people here. Me? I hardly know the power I hold over myself. Getting “discovered” was one of the most surreal moments of my life. One second, I was loading a bale of hay in the back of my daddy’s truck at the feed store in town, and the next, I was offered a life that I never imagined. And now here I am… less comfortable in my own skin than ever before. Definitely nowhere as comfortable as the women in G-strings and pasties, dancing in cages, setting the mood. I notice, though, after I’ve watched for a few hours, from my awkward perch on the velvet couch, that the dancers aren’t actually strippers or prostitutes. They stay in the cages, or on platforms, and do routines. The people who are partnering off, though, the women who let their dress hitch higher up their thighs, the men whose hands graze to indecent territory, are all guests of the club. This isn’t some illegal operation. This is a decadent bar that turns a blind eye—or even suggestive eye—to every act of debauchery. It’s like a sanctuary for the rich and famous to get high on life without negative press —or really—without any press at all. Colette and Gretchen have no problem finding dance partners, and then later, they fullon disappear to a back room. Not wanting to go where I’ve never gone before, I stay seated until Danny tells me he’s calling it a night himself and kisses me on the cheek. “You need to learn to have some fun, darling. These are the golden years,” he tells me, before walking down a hall that doesn’t look like an exit. Hmm. Maybe he isn’t going home after all… maybe Danny has his own reasons for coming here. I check the clock on my phone. Eleven. Plenty late, too late for me to start navigating the LA streets alone. And I’m not going to start knocking on doors, asking if my roommates want to call an Uber and get out

of here. I may be awkward, but not that awkward. So instead, I walk to the bar and slide onto a stool, instantly meeting the eyes of the bartender. One glance and I almost fall off my stool. This is not an exaggeration. When I ask for a drink menu he just frowns like I made a massive faux pas. “Is this place always so weird?” I ask, trying to think of a classy drink to order. Over at Danny’s table, we’d been drinking champagne. “You haven’t seen anything yet,” he tells me, with a smile that has me nearly falling off the stool for the second time. He isn’t just a bartender. He is an incredibly handsome one. He has day-old stubble but I can still make out a dimple in his left cheek. His hair is brownish-blond and his eyes sparkling blue. He looks all-American, standing behind this bar, and I wonder how a man who looks as genuine as a cornfield could be working at a place like this. “So,” he says. “You don’t know what you want?” I bite my bottom lip, a move I always make out of nervousness. For the first time in my life, I see exactly what I want. Him. A man who’s nothing like the men I’ve met in this city with slicked-back hair and suit jackets, skinny jeans and who’ve probably spent more time and money on waxing their chests than I ever have on my eyebrows. “To drink,” he clarifies. “We don’t have any menus, but I can make you anything you’d like.” His biceps flex in his simple gray shirt as he reaches for a maraschino cherry. “Something sweet?” He dangles the cherry in front of me and I feel my face flush. I can’t tell if he is flirting or genuinely wants to know if I like the sugary flavor of the artificially flavored fruit. “Sweet. And bubbly,” I answer honestly, before realizing my answer sounds more coquettish than I meant. He raises an eyebrow. “How sweet?” he asks, reaching for a champagne flute. I laugh through a smile. “Sweeter than I should.” He shakes his head. “There are no ‘should’s allowed in this club. Here, you do what you want, when you want.” He grabs a cocktail shaker, adds ice, gin, and simple syrup. As he shakes it, my eyes roam over his body unabashedly. I’m hoping the dim lighting conceals some of my lust. He makes my body feel things I never feel. I blink, realizing this club really must have some sort of sex appeal pumping through the air vents because I feel all sorts of hot and bothered. He hands me a flute, champagne mixed with yumminess, a cherry and twist of lemon

finishing it off. “For you,” he says. “What is it?” “A French 75. Classic,” he says. “But underrated.” Now it’s my turn to raise an eyebrow. “What are you trying to say?” I ask, relishing the way he leans over the bar closer to me. I breathe him in: polished wood and whiskey and nothing like the boys back home. No. This bartender is a real man… the kind I told my friends I wanted to meet. The fact he isn’t an A-Lister puts me at ease. “I’m trying to figure out why a beautiful woman like yourself is sitting at the bar when you could have any person you wanted all to yourself in a back room.” I shake my head. “Not interested.” “Come on,” the bartender teases. “No one ever comes to this club without the intention to have a fantasy realized.” “It’s just not my thing.” Not wanting to tell this stranger that I’m a virgin, I embellish my truth. “I just got to LA. I need to put out some feelers before I’ll go to a dark room with someone I’ve never met before.” “So, you’ll go to a room, eventually?” He raises a brow, he looks like he doesn’t believe me for a moment. “Yeah, right. You’re sitting on this stool, so uptight, I bet you’ve never let yourself go.” I laugh. “You don’t know me. I can have a good time. It’s just… say I were to go to a room here—which I am not morally opposed to—it would just have to be with the right man. The right moment. And something that could last longer than a night.” I sip my cocktail, the bubbly champagne putting me more at ease with this man wearing a cocky smile. He nods slowly. “The right man.” “Mmmm,” I say, thinking he would be the sort of guy I could picture walking upstairs with, down a dark hall, into a private room. I could undress for him, letting him pull down my panties and take me in a way I’ve only ever imagined. Completely. There is something genuine about him, he’s a man who teases and laughs. He doesn’t try to put a hand on my leg or up my skirt like the men who were sitting beside me earlier when I was on a couch with my roommates. Men who saw me as a piece of meat… not a personality. A person. “So, what you’re saying is that you’re looking for a relationship,” the bartender asks, leaning over the bar, meeting my eyes. “Not a one-night stand?” I feel my face flush, but he can’t notice, not in a club as dark as this.

The truth is… a one-night stand sounds… exotic. The kind of thing I imagined happening while here in LA, far from the farmlands of home. “I’m guessing none of the guys here want a relationship,” I say, putting off his question. The bartender shrugs. “You never know.” “Are you in a relationship?” I ask. He shakes his head. “Naw, hard to find women in this town who are interested in more than a bank account.” I furrow my brows. “Hard assessment of half the population.” He just grins. “You haven’t been in LA very long.” “What else do you know about me?” “I know you’re one of Danny Bruneau’s new girls, from the middle of nowhere.” I bristle at his words. “Maybe from the middle of nowhere, but I come from one of the greatest towns in America.” “Oh yeah?” He’s mixing drinks for a waitress who’s put in an order with him, but he keeps on eye on me. “What makes it so great?” “Everything.” I exhale, thinking about the smell of freshly mown grass, of rich soil and the sunshine on my face. “Where did you grow up?” The moment I say it, I know I’ve touched on something personal. His shoulder’s tense. He places drinks on a tray with a clenched jaw. And when he turns back to me, he wears a sad smile. “Not far from here, actually. Down the coast a bit.” I offer a warm smile, and his face brightens. “So, you’re a Cali boy, born and raised. I wouldn’t have guessed it.” “That’s because you’ve never seen me surf.” I laugh, taking a final sip of my French 75. He makes me another one before I’ve set it down like he had it at the ready, like he knew what I wanted before I did. “You should let me take you out to the waves someday,” he says. The idea of spending a day with this guy makes my skin tingle in a good way. And I don’t even know his name. Before I can respond, however, I’m rudely pushed to one side by a large hand. The large hand is attached to a much larger man. He and his friends definitely do not look like they match the atmosphere of the rest of this club. They look like thugs with an agenda. “How can I help you?” the bartender asks. His eyes flick over to the manager who let me in the club several hours ago, and I follow his gaze. Earlier I saw several bouncers, big guys with broad shoulders, on the perimeter of the place— now I see no one. “The manager won’t tell us who the owner is, but I’m thinking, considering you’re the

bartender here, you might know something.” The man reaches over the bar and takes a bottle of whiskey. I may not be from a big city, but we have a bar back home. And Dusty who runs that place would never let another man do that to him. You don’t reach behind another man’s bar no matter how important you think you are. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” the bartender asks, gripping the man’s wrist and pushing him away. Guess this guy won’t let anyone get away with it either. The man squeezes his wrist, then steps back toward us, wanting more. “You wanna tell us who owns this place?” “Look, I’m just the bartender, and we don’t want any problems here, understood?” “Too late for that,” the man says. “Tell me, what’s your name?” The bartender looks over at me, and I swear he’s begging me to go, to leave this conversation before it gets more heated. But I can’t seem to budge from this barstool. Ironic, considering I already fell off it twice. “I’m not telling you shit,” the bartender says coolly. The man looks down at me as if seeing me for the first time. His eyes are red, beady, and his breath stale. “You wanna tell me who this man is?” I shake my head, feeling the room get small around me. “She’s not telling you a damn thing, and you best step away from her, understood?” The man snorts. “Best step away? What is this? A made for TV movie? I’m not stepping off anything unless I want to.” “It’s time for you to leave,” he says, his cool tone now ice. “Or what? You’ll call the owner and tell him what went down?” The man’s lip curls and I realize that is exactly what he wants to have happen. Something to blow up so badly that the owner is called—the owner who the bartender clearly doesn’t want to be known. “Why don’t you go make that call, I’ll stay right here, with this fine piece of ass.” The man snakes his arms around me, his hand reaching for my right breast. He paws at me like he’s a dog, and I recoil under his touch, trying to push him away as his mouth blows hot air against my ear. Time seems to stop, my body tenses, and my deepest fear—the biggest reason I didn’t want to come to LA—surfaces. Back home everyone knew my daddy, no one would touch me because they knew who had my back. Here, I have no one. And as this thug’s fingers graze my skin, I forget to breathe, forget where I am. I just want to be home. To be safe.

Away from this city I don’t understand. My eyes go wide, searching for the bartender. And in a flash, he seems to understand where I’m coming from. Maybe it’s fear flashing in my eyes, or maybe he saw me as more than a pretty face. Maybe the bartender knew my being here was more than I wanted… and that this man touching me is more than I can take. “Get away from her, now,” he shouts. My fingers clench the edge of the wooden bar as if holding on for dear life. The thug seems to like the reaction he’s getting from the bartender and pulls me closer to him. I try to get away, but there’s nowhere to go. The thug has backup and I can’t help but wonder where the bouncers are? Did these gangsters pay them off? “I told you to step away,” the bartender says again. When the man touching me doesn’t loosen his grip, the bartender seems to have had enough. He leaps over the counter in one liquid motion, and my cocktail glass goes flying. His eyes dart around the men as if sizing them up. With his feet firmly planted on the ground, he wrestles the man off me and quickly throws a punch that catches the thug’s temple, causing him to fall to the floor in a daze. The henchmen seem to snap to attention, and I look around wildly, wondering why this thug would have backup but this club wouldn’t? The two men rush the bartender, and one kicks him to the floor. I scream for help as the seconds slow and punches are thrown the bartender’s way. He shields his face, growling as he blocks the punches. He kicks hard, his foot colliding with one of his pursuers kneecaps, and the man screams in pain, falling to his knees. Before any more punches can be thrown, the bouncers from the club arrive with the manager Jordan right behind them. “What the hell?” the manager asks as the thugs are pushed around aggressively by the bouncers. “Are you alright?” he asks me. My eyes though, fall to the bartender. His lip is bloody, and his eyes are cold. His anger isn’t concealed. “Where the hell were you?” he asks the bouncers, which is the same question on my mind. They grunt out an excuse, something about dealing with some other guys out front, but I hear the flimsy words as false. I don’t know anything about fancy nightclubs—but I do know a bit about bar fights—and the bouncers should have stepped in before any punches were thrown. Other guests have gathered around for a better view, but the bartender shields his face and tries to step away without any attention on him. The bouncers leave with the thugs, and Jordan and the bartender have a heated conversation that I don’t pay attention to. I’m trying to catch my breath and figure out how that went from 0 to 100 so damn fast.

“You okay?” the bartender asks returning to my side. He sets his hand on my shoulder and my body relaxes. He may not be my father, but he definitely had my back tonight. And his hand is nothing like the man with the sweaty palms and bloodshot eyes. No, this hand calms me, and with his gentle voice, there’s not a hard edge in sight. He’s just like my father in that sense. But he’s also a stranger, which only reminds me that I’m very far from home. “I’m… I’m…” I blink back tears, tears that have no place here. All that really happened was a man getting aggressive and touching me… still—I hadn’t wanted him to. He didn’t have permission to wrap his arms around my waist or touch my breasts. He didn’t have permission to press his mouth to my ear. It doesn’t matter that we are in a club known for its debauchery, or that it didn’t last for very long—for a second there I felt totally vulnerable, and I hated it. “Are you crying?” he asks. “I need to go. Outside. Fresh air.” I’m talking like a robot, but I don’t care. I come from the middle of nowhere Indiana. A place where men know my name, and sure as hell know my daddy. No one touches me like that. No one. “Here, let me help you,” he says, reaching for my hand, guiding me with his other hand on the small of my back. And I let him. I let this stranger take me out of this dark club that is everything I am not.

5

I

take her outside, her hand soft in mine, and I can’t help but think she’s nothing like the other women in this town. Those jaded bitches, women like Sondra, looking for an angle in every conversation. This woman, she wasn’t looking for anything, yet trouble found her. “Do you know who those guys were?” she asks. Outside, the lights of the city pollute the night sky, and I try to remember the last time I looked at the stars. I’m always here, at the club when the lights are out. I don’t want to go back in there tonight. I want to take this woman somewhere safe. I want to keep her warm. “I have a few ideas,” I tell her as she leans against the brick wall of the warehouse. Her eyes close as she inhales deeply, and her dark lashes brush her cheeks. She’s tall, curvy, and has a pair of tits women would pay twenty grand for. But you can tell she hasn’t paid to be this beautiful. Everything about her screams all natural. But I have a few other ways I’d like to hear her scream. Scream my name. But hell, we haven’t even introduced ourselves. “What’s your name?” I ask. I stand in front of her, my arms on either side of her narrow frame, palms pressed against the brick wall. It’s as if I want to create a shelter for her, somewhere safe. I don’t want those assholes coming out here and seeing her. “Jules. I mean Juliana. I mean, that’s what Danny wants people to call me, but no one’s called me that in my entire life.” She smiles, that dazzling white smile it’s probably what got her signed to Danny’s agency in the first place. “What’s your name? You sure seemed determined not to give it to those guys.” “Those guys don’t deserve to know anything about me. Who do they think they are, showing up at a club fucking demanding answers from people like that? It’s bullshit.” “So… is it bullshit to tell me your name?” she asks with a flicker of a smile. “I swear I won’t tell those guys.” Her voice is sweeter out here in the alley than it was inside the club. It’s as if outside she is freer, less restrained. I want to hear her voice again. I want to hear her call my name. “I’m Callahan,” I tell her. “But my friends call me Cal.”

She nods, pressing her lips together and running a hand through her long dark hair. She’s fucking gorgeous, leaning against this wall in a tiny little dress, her long legs teasing me, and those heels. They are the kind of stilettos you wear to get fucked in. “Nice to meet you, Callahan.” At this I laugh, “Oh so we’re not gonna be friends?” “We can be friends, it’s just…” she starts but then shrugs her shoulders, shaking her head. “I didn’t want to presume anything.” “Well, you were right to think that. I don’t want to be friends either. At least, not just friends.” I lean closer to her, see the hungry look in her eyes. Good, because I’m fucking starving. I growl softly, causing her to laugh. And for a moment we stare at one another, and I swear to fucking God she opens up her heart to me then and there. Or maybe she’s one of those women who always wears her heart on her sleeve. God, I hope not, otherwise, she’s gonna get eaten up in this town. And right now, I want to be the only one eating. Her. Sprawled out on my mattress, her tits bouncing, her body mine. “It was really scary in there,” she admits. “If fights like that are common, then I’m way out of my league in this town.” I smirk. “Do you not get in many bars fights back home?” “Naw, I’m a lover, not a fighter,” she says a slight smile tugging at the side of her mouth. “Then I’ll do the fighting for us, you can do the nursing back to health.” She turns her head, looking at my fist, taking it in her hand and examining it. “Does it hurt?” I give her my most debonair smile, realizing I haven’t felt so invigorated in the presence of a woman for a long ass time. “Not when you’re holding it, Jules.” She cocks a brow at me. “And are you always that cheesy?” I frown. “Are you always this hard to impress?” She shakes her head, laughing. “This was an effort to impress me?” “I suppose it would be hard to impress a supermodel like you.” She blinks slowly, her heavy lashes taunting me. “I’m not a supermodel. A model, maybe, but not for any effort on my part.” “So, you were in the right place at the right time?” I ask. “Something like that.” She shrugs, looking up at me with a wistfulness about her that causes my alpha-sensibilities to go into overdrive. “I don’t think I was in the right place tonight.” I run my hand over her jawline, hooking her chin with my finger. “Maybe you were.

Maybe we were supposed to meet tonight.” “Like fate?” she asks, but her pursed lip tells me she doubts such fantasies. I’m close enough to her I could lean in for a kiss, but something tells me she isn’t ready for that. Even though her full lips tell me otherwise. “You don’t believe in destiny?” I ask. At this, she sighs. “I may be from the cornfields of Indiana, but I’m not naive. Bad things happen to good people… and I don’t believe it was their fate to experience them.” I nod, appreciating her depth, knowing she certainly isn’t like the other women in the club tonight. No. Jules is from a different place, and this isn’t where she belongs. And clearly, she has been through some shit. “Goods things happen to people too,” I tell her. “Like us being here, right now.” She smiles, and I see that her disbelief hasn’t made her jaded. No, she may have been through some rough spots, but she isn’t bitter. She still knows how to laugh. How to light up a room with her smile. I lick my lips, wanting to kiss her so fucking badly. Leaning close to her ear, I ask, “So, you know I can throw a punch, make cheesy one-liners, and am a sappy romantic… what else do you need to know before I can take you home with me?” “Home?” she asks, surprise in her voice. “You don’t want to take me to one of those rooms upstairs in the Fuck Club?” “You said you wouldn’t use those rooms unless it was the right moment, the right guy.” She licks her lips, my cock twitching as she does. “Maybe you are the right everything.” I tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, shake my head. “I don’t want to go back in there tonight.” “Another time?” Her breasts heave as she asks the question, wanting me as badly as I want her. “It’s a goddamn guarantee,” I smirk. “But not tonight. Tonight, let’s forget about the A-List, and instead, make our own little fuck club.” She lifts a finger, pointing to the door we exited, her face wild with anticipation. “You aren’t like the people in there, are you?” I narrow my eyes, trying to get her meaning. “I like to think so,” I tell her honestly. She leans closer, her lips nearly on mine. “Then take me anywhere you like.”

6

W

hen he takes my hand, and leads me to his motorcycle, I know for certain this man is not like the guys inside that club. I told Colette and Gretchen earlier that if I was to go home with a man he had to be rugged and real. Callahan is exactly that. He hands me a motorcycle helmet and I strap it on. He raises a brow at me. “You may be a couture model, but you look fucking adorable in that.” He slaps my ass then and tells me to jump on. I don’t hesitate. Suddenly, I don’t feel like I’m in Los Angeles anymore. Suddenly, I feel like I’m back home, with one of the guys I grew up with. Guys who smoke cigarettes and drink Bud Light, watch NASCAR and name their rifles. Okay, maybe Callahan is not quite that country, but he isn’t a city slicker either. He wears dark denim jeans, a simple T-shirt, black leather boots, and he knows how to ride this bike. He revs the engine, turns on the lights, and tells me to hold on. Right now, I don’t want to let go. Right now, I want this man to take me where I’ve never gone before. We cruise through the city, and then we’re on the freeway, and I grip Callahan tighter, holding onto him as if I’m holding on for dear life. We swerve between cars, and before I know it we’ve exited an off ramp and he’s pulling up to a building as unassuming as the warehouse the club was situated in. “This is home?” I ask. He helps me off the bike, unbuckles my helmet and stows it underneath the seat. He looks at me like he has a secret, but that doesn’t scare me, everyone has some sort of secret. Something they’d rather keep under lock and key. Especially in a city like this. My secret, I guess, isn’t such a secret anymore. I already told Gretchen and Colette. I’m a virgin. I’ve been kissed, but not well. And never by someone who meant anything to me. And I’m not saying Callahan means something to me, goodness I’ve only known him an hour. But I don’t know… can’t someone mean something to you in that short amount of time? And I’m not talking love at first sight, rainbows, and roses—I mean can’t someone mean something to you even if you don’t quite know what that is yet?

Because tonight Callahan took me away from a club where I didn’t belong, and he held my face toward his in the alley, and he made me smile and laugh after I was affronted by those thugs. He literally whisked me away from the place I didn’t want to be. So, yes, Callahan does mean something to me. And now, at the entrance to his place, he is offering me not only himself but a chance to experience something I’ve always wanted. A man’s body against mine, touching me, opening me up, and making me a woman. “What are you thinking?” he asks taking my hand in his, and I love that it is so much larger than mine, and even though I’m tall, he’s taller, and I like that about him. He’s all man and I don’t feel like that Amazonian woman who is too big for everything when I’m next to him. Next to him, right now, I feel safe. I feel like I fit. I feel like all the bad things in the world are far, far away. Right now, there’s just us. “I’m thinking about what’s going happen when we get inside your place,” I tell him, not intending to hide anything from him—who I am and who I’m not. Because if he thinks I’m some experienced woman who knows her way around a lover, he’s got another think coming. “And what are you hoping happens?” he asks, entering a security code and leading us through the entrance, into a service elevator. The doors close behind us. “I’m hoping you can show me a good time?” I say with a lilt to my voice I wasn’t expecting. I wouldn’t say I’m confident, but I’m not shy either. But right now, in this small square elevator, I feel vulnerable. I know I’m on the precipice of something entirely new. Something I’ve never experienced before. I want it. I want it with Callahan. But I also don’t know how to say it. “I didn’t peg you as someone who couldn’t say what they wanted?” Callahan says as the elevator doors open, he tugs at my wrist and leads me from the elevator into a loft apartment that is sprawling. His place is the entire floor. His job as a bartender at the A-List Fuck Club must pay him pretty well because, every surface, though modern and industrial, is still magazine worthy. But fancy houses have never done much for me. And I’m not wooed by his in this moment either. Right now, I’m not in the mood for thinking about his granite counter tops or plank wood flooring—right now I only have eyes for him. “I know what I want. I just—” I try, shaking my head feeling my face flush. How do I tell him I’m never been French-kissed? How do I tell him I’ve never been naked in front of a man? How do I tell him I’ve never had a man spread my legs apart and press himself into me? Deep. Until I moaned.

Until I came. Until I was split apart. “You just what?” He wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me to him. He is so suave. It’s obvious he’s done this before—brought women to this apartment, seduced them —and for that I am grateful. I want Callahan to lead the way because as much as I want this I don’t exactly know where I’m going. I shake my head ever so slightly. The space between my thighs is hot and warm. Wanting. “I see,” Callahan says, nodding softly, with his hand on the small of my back, pulling me toward his chest until there is no space between us at all. Until there is nothing but his hot breath on my ear as he tucks back a strand of hair. “You want me to take charge tonight?” “Please,” I tell him. My voice is small, but it is clear. “Please take control of me.” His cock is hard against my belly as he growls his desire, and when he presses his mouth against mine, I grow wet for him all over again. My lips part; his tongue finds mine. Oh, this is more than I ever thought it would be. This is a want becoming a need. A desire becoming a craving. My body has an itch that needs to be scratched. Callahan steps back, I follow. Then two steps, three steps, four. His mouth lowers and finds my breasts. He rips down the fabric and kisses them greedily. He takes another step back, then another, and another. We stop, his bed is to the right of us and I wonder how we will get from here to there. I’ve never done this before… I want it to go right. But I don’t need to worry. I’m not in charge. Callahan is. I gave him permission and he’s taking what is his. My body. Right now. He unzips the back of my dress, and in seconds it is on the floor. I blink hard, grateful I wore matching panties and bra tonight. I smile as I remember the way Gretchen insisted I do so. I’m grateful I listened. Callahan’s eyes are all over me, he’s taking me in, drinking me up with his eyes and it feels good to be seen like this. Not like a thing, but a like a person who can give and take, a person made to receive. In his apartment, there is only the shining light of the moon streaming through the big wide windows that cover an entire wall of this place. Looking out of the window I can see the entire city sprawled out as far as the eye can see. It’s breathtaking, but not as thrilling as what’s happening right in front of me. What’s happening to me. Callahan unbuttons his jeans and steps out of them. He pulls off his shirt, seemingly

steady, not at all intimidated or trying to prove anything. He stands before me in his briefs, his cock stretching them. I can see the outline and it’s massive and tempting and more than I believe will fit inside me. But I want to try. My nipples harden as I take in the ladder of abs that stretch up his body, his biceps are so big that both my hands wouldn’t fit around them. He’s all man, and right now he’s letting me know he’s all mine. He cocks his head to the side, and my eyes follow his. “That’s my bed,” he tells me. “And I’m gonna take those panties off you. And then you’re going to lie in the center of it. Understand?” I nod, liking his detailed approach of what happens next. My body is piqued at the notion of him stripping me to nothing. “Do you want me to take off my heels?” I ask. He shakes his head. “Women only wear heels like that when they want to get fucked.” I raise an eyebrow, not knowing that was the purpose of these shoes, but not arguing either. I reach my hand back and unclasp my bra, tossing it to the floor. Over the last few weeks as a model, I’ve undressed what feels like a thousand times in front of other people. Any modesty I held left the moment I stepped off the plane and arrived at LAX. So, the idea of getting naked for Callahan doesn’t shock me or embarrass me. Besides, I’ve been wanting this opportunity for years. Now it’s mine for the taking. Goodness knows I’m not going to find the kind of man I wanted in Resting, Indiana. But I sure as heck didn’t expect to find the man I imagined taking me the second week I lived in LA. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” Callahan’s hands run over my breasts and he rolls my nipples between his thumb and forefinger. “Well, you’re pretty handsome yourself,” I tell him my hands running over his chest, over his shoulders, wanting to touch every surface of his chiseled body. “I want to see your pussy,” he tells me. “And I want to kiss it the same way I kissed your lips.” I inhale sharply, his words sending waves of desire through me, rolling past my belly, making my panties wet, my pussy ache. He pulls down my panties, and they fall to the floor. I step out of them and then I am before him, completely naked, in nothing but a pair of four-inch heels. “Damn, woman, is there anything wrong with you?” he asks, his hand running over his jaw as he steps back and takes me in. I shake my head embarrassed at his compliments, knowing there is plenty wrong with me. I’m insecure, and I have a hard time trusting people. I’m loyal to a fault and sometimes can’t see the truth because I’m so fixated on the idea of something that isn’t real. I’m not perfect even though my body seems made for a runway. “You’re modest,” he tells me. When I don’t answer, he adds, “but you also don’t see

what I see, do you?” I shake my head softly, never having seen myself the way people like Danny Bruneau, who signed me, see me. I’m just a girl who grew up on a farm, who came to the city to save the place where her dad still lives. Wanting to save it before my Grandma dies, though she’s been sick in bed so long, I wonder if that’s even possible. I’m just a girl who’s here for the money, a sellout, a fake. I’m not a supermodel. Deep down I don’t need to be anyone at all. “It’s time for you to get in my bed, sweetie.” I nod, then step away from him and crawl into his bed. On all fours, I know my ass is in the air, and I can imagine his eyes on it. It emboldens me—imagining him enjoying the view so much, and then I’m on my back, my head on a pile of pillows, my finger motioning him to come closer. He pulls off his boxers, his cock standing at attention, huge and thick and ready. “Don’t make me lie in this bed alone,” I tell him. He strokes himself as he walks toward me, and I spread my legs as I watch him touch himself, needing to touch myself too. “Oh, baby,” he tells me. “I won’t make you do anything alone if you don’t want too, but I sure like watching you touch yourself.” “I know I said you were in charge tonight, but can I tell you one thing I want?” I ask. Callahan’s on the bed, on his knees, spreading my legs with one hand pressed to my pussy. My body melts against him, his tender touch everything I never knew I needed. “Tell me,” he says, flicking his finger against my wet clit. “I want you to fuck me—really fuck me,” I moan. “I want you to fuck me like it’s the first time you’ve ever had a woman.” Callahan’s fingers press deeper into my folds, my back arches as he moves up and down my slit. “And why is that?” he asks. “Because it’s the first time I’ve ever had a man.” He looks deep into my eyes. “Are you telling me, as I’m two fingers deep in your pussy, that you’re a virgin?” I nod, cheeks hot, hoping it doesn’t turn him off, push him away. “Damn, Jules.” He smiles then, easing my worry. “You told me not to use cheesy oneliners, but I can’t help it. I feel like I just won the goddamn lottery.” I grin because he’s grinning, and I feel pleasure rolling through me at the realization that I am giving him a gift. One he wants to receive. “So, will you?” I ask.

“Oh, Jules, I’m gonna fuck you. But I’m not gonna fuck you like it was my first time. My first time was when I was 15 years old and didn’t know the first thing about a woman’s body.” “But now?” I ask. “Now you know?” “Oh baby, now I know everything.” Then he lowers his mouth to the space between my thighs, his tongue on my pussy, knowing exactly what to do.

7

S

he seems so sure of what she wants, and I want it too, and as I roll on a condom and press myself inside of her, our eyes meet and her dark eyes brighten, telling me that, yes, she wants this. Now. I fill her up with all of me, stretching her as I do, her pussy is so tight and new and my cock is so fucking huge, but somehow inch by inch, I’m inside of her. Her hands grip my back, her perfect tits tight against my chest, as I rock into her. As I move deeper and deeper inside of her. Her moans are reckless and uninhibited. She isn’t faking a goddamn thing—no. Jules is everything good about the world. Honest and open, and I know she is so much more than that. Her body presses against mine and I thrust gently into her, and I feel her heart expand in ways that make me crave more of her. All of her. “Cal,” she whimpers, as I fuck her the way she asked. “This is everything.” She holds onto my neck, so tightly it’s as if she’s holding on for dear life—as if she’s scared of drowning or getting lost. As if she doesn’t know what’s going to happen next. “I got you, Jules,” I tell her, cradling her in my arms, coming in her nice and hard, and she comes too. Together, we are sweaty and hot and alive. Her body unravels against me, the orgasm washing through her more than she anticipated. I can’t help but smile like a cocky fool, loving the fact I got her off so well, so hard. ____

In the early morning, Jules stands, a white sheet wrapped around her, last night’s smudged mascara around her eyes, her dark hair a tousled mess. When she doesn’t attempt to wipe away mascara or run her fingers through her hair, I know I found a woman I’m not letting go of anytime soon. “Thanks, Cal, for everything,” she says, reaching for her mini-dress and panties. I start to say something, but she’s already walked into the bathroom, the door closed. I get out of bed and pull on my boxers. My loft is an open space, and the sunrise streaming through the windows more than hints at a beautiful June morning in Cali. In the kitchen, I turn on the espresso maker, and look for some sort of breakfast to offer the girl I can’t bear to let leave so soon. Maybe I can tempt her to stay for the morning—looking

down at my morning wood I can think of a few things we could do to pass the time. Just as I pull open the refrigerator door, Jules walks in the room wearing her high heels which does nothing to take care of my raging hard-on. “So,” she says, shrugging, “I guess this is gonna be my first walk of shame?” “You can always stay for a while, I can drive you home.” She smiles. “That would be great, but I have a 7 a.m. call and it’s already 6:10. I’m pushing it as it is.” I shake my head. “You’re killing me, you know that?” I look down at my cock and grin sheepishly. “Sorry about that—but I can’t be late.” I nod, grabbing my cell and calling her an Uber. “What’s your address?” She offers it to me and I enter it into the app. “A driver will be here in five.” “Thanks.” “So, when can I see you again?” I walk to where she is standing at the kitchen island. “Because I need to see you again.” She bites her bottom lip and pulls her phone from her clutch. “I can give you my number?” “That’s a start.” We exchange digits and I hear a ping on my phone, letting me know it’s gone through. “How about you come to the club again tonight?” She shakes her head. “Uh, no thanks. It’s not my scene.” I try to keep my shoulders relaxed, but they’re tense as fuck suddenly and I can’t help but feel disappointed that this amazing girl before me doesn’t like the thing I am most proud in this world. I made that club, created an entire oasis there. “What don’t you like about it?” “Well for starters, I don’t like going places where men feel like they have the right to grope me. A place where people threaten one another and punches are thrown.” She shrugs. “Look, I’m not trying to be all intense… it’s just, I don’t know how you can work at a place like that. Everyone goes there to get something from someone else.” I run my hand through my hair, not wanting to argue with Jules. But I wish she could see the other side of the A-List Club. See the freedom and liberation it offers its guests. But maybe Jules hasn’t been in LA long enough to understand what happens to the rich and famous here. How slipping out of a man’s house in the morning without a getaway car will get your walk-of-shame photograph in Exposé. How fame starts off as exciting but quickly spirals into something that steals every good thing from you until there’s nothing left. Still, a fight in my club is inexcusable, and those men showing up are an issue I need to fucking address today. “I wish that hadn’t happened to you, Jules.”

“It’s not your fault. It’s the owner of that place who needs to make it safer.” My jaw tenses, but I know it’s true. I need to make sure shit like that never goes down again at A-List Club. “Besides,” Jules continues, “I wouldn’t go to that club when you are working anyway. Watching you on the clock is not a date.” I step toward her, pulling her waist to me. “So, you’re saying you wanna go on a date with me?” I rest my forehead against hers. “Yes,” she says. “A genuine, make reservations, pick me up at eight, bring flowers date.” I laugh. “And here I was thinking you weren’t high maintenance.” “I prefer to think of it as old-fashioned.” I nod, understanding the difference. “In that case, the club is closed on Monday. Can I take you out then?” Jules nods, kissing me on the cheek before stepping away. “You know my address now, see you at 8.” And then she’s out the door, going down the elevator, and gone. But not for good. We have plans, and damn, I can’t think of the last time I took a girl out properly. I throw a fist in the air, feeling like a college football player, making a game-winning pass. Cheesy as fuck, I know. But this farm- girl has brought out the inner-corn-ball and I’m not at all complaining.

—

Later in the day, I meet up with Sawyer for a drink at The Dive, a shitty low, key bar in Santa Monica. “How’d the night go after I left?” Sawyer asks, flipping a cardboard coaster in his hand. I take a drink of my Stella before answering. “Shit got crazy. Those guys showed, fucking demanding me to tell them who the owner is. Asking for my name.” “How did they get through Jordan?” “Hell if I know. I’ve been wondering the same thing, but I’m trying not to jump to conclusions.” Sawyer cocks an eyebrow at me. “What kind of conclusions?” “Like maybe Jordan has something to do with this?” Sawyer pulls back. “No way. Besides, he knows who the owner is. You. Wouldn’t he

just tell them?” “Not if he’s trying to play both sides.” “Fuck.” Sayer chugs his beer and clams the point down. “What’s your deal? I never see you drink like this at two in the afternoon.” Sawyer smirks, then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He looks disheveled, more out of sorts than normal. “This movie shit is messing with my head.” “Did you sign a contract for the sequel yet?” “No, but the studio is pressuring me. I just can’t keep my head in the game.” “I’m telling you, you need a piece of ass, no-strings-attached.” Sawyer’s eyes narrow. “Did you… did someone say—?” “What?” I ask. “Nothing. I just. Last night… after I took Sondra home things got… complicated.” “What aren’t you telling me?” “I came back to the club,” he says, shaking his head. “You were busy working the bar, so I didn’t bother you. Anyway… I went upstairs with one of Danny’s new girls. Gretchen.” I frown, trying to keep the story straight. “And?” He spreads his palms on the bar, leaning back on the stool. “And we fucked.” He drops his head against the bar and groans. I press my fist against my mouth, trying not to laugh at this sorry fucker. “Dude, it’s so not funny,” Sawyer tells me. “Yeah, it is, man. You don’t owe Sondra a damn thing, God knows she understands the deal between you too.” “I know, it’s just risky as shit to do that. The studio would be pissed and I—” “And you were at the A-List. Everything that goes on there is tight.” Sawyer shakes his head. “Except you were saying some shit got nasty last night. Guys got in who shouldn’t have been there. I’m just saying… maybe we think things are safer than they really are.” Fuck, I know he’s right. I texted Jordan last night after I took Jules to bed, making sure the club was under control and that the thugs were gone. He said everything was cool, but I need to have a conversation with him to find out what he knows exactly. “Where did you go last night anyway?” Sawyer asks me. I can’t help but grin at the memory of Jules, spread out on my bed like a perfect virgin. “Shit,” Sawyer laughs. “Who the hell did you fuck?” “Jules. One of Danny’s girls.”

“Really? The brunette? She was hot as fu—” “Don’t,” I say, cutting him off. “Don’t talk like that about her.” Sawyer whistles low. “Hell, one night and this girl has you wrapped around her finger?” “It’s not like that.” “Then tell me how it is?” “She’s perfect. I swear to God, Sawyer. She’s funny and unpretentious. Sweet and hates the bullshit of this town as much as I do. She’s from this tiny town called Resting Hollow and sounds like her childhood was damn near perfect—nothing like ours.” “And she’s a supermodel.” Sawyer chuckled. “Sure she isn’t a cyborg because she sounds way too good to be fucking true.” We order another round, and Sawyer pulls out his phone. “Shit, my publicist keeps calling. Who even talks on the phone anymore? Can’t she just text like a regular person?” He sets his phone on the bar next to mine. But then mine starts buzzing too. Jordan’s name flashes on the screen. “What does that ass-hat want?” Sawyer asks. I shrug. “We need to discuss last night. I need to figure out how those guys got in under his watch.” “You gonna answer that?” Sawyer asks after it rings for the third time. We glance at his phone. Now Sondra is texting too. My phone flashes with Jules’ name. “Uh, maybe we should deal with this,” I say. Sawyer laughs. “Oh, now that your woman’s calling, you’ll answer.” He shakes his head and we both pick up our phones. “Oh, fuck,” Sawyer says, just as I click on the link Jules sent. “Fuuuck,” I groan. “This is bad, brother.” Sawyer drops the phone on the bar as it starts ringing again. “Shit.” The link is to an article in Exposé. Sawyer with Gretchen. Fucking in red letter chair. Her bare ass gripped by his hands. Her head rolled back, her long neck drawing our eyes to her tits. Sawyer’s cocky grin emblazoned for the world to see. “Who the hell did this?” Sawyer asks. I don’t have an answer. “There were a lot of new people there last night.” “No one was taking pictures, there’s no way,” I say, feeling defensive.

“Except someone did, Cal. Fuck.” He’s right of course. And the list of suspects is hella long. The mob. Jordan. Sondra. Fuck. “Your girl, Jules had her phone out.” My insides coil. “She was with me last night.” “Not when I was fucking Gretchen.” “It wasn’t her.” “I’m not saying it was, I’m just saying she was on her phone before Jordan stopped her.” My eyebrows furrow, I remember Jordan walking over to her and asking her to put the phone away. Then I remember my night with her. Her virginal requests. I don’t want to think that I was double-crossed. That she was only playing the part of an innocent ingénue—that in fact, she was selling photos to the press. No way. Not Jules. “She’s not a suspect.” Sawyer shakes his head slowly, and I know what he’s thinking. The truth is, right now, everyone is a suspect. Right now, no one at my club is safe. I pound my fist against the bar, the same way I pounded it against that asshole’s jaw last night. “So now what?” Sawyer asks. “Now we find out who did this. And then we make them pay.”

Get ready because PART 2 RELEASES 5/11/17

8

I

leave the bar where I’d been with Sawyer and head straight to the club, my blood boiling. The idea that someone would sell this photograph—someone I let into my club—infuriates me. I have bouncers so shit exactly like this doesn’t happen. Pulling open the club’s back door, I head straight to Jordan’s office. He’s in there, with two of the bouncers, Tor and Mikey. “Jordan,” I say, my voice tense as shit. “I need to speak with you, now.” His eyes flick over me, and picking up on the fact my fists are clenched and I’m pacing the floor like a goddamned caged animal, he sends the bouncers out. “I’ll finish talking with you after this meeting,” he tells them. “This is more important than Callahan,” Tor says. “No offense.” I jut my chin, not taking it personally. These guys don’t know I own this club, that I hired them, and right about now I want to say to hell with my parents’ dying wish that I keep my head down. “ Cal here should hear what we have to say,” Mikey says. “He’s one of our own. And after last night—” “Just where were you last night?” I interrupt. “I was getting my teeth practically knocked out and you were just outside? After you saw those fuckers come in?” Tor shrugs. “Jordan asked us to check on some of the guys outside.” My eyes land on Jordan. In his fitted three-piece suit, hair slicked back and face sporting a clean shave, he looks like half the men in this town. Trying too hard. “What the fuck is that about?” I ask him. He shakes his head. “Look, I’m upset too—” I cut him off. “You weren’t the one getting your ass kicked. Things like that shouldn’t happen at the A-List.” “I know, man,” Tor says. “If Jordan hadn’t called us out, we would have had your back.” I take another look at Jordan. Is this man, someone I’ve trusted with so much, fucking

me over? He must see where my thoughts are headed because he raises his hands in defense. “You gotta believe I have your back, Cal. Always have.” I look over at Mikey and Tor. “Can you give us a minute?” Realizing I’m not backing down on my request, they grunt their okays and head out the door. I shut it behind them. “I know how this must look—” “I don’t think you do, Jordan.” “I don’t know what happened last night. Between those gangsters showing up and then the photograph getting leaked—it was bad all around.” “More than bad. It’s a clusterfuck. And from where I’m standing, it looks like you were the one pulling the trigger.” Jordan shakes his head. “The gangsters had a whole load of friends with them. That’s why I called Tor and Mikey out. I didn’t expect anyone to start throwing punches before they came back inside.” I want to trust Jordan, but I feel like a goddamn fool to believe his alibi. “Why don’t you tell me your thoughts on the fucking photographs of Sawyer?” I run my hand through my hair, thinking about how Sawyer was when he left the bar only a little while ago. His face was drawn, his phone ringing off the hook—his agent, publicist, Sondra–– everyone was calling, and everyone was pissed. No one was asking how he was doing. The fact this is happening to my oldest friend fucking tears me up inside. “Do you have any idea how badly this is gonna screw him over?” Jordan doesn’t look caught red handed. He looks distraught. Nearly as much as I am. “You think I don’t know how shitty this is? My job is to keep this place safe, and I fucked up. I’m sorry, man.” Jordan sinks into his chair. “Look, there are no cameras allowed. I only saw one girl—that new girl of Danny’s with a camera last night. And besides her, everyone knows the rules.” “It wasn’t her,” I say it sharply and my tone causes Jordan’s head to snap up but I don’t care. Last night, when Jules was in my arms, I felt like I’d died and gone to heaven. She may be gorgeous, but it was her open heart, her willingness to give in to the moment without trying to be someone or something else. Jules was herself, entirely. The most refreshing woman I’ve met in fucking forever. It was like the moment I led her outside the club after those men assaulted me, and took her hand in mine, she was all in. Last night was more than I expected, but as I look at Jordan now, I know how much is riding on those leaked photographs. Not only my privacy but the privacy of the people who come here.

I’ve worked too hard to build this club, to make a life for myself after my parents died. The last thing I want is a beautiful woman to be the death of me. Those fucking photographs are a chip in the ice and I don’t want what I have here at the A-List to melt. Jordan’s no fool, but neither am I. Jules is not a snitch. But damn, she is naïve, vulnerable. Maybe someone asked her to do something and she didn’t realize the cost. I close my eyes, remembering her bare body wrapped around mine. No. It wasn’t Jules. Don’t need any more proof than that. She told me the last thing she wanted to do was return to the A-List. And even if I could tempt her into one of the playrooms… she made it clear she despised everything this place represented. Which is a hard pill to swallow, sure, but I can show her the beauty of this place eventually. Right now I’m focused on making sure it’s safe. “Maybe we let too many people in the club last night. Too many new faces. But even if we did, it wasn’t Jules.” “How can you be sure?” Jordan asks. “We have to assume it could be anyone.” “You want me to assume it was you, then?” I ask, cocking an eyebrow at him. Jordan pushes his lips forward. “No, I don’t want that. This job means everything to me. I’ve lived and breathed this place, I’d never do—” I cut him off. “Then believe me when I say Jules wouldn’t have either.” Jordan narrows his eyes at me. “You’re going to trust a woman you just met?” “You want me to trust my manager who just so happened to call all the bouncers out of my club the moment shit went down for the first time within the walls of the A-List?” “Look,” Jordan says, straightening his tie. “It’s messed up, okay? But I’m on your side. I just think you oughta watch your back with this girl.” I don’t want to listen to him, but I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t some trace of worry inside me, wondering if Jules had any part of this. I want to believe her hands are clean… Hell, she’s the one who sent me the link when the story was leaked. But maybe that was a cover too. Taking another hard look at Jordan, I know he’s as suspect as anyone, no matter how long we’ve been working together. This city wasn’t built on loyalty. It was built on the idea of every man for himself. And right now, I need to find out who my real friends are. And who sold out my oldest one.

9

T

he pictures in the online magazine only confirm what a bad idea going to the A-List Fuck Club was.

Gretchen’s reaction, however, is unsettling. “This is the best publicity I could have dreamed of;” She sighs in the dressing room before our photo shoot. We’ve all just arrived here, the call for this shoot being after lunch. Awesome, because a full belly is exactly what I want when wearing a swimsuit. I’ve already clocked in half a day’s work. If people say being a model isn’t hard work, they’ve never had to stand perfectly still for hours at a time, smiling just so for an aggressive cameraman who is unsatisfied with the size of your thighs. I was glad to leave this morning’s solo shoot and come here, where all three of us are doing a coveted spread for Sports Illustrated. Our agent, Danny Bruneau, came here to show Gretchen the link, and since then she’s been beaming like she just won an Oscar. These photos, apparently, L.A.’s version of the holy grail, show Gretchen as an up-and-coming model stark naked on the lap of superstar actor Sawyer Bennett. Even our agent, Danny, seems pleased with them. He said any press is good press. But there’s no way that can be true. Bad press can ruin lives and careers. Can’t it? Besides, there is a cost involved in every choice we make. Personally, I find this price way too high. It reminds me that this town isn’t a place to ever let your guard down and confirms that I’ll never hook up with the Hollywood Elite. No question about it. It also makes my sleepover at Callahan’s last night that much sweeter. He isn’t some famous person with plans to strike it rich. He’s a bartender who wears blue jeans and rides a vintage motorcycle. My body tingles all over, remembering last night, giving him my virginity. A smile spreads across my face as I think about our date in a few days. I cinch the belt of my bathrobe, waiting for the make-up artist, Tana, to tell me where to sit, when to lift my chin, and blink my eyes. In the meantime, I listen to my roommates gush about what this could mean. “Even without Danny’s connections, you’ll totally be invited back to the Fuck Club,” Collette says before taking a sip of sparkling water. Her eyes are as bright as Gretchen’s, soaking up the scandal as if it were her own.

“Well, and you can totally come with anytime, of course,” Gretchen says. “I mean, I was happy that he even wanted me to come to a room with him… but the fact we’re currently trending on Twitter? It’s too good to be true.” I try not to roll my eyes too aggressively. I’ve only known my roommates for a few weeks, and in that time, it’s clear we aren’t exactly cut from the same cloth, but we’ve shared an easy-going friendship. But the fact they’re relishing over this tabloid article? It’s unsettling. “Don’t you think this could really mess up Sawyer’s career? Isn’t he dating his co-star Sondra Summers?” Gretchen frowns. “This is a business, Juliana.” I twist my lips. “Sure, but—” Collette frowns. “Juliana, any press is good press. And not just for Gretch. For Sawyer Bennett too.” I consider her words, not being naïve enough to think publicity doesn’t matter in this industry. We’re selling ourselves, our assets, our asses. And Gretchen’s ass got amazing coverage today. “I get what you’re saying. I just want you to be happy at the end of the day.” Gretchen laughs, flipping her hair like a diva. “Honey, this is the time of our lives. I’ve never been happier.” I shake my head laughing despite the differences in the way we view this. “Speaking of having the time of our lives… Where did you disappear to last night? You sent us some text about not coming home. So, where exactly did our innocent roommate disappear to?” I know I’m blushing before they even call me out on it. But I can’t help it. Last night was incredible and it’s impossible to hide from them. Our make-up artists direct us to chairs and begin coating our faces in thick concealer. Bright white lights shine on our faces and the artists are up close and personal, not hesitating for a moment to lean into our non-existent personal space to dab and swipe. “Did you seriously sleep with someone?” Collette asks. “I mean. Talk about going from zero to one hundred.” I try to remain still, but feel the artists doing our make-up exchanging looks, and I feel my hands shake. What I experienced last night was special, and the last thing I want is for it to become another tabloid story. “Honey,” Tana says as she bronzes my cheekbones, “we’ve heard it all.” Gretchen laughs, “But our sweetie is a V-I-R-G—” “We got it,” I say, cutting her off, not wanting this to become a bigger thing than necessary. “I did go home with someone last night. But I don’t kiss and tell.” “Okay,” Collette snorts. “But the question is, do you fuck and tell?”

I laugh, trying hard to remain still as Tana brushes my eyelids with sparkling sandcolored eyeshadow. “Oh, my God, is this a frat house? I swear you two are worse than high school horn-dogs.” I watch the mirror with one open eye as Collette pouts. “Aww, we just want to know what hottie celeb took you on your first ride at the rodeo.” “What is this, an episode of the Bachelor? I swear!” my face reddens through the foundation––an impressive feat. “My question is,” Gretchen says in a hushed voice, as if anything said in this dressing room is for our ears only. “Why in the world would you leave the club? Do you know how sexy the rooms are upstairs?” I bristle at her words, not wanting to seem judgmental or superior… but the fact is I do feel a little… well, let’s just say I’ve stuck to my ideals as far as sleeping with someone goes. I don’t want to be with any celebrity. I want a real, down-to-Earth guy. A guy like Callahan. But I also remember how I told Callahan how I would go to those roos with him another time. So, I don’t think I’m above them. But, I also don’t want to become them. “I didn’t leave with a guest,” I tell them quietly. “What does that mean?” Collette asks. “It means she hooked up with someone who wouldn’t have been allowed in a room,” Tana says with a smirk. “Someone like an employee.” I shoot her a scowl. Would Cal not have been allowed in one of the rooms? It sounded like he could have taken me to any of them then and there. Then again, he was the one who wanted to leave. Maybe he thought I’d think less of him if he didn’t have access to the private rooms meant for guests. “What?” she says, grinning, her teeth white and straight and beautiful. “I’m right, aren’t I?” I sigh, and my lack of resistance to her words admits plenty. “Why would you leave with a bouncer or whatever,” Gretchen asks, “when you could literally hook-up with any celebrity who was there?” I purse my lips together, knowing they wouldn’t understand. They hadn’t had his lips on their mouths or their thighs spread apart by his hands or his cock inside their bodies. They saw the world differently and that meant they would always miss the rough stones while they were busy looking for perfect gems. But I have a feeling they’ll only end up with fool’s gold if the only thing they are searching for is fame. “Look at her,” Collette says. “Her lips are sealed.”

Gretchen pouts. “That’s no fun. I’ll tell you everything you want to know about Sawyer.” Collette’s eyes sparkle, the make-up artists lean in, all wanting juicy bits of gossip. Me? I lean back in my chair, looking at my phone, debating whether or not calling Cal tonight is the cool thing to do. I’ve never cared about being cool before. I shouldn’t start now. I want to see him. Soon. It’s only Friday and I don’t think I can wait until our date on Monday. I think I need to go to the Fuck Club and let him know I want more than dinner and a movie. I need to let him know that I want him again, tonight. At the club. The idea in and of itself sends a wave of unease through me. Why would I consider this after what just happened to Gretchen? But I’m not Gretchen, and Callahan is certainly not a guy like Sawyer. I trust that Cal wouldn’t lead me somewhere that might be compromising. Which may make me an idiot. I hardly know Callahan at all. One night is not very much. Yet our time together felt like so much more. And even with all the red flags of returning, my body already craves more of what it had last night. Him. Looking over at my roommates I ask as nonchalantly as possible, “Want to go back to the club tonight?” They shriek in delight. Tana finishes my lipstick and I look in the mirror. It’s bright red. I won’t be washing that off anytime soon. Tonight, Cal can kiss it off. And then some. “Tana,” I say. “Do you think after the photo shoot you could give me smoky eyes?” She smiles wide. “Only if you let me dress you too, the blue jeans and basic white tee you wore in here need to be thrown in the garbage.” “Deal,” I tell her. “Tonight I want to look like walking sex.” Gretchen laughs in shock. “What happened to you?” “Besides getting laid for the first time in her life?” Collette asks.

I shrug, taking the string bikini I’m to wear for the shoot from the woman from wardrobe. “I told you I wasn’t a prude—I just needed to meet a guy I wanted.” “And you found him?” Tana asks. I smile. “I think so.”

10

A

fter calling Sawyer half a dozen times, there’s still no answer. I’m not trying to harp on him or anything, but I also want to make sure he’s okay. Those photos were more than incriminating.

I can just hear his parents, Sophia and Henry, lamenting their son’s choices. If Sawyer is of the Hollywood Elite, his parents are a different sort of HE: The Highest Echelon. My parents were their best friends and Sawyer and I grew up thick as thieves. So, I can just imagine Sophia’s reaction. “Our little Sawyer has forgotten every good thing we’ve taught him.” In some ways, I don’t envy him that. With my parents having passed, there aren’t the same kind of expectations on me as there are on him. No one asks when I’m settling down, if I’ve had my share as a playboy. No one, that is, besides Sawyer’s mother whenever she’s in town. That idea allows me to relax for the first time since I said goodbye to Jules in the early hours of the morning. I’m betting the reason Sawyer isn’t answering my calls is because he’s busy dealing with his old lady. Not to mention his agent, publicist, and Sondra. “Hey, man,” I say, leaving him a voicemail. “Just wanted to make sure you hadn’t spiraled out. I bet you’re dealing with all kinds of shit, but if you need to talk, call me. Or better yet, come to the club tonight. It’s the last place anyone would expect to find you. Talk soon.” I pocket my phone and head to the bar. Once everything’s prepped for tonight, I pull out my laptop, discreetly checking the evening guest list that Jordan sent over. I’m surprised to see Danny’s girls, Gretchen, Collette, and Jules all listed. I frown. One, Gretchen coming here after today’s magazine spread is a bold move. The last thing we need here is paparazzi following her out tonight, getting eyes on the club. I sure as fuck hope Jordan made it crystal clear that no one is to come with an entourage. Two, I can’t deny the unsettled feeling I have at seeing Jules’ name on this list. She made it pretty damn clear how she felt about this place, the people here, what it represented—in her mind. The fact she decided to come out for the second night in a row forces me to consider

Jordan’s words from earlier. Can I trust her? She said she hated this place and then less than a day later she’s back? It doesn’t exactly add up. Unless she wants a piece of the attention Gretchen’s clearly going to receive tonight. I message Jordan, making sure we have even more security around the premises tonight. Checking my watch, I see it’s after nine. People will start showing up in an hour or so. We can’t have a repeat of last night, no matter what. Jordan wants to close the doors tonight… but that’s the last thing I want to do. Those thugs that were here last night will think we’re weak, and whoever took the photographs will think they won… something. Exactly what, I’m not sure.

Hours pass and I haven’t seen Danny Bruneau’s girls. Truth is, now that I know they’re on the guest list, I can’t help but feel agitated. Why is Jules coming? I’d text her, but we made plans for Monday. After exchanging a few texts earlier after she sent me the link to the photographs, it’s not like I’m gonna start stalking her about her plans tonight. Besides, I’m just a bartender. I shouldn’t even have access to things like the guest list. Danny’s sitting on a couch nursing his vodka soda, looking sad as fuck, and I almost consider going over and asking about his sick wife, when his girls show. Jordan isn’t giving them an easy time, and I wish I were a little closer so I could hear what they’re saying. With his arms crossed, he looks leery of the trio of supermodels. I have to give him some credit. Most men would fall on their face with three women this gorgeous in front of them. I see Jules shake her head, incredulous. Then she reaches into her purse and hands him her phone. Frowning, she walks away dropping her coat off at the check. That’s when I see her in all her glory. Her long dark hair swishing as she walks. Her lips bright red, her eyes smoky—with a fire behind them; a plan. Last time she was here she wore a nondescript mini-dress… but now everyone notices her. Sheer black lace, a corset underneath that pushes her breasts high, her heels covered in gems, every step across the room a glittering announcement of her arrival. Damn, she looks like she knows exactly who she is, and how she got here. When she leans over and gives Danny a hug and kiss on the cheek, I swear I see her ass cheeks too. My cock gets hard, imagining what I could do with her. But some other men get to her first. I mix drinks for the waitresses and try to focus on making a dirty martini. But the only dirty thing I want is her. Now. Jordan walks over to me, speaking low. “We have backup outside, we saw the Russian Mob’s cars circling earlier, but I haven’t seen them for the last half-hour. And the Bruneau girls played by the rules I gave them. They arrived without any fanfare—not sure how

they pulled that off.” “And I saw you confiscated Jules’ phone?” Jordan shakes his head. “No, she gave it to me when I asked what part she played in the leaked photos.” “Do you believe her?” I don’t know if I should trust Jordan—but I have to ask the question. Have to know what his read is on her. In fact, it might tell me where he stands. He runs his hand over his jaw. “Look, I don’t know. I wish I did. It makes me feel like shit, not knowing who took those photos. This club is my life, Cal.” I nod, wanting to keep the conversation on the down low as another waitress comes over for the tray of drinks I made. “You ever think about coming clean, Cal?” Jordan asks once the girl has left. “You really see yourself behind the bar forever?” I take a hard look at him. “You know the thugs from last night wanted to know who the owner wwas. Now you want me to out myself? What the fuck?” Jordan’s eyes narrow. “That’s not what I meant, Cal. I swear it.” I don’t fucking care what he meant. Everything about this day has gone wrong. From Jules leaving early this morning to the leaked photos––and then Sawyer going MIA. I don’t know who to trust when it feels like everyone is against me. Every time I think about the fact that Sawyer hasn’t returned my calls since I left him at the bar, I get a little more anxious. Hell, I know he’s a grown-ass man, but when shit gets real, he usually spirals out pretty damn fast. He drinks and does his best to black out. Right now, with the shit going down at the club, I can’t lose my best friend to a weeklong binge. I look across the club, see Jules. Her eyes have already found mine. She lifts an eyebrow, tilts her head to the side, cocked toward a hall filled with a bank of doors. Private rooms. I know what I need right now, more than anything else. “Look, get that waitress—Lindy, I think her name is—to come make drinks for the next hour. She’s a trained bartender—she’ll be able to handle it. I need to go fucking clear my head.” I pour myself a shot of top-shelf tequila and down it. Then another. Jordan eyes me warily the whole time. “I’ll be in my private room if anyone needs me. But I goddamned hope you make sure no one does. Understood?” Jordan nods, then speaking in his headset he calls for Lindy. “Anything else, Cal?” “Get Jules to my room in one piece.” Without saying another fucking word, I weave through the crowd of people. The club is pumping tonight, the DJ’s spinning beats and bodies grind on the dance floor. But I have no interest in this room. No interest in the dancers moving up and down the stripper pole in pasties and G-strings. No interest in any of it. At least nothing out in the front of the club.

I want something behind closed doors. I want Jules. Even if she is playing me. Right now I want to get lost in her bronzed skin and long lashes. I want to get lost in her body and be found twelve inches deep in her pussy.

11

I

watch Cal leave the bar. My eyes narrow as I try to understand where he’s gone. I want him here, I want to keep looking at him across the room. At the way his biceps flex as he mixes martinis. The way his eyes keep scanning the room, his eyes landing on mine. Every part of my body is primed for what comes next. My heart, though… I’d be lying if I didn’t say it was trembling. It was one thing to let Tana do my hair and make-up, find me this see-through slip to wear, it was another thing to slip into a private town car with my roommates and come to the club, seeing Callahan here—that’s something else entirely. That is real. The rest, what came before, that was make-believe. Gretchen and Colette are debating whether or not Sawyer will be here tonight. I shake my head at them, wondering why they are so unaware of how the scandal might have actually affected Sawyer Bennett. My job isn’t to parent them, I’m supposed to be their friend. The one who wanted to come out tonight. And besides, I don’t know enough of the business to talk shop. The moment Danny, our agent, hears the name Sawyer dropped, he leans in, taking a sip of his vodka soda, and asks Gretchen if she thinks she could spend the night with him again. I turn my shoulders away from them and glance at the bar, wanting to see if Cal is there. I’m not expecting Jordan, the manager and the person who gave me such a hard time when I entered the club this evening, to come over and motion for me to follow him. I frown, standing up from the sunken couch. I look over my shoulder at my roommates and shrug. Pulling down my dress, I go where Jordan leads. As we stride through the club, we pass one of the real housewives of Orange County unzipping the front of her dress and exposing her breasts to a man who used to star on a sitcom when I was a kid. A few feet farther on, we cross last season’s bachelor from the TV show. Everyone here belongs. And by the looks of things, I belong here too. This dress I wear, my perfectly coiffed hair, and my nearly-bare body about to grace the cover of Sports Illustrated––everything about my appearance says I should be an honorary member of this club as much as anyone else. But inside? Inside I feel like a fake. A fraud. I feel like a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Minus the sharp teeth. Truth is, I don’t bite. Looking around this room of celebrities, it seems like the

person with the sharpest fangs is most likely the person who is going to win. I don’t need to win though. All I need is enough cash to bail out my family farm. Getting that second mortgage was a bad idea, but I understand that my daddy was between a rock and hard place. When I was in high school, Mom got sick, she needed chemo and radiation, and it was all out of pocket since her and Daddy lapsed on their premiums. I try not to get all political about healthcare costs and treating the sick––but the truth is, it’s a mess. My dad’s mom—Grandma—has always lived with us, but she’s getting old, her multiple sclerosis causes her so much pain, and she deserves better treatment—better everything. She had her son young, and then he and my mom had me young. Three generations under 60 living under one roof. Grandma isn’t getting better, and I want to save the farm that means so very much to her. She was born there, raised her son there, and that son raised me there. Losing the property will be like losing ourselves. I can’t let it happen. “Where are we going?” I ask. “Just follow me,” Jordan says when we get to a quieter place. It’s so dark here under this archway though, it’s hard to see his eyes. And I wish I could because I’ve always thought eyes told a story words couldn’t. “If you’re trying to get me to leave the club, just ask.” At this, Jordan leans closer. “Look, I have no reason to trust you, and right now, I don’t trust anyone. I only do as my boss tells me. And right now, my boss is telling me to bring you to his see employee in room 24.” I pull back at his words, recoiling at the thought. I am getting sent to a man in a private room—because Jordan’s boss requested it. “What the hell? I’m not a prostitute,” I tell him, seething. “I never said you were.” Jordan sighs. “Look, the bartender, Cal, has an hour off and wanted to know if you’d join him. Not trying to be intense here. If you don’t want to come it’s fine, I’ll tell him you had other engagements. Alright?” He looks so honest, standing here with his hands raised in defeat. Honestly, he looks like he’s seen better days, and I imagine as the manager of this club, today has been a living hell. “I don’t have other engagements, Jordan. Mostly because you took my phone,” I tease, trying to lighten the mood. “You can have your phone back. Honestly, you’re the one who practically forced me to take it.” Jordan reaches into his pocket and hands me my phone. “Cal trusts you, and Cal’s one of the best guys I know. I want to trust you too. It’s just, shady shit went down last night, and the last thing this club needs is more of it.”

I nod, understanding that at least a little bit. I don’t want to get caught up in any tabloid shit storm either. I’m going to endure enough flack from the folks back home with my practically naked body on the cover of a magazine. I don’t need to a sex scandal to boot. “Cal is in room 24. He’s waiting for you,” Jordan tells me, smiling out of the side of his mouth. “Don’t break his heart, okay?” I may have considered Jordan a slime ball when I first met him, but he talks well about Callahan and doesn’t seem like he has any ill intention toward either of us. I lean in and kiss Jordan’s cheek, before sashaying down the hallway toward the man who is waiting for me.

12

T

he moment Jules walks into the room, I know my night has just gone from bad to glorious. She smiles coyly, and she may be a girl from the cornfields of Indiana, but she caught on pretty damn quickly how to slink around the room looking like a goddess. “You asked for me?” she says, stepping toward me. The lights are low in here, casting a soft glow about the room, but this room was made especially for me. And what happens inside of it can’t be seen by anyone else. Unless that is, we want to let our kink flag fly. Otherwise, we can keep the room as it is, there’s a black velvet couch, BSDM gear hanging on the wall, an armoire filled with satin panties and silky lingerie. Those things are fine, sweet, and innocent even. But I like more than sweet. And I want to see if Jules does too. This club wasn’t nicknamed the Fuck Club for no reason. There’s a perfectly good reason. A perfectly hot one too. “So,” Jules says. “This is one of the infamous sex rooms at the club?” Running her hand along the velvet curtain, she picks up a feather boa and lets it rest on her shoulders. Walking toward me, she wraps the boa around my neck playing the part of a sex queen, not a woman who’s just lost her virginity twenty-four hours ago. “You seem pretty comfortable in here,” I tell her. “Honestly, I was pretty damn shocked to see you here at all. Why did you come?” Jules licks her lips, pouty and perfect. “I came here because I couldn’t imagine waiting until Monday to see you again.” “But I thought you said you hated this club, and everything it stands for?” “Maybe I just didn’t understand this club,” she says. “Even after the press released those photos today? I thought you’d run away, scared.” “And where would I run to, Callahan?” She blinks slowly, her thick lashes brushing against her cheek. “The only place I wanted to run was into your arms.” My cock stiffens, her words exactly what I want to hear, but I can’t help but wonder if they are true. Is she playing me? It doesn’t seem likely that she went from innocent virgin

to vixen overnight. “I’m surprised. I thought you said you wanted me to take you on a real date. Dinner and a movie, remember?” I don’t know why I am pressing her like this, not just pulling her in my arms or bending her backward, thrusting my cock inside her pretty little cunt. I can’t help it, but I need a few more answers before I plunge myself deep inside her pussy. “Oh, I still want that dinner and a movie. Reservations, even. But that isn’t all I want. I told you last night I wasn’t opposed to coming to one of these rooms if I was with the right man.” “And what makes you think I’m the right man?” I ask her, stepping toward her, and sliding my hand around her thin waist. I know I’m pushing, requiring more of her than I require of any other woman. The goddamn truth. But I can tell Jules isn’t like other women. I can ask her questions and she wants to answer me. My hands can’t help but hold her body, pull her closer to me. “You took my virginity, didn’t you?” She looks at me, with sincerity. I hate that I questioned her at all. “I’m not looking for a relationship,” I whisper in her ear, protecting myself. What if she is the reason the photos were leaked? I don’t want to paint myself the fool. She licks her lips, considering my words. She doesn’t look offended. “I didn’t say I was looking for a relationship either. I said I wanted a man, the right man, to take my virginity. And that was you. It’s not my problem that you’re also the right man to take me to a room at the Fuck Club.” She crosses her arms, and I love this look on her. She came across so honest and real last night, and now she is showing me another side of herself. She’s not just a gorgeous woman, she also has spunk, humor, a fucking wild side. “I just don’t want to overwhelm you,” I tell her as I nibble her earlobe. “This place isn’t nicknamed the Fuck Club for nothing. Our rooms… they get hot. And you don’t have much experience.” Her hands run over my chest, then her fingers slip through my belt loops, and she smirks. “No offense, I know you work here and all, but it doesn’t look all that special in here. A velvet couch, a whip, handcuffs… but that isn’t anything extraordinary.” I raise an eyebrow, take her hands from my body, and walk to a switch mounted on the wall. My hand hovers over it. “You think you can handle it? Because, sweetheart, the heat is going to come and I want to make sure you are ready.” She lifts the hem of her sheer dress, pulling it over her head and dropping it on the floor. She stands before me in a leather corset and thigh highs, garter belt, and four inch stilettos. “I may have just lost my virginity, but I never said I didn’t have kinky fantasies.” I press the switch with my palm, and the two-way mirrors expose what is happening in the rooms around us. Above us and on either side. The couples in these rooms aren’t all celebrities. Some are employees. But all have

requested rooms tonight that will allow other couples to watch if they wish. I chose this room for a very specific reason. I want to see how dirty Jules might want to get. Because I may lead a life on the down-low, but I also love to get down and dirty when I fuck. Last night I showed her my softer side, the side that knows how to make love to a woman. Tonight? Tonight I want to make her come until she forgets to breathe. I want to make her gasp as I pound her perfect pussy. I want to lick her cunt until she gushes all over me. I said I don’t want a relationship. But if I found a woman who can fuck like a porn star and then smile like the girl next door? That is the woman for me. Jules’ eyes go wide, and I take her hand and point up to the ceiling. Above us two men fuck a brunette, she’s on all fours, getting fucked in the ass, her mouth wrapped around the cock of the man kneeling before her. My cock twitches, hard as hell. I watch as Jules’ perfect mouth falls into an O. I want it to stay that way, I want her mouth to circle my cock too. “Oh, God,” she manages, watching as the men pound the woman senseless. You can tell the woman above us is loving it. She pulls the man’s cock from her mouth, and the man behind her pulls out and he begins stroking his raging hard-on as the cock in front of her shoots ribbons of creamy come all over her face. “Can we hear them too?” Jules asks, her eyes fixated on the threesome. I grin, loving that she wants to hear the sounds. I press another button, happy this ménage wants us to hear them too. The man’s grunts fill the room. The woman’s voice surrounding us. “Come all over me, baby,” she begs. “I want you to come on my titties, please!” The man obliges, showering her with more, and the man who fucked her from behind walks in front of her too, and then she is showered with come, she parts her legs, and her hand starts working her cunt over. From this view we watch her legs spread, her hand moving over her slit, the come from her pussy dripping onto the glass floor. “You like that?” I ask Jules, knowing she hasn’t even set her gaze on the three rooms surrounding us. If she liked the room above, I can’t wait to see her reaction to the others. “I’ve never… it’s like… porn but better.” Jules shakes her head, captivated by what is above her. “You like watching them?” she asks. I growl, unzipping my jeans. My cock straining and needing to be released. “I fucking love watching you get turned on by what you see.” I step toward her, brushing the hair from her face, wanting to see her in her little outfit closer up. Her tits are huge, bigger than I remembered from last night. The corset squeezes them up, and God I want to lick her nipples, run my cock over them, titty-fuck her nice and good. “It makes me really hot,” she tells me. “My pussy, it’s so…” She shakes her head as if

she doesn’t know how to explain it. I slip my hand into her tiny panties and feel the heat. “You are so wet and ready.” My fingers stroke her as she sucks in a breath of air, and I press my hand to her cheek and turn her head to the side. “You like what you see in that room?” I ask her. The room to our right shows two women grinding against one another. I recognize one woman as a star in a recent indie film. The other woman is a morning talk show host. One is on her back on a massive circle bed, the other one is over her, and they are 69ing. Licking one another’s pussies like it’s their last goddamn meal. Jules sucks in her breath and I touch her pussy, faster this time. My fingers roll over her little cunt, and I am already imagining her on her back. I use my hand to tilt her head in front of us, where a group of six fuck in every way imaginable. There are two women and four men. The women are riding the men, their tits bouncing, groaning in pleasure. One of the men has his cock down one woman’s throat, and his hands are in her hair, moving her head faster and faster as she sucks him off, while at the same time a cock is buried deep in her pussy. The other two men watch in pleasure, jerking off as they watch the fucking in front of them. Before they come though, they walk over to the women, grabbing their asses and pulling them from the men they are riding. They jerk off on the women’s asses and then plunge themselves deep in their assholes. The women moan in pleasure as they begin kissing one another. It’s one of the hottest orgies I’ve ever seen, all six of the participants releasing everything they’ve held back. I’m ready to release a thing or two myself. And Jules must realize how hard I am because she pulls down my boxers and wraps her hand around my thickness. “They can’t see us?” she asks. I shake my head, “Not unless we gave our permission. And tonight we’re not giving permission to do anything besides one another.” I move her face so she sees the room to her left. This room has a different kink going on. A woman is dressed up in a baby doll dress, and she’s sucking on a bottle. The naked man standing before her watches while stroking himself as she mounts a stuffed pony and starts riding it. “You like it when I ride my pony, Daddy?” she asks. “I want to see your pussy, be a good little girl and take off your panties,” the man says coarsely. At that, I see Jules’s eyes get wide. “That’s not my thing,” she tells me. “That’s fine.” I press a button and turn off the mirror to that room. “Which one do you like the most?” I watch as Jules looks between the other three rooms. She shakes her head biting her

bottom lip. “It’s hard to choose. They all… They all turn me on.” “In that case, let’s fuck while watching them all.” She must like that idea because she pulls my hand from her pussy, and laces her fingers through it. “Fuck me on this bed,” she tells me. “But not like last night. Fuck me rough. Make me scream. Make me scream your name, Callahan.” It’s like an animal inside her has been unleashed by being in this room. By seeing the other unbridled fucking around us. Because she lays on the velvet covered bed, her legs spread wide, and she pulls the tiny piece of fabric of her panties aside and starts rubbing her clit—hard. “This is where I want you to fuck me, Callahan. Right here in my pussy. See how wet I am?” I groan, so fucking ready for her. Her willingness to watch, to fantasize right alongside me… it’s more than I can goddamn take. She may have been a virgin when we met, but I can tell that deep down she wants to explore her sexuality. As she touches herself, her back arches, she bites her bottom lip, and she moves her finger in tighter circles as she looks at the fucking above us. The ménage has gotten kinkier. The woman is handcuffed, her legs spread wide, she is fucked in the mouth and in her cunt. Jules watches with her own pleasure seeping from her pussy. Watching her get off is a treat I am not going to forget. And a treat I want to enjoy for myself, too. I need that pussy, and I need it now. I don’t hesitate. My hard cock is more than ready for her juicy cunt. I thrust myself inside of her, pulling down her corset as I do, wanting to see her big bouncing tits. She wraps her legs around me, moaning as I go deep inside her, unrestrained. “You ready for this? You ready for me to pound your perfect little pussy?” I ask. She groans in pleasure, begging me to go faster and faster as her release coats her thighs, and my cock rails into her. I can’t see the rooms around us, or above us, right now I only have eyes for her. The way her eyelids close as she rides an orgasm, her body shaking as I fuck her. I come once, then flip her around and thrust my cock back inside her. She begs for more and I’ll give my girl what she wants. “Don’t stop, Cal,” she moans, as my hands hold her round ass. Damn, she is beautiful, and I move to hold her breasts with both hands as I move deep inside her. Her body melds to mine, our bodies becoming one. We may have just met, but we are giving one another everything as if we are physically unable to hold anything back. I want her and she wants me and together we come. As an orgasm washes over her, she screams my name louder, asking for more and more and more.

I give her all I have to give. Her body shakes with pleasure, and I can’t help myself. I need to taste her creamy cunt, kiss her, lick her. So, I use a tissue, wiping the come from her, and I tell her lie back, as I begin to kiss her from head to toe. Starting with her feet, her legs, her thighs. I leave a trail of kisses on her creamy skin, parting her legs and letting my tongue lick her slit up and down, her clit still throbbing— and I want it to throb some more. I want to taste her luscious release, and when she wraps her legs around me, not wanting me to move my mouth, I give her what we both want. I lick her pussy, then spread her wide, my mouth suctioning around her delicious cunt as I flick my tongue repeatedly over her, memorizing her folds, learning how she likes to be touched. She likes it when I move my tongue hard over her hood, while I grab and gently squeeze her huge tits, her nipples hard and her body piqued to perfection. I move my tongue in circles as if licking all the way around an ice cream cone. She melts beneath me, and it makes me want to do this forever. Her beautiful body tightens around me, and I can tell my girl is about to come. I wrap my hands under her legs and pull her onto my tongue as I lick faster and suck harder, tongue- fucking her until her body is a shaking, sweaty mess. My cock wants more. And she must want more too. She gets down on her knees and starts sucking me, it’s as if her mouth is magnetized to my cock. Damn this baby wants it, and she wants it badly. Her mouth wraps around me like she’s a fucking pro, which I know she isn’t. She’s new to this, but her body, it’s responding in the most animalistic way. Deep inside she knows how to fuck, she was made to fuck me. And I can’t help but feel my chest expand as I accept all she has to give. “I love it when you come in me,” she says, pulling my cock from her mouth, “But I want you to come all over me. Please,” she begs, as ribbons of my creamy come coat her tits. I run my hands over her nipples, her tongue finding the tip of my cock again, wanting to taste every last drop of me. Our bodies tremble at what we just shared, my hands run over her bare skin, the corset and the garter belt and thigh highs long discarded. She wears nothing and standing before me with her sex-dazed eyes, she looks like a queen. Both of us naked and raw, and it’s like a light bulb has gone off inside of her, she’s electric. Lit up in ways she’s only dreamt about. I love watching this transformation and all it took was one night in one of my rooms at the Fuck Club. She may think this place is for social climbers, but she’s just learned that this place is so much more. This is a place where our deepest fantasies and darkest desires can be unleashed. A place where our bodies can become unhinged and our minds can be free.

13

A

fter cleaning up in a handy en-suite bathroom… with Callahan to boot… I return to the club. (And let’s just say when he worked my body over in that shower, on his knees, finger fucking my pussy while water poured over my body—I have never felt as divinely beautiful as I did right then.) I run my fingers through my hair, sure I look like I’ve just been fucked several times over. But as I look around the hazy club, where half-dressed women dance around poles and men touch their partners without inhibition on the dance floor—getting themselves ready for what comes next in a private room, I realize then that everyone here looks like walking sex. “Where have you been?” Gretchen asks, offering me a glass of champagne as I sit down on the couch with her and Danny. “Just… around.” Gretchen snorts as Danny stands. “I’ve gotta call it a night, ladies. Glad you’re finding your way in this city, especially you Gretch.” He shakes his head as he adjusts his suit coat. “Have to say I’m impressed. You got yourself a front-page article before you got a single photoshoot in a magazine.” We kiss him on the cheek, smiling at our agent who has been looking out for us since we signed with him. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Danny,” I remind him. “We have an appointment at eleven, remember?” He nods. “My secretary takes care of all that, but if you say so, I’m sure you’re right. See you then, doll.” After he’s gone, I cover a yawn, poorly. “Where is Collette?” “She left for a room with some musician.” “Who?” “Justin Bieber, maybe?” I slap her playfully. “No way.” She shrugs, “Maybe it wasn’t him, but he had that same vibe.” She squints, assessing me. “My question is… where did you go?”

Still giddy from the thrill of the night, I lean in and whisper. “A room with Cal. Are all the rooms so…?” “So fucking hot? I don’t know. Last night Sawyer had me in a harness, swinging from the ceiling as he rode me. I thought those things were just in pornos. But apparently, they are also in the Hollywood Hills.” “My room was pretty nondescript, No fancy toys, I mean.” She scrunches up her face. “What made it Fuck Club worthy then?” I feel the heat rise to my cheeks and I explain the two-way mirrors. I stop a few times asking if I’m giving her too many details, but she loves it and asks for more. When I finish, Gretchen’s eyes are wide, impressed. “That’s pretty fucking hot. I mean… did any part of you want to join in the orgies?” I shake my head. “No, I mean, it was exciting to watch but I was just overwhelmed at being there with Cal. His body…” I laugh softly. “He’s insane in the best possible way.” “Who is he?” “The bartender.” I jut my chin to the side. “See him over there.” Gretchen whistles. “He’s hot as fuck, but I have to ask, why not someone famous?” Just as I’m about to shrug, a woman steps in front of us. I’m struck simultaneously by her beauty, and by the rage on her face as she lifts a perfectly manicured finger and jams it in our faces. “Which one of you vapid-ass bitches fucked my boyfriend?” Her words come out laced with so much venom that at first, I don’t know what to say, but then I manage to shake my head, noticing that Gretchen is silent, her head hanging low. “Look, lady,” I say, “we don’t know your boyfriend.” For a moment fear clutches at my heart out of nowhere. Cal—was it too good to be true? Is he cheating on this intense, frightening, beautiful woman—with me? But then Gretchen finally lifts her head and speaks up. “Hey, Sondra,” she says. “It’s Sondra, right? Sawyer’s girlfriend?” “We don’t know your boyfr…” I start again, but Gretchen rests her arm on mine, stopping me. “You are Sondra, aren’t you?” she asks. “Sawyer’s girlfriend?” With a hand on her hip, she wags a finger at Gretchen. “Damn right I am. And I don’t need you ruining everything I’ve built—” Gretchen isn’t having any of it. “Look, I didn’t do anything wrong. I didn’t know Sawyer and you were a thing and it’s not my job to know. He’s the one who invited me upstairs. He’s the one who fucked me all night. So, don’t get mad at me. Get mad at him.” She narrows her eyes at Gretchen. “No one knows where he is.”

“Well, I sure as hell don’t either. I’ve been here all night. Haven’t talked to him since last night. We weren’t doing anything that was supposed to last longer than a night. I had no idea those photos would get leaked.” “Well, who saw you?” Sondra asks just as Jordan comes over. “Sondra,” Jordan says, taking her arm and trying to lead her away. “Let’s go talk in private.” “Private?” Sondra’s nostrils flare, and I remember that look from her role in a mega blockbuster film when she took down a throng of zombie aliens. Suddenly, I realize she is Sondra Sinclaire. Like, the Sondra. I swallow, the reality of the level of fame I am now surrounded by washing over me. “Yes, we don’t know who is out here, listening.” Sondra scoffs holding out her phone. “It’s a little late to be worried about that, Jordan. Did you not see what was leaked ten minutes ago? Why do you think I’m here?” Jordan reaches for the phone, looking at the images pulled up. I can’t help but stand and look over Jordan’s shoulder. More photos on an online magazine. But this time it isn’t of Gretchen and Sawyer. They are of Collette and they are pretty damn compromising. And it’s not just a photo. There is a link to more. Gretchen grabs my hand. “Fuck, she has no idea. We’ve got to get her.” My eyes become steely. Wasn’t it just this morning Gretchen was saying any press is good press? But I don’t have time to question her change of heart. I just need to make sure my friend is okay.

The next morning, in our apartment, I make Collette a mug of coffee. No cream, two Splendas, just the way she takes it. The fact that she’s sitting here, and not buried under a cocoon of blankets is a miracle. The photos that were leaked of her were nothing like Gretchen’s now seemingly tame bare-ass straddle. Mostly because it wasn’t just a photo. Colette and her Bieber-lookalike five minutes of fame took the form of a ninety-second video of the two of them flushed with excitement as they touched themselves while watching one another. Last night, in the room with Callahan, the thrill was from knowing those other guests wanted us to watch them. They went to those rooms specifically to be observed as they pleasured one another. But Collette had no idea she was being watched.

Taped. Exposed. “Here you go, sweetie,” I say, sitting next to her on the couch handing her the cup. Gretchen’s on another couch scrolling through her iPad, trying to wrap her mind around the situation. “It’s more than a crazy coincidence, right?” she asks. I nod numbly, feeling like the three of us have targets on our backs and feeling like I am going to be the next one to get hit. I can’t believe I was so foolish as to go to a room with Cal last night. What if that had been me? It’s unimaginable. I was only supposed to be here in LA to make cash for my father’s farm. Not to play out latent fantasies. Shame courses through me at the realization of how far I’ve drifted from my priorities in just a few short weeks. I thought the idea of my SI spread was cringeworthy. The video of Collette all over the internet? I could never show my face in Indiana again if something like that happened to me. And if no one knows who is leaking these stories then maybe I really will be next. “It makes me feel like there is no one I can trust in this town,” Colette says, wiping her eyes with a wadded up tissue. “You can trust us,” I assure her. “The Fuck Club is seriously bad news. I feel so crappy that I asked you guys to go there with me last night. I should have known better.” Gretchen smirks. “You couldn’t help it. Good cock is hard to come by.” Her vulgarity in the midst of this crisis warms me to her. She offers the comic relief we all need right now. “Was it good?” Collette asks. “The sex?” I nod. “I mean, I have nothing to compare it to, but the club has the nickname it does for a reason.” I explain to her what I shared with Gretchen last night. How we were able to watch other couples getting it on while we did. “That’s some kinky shit,” she says, impressed. “And I thought that being in a room where there was a spinning bed and mirrors on every surface was sexy.” Her phone rings and she looks at it before returning it to silent. “It’s my parents.” Gretchen and I share a grimace. “Don’t,” Collette says. “It’s my fault. I was the one who thought what happened to Gretchen was a one-time thing.” “We all did.” I look at my own phone and seeing that my meeting with Danny is approaching, so I tell my roommates I’ve got to get going. “Why are you meeting with him?” Gretchen asks.

“I think something got messed up with my paycheck. The deposit doesn’t look right.” The girls nod, knowing my backstory and how much every penny counts for me right now. “See you later,” I tell them as I grab my purse. “And enjoy your day off even if you can’t show your face outside. It’s Saturday, might as well turn on Netflix and order in junk food. God knows you deserve a cheat day.” “Love ya, Juliana,” they call out to me as I leave, debating whether to take an Uber as I take the elevator down to the ground level. In the end, I opt for the bus. The fifteen bucks I’ll save means less stress for my father. Right now, that is the most important thing.

After my meeting with Danny, I wander around the dirty sidewalks for half an hour, trying to collect my thoughts, and hoping to stop the tears from falling. What am I even here for? I find an empty bench and pull out my phone, wanting to hear the comforting voice of the man who has always looked out for me. “Daddy?” I say when he answers. “Sweet pea? Is that you?” “Yeah,” I say, my resolve to be strong crumbling the moment I hear his voice. “What’s wrong?” I swear I can smell the tractor grease through the phone line. See the creases in his eyes from where he has spent too much time worrying about me, his only child. “Don’t tell me those fancy photographers are making my little girl upset.” “Oh, Daddy, I just feel so far from home. And I thought I’d be back in a month… but I’m not sure that is going to happen.” “What do you mean?” “I got my first paycheck. I didn’t realize how much money would go to my agent, taxes, fees… all that stuff. I thought I’d bet making a lot more.” “Is it more than you were making at the diner?” “Yeah,” I tell him. “But not anywhere what I expected.” My meeting with Danny went awful. Not that he wasn’t kind and understanding, but the truth is, I am giving up so much being here. Besides my home life, I am also losing my privacy. Soon enough my photos will be released in the spreads I modeled for. “Hey, you don’t need to do this if you hate it,” Dad tells me. “It’s not your job to save this place.” “But it’s our home. Our everything.” I blink back tears. “I think maybe you are a little homesick, darling. You’ve never gone farther than a day’s drive in your whole life. And I know you are focused on the money, but maybe think about the experience. Have you made any friends?”

I think about my roommates, they are fun and silly and sweet, but not people I would ever consider true confidants. I’ve never had a ton of friends, mostly kept to myself growing up, helping with Grandma every day after school. I’m not a loner. On Friday nights, I’d meet up with other Townies and drink beer and bullshit at the local bar, Dusty’s. The night before I came to LA they raised their Bud Lights and wished me well, but none of that crew has called to check in. And none of those old friends back home made me feel the way Callahan has made me feel two nights in a row. Alive. Wanted. Seen. “You’re awful quiet, Jules. Having a hard time fitting in?” “Everyone’s just really different here.” I think about the Fuck Club. How I let Cal lick me up and down while watching a ménage one floor above. My face flushes at the memory. The idea of Dad knowing what I did… I’d die. I’ll never go back to that place. It was so risky, so dumb to return at all. Of course, I want to see Callahan again… just not there. “Well, you’ve always stayed on the outside Jules, ever since you were little. People never knew what to do with you here. You are so beautiful, so—” I cut Daddy off. “Don’t say it.” “It’s true. You are too pretty for this town, all the girls were jealous and all the guys were intimidated.” I shake my head. “It’s not the same here. Everyone in this town is gorgeous.” “Well, then you should fit right in, sweetie.” “Daddy, you’re too sweet to me.” “Just saying the truth.” A smile breaks through my tears, and I’m glad I called the person who has known me forever. “Love you, Daddy.” “Love you more. Now go do something that will make you feel better. You’ve worked hard. Treat yourself with a part of this paycheck you just got.” I hang up, thinking he’s right. I’ve been working hard every day. This is my first day off since I got here. And I should do something just for me, especially knowing my roommates are hunkering down in the apartment recounting their time in the spotlight. My thumbs hover over the keys on my phone knowing how I want to treat myself but wondering if it’s too forward. Screw it. “Cal,” I text. “Wanna meet for a late lunch?” He replies right away.

With a yes.

14

I

’ve been a wreck since the video was leaked last night. And of course, it had to come on the heels of the best sex of my

goddamn life. Sawyer still hasn’t returned my calls, and honestly, it’s worrying me. I know he usually visits his parents on the weekend, and I’m just hoping that is what’s going on now. But deep down, I know it isn’t like him to go AWOL for so long. He’s never coped well with stress, and the last few months his frustration over being a product for his studio has increasingly bothered him. I can only imagine how those photos have tipped him over the edge. After this meal, I’m gonna stop at his apartment and find out what’s going on. I know he’d do the same thing for me. I head to Langer’s, a classic LA delicatessen that I grew up eating at with my dad. He’d always get us the Rubens and now it’s only right I introduce Jules to the iconic sandwich. She’s already here when I arrive, looking as sweet as the pie they serve at Langer’s. But she’s more than a single slice, she is whipped-cream-on-top perfection. Just looking at her standing, waiting for a table, reading the menu, her long legs in denim cut-offs, gets my cock hard. How could it not? The memory of those legs wrapped around me last night, her tits bouncing, her eyes closed in ecstasy… it’s enough for me to lose my load right here. Damn, she’s a gift I didn’t see coming. But I intend on unwrapping her over and over again. “Hey,” I say, coming up behind her and wrapping my arms around her waist. I kiss her ear, unable to resist, and her laugh leaves a flutter of sparkles in its wake. She sounds light. Breezy. The gust of fresh air I need today. “Someone is in a good mood,” I tell her. “I didn’t realize we were on kissing-in-public terms.” She spins to face me, a smirk on her face. “Want me to take it back?”

She shakes her head, patting my chest, leaving her hand there. “You’re bad, you know that?” “So bad it’s good, right?” She gives me a small laugh. “Something like that.” A waitress leads us to a table and I order for both of us, not needing to look at a menu. Jules grins, teasing me for being such a man. “It’s nice to hear you laugh. I need something to lighten the goddamn mood of my life right now.” “What’s wrong?” she asks, not realizing that when shit goes down at the club it fucking kills me. “The shit that went down last night—with that video being leaked on the gossip sites… Just a headache, you know?” Her eyes fall, her lip twists. “I know. Colette was upset. I mean at first it was novel when it happened to Gretch. Like, kinda exciting. But that video…” Jules shakes her head. “You can’t exactly spin it in a good way.” She sighs, looking back at the reader board menu. “I’m just glad it didn’t affect either of us. Do you think it’s going to mess with business, for the club? Like, your job?” I run my hand over my jaw. “I don’t know what it means yet. Jordan, the manager, called a staff meeting for later today. The employees who dance at the club are pretty stressed. People sign non-disclosure agreements when they enter the club. Breaking that is idiotic, for anyone.” “What would happen?” Jules asks as the waitress brings us Cokes and our sandwiches. She picks up a fry and looks down, not meeting my eyes. I try not read into it. But why is she interested in the NDA? “The person who broke the agreement would be sued.” I pick up my sandwich and start eating. Damn it’s as good as I remembered. Her eyes raise to meet mine. “People are crazy. Eventually, the person who is doing this is going to be found out. I don’t understand how people can act like they are invincible. When you play with fire, eventually you’re going to go up in flames.” Her words give me the confidence in her character I already believed. “It’s crazy though, I haven’t heard from my buddy Sawyer since the stuff with his photos went down.” She scrunches up her face. “You’re friends with him?” I nod. “Yeah. We’ve been friends forever. He’s helped me through the hardest times in my life.” “Really? How did you meet? No offense, but it seems like you’d be in different circles growing up. Aren’t his parents famous too?” I never date women that start asking personal questions. I went to boarding school and

my parents died before I graduated. I became a man without people connecting me to my family name. After their death, I started going by Callahan—my middle name. With that easy change, the old me disappeared. The sad truth is, no one has come looking. Just another reason I think of this city as a television set. Nothing here is real. And if Sawyer weren’t still here, I wouldn’t be either. But he’s the only person who knew me before, who still knows me now. His parents invite me to family functions, and I go, so long as no one in the industry will be there. They respect my boundaries. Hell, they understand them. They know what I lost, how I lost it. Who is to blame. I hate the fucking paparazzi. Their crazed hunger for a story is why my parents crashed. Why I lost my family. Sawyer’s parents get it and after that event, they stepped away from the limelight too. All of us are watching Sawyer closely, wanting to make sure he doesn’t get so caught up in the trap that he loses himself. Anyway, no one who comes to the club is looking to make eyes with the bartender. They come to fuck a celebrity. So, even though I’ve recognized people from my childhood, no one has put two and two together. But Jules is different. She did make eyes with the bartender. In fact, she made a hell of a lot more with him. “Sawyer and I were neighbors as kids is all.” She rests her elbow on the table, her chin in her hand. “Huh, I’m trying to mesh that with my idea of you. So, besides being a bartender who rides a bike you also grew up somewhere super ritzy?” “Does that bother you?” She shrugs. “I don’t know. I mean, sorta.” My brow furrows. “How so?” She shakes her head. “I’m not trying to be weird. Sorry if I am.” “No,” I tell her. “Be honest with me. That is one of the things I like about you, Jules. You say it like it is. Even last night when we were in that room, you said what you meant. Asked for things you wanted, how you wanted them. You aren’t hiding behind anything. You are real. And in a city like this, that means a hell of a lot.” She watches me as if considering my words. “It’s pretty simple really. I just don’t really like the LA scene and I assumed you didn’t either. That is what appealed to me about you when we first met.” “You mean it wasn’t my charm and good looks?” I grin. “Shut up,” she says, throwing a fry at me. “Yes, your looks, sure, but throwing punches at those thugs really won you a lot of points.”

“There is a point system?” I laugh. She tries to hide a smile. “Mmhmm. Really complicated one.” “And hating LA is part of your rubric?” “Exactly.” She taps her fingers on her chin. “But maybe I was miscalculating. Maybe this place is your jam.” I raise an eyebrow. “You think if I were into the LA scene I’d take you to the oldest deli in the city and make you eat pastrami? Because I’m telling you, sweetie, most of the douchebags in this city who took you out for lunch would force feed you micro greens and order you low-cal white wine. Your public image would be as important to them as their own.” She scrunches up her eyes. “I don’t know, Cal. Maybe you’re just playing me. Everyone in this town has an angle. What’s yours?” My jaw tightens, we’re covering territory that is not first-date worthy. And much too intense for Langer’s. “Look,” she says, reaching for the dessert card on the table. “I don’t hold back or keep my cards close, or whatever. I’m an open book.” “Then what is your angle, Jules?” She drops the dessert card. “I’m pretty simple. I’m here to make enough money to pay off my dad’s farm and then go back home.” “That’s it?” She sighs as if I said the wrong thing. “Isn’t that everything?” Her words are simple, but they are also exactly right. “Touché.” “So,” she says slowly, “I’m going to order some apple pie and you are going to tell me something real. If your parents are Sawyer-Bennett-rich, why are you a bartender at the Fuck Club? Why aren’t you a guest?”

15

H

er question is hard to answer. I may love fucking her, laughing with her, and just being around her, but I’ve known her for two days. Nowhere near long enough to trust her with the truth of who I am. So, I tiptoe around it.

“I never liked school, didn’t go to college, didn’t take up the family business.” I shrug as the waitress delivers us our pie. “And I like the schedule of being a bartender. I’m good at it, and that should count for something. So I stuck with it. And bartending at the Fuck Club is the best bartending gig in this city.” “I figured, considering your loft.” So, she noticed my place wasn’t exactly the kind of place you’d live at if you were living paycheck to paycheck. “Your parents don’t mind you doing a blue collar job or whatever?” she asks. “My parents just want me to be happy.” “And are you?” she asks. “Damn, you really don’t hold back do you?” I run a hand through my hair. “Should I?” “No. I like this… talking.” “As opposed to?” “Well, we’ve been spending our time fucking, so…” That gets a laugh out of her. “Now it’s my turn to say touché.” She pulls her long hair into a messy bun on the top of her head. As she moves I can’t help but notice the lovely curve of her neck, the way her collarbone leads the eye to take in how beautiful she is. “Anyway,” she says. “I like that you are a bartender. Back home I was a waitress at a place kinda like this.” “So, we’re both in the service industry. See, common ground, even if my parents were rich as fuck.” “Were?” she asks, not missing a single thing.

I nod tightly. “They died when I was eighteen.” She reaches across the table. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up a hard topic.” “My parents were everything good about the world. I don’t mind talking about them, they were the best people I ever knew.” “And Sawyer was there for you when you went through all that?” My eyes meet hers. “Exactly.” “You should call him again. Be there for him the way he was there for you. I mean, not that he experienced anything as tragic—but…” I nod, picking up my phone, texting again, then dialing his number. Nothing. “His girlfriend Sondra was at the club last night saying she couldn’t get a hold of him either.” “You spoke with Sondra?” I ask, looking up from my phone. Jules nods. “Yeah, she was confronting Gretchen. But also mentioned she hasn’t heard from him either.” “It’s been over twenty-four hours,” I say, stating the obvious. “I should go to his place.” Jules nods again, reaching for her wallet. I shake my head, reaching for the check totaling thirty-four bucks. “I’m not letting you pay.” “Like hell, you’re not. It’s my first fancy-pants paycheck. This meal is on me.” I let her take the check, watching as she sets down two twenties. Then reaches back in her wallet and grabs two more, leaving a tip larger than the entire bill. We leave the deli, my hand on the small of her back, my heart, fucking falling hard for this woman who came into my life with a force stronger than an ocean wave. “Come with me,” I tell her. “To look for Sawyer.” She doesn’t hesitate. “Of course.”

As we walk to my bike, I call Sawyer’s parents. They haven’t heard from him since earlier today. “But you spoke to him?” I ask them while they are both on speakerphone. “Well, he left a voicemail, a really long, rambling one, but it wasn’t from his number,” his mom says. “Apologizing for the photos, asking for our forgiveness, saying he never meant for his life to become so fake, and telling us he was sorting things out but that he was sorry for how that might hurt us.” “And did you call him back?” I ask.

“We tried several times, but there was no answer.” A sinking feeling fills my stomach. Something is wrong. “How long ago was this?” I ask. “Maybe two or three hours? Have you heard from him?” they ask. “Not a word. I’m heading to his house now. I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”

His cars are here, but the front door is unlocked, no staff is around. Jules’s eyes go wide at the massive complex. Infinity pools and marble walkways. A view of the Pacific Ocean a land-locked farm girl would only dream about. She doesn’t let the grandeur compete for her attention though. Together we enter the premises and try to find my oldest friend. “Sawyer?” I call. Nothing. We move from room to room, but there are no signs of Sawyer anywhere. “Cal,” Jules whispers, pointing to the dining room table. Laid out on it is his driver’s license. His house keys. His cell phone. I pick it up, seeing every one of my missed calls. My jaw tightens, fear coursing through me. Jules hands me a document. SAWYER BENNET’S LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT My blood goes cold. I cover my mouth, this isn’t happening. The last thing on the table is an envelope addressed to me. Reaching inside, I pull out a letter. My eyes run over the letter, tears pooling in my eyes as I read the last words my best friend ever wrote.

Cal,

You warned me about this business since day one. Said it could steal, kill, and destroy. It has. Death is never easy—but you know that better than anyone. Whatever sort of man I used to be no longer exists. And that’s why I’m ending my life, taking control of the only thing I have left. Everything else has been stolen from me.

My face isn’t even my own anymore. I can’t fucking shave my head without clearing it through a sponsor who pays for a life I never wanted. I take that back—I did want the fame—but I let it fucking get to my head. And now all I want is peace. So, I’m finding it the only way I know how. This isn’t easy—but it’s the only way out. You know that better than anyone else too. And I’m sorry to put you through this again. If I said this to you face-to-face you’d talk me out of it, that’s why I both love you and hate you. You are a better man than I’ll ever be. In life or in death. Jumping from the Colorado Street Bridge may seem like a cliché—but you know how I feel about fucking guns. I love you, brother. -Sawyer

The letter falls from my hands, I can’t fucking breathe. The shock weaves through my gut and I reach for the table to keep me from falling over. Jules already has her phone out, calling 911. “I need to report a suicide. What? I don’t know. On the Colorado Street Bridge. Yes, yes. Sawyer Bennett. Correct, yes, him. I know,” she says, her own face streaked with tears, her eyes on mine. “Yes, the Sawyer Bennett. It doesn’t matter—just. Yes. He said he was going to jump.” She stays on the line as she grabs Sawyer’s keys. To me, she says, “You can’t drive the bike right now. But I can drive one of these cars. We have to go, Cal. Right now. I need you to stand up, focus, Cal. Okay?” She takes my hand, opening the door of an SUV. I follow her, but I can’t fucking see a thing. “He may be okay,” she says. “Just hold on to hope, Cal, okay?” I hear her but all I can see is the line in the note: This isn’t easy—but it’s the only way out.

GET READY…PART 3 RELEASES 5/18!

16

W

hen my mom died, I remember my daddy pulling me to him as we sat in the hospice room. Our tears streaked our cheeks, even though we knew the moment was coming. Even though we knew she was finally free of the pain that had wracked her body for so long. I hated that we were there in that sterile room, and not at the farm. The place where she got married, where she gave birth to me, where she planted her flower garden every spring. My mother always smelled like honeysuckle—but there, in that room, the fragrance that will forever remind me of her was missing. There was nothing about my mother in that place. It only smelled like death. I haven’t cried the way I cried for her back then in any of the years since her passing. But then again, I haven’t been confronted with death since she took her final breath. Grandma is getting older, but she’s still hanging on to the land of the living, and I’m doing my damnedest to work here in LA so that we’ll have enough money for in-home care for her before she passes. So that when she leaves this life, her perfumed sheets will be covering her, and her eyes will linger on the whitewashed walls of her childhood. I’m crying now. Crying the way I did those years ago when we buried my mom, confronted with the fragility of life once again. Holding on to a man I barely know, but who has somehow been thrust into my life. At the place where Sawyer jumped, we watch as police cars and fire trucks surround the blocked bridge. Helicopters are in the air, reporting the death of a major Hollywood celebrity. They haven’t found his body, but they found his clothes and his watch. There is a man here, stating he saw the jumper as he was driving, and that he called 911 straight away. Cal has covered his mouth with his hand, unable to absorb the shock of this reality. And when Sawyer Bennet’s parents arrive, they embrace Callahan the same way my daddy embraced me all those years ago. Through tears, Sawyer’s mother clings to Cal, as if unable to let go because he is the closest thing to a son that she has left in the world. My heart, it breaks for them, knowing there is nothing anyone can do to blot out their pain.

There is nothing to do but weep for a life that is lost.

17

T

he next few weeks pass in a blur. Sawyer’s parents hold an incredible private service, only his family and I are there, and I understand.

A suicide is not like someone going softly in the night. It carries a weight none of us are prepared for.

And there is no body, nothing to bury, nothing to burn—except for the flame of his memory. Goddammit, I’ll hold onto it for the rest of my goddamned life. He was a brother to me, the only family I had left. Now? I’m fucking alone. And increasingly obsessed with finding the person who took those photos, that video. The person responsible for pushing Sawyer over the mother fucking edge. Jordan shows up at my place in the middle of the afternoon, carrying a file box, wanting to get to the bottom of this as badly as I do. Sawyer had his doubts about Jordan, and maybe I’m a fucking fool to trust him after everything, having nothing to go off of but a gut feeling—but hell, if I can’t trust my gut, what can I trust? “Any leads?” I ask as he eyes me with pursed lips. I’m wearing sweats and a hoodie, nursing coffee with a hefty amount of Jameson. “Because I keep googling the fucking Russian mob in LA and I gotta say, the dirt I can find isn’t as incriminating as I’d like it to be.” Jordan snorts. “You aren’t going to find shit on the internet, Cal.” I ball my hand in a fist and punch my open palm. “I’m going fucking crazy here, Jordan. I don’t need an answer right this moment, but a fucking lead would be helpful.” Jordan raises his hands in defeat. “Man, I get it. This is all pretty messed up, but—” I cut him off. “Messed up? Sawyer is dead because of the photos leaked at my club.” It’s not fair to lash out at Jordan, but dammit, I’ve been pacing my loft for days, trying to get a grip. Just then a call from the ground floor comes through my intercom. “Cal? It’s me,

Jules. Can I come up?” I run my hands through my hair. I haven’t returned Jules’ calls in days. I’d feel bad, but I haven’t had time to think it through. My mind’s been on Sawyer and the people whose choices brought him to such a fucking desperate place. I let her up, and Jordan looks at me with raised brows. “What?” I say, defensive. “She was with me the day he died.” Jordan shakes his head. “You owe me nothing. I just know you have about seventy employees that are hoping to keep their jobs.” “We can’t open now.” I head to the coffee pot and refill my mug. “Not until we know.” Jordan raises a folder he’s taken from the file box, showing me pictures of the men our private eyes have found; the men who came to club a few weeks ago and punched me. “We need to draw them out,” Jordan says. “Those thugs need some bait. We open, we tell people the owner will be there. They come, we search.” I smirk. “Right, because they’ll do that willingly.” Jordan tightens his jaw. “I never said willingly. I just said we’d do it. We haven’t involved the cops yet, and I know it’s the last thing we want to do—” “I’m glad you know that because we aren’t going to. It’s not up for discussion.” The cops came sniffing around clubs like ours in the past—it always gets them press they didn’t want. I can pay for my own goddamn intel. The elevator door opens, and Jules walks into our discussion. “Everything okay?” she asks tentatively as the elevator closes behind her, glancing between Jordan and me. She’s wearing ripped blue jeans and a white tee-shirt. The simplest attire, but I swear even with California sunlight streaming through my windows, this room hasn’t been this bright in a long ass time. Just looking at her calms me down, brings my anger from near boiling to a low simmer. Jordan huffs. “As fine as it’s gonna be. Callahan just needs more time to recover from losing, you know…” He doesn’t say Sawyer’s name and regardless of Jules’ calming effect on me, I hate that he can’t say my oldest friend’s name. “Sawyer,” Jules says. “Recover from losing Sawyer.” She walks into the loft and sets three casserole dishes down on the counter. “The thing is, Jordan, it’s not gonna happen anytime soon. Death changes you… and the Cal you used to know? He doesn’t exist anymore.” Her words stun me. And it’s like she knows me better than I fucking know myself. I want her to stay by my side because for the first time since I lost my best friend, it’s as if I can breathe. She’s the fresh air I didn’t know I needed. She sets her purse down on the counter next to the food that is making my stomach growl. I’ve been eating take-out for days. As she peels back a layer of foil she reveals a home cooked meal. “Looks good,” Jordan says.

Jules smiles warmly at him. “I’d invite you to stay, but I’m only here for Cal. He’s been avoiding me, which I get,” she says throwing me a raised brow, “but he needs some TLC tonight.” Jordan laughs. “Lucky man. I wouldn’t mind some TLC tonight myself.” “Oh yeah?” Jules asks. “Are you seeing someone?” I shake my head. “Yeah, ass-hat, when are you going to settle down?” “I’m not settling for anything less than not one, but two supermodels. Anything other than that and I’d rather be alone.” Jules meets my eyes and we share a smile. I need that smile. Jordan puts the folder he’s holding back in the file box. “You know, you should take him away for a few days. Give him get a change of scenery. He needs to—” “Don’t tell me what I need,” I tell him. But Jules nods, ignoring me entirely. She opens a cupboard door, closes it when she sees only stemware, and opens another where she pulls out two dinner plates. I watch her moving around as if she owns the place. And for some reason, it feels damn good. Maybe I need to be taken care of. Maybe I just need Jules. “It’s okay, Cal. He’s your boss. It’s his job to give you time off when you need it.” I scoff at the pair of them, wondering when Jules became a fixture in my life that I don’t want to lose. Wasn’t I just saying I didn’t want anything serious? “I’m not leaving the city,” I tell them. Jules sighs. “If I could use my next three days off to go somewhere that would relax me… I’d go in a heartbeat. You’re crazy, Cal.” I twist my lips, suddenly wanting to make her happy. Make her goddamn day. Make her mine. “And where would you go, Jules?” I ask, watching her dish up homemade mac and cheese and then add slices of meatloaf and green beans. “Easy,” she answers. “Home.” “Indiana is a long way from LA.” “You didn’t say where I actually get to go. But dream-scenario, money’s-not-an-issue kind of fantasy? I’d go home and see the sunflowers in bloom.” “Sunflowers?” I ask, raising a brow. I guess you can take the girl out of the country, but can’t take the country out of the girl. “You should take her, Cal. Use the private jet and go breathe in that farm-fresh air.” He shrugs. “We can handle it back here.” Jules squints, confused. “Private jet? What kind of bartender has a private—” Jordan shakes his head. “Sorry.” I wave him off. “It’s fine. She knows I come from money. Maybe it’s just not exactly clear on how much we’re talking about.”

Jules digs around in the silverware drawer and produces knives and forks. “Sounds like a make-believe life. Just jetting off whenever it strikes your fancy.” “Nothing fancy about my best friend killing himself,” I tell her, sharper than I intended. Jordan raises his eyes. “Exactly. You’re strung out as hell. Go breathe for a few days. We can talk when you come back.” A part of me wonders if this was Jordan’s plan all along. Get me out of town so he can cover up his tracks. Fuck, maybe he is the reason all this has happened, and I hate not knowing who I can trust. But then Jules hands me a plate of perfection, not hinting at annoyance that I haven’t called her back, or responded to her texts. She doesn’t acknowledge hurt feelings at all. It’s like she sees this isn’t about her. And in the midst of all that— she bakes me a goddamn meatloaf. No one has ever done that for me before. “Will you take me home?” “Wow,” she says smiling softly. “You already want to go home and meet my daddy?” “Daddy?” She nods. “Yeah, also known as the greatest man I’ve ever known.” “No pressure.” She doesn’t placate me with words like you’re the best, you’re just as good—no. She just smiles at me, then at Jordan. “Right, no pressure. Just bring your A-game and don’t fuck it up.” She walks around me, her hands on my shoulders, working out my tension as she massages them. Her word choices make me laugh. A laugh. The first laugh I’ve made since Sawyer died. I grab her arm, pull it in front of me, planting kisses from her wrist to her elbow. Hearing her cuss sounds so foreign, especially when she comes off so innocent all the time, and damn, it makes me want to kiss more than her arm. But then I remember our night in the Fuck Club… and I know there is more than innocence about Jules. And I want to spend a few days discovering it all.

18

“W ho is this guy, exactly?” Gretchen scowls at me, standing in the doorframe of my

bedroom.

“Cal. Callahan. He’s the bartender at the A-List. And the guy who, um, you know.” “Fucked your brains out?” Heat rises to my cheeks. “Basically, yeah.” “And you don’t even know his last name but you’re going to take a flight with him in his private jet. Doesn’t that sound sorta sketchy? I mean, what bartender has a private jet?” I grab an extra bra and a few pairs of panties and throw them in my suitcase. “He comes from money. And the last name thing, yeah, I know that sounds kinda bad. I should know that by now. But it’s kind of awkward to text and be all, ‘BTW what’s your last name?’ Right?” Collette moves Gretchen aside and walks into my room, plopping down on my bed with a bag of raw spinach in her hand. Danny has not so gently reminded us we have to stay slimmer than slim if we want to keep this gig up. Except for my cheat meal at Cal’s earlier. Meatloaf and green bean casserole aren’t exactly diet-approved. “So, where are you going?” Collette asks, shoving spinach in her mouth like she’s a rabbit. “She’s going on a rendezvous with her lover-boy.” “You are going to have so much fun.” Collette groans, tossing the spinach aside. “I’m so jealous. Gah.” Sighing, Gretchen falls onto the bed next to her. “I know, babe. This whole viral video has been a clusterfuck and so not the way our time in LA should have started.” “It’s just stupid. The only reason we have the next three days off is because our photo shoot with Glamour was canceled. Apparently, I’m too controversial and I haven’t even started my career.” I zip my suitcase, trying to figure out what to say to make my friends feel better. The truth is, there is no easy answer. They are now associated with tabloid scandals, and there is no going back once that’s happened. Their faces are no longer their own. They will forever be owned by those magazines.

“I’m glad that photo shoot was canceled. It gives us all a little breathing room… the past few weeks have been so rough. And I know you think I’m flying off to go have fun, but one, I’ll be under my dad’s roof. And two, Cal’s best friend just killed himself. It’s more about him getting a chance to heal than it is about us having sexy times.” Collette frowns. “Sweetie, no one says sexy times.” “That’s what you got out of what I just said?” I roll my eyes. These girls are fun and all, but their priorities are seriously whack. “No, I get it. It is insane what happened. The talk shows haven’t stopped playing clips of Sawyer. And his fake girlfriend keeps getting interviewed, and she’s milking it for all it’s worth.” “That’s disgusting,” I say, unable to restrain my feelings. “I’m grateful for a paycheck, but God, I really hate this industry. Isn’t anyone worth more than a few good sound bites?” Gretchen stands, tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “I don’t think so, sweetheart. I think we’re playing a messy game whether we like it or not. And honestly, I’d do the same thing if I were in Sondra’s shoes. Those interviews she’s giving could pay for a villa in the South of France.” I shake my head. “Maybe this game’s too dirty for my tastes.” Collette shoves another handful of spinach in her mouth and raises an eyebrow. “Let’s see how you’re feeling after you go home and remember how badly your dad needs this money; until you see how your Gram’s holding up.” Collette’s right, of course. She isn’t saying any of that to be mean… the truth is we all have a price. We all have a limit to what we’re willing to do in order to get what we want. I would never have believed that I’d pose in string bikinis for Sports Illustrated if you’d asked me a year ago. But then Gram got sick, we nearly lost the farm for the second time and my priorities changed. Suddenly, I saw the world in a different light. Facing it is hard, and everyone’s line in the sand is different. I’m just not sure I want to know where my line is. Sondra has decided giving bullshit interviews for a paycheck is worth the lies. Sawyer had decided a staged relationship was worth the studio’s favor. As for Gretchen and Collette and me? Well, I guess we haven’t been pushed to the edge yet, to find out how far we would go to get what we want. But I’m grateful that they are here, that they have my back. “Maybe when I come back we can have a girl’s night?” I ask. Gretchen nods. “That sounds perfect. Hopefully, from here on out, only good things will come our way.”

Later that evening, when I slip into the town car waiting outside my apartment, Cal grins

from within. He wears his leather motorcycle jacket and blue jeans and I can’t help but think about sliding them off of him and straddling him here and now. I have no clue where these ideas come from… except that as soon as I scoot in next to Cal, his hand grazes my thigh, pulling me toward him, and I think he must have the same ideas as me. I raise a brow at him. “Where was this version of yourself when I brought you meatloaf?” Groaning, Cal says, “That was hours ago. And Jordan was there, totally killing the vibe.” It’s true. Jordan had acted like he was packing up to go, but once he saw what I had cooked, he wrangled himself a plate of the home cooked meal and sat down at the table with Cal and me. “He’s actually nicer than I first thought,” I tell Cal as the town car rolls along the highway to the private airport. “What did you think of him at first?” “I thought he was a douche-canoe who didn’t know how to paddle.” Cal snorts. “Nah, Jordan’s a good guy. But Sawyer always wondered about him too. Thought he was a little cocky for his own good.” “Cocky?” I shake my head. “No way. I see him as a rule-follower more than anything else.” “Really?” Cal seems surprised by this. “Why do you say that?” I laugh. “And why are you so interested in your co-worker?” “I don’t know. Sawyer’s opinion mattered to me is all. I guess I put a lot of stock in it. And after getting to know you… I put stock in what you think too.” My chest expands, liking the way Cal’s words make me feel. Valuable. “Jordan didn’t mess around with the guest list—he was super strict about it both times I came. Making us show photo ID and everything. He also had a zero-tolerance policy about phones at the club. He knew that his buddy—you—had a thing for me, yet he didn’t pull any punches. That may seem insignificant, but after a few weeks in LA, I’ve come to learn that lots of people will give you special treatment if they think you might return the favor somehow, someway.” “But not Jordan?” “Not Jordan. And he’s loyal. He knew you wanted me to join you in a room, so he got your shift covered and made sure I got where I belonged.” At that, Cal smiles. “In my lap.” I nod. “And on my knees.” “Did you want to have a replay of that scenario?” “Like now?” I look around the town car, unsure of that happening. There’s a divider, but I’m guessing we have less than ten minutes before we’ll be to the plane.

“On the plane,” he adds. “I’m guessing you aren’t a member of the mile high club?” I laugh. “Considering you took my virginity a few weeks ago, I’m thinking no.” Cal cups my cheek with his hand, drawing me toward him. “Then it will be my honor to show you the ropes.” My hand does some cupping of its own, his length is hard under my touch, and I massage him through his jeans. “I don’t want you to show me any ropes,” I say, smiling as I lean closer to him, my lips close enough to kiss. “Just your cock. That’s all you need to show me tonight.”

19

O

n the plane, Jules’ wide eyes remind me that while I play the role of a bartender, I still come from a shit ton of money. But she’s who she says she is. A farm girl who has never been so far from home. It makes me feel bad, you know, for lying about who I really am, but I don’t think a woman like her—who is so antieverything about LA—would be with a man like me if she knew. She’d choose a guy more noble, honorable. I tell myself the Fuck Club is more than the name suggests. I try to believe it’s a refuge for the rich and famous, a private hideaway where they can let down their guard. I tell this to myself as if it means anything at all. It doesn’t. Because at the end of the day, my club is really just a place for people to get fucked up and fucked over. It’s what just happened to Sawyer, and his blood is on my hands. Jordan wants us to open again, lure in the Russians, and I get that. And I want to do that—hell, it’s my fucking duty to avenge my best friend’s death—but after that? After that, I’ll close the doors. I’ll get a real fucking job, earn an honest paycheck. Hell, I’m going to meet Jules’ father and what am I gonna say when he asks what I do for a goddamn living? Tell him I am a bartender at a fuck club? His little girl deserves more than that. Jules sits next to me in a white leather club seat, adjusting her seatbelt as tight as it can go. She grips the armrests, looking at me with a worried expression. “You scared of flying?” I ask. “Yeah, it’s only my second time, but you’re the one who looks like a ball of nervous energy.” She takes my hand in hers, lacing our fingers together. “What has you so worked up?” “Just thinking about meeting your father. Kind of freaked out, to be honest.” That gets her to smile, and her head falls back in the chair. “You should be. I’ve never brought home a boy.” I laugh. “How about a man?” She shakes her head. “Not one of those either.” “Well, fuck, you’re really setting me up for success then, aren’t you? Is he gonna give

me the tenth degree?” I can’t remember ever having gone to meet a girl’s parents myself. I haven’t exactly been a guy who has ever done long term anything. A fling on vacation? A girl at the club who looked like a good time? Sure. But something real? Something like this? Never. And how did Jules become something real in such a short time? I run my thumb over her hand, knowing the answer to that question. I knew Jules was something real the moment I laid eyes on her. She shrugs. “He’s a good guy. And I told him we were coming, he was thrilled at the unexpected visit. Besides, all he wants is for his little girl to be happy. And right now, with you, I am.” I kiss her then, pulling her toward me as the plane takes off. She gasps mid-kiss, both surprised at the fact we are gaining ground, and at the fact, I just stole a kiss from her like that. Timed so perfectly. “You have good moves, Callahan,” she says, parting her mouth for me. “And you have good instincts,” I say, my tongue meeting hers, my hands on her cheek, the base of her neck, already knowing that this is going to be the best plane ride of my life. Once we’ve maintained altitude, I unbuckle both our belts, and stand, pulling tight the curtain that separates us from the pilot. I let him know that our plane ride is not to be interrupted. Jules’ eyes dance around the luxury jet. I’ve ridden on this thing so many times that the grandeur has faded. But Jules soaks it all in, and I’m happy to be able to give her another first. Though our last first was the one that will stay in my memory forever. Taking her virginity, a gift she gave so freely. And now I want to take her again. “So, you said something about the mile high club?” she says, stepping toward me. Even in her blue jeans and T-shirt, she looks sexy as hell. Her skin has darkened from the California heat, her cheeks look sun-kissed and beautiful. Her hands move over the buttons of her jeans. And when she unzips them, letting them slide to the floor, I know she is willing and wanting to go wherever I take her. “Look at you,” I tease. “Anxious much?” “Well, I’m not one for wasting time,” she says. “That’s something you should know about me. I’m a no-nonsense, get-the-job-done, kind of girl.” “Oh, Jules. Tonight, there is no rush. We are on a five-hour flight, plenty of time to savor the moment.” I step toward her and lift the hem of her T-shirt, her hands rising into the air as I lift it over her head then drop it to the ground. “Look at you in this pretty little thing.” My fingertips move under the shoulder strap of her bra. It’s white and lacy, and her hard nipples press against the sheer fabric. “You like it? I thought after the last few weeks after you’ve had such a hard time, you

deserve someone to treat you to something sweet.” “And you’re the something sweet?” I ask. My fingers stroke her skin, running over the waistband of her panties and shoving them down, past her hips. “I’ve always been the something sweet… But maybe, with you Cal, I can be something naughty.” “You seemed to like things pretty naughty when we were in the Fuck Club,” I remember the ménage a trois above us. The woman getting fucked in her pussy and her mouth, the way her come dripped on the glass ceiling. Remembering the way Jules ran her hand over her throbbing clit and came too. “I guess you’re right, Cal. You have already taken all my innocence.” “Not all your innocence. I’m guessing there’s more for me to take tonight.” I can’t hold back anymore, I rip off my shirt, step out of my jeans, my cock so fucking hard and thick for her. It’s pulling at my boxers, begging for her touch. There’s something about her round ass, in this tiny thong she wears, and I can’t help but twirl her around so I can grab her cheeks and squeeze them tightly. Her hands reach out, bracing herself on the back of a leather armchair. My hands move over her ass, spreading her legs and caressing her wet pussy. “You want me to take you like the dirty girl you are?” I ask. She turns her head over her shoulder making sure I can see her eyes. “I want you to take me like the dirty woman I am. Don’t hold back, Cal. I know you know what you’re doing. A man doesn’t work at a fuck club without knowing how to totally make a woman his own.” Damn, her words turn me on. Everything about her is a walking wet dream. She’s a fucking supermodel; her photos will be in the newest Sports Illustrated catalog coming out in a few weeks. She is primed to be the next sensation. Her face is going to be everywhere. Her eyes won’t just be looking at me, they’ll be taking in the goddamn world. I understand what Jules is about to become, the biggest thing this industry has seen in a long ass time. She’s different than the other models I see coming to my club; she is just plain different—from anyone else in general. And she wants me. She’s giving me access to everything she’s kept to herself. That makes me feel like a king, and also makes me feel like a fraud. It also makes me fucking terrified for what could happen to her. I’ve seen it before, I just saw it happen to Sawyer. My body courses with emotion: fear for her future, sorrow for my past, fucking pleasure in the moment. My feelings are fucking out of control, and Jules must sense that because she takes my hands and pulls them to her breasts, tugging down the fabric of her bra and making sure I’m taking hold of her luscious tits in my palms. She seems to understand that right now I need something primal and I need something rough.

“Take me from behind,” she asks. “Get it all out. All those feelings inside, give them to me.” I raise an eyebrow. “I mean, it, Cal.” Her voice drops, her eyes steady. “I want you from behind, and I’m not talking doggy style.” I don’t know if Jules understands what she’s asking, but I do know she’s never done this before, never entertained these ideas before. She’s told me as much when she’s been a sweaty mess in my arms. After I fucked her the first time, she admitted that sex like this had never even entered her imagination. Now she’s asking me to fuck her in the ass. It’s the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. Given themselves to me in this way, realizing that what I need is to lose myself for a little while. I run my fingers over her breasts, past her stomach, touching her cunt. It’s waxed bare, has to be for all the photos she does half naked, and her pussy lips are wet, and dripping with anticipation. Good. But I know she’ll need a lot more lubrication than that. I tug down her thong and unclasp the back of her bra so her big tits aren’t tethered. They need to be free to bounce and move as I fuck her hard and good. I walk toward my luggage, pull out a tube of lubrication. She looks at me with wide eyes and I grin. “Come prepared?” she teases. I shrug. “If we’re gonna do this, we’re gonna do this right. The last thing I want to do is to hurt you. “Maybe it needs to be rough. Maybe that’s what you need more than anything else right now, Cal. You’ve been through so much. Let me take some of the pain away.” Her eyes are heavy with understanding. I know without her saying a thing that she’s seen hard times before, maybe that’s one of the reasons I’ve been so drawn to her. She didn’t ask for an explanation of why I went MIA for last two weeks—no, she understands that I needed to be alone with my pain. She doesn’t need me to tell a story I don’t have the words for— she’s here, no questions asked, offering me all of herself. I take the lube and stroke it over my hard cock. Her body is so goddamn beautiful and the anticipation is fucking with me. How did I get so damn lucky? After a lifetime of bad luck here I am, with Jules. With perfect fucking Jules. “I want you just like that,” I tell her. “Lean yourself against the back of that chair, just like that,” I purr in her ear, my fingers finding her perfect hole and I press one inside her. Instead of tensing further, my lubed up finger causes her to murmur in relief. Her shoulders relax, tension dripping away with my soothing order. She wants me to tell her what to do, how to behave. But one thing about Jules that I’m fucking falling for, is the fact she only acts this way in the bedroom. Everywhere else, she’s all woman. She knows who she is and what she wants.

And I have a feeling that lesson in life didn’t come easy. She worked hard to become strong. That kind of strength doesn’t happen overnight. She left everything she knew, her home and family and the farm, and came to LA for a career she has no interest in because she knew it was worth it. She knew if she did this one thing her family would have a safety net. That’s fucking brave as hell, and it makes me want her even more. I move my finger in and out of her, then add another, wanting to stretch her nice and slow. My mouth is on her neck, licking her skin, and she takes my other hand, pressing it to her tit. I massage her breast as I finger her, her hard nipples getting my cock hard as hell. Pulling my fingers from her, I run my hands over her ass, my mouth on her bare back, then on her neck, nibbling her ear and kissing it not so gently. She’s moaning in pleasure, my cock right up against her ass, ready to edge its way in. “You ready, baby?” I ask. “Please,” she moans. “I need you in me.” I spread her cheeks and press myself, inside of her. She whimpers but tells me to keep going. “I want this. I want to do this. Give it to me Cal, give it to me now,” she begs me. I move deeper inside of her, and it feels so fucking good. Her cunt is tight as hell, but so is this little hole of hers. “This makes me feel beautiful,” she whispers. With one hand on the base of my cock, easing into her, my other hand pulls her closer to me, bringing our bodies together, and as we fuck it feels like we’re becoming one. We’re sure as hell becoming more than a fling. With her, I feel vulnerable. I feel seen and understood, and damn, it’s crazy to feel this way with a girl I’ve only met—but I mean it. With Jules, I feel like I want to be the best goddamn version of myself. And hell, I’m gonna come so fucking fast in her. I can’t help it though, I love the way she feels, and as I rock gently against her, I fill her up with my cock. She tells me she feels so full, so good—and then she’s coming. She touches her pussy as I rock against her ass, and she’s coming against me, hard, harder, harder still. “I’m gonna come, Cal. Oh God, I’m gonna come—” And then her head falls to her extended arms, she goes limp against the chair as she pushes her ass up toward me. With her shoulders slack, she’s relaxed enough now that I can pump into her harder until I come. “Oh baby, fuck me,” I groan as I finish. I’m out of breath, and so is she and when I ease myself out of her, she groans too. “That was so fucking amazing,” she says, and then she’s shaking her head and laughing and pulling her arms around me squeezing tight against my neck. And I lift her up, her legs wrapping around my waist, my hands on her ass, holding her, closer. Close enough that I can breathe her in and hear her laughter in my ear. “Cal, that made me feel so––” She shakes her head again, burying her face in my

shoulders. “Is it always like that? People say butt sex is pretty terrifying but you made it feel so good. So right.” I look at her, and she looks at me, and I nod. “That’s because whatever this is, between us, Jules, it is something good. It’s something very right.”

20

I

wouldn’t say Cal looks at home on the farm… but he doesn’t look entirely out of place.

And when Daddy takes him to the barn and shows him his old motorcycle, that he couldn’t get up and running after he nearly totaled it about a decade ago, I see that Cal will have no problem shooting the shit with my dad for a few days. As soon as those two seem comfortable, I slip away to the house to visit with Grandma. Dad says she’s had a hard few days, her multiple sclerosis can flare up for either hours or months at a time. When she’s feeling well, she can get around on her scooter, go to the Bridge Club, and the library, but on her bad days, she stays put. I’m glad I can keep her company today, knowing how she always gets so lonely when she’s confined to her bedroom. “How you doing in that big city, sweetheart?” she asks, looking at me warmly. I go to hand her a glass of iced tea but it’s obvious that the full glass of ice cubes will be much too heavy for her. Her skin is thin, her hands shake. My Grandma has aged a decade in the month I’ve been gone. I can’t imagine how she’ll be doing in another month. I blink back tears and hold the straw to Gram’s lips. “It’s going okay.” “I see you’ve already brought yourself back a boy.” “Don’t let him hear you say that. He calls himself a man.” I smile, sitting next to Gram’s bed in a familiar armchair. Her hand crocheted doilies are placed on the armrests, the same way as they’ve always been. My heart aches, knowing her fingers hurt too much to crochet or quilt anymore, two of her favorite things in the world. That, and planting a flower garden every year. I hate what her illness has done to her, but even more than that, I hate the fact I’m missing time with her so I can flaunt myself around Hollywood. In this moment, that means nothing. Right now, all I see is the person who I’ve lived with my entire life, dying painfully. “Well, man or not,” she tells me, “I admit to being surprised to see you coming home so soon.” I straighten the sheets around Gram, not meeting her eyes. “Cal needed a bit of breathing room.” Grandma nods at that, understanding. I’d called her and Dad the night on the bridge when we’d found Sawyer’s note. They listened to me cry about the tragedy,

how we couldn’t save him, and they’ve called every day since then to check in on me. “Nowhere better to heal than right here in Resting Hollow.” “And you weren’t just jumping on the opportunity to make sure your old Gram hadn’t kicked the bucket?” My eyes shoot up. “Gram, don’t talk like that. You have a lot of life left in you. Besides, this right here is my favorite place in the entire world.” Gram smiles sadly. “Oh, Jules. You’ve always been so good to me. Wasted your youth making sure I was taken care of. I’m gonna be okay, you know. It’s you I’m worried about.” When I don’t answer she continues. “Your daddy, he’s gonna be okay too. Live your life, sweetie.” “Can’t this be my life? Can’t living here in this house with the people I love be enough?” “And what would that city slicker boy in the barn think about living here in Resting?” I shake my head. “Honestly? I don’t know. But Cal is not a city slicker. He’s nothing like the other guys in LA who have stylists and get blowouts. Cal is the salt of the earth and just happens to come from money.” Grandma tsk-tsks me. “What?” “Honey, your father told me this boy flew you home in a private jet and you’re trying to tell me he’s just a regular sort of man who’d make a life in a town that’s not even big enough for a Wal-Mart?” “Maybe? I don’t know. We aren’t even serious.” I pick at the fabric of Grandma’s quilt. “But I really like him. And that’s a first for me. And truthfully, I could see myself here with him. One of the reasons I like him so much is that he’s so authentic. There’s no pretending to be something he isn’t. Everyone in LA is obsessed with themselves and don’t consider the costs involved—” “Like your roommates?” My eyes narrow. “You heard about them?” “We may live in Resting, but this is not Timbuktu. I watch E! News like everyone else in this county. And everyone knows about your supermodel roommates and the poor boy who took his life.” “I feel so bad that Gretchen and Collette got mixed up in that a scandal. But what happened to Sawyer is just…” I shake my head. “I know, dear.” Grandma takes my hand. “Death is never easy. That’s why we have to make the most of the time we have on God’s green earth, understand?” “I’m not sure I do.” I hang my head, wondering how anyone is supposed to pick up the pieces after losing someone they love. It’s taken years for me to heal after losing Mom, and still, one whiff off honeysuckle and I’m near tears all over again. I want to help Cal through his hard time, but I’m not sure I know how.

“When did my Jules, with the megawatt smile, become so damn gloomy?” “Cal’s best friend died. I don’t know how to cheer him up—or if even trying is a bad idea.” “It’s never a bad idea to try to cheer someone up.” Grandma narrows her eyes. “You have been cheering him up, haven’t you? Because that might be the best you can do for a while. Talking things out is hard for men, but being physical? They can always manage that.” “Grandma!” I cover my mouth in shock, laughing. “Are you telling me to sleep with him?” “Well, aren’t you? I got a good look at him when he came in my room earlier to introduce himself. I think you’d be a fool not to try to make him as happy as possible.” I bite my bottom lip. “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. Mom would die if she heard you right now.” My word choice hangs in the air. Grandma pats my hand. “Jules, your mama was many things, but she was not a prude. And neither am I. Life is a hard apple no matter how you cut it, might as well add those diced apples to a butter crust and make yourself a pie.” She rests a palm to my cheek. “And sweetie, have a slice for both of us, why doncha?”

21

I

’m in the kitchen having a beer with Jules’ father, Johnny, when she walks into the room looking like sunshine. It’s early June and the sun shines through the window, casting a warm glow over her, and I can see on her face that this place is home. We got here very late last night and went straight to bed—separate beds—and this morning we woke up late, had a simple breakfast, and spent the afternoon doing nothing but shooting the shit. It’s strange, being here in this kitchen, with wide-planked floorboards and an apron sink, a refrigerator that I’m guessing has been running since the day Jules was born. It feels so far from the only place I’ve ever called home. My homes growing up were big, glossy, and waterfront. This place? It has a rustic charm, sure, but it also needs a fuck ton of work. Underneath the turn of the century woodwork, there are leaky faucets, a rotting porch, and a whole lot of farmland that hasn’t been tended to. I tried to ask Johnny about it as he showed me around, but he just shook me off. But even a guy like me can see that his life as a corn farmer has seen better days. A guy like me can also see this place is a fucking paradise. Poplar trees line the property, cornfields as far as the eye can see. And not just Jules’ family’s farm— her neighbors have sprawling acres of their own. It’s exactly the kind of place I needed to run away to for a few days. “So, did my dad show you all his toys?” she asks, reaching for my bottle and taking a swig. I grin. “Sure did. You didn’t tell me he had a bike.” Jules cocks an eyebrow at her father. “I’ve haven’t seen you on that thing in a decade.” Her dad just shrugs. “Haven’t had the time. But damn, Cal here was thinking the list of parts I need might not be too long.” She gives him a half smile. “I know, bike parts were never big on your list of priorities. Making sure the house was warm and the pantry was stocked has always taken precedence over your own things.” She and her father exchange a look—a look that says Jules understands what sacrifice

means. “I’m hoping this job will change all that, Daddy,” she says. “But gosh, that first paycheck was sorry, and the second one I got isn’t looking much better. Danny said I would need to pay my dues like everyone else, and the fact I was getting gigs at all was something to smile about—most women work years in the industry before their first big break.” “Really?” I ask, surprised at this. I really thought she’d me making a killing with each photo shoot. “Dumb right?” Johnny cuts in. “Being out West is not all about the money, Jules. It’s also about the experience.” Ignoring his comment, she changes the subject. “I spent some time with Grandma,” she tells her dad. “You didn’t tell me how bad things had gotten.” “What am I supposed to say, sweetie?” Johnny runs his hand over his jaw, shaking his head. “We just want you to be happy, not feel obligated to us, or this town.” “I love Resting Hollow,” Jules bites back. “Grandma was just saying the same thing to me, but don’t keep pushing me away. This is my home, you are my family. There is nowhere on else on earth I’d rather be.” Her words are fucking pure and cut to the goddamn heart, but I can’t imagine being in her father’s shoes. Needing her help to get out of a bind, and yet wanting his daughter to spread her wings. Her dad though doesn’t say anything. Instead, he opens the fridge and grabs himself another Budweiser. When he turns back around to his little girl, he looks her square in the eye. “Your mama would have been so proud of you, Jules. Just like I am, and just like Grams is. But sweetie, what are you planning on doing in Resting all your life? Watch your old man drive a tractor? Live in a rundown house with me? Why don’t you want more than that, Jules? Right now, the entire world is at your disposal.” Jules gets quiet, she isn’t fiery, the kind of woman to throw punches or cruel words when she’s upset. She merely crosses her arms and shakes her head. Tears prick the corners of her eyes, and she tries to blink them away, unsuccessfully. “Baby, I don’t want to make you cry. You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me, but you’re only twenty-three. I don’t want you to wake up in ten years and regret giving your life to a place you don’t belong.” The air in the kitchen is still, and I feel like I walked into something I barely understand. But I want to. And it’s good to think about something—someone—besides Sawyer. Looking at Jules and Johnny, I want to know everything about them, their family, the generations before them. I don’t know if I could run a farm, but after the mess at the club, losing Sawyer, I can see how a simple life, with the one you love, could be more beautiful than the glamor

of a city that eats you up and spits you out. I always told myself my parents would be proud of the club I have — the fact I am giving people such as they were — a taste of freedom. Thinking that if my parents had had a place like the A-List, maybe they wouldn’t have died the way they did. But standing here watching as Johnny walks over to his daughter and pulls her into a hug, I know that when my parents stated in their will that they wanted me to have a life that was nothing like theirs—they wouldn’t have imagined me running a Fuck Club. Dammit. I want to be a better fucking man, the kind of man Jules deserves. I just need to tell her the truth about who I am and give up everything I have built. It shouldn’t be too hard. After all, the walls I built in LA already seem to be crumbling. “You want to show me the property, Jules?” I ask thinking she and I could both use some fresh air. She nods. “I’d love to.” Her eyes twinkle and she grabs shears from a kitchen drawer. “We can cut flowers for Grandma.”

Watching Jules reach up and cut the sunflower stems, I can’t help enjoy the view. Her shirt rises and the sliver of skin that is revealed reminds me of our plane ride. It killed me that when we got here late last night and slept in separate rooms. But I understand where she’s coming from. The house is old and the walls are thin and the last thing I want to do is fuck her until she screams and causes her dad to wake up to his daughter orgasming in her childhood bed. Not exactly bringing class to Resting Hollow. “Do you have a favorite flower?” I ask, taking the cut flower and adding it to our bucket of stems. She reaches for another one to cut as she answers. “Well, I love these sunflowers. I plant them every year. But I love wildflowers too.” She points to the side of the house where flowers in all colors and sizes grow. “I just throw packets of seeds out the window and watch to see how they come up.” “I’m surprised.” My eyebrows raise, impressed. “Why?” “You’re just not exactly the wild and free type.” She scowls. “And what type am I then?” “Hmm,” I laugh, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks. “I feel like there’s no right way to answer this question.” “Haha.” She socks me in the arm. “I’m plenty wild and free, just so you know. See that tire swing?” She points to a tree in the distance with a rope and tire hanging from it. “It’s my favorite place on this property. And you can’t love a swing if you don’t like the feeling of being free. The wind in your hair, the sun on your cheeks. That’s wild, isn’t it?” I smirk. “Uh, not really. And besides, I have decided to rescind all previous comments

of your lack of wildness.” “What changed your mind?” She crosses her arms, assessing me playfully. I reach for her and draw her to me. My arms wrap around her waist, cup her ass. Damn, she feels so good in my hands. “I remembered how wild you’ve been with me. At the club. On the plane. And just because you were a twenty-three-year-old virgin doesn’t mean you weren’t free.” I grin. “Repressed, maybe. But wild at heart.” I kiss her then, our tongues finding one another, and the moment feels so good, so safe and pure. Being here on this farm reminds me of what really matters. Jules leads me to the old tire swing and after dropping the shears in the bucket of flowers, she slips inside it. “Push me.” As I push the tire, I tell her how I’ve never left LA beyond short vacations. How it’s always been my home. “Do you ever think of moving somewhere else?” she asks. “Not really. I know my way around there. I couldn’t really imagine starting all over somewhere new.” “Maybe we’re both homebodies,” she sighs. “Neither wanting to leave the nest.” “I wouldn’t even know where to go.” “Well,” she asks, pumping her legs. “Where would you go if you could go anywhere on vacation?” “China. Maybe Japan. I want to go somewhere that is totally outside my comfort zone. Where I have to learn the language and culture.” I shrug, having never told anyone this. “I’ve traveled a lot but it was always about partying, never about opening my eyes, you know?” Jules turns and looks up at me, nodding. “I haven’t partied like you, but I know what you mean. I want to see Mayan Ruins in Central America. Or go to Tuscany.” She laughs. “It’s crazy because I don’t even know anything about wine. But I want to go on a wine tour. Just learn something.” “I get it. I never went to college; classrooms were never really my thing—but the idea of learning, really soaking up information?” I shrug again. “It appeals to me.” Jules sighs, setting her feet on the ground. “Me too. But in an alternate-life-sort-ofway. Because the truth is, for me, they’re silly daydreams. I’ll never go to those places. I’ll be here.” I smile at her, not because I agree — I think there’s plenty of time yet to see the world —but I don’t want to push those thoughts on Jules right now—not after her fight with her dad. Maybe she just needs time to figure out her place in this world. God knows I need to figure out mine.

A while later, Jules grabs my hand, tells her grandma and dad goodbye, and tells me we’re going out to the bar tonight. “You’ve got a bar here?” I ask as she opens the driver’s side of a pick-up truck and climbs in. Seeing her behind the wheel makes me smile, I swear she’s the only supermodel on the planet who looks so good behind a rusted out Chevy. “Oh, we’ve got all kinds of things, here, Cal. Main Street where they have the Fourth of July parade, there’s an old bowling alley. The price cut Movie Theater.” She looks over at me and grins. “Impressive, right?” I shake my head. “You’re all kinds of impressive, Jules.” She rolls her eyes and steps on the gas, cruising down the empty farm roads, with the windows down, the setting sun behind us. “You’re pretty impressive yourself. I mean, the private jet thing really won you some points.” “You keeping score?” She snorts. “God, I hope we aren’t. You saw the farm, how it’s falling apart? I don’t want you to compare that to your fancy loft. And that’s not even accounting for my meltdown in the kitchen this afternoon.” “That was not a meltdown.” I laugh, thinking about the women I’ve known over the years and the kind of meltdowns they could come up with. “I think what I witnessed was more of a heart to heart.” Jules twists her lips, looking over at me briefly. “I don’t know. My dad is hell-bent on me not saving the farm and living here. It hurts, to be honest. Like, why doesn’t he understand this is where I’m most happy?” “Maybe he just gets scared, you know, of fucking things up? I bet he already feels bad that you’re sending him paychecks.” “But that’s what family does. Stick by one another, through thick and thin.” “I agree, but…” “But what?” Jules asks, as we careen into a gravel parking lot and she puts the truck in park. The bar is called Dusty’s and there are dozens of cars here. I reach over, pulling Jules’ face to mine. “But men like to take care of their own, and it’s got to be killing him that he can’t take care of you.” She exhales, leaning into my palm that cups her cheek. “You’re probably right.” I shake my head. “I know I’m right. And I’m glad you brought me here because I gotta tell you, Jules. I’m falling for you—hard. Like, really fucking hard.” She licks her lips, her eyes on mine. “I’m falling for you too, Cal.” “Can we make it official then? I mean, I know it hasn’t been long, but Jules, I don’t want you to see other men. And I don’t want to see any other women. I want you. Just you.” “The night we met you asked me if I believed in fate. Destiny. Do you remember that?

Out in the alley?” I nod. “I remember.” “I think you were right, Cal. Us meeting like we did… what are the odds?” I know I need to tell her more about myself, that I’m not only a bartender, but I want her to know my intentions first. “Your dad doesn’t need to be the only man looking out for you, Jules. I want to look out for you too.” She leans over, kisses me, long and hard and true. A kiss that means more than pleasure. A kiss that is a promise. A promise to me. When she pulls away, she smiles softly and says, “You may be this rich boy from the city, but I think all that time behind the bar has kept you from becoming an ass.” I laugh, stealing a kiss from her. “Oh, I’m still an ass.” “No.” She looks straight at me. “You’re not an ass, Cal. You’re the most genuine man I’ve ever met.”

In the bar the music is loud, people are grinding against one another, women with pool cues lean over tables in booty shorts, and men buy rounds of shots for the girls they see. We may not be at the A-List Fuck Club, but it’s obvious there’s a whole lot of fucking that’s going to take place tonight. “Let’s get a drink,” Jules says, fanning herself with her hand. It’s hot as hell in here. This place has the quintessential small town bar vibe. Peanut shells on the floor, darts in the corner, men in Wranglers and cowboy boots. She grabs my hand and drags me to the bar, people stopping her along the way, saying hello and asking why she’s back in town. “Oh, I just had a few days off is all,” she says, brushing past them, not giving them a second glance. “Came home to see my grandma.” I watch the men she’s talking to check her out, head to goddamn toe, and I don’t blame them, but I also don’t like it. Jules is my woman now, and so I sidle up beside her at the bar, snaking an arm around her waist, and kissing her neck. She laughs, shaking her head at me. “You think people talk in LA? They talk a lot in a small town. Next thing you know everyone is gonna be asking about the man I brought home.” “And what will you tell them?” “I’ll tell them that that man is my boyfriend.” She bites her bottom lip. “Does that sound cheesy?” “It sounds like the truth,” I say, asking the woman behind the counter for two Buds. Sawyer would crack up if he saw me drinking this shitty beer, but it’s all they have on tap at this place. “Also, I made it clear I like things cheesy.” “True,” Jules says. “You did.”

The bartender hands us our beers and as I pay for them Jules starts up a conversation with her. “I’ve never seen you before,” she says. “And I know everyone in this town.” “I just got hired last week. My name’s Sadie.” “Good to meet you. I’m Jules. I grew up here but have been out of town for the last month.” “Ah, okay, so you’re the Jules everyone keeps talking about?” “Talking about me?” Jules shakes her head. “I don’t know about that.” “Oh, yeah,” Sadie says, smiling and raising an eyebrow. “You’re the gorgeous supermodel who’s gonna be in the Sports Illustrated magazine? I promise everyone is talking about you.” Jules’ face flushes red, and I know she truly doesn’t love being the center of anything. “Well, you are pretty gorgeous yourself, Sadie,” Jules says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. I take Sadie in, she wears a little tank top, her bra strap peeking through. She has the same sun-kissed look about her Jules does, but her eyes look a little more jaded, bitter. “Thank you, darling,” Sadie says, smirking. She leans in, over the counter talking quieter. “But tell me, how did you keep the guys off you in this town?” Her eyes flick to mine. “No offense.” “None was taken.” Sadie continues. “I swear, this place is full of horn dogs who need to be neutered.” Jules and I both laugh, but Jules answers. “Honestly, I never had that problem. I think I kept my head low and myself in the friend-zone.” Sadie grins. “Girl, that’s impressive. There are more people hooking up here than any bar I’ve ever worked.” Jules looks at me, thinking what I’m thinking. “I think it’s because you’re the cute girl behind the counter.” Teasing me, she adds, “Do you have the same problem at your bar, Cal?” “You’re a bartender too?” Sadie asks. “Yeah, the vibe is different where I work, but some things are universal.” “Hooking up late at night with a stranger?” Sadie asks with a smile. “Exactly,” Cal says, lifting his beer, and clinking his glass to mine. “To late night hook-ups.” “And strangers,” Jules says. “Never forget the strangers.” We walk away from the bar, drinking and laughing. And the rest of the night goes just like that. Jules showing me her moves on the dance floor, me betting on pool and placing late night orders of tater tots and chicken wings. I hardly recognize myself. Here, I’m just one of the guys having a good time.

The only difference is, I won’t be going home with a stranger tonight. No, I’ll be going home with the woman who has stolen my heart. I’m not looking to get it back anytime soon.

22

T

he next morning I expect to have another long, lazy day, but Cal comes into the kitchen while I’m scrambling eggs and tells us that he has to go back to

the city.

“Why?” I ask, handing him a cup of coffee. “My boss needs me.” I scowl. “Jordan? He’s the one who told you to take time off.” Cal runs his hand through his hair. “I know. It sucks, but what can I do?” I purse my lips together. “You could tell him no? I mean, why does he need you? I didn’t think the club was even open right now?” “It’s not.” Cal swallows and I can tell he’s holding something back. My dad must see what I see because he excuses himself from the room, saying he’s gonna go check on Grandma. “I feel like you aren’t saying something. One of the reasons I like you so much is because you’re so honest. I just don’t get why Jordan needs you.” “It’s business Jules, and I’m sorry, but the jet will be ready in an hour.” I turn my back on him and go back to scrambling the eggs. “Alright,” I tell him. “I’ll be ready to go by then.”

Leaving Grandma is hard, but she kisses my cheek and tells me she loves me, and I make my dad swear he’ll use some of my money to buy an iPhone so I can FaceTime with them. “They are so damn expensive,” he moans, but when I tell him it isn’t a request, it’s essential, he caves and promises he’d go to town and get one. “Not this town though, Daddy, you’re gonna have to drive to a shopping mall. Okay?” On the plane ride home Cal is quiet, and I am too. Both of us fall asleep, and while our hands are laced together, I feel like something is going on I don’t understand. When the car pulls up to my apartment to drop me off, I have to ask, “Is it about the person taking the photos?” Cal just sighs. “Sort of. Jordan needs my help with it, and it’s my job to help him.”

“And you’re sure that’s it?” “Jules, trust me, okay?” He kisses me softly on the lips. Then the forehead. Then my cheeks. I can’t help but smile when he does that. “Okay, Cal. I trust you.” “Good. I’ll call you, okay?”

Three days pass, I get vague texts from Cal, and not much else. I ask if he can hang out, but he says he’s busy with work. What I want to know is what kind of bartender has work to do when the club is closed? “Maybe you’re being too needy?” Collette says through gritted teeth so we don’t mess up our make-up. We’re on set at a photo shoot and Gretchen, Collette and I have all been painted head to toe to look like snakes. Not exactly sure how this is sexy, but Danny promises it was the right job to take. “Maybe you’re right,” I say, my words half mangled as I seethe through my teeth. “I mean, I’ve never been a girlfriend before.” “Over here, ladies,” the photographer says, snapping his fingers like we’re dogs. Which we’re not. Right now we are very clearly snakes. We move the way he asks, allowing aides to reposition our arms and legs, and my breasts are so close to Gretchen’s face I’m semi-mortified. It’s a paycheck. It’s a paycheck. This is not crossing my non-existent line in the sand. “Has Danny been driving either of you crazy?” Gretchen asks. “He keeps asking me to dinners and I go, but none of it seems necessary.” “Kind of,” Collette and I both answer. When the photographer takes five, and we have a moment of privacy, I tell them how my paychecks have been disappointing. “Same here,” Collette says. “I’ve never made good money so at first, I was just happy to have a paycheck, and, not to sound greedy, but… we’re working our asses off.” Gretchen agrees but none of us are savvy enough to know if this is just the way the business works. “I’ll ask Cal what he knows about Danny next time I see him,” I tell my roommates. Eventually, we’ve been photographed for two hours and we’re allowed to call it a day. As we head to the dressing room to shower and change, Gretchen brings up Cal again, and the way he went all MIA on me. “Look,” she jokes. “If he’s playing hard to get you should become the aggressor. Like a snake in the jungle.” I roll my eyes. “Right, because men love venomous women.” “It’s better than not being seen at all,” Collette says. “Maybe he just got super busy. When’s the last time you guys had sex?” I tell them about the plane ride… well, parts of it.

“But then you stayed in Resting a few days,” Gretchen says. “So did you hook up in your old bedroom, because guys like that. It’s kinky but in an innocent way, you know?” “Actually, I don’t know,” I say as a make-up artist begins wiping the face paint off me. “And we didn’t. We slept in different rooms, and then we went to a bar and stayed out super late. We came home and crashed and the next day we left.” Gretchen and Colette share a look. “What?” I ask. “You should go take care of your man.” “It’s been like less than a week. And he hasn’t exactly been knocking down my door.” “And he’s also going through a really shitty time. Right? Isn’t that why you left to go to Indiana with him in the first place? Because he’d locked himself up in his loft alone for weeks? Maybe he’s doing that again.” I close my eyes, feeling shitty. “I bet you’re right. I bet he’s still struggling. I’ve been so self-involved since we got back I didn’t even consider that.” Collette smiles. “Then you know what you need to do.” I nod, knowing she’s exactly right. I’m going to find my boyfriend and make him feel all better.

I can’t believe I’m doing this. Stilettos. Trench coat. Nothing else. Like. Nothing at all. If this doesn’t make him happy, nothing will. In my room I text him. “Are you still at work?” He replies, “Yeah, I’ll be here a few more hours.” I purse my lips together, my thumbs hovering over the keypad, debating if I should say more. I decide against it. I’ll say plenty with my body the moment I arrive. I order an Uber, slide in, and give the driver directions a block from the Fuck Club. Once there, I drop my chin to my chest and walk as quickly as possible without drawing attention to myself. Remembering the side alley entrance, I watch it for a few minutes to see if anyone is coming or going. A food service truck is in front of it, and a few men unload crates of liquor, load them on a dolly, and open the side door.

I follow them, flashing a smile, and I’m sure a little more thigh than I planned, but they don’t say anything and I watch them head to a storage room. In the club, the lights are mostly off, it’s actually kind of creepy being here alone. I don’t want to be alone. I want to find Cal. Walking the opposite direction of the way I came, I look for some sort of office space or water cooler, somewhere that people who work here would hang out. But why is Cal even here? This club is closed and no one’s around besides the delivery guys. I walk past a row of tables, a bank of couches, and eventually hear some voices around a corner. Turning left, I notice Cal talking with some guys I think may have been the bouncers who helped break up the fight the first night I came to the club. Not wanting to eavesdrop, I make myself known. “Cal?” I say, still standing back in the shadows. “Cal, it’s me.” He turns and a frown covers any potential feelings of I’m happy to see you. “You shouldn’t be here,” he says gruffly, walking toward me and reaching for my elbow. He pulls me down the hall, and I try to shake free of his hold. “What’s wrong with you?” I ask. “Why are you being like this?” “Being like what?” “So… so… rude.” Cal stops in his tracks, spins to face me. “This is not me being rude. This is me being —” He shakes his head. “Fuck, Jules. We need to talk. Now.” I pull the collar of the trench coat tighter on my neck, and nod, seeing that things have changed between us, but not understanding why.

23

T

he woman standing before me is one thousand kinds of wonderful. She’s beautiful, generous, and trusts me more than she ought. It makes me feel awful about the way I’ve held back the truth from her, but it was for her own good. It is for her own good. But seeing her here in the dark hallway, her brown eyes so sad, seeking mine for understanding, I know the secrets can’t go on. They were only in place to help her anyway, but right now they’re not helping her at all. They are pushing us apart, and that’s the last damn thing I want. “Why did you come here?” I ask as I guide her by her elbow down the hallway. She shakes her head, hard. “Did something happen?” She shakes her head, harder, and I remember the way she acted back in the kitchen at the farmhouse, how even though she was angry at her father, she wasn’t a fighter, not like that. She wasn’t the kind of woman who would throw words in my face, even if the words were ones I deserved. So she shakes her head again, not wanting to tell me what’s really wrong, not wanting to tell me why she really came. “Is someone hurting you? Because I swear to God if the press is after you—” She pulls her arm for me. Pushes me against the wall, a fire in her eyes I’ve never seen before. “No press is after me. There’s no sex scandal I just discovered. The problem is you, Cal. You.” I nod as her finger presses against my chest, not wanting to piss her off anymore. I know she’s angry. God knows she deserves to be. The last three days I’ve been working so hard with Jordan and the bouncers and then coming up with a plan with my attorney so that everything could be out in the open after we bust the mob for leaking those images. The whole thing is hella complicated. There are lots of moving pieces. Once we figured out what we wanted to do to lure them here on the next night we’re open, I had met with my attorney for a fuck ton of billable hours, figuring out how to get out of the Fuck Club altogether. “Look, there’s a lot I want to tell you,” I say, taking her by the hips and drawing her to me. “There’s a lot I want you to understand. But before I say anything I want you to know

I haven’t been distant because I didn’t want you. It wasn’t because I didn’t want to be with you or see you spend time with you the last three days. I’ve just had a lot of shit—” She cuts me off. Her eyes no longer angry, suddenly that sadness from before has returned. “I know,” she says softly. “I know you’ve been having such a hard time. With Sawyer and—” Now it’s my turn to cut her off. “It wasn’t about that.” I shake my head. But she’s already unbuckled her coat and held it open. “You asked why I came?” Jules asks. “I came to give you this. Now please, Callahan. Please take it. Afterward, we can sort the rest of this mess out.” Holy fucking hell, standing before me is my Jules wearing nothing at all. I take in her long legs and narrow waist, her bare breasts. Holy fuck my cock is hard as steel just looking at her. Still, I don’t want her to think sex can fix everything. Though right about now, I have a feeling it might fix an awful lot. “You don’t have to do this,” I tell her. She looks at me. “I know I don’t need to do this. I want to do this. For you. With you. The person who is supposed to be my boyfriend. Is that still who you are Callahan? Or is there someone else that I don’t know about?” “Baby,” I whisper, pulling her to my chest. “Baby, there’s no one else. Just you.” My words seem to soothe her because she sinks against my chest, my arms holding her tight. Then she steps back and I tie up her coat, taking her hand. I lead her down the hall, going the opposite direction of where we came. “Where are we going?” she asks. “You came to the Fuck Club wearing nothing but your birthday suit and you wonder where I’m gonna take you?” She smiles and her smile manages to light up the dark and dank club. I don’t know how I got so goddamned lucky, but I did. And after I fuck this woman silly, I will tell her the truth. About me; my past. And what I want my future to become. Hers.

Once in the fuck room, I turn on the lights. Hundreds of electric candles turn on, casting a sensual glow to the room. Jules looks around, then pointing, asks, “Is that a…” “A throne?” I grin. “Yes, my lady, this is our Royal Room. I thought you’d like it. It’s

fit for a queen.” Jules laughs. “You and your cheesy lines.” “I mean it.” She shakes her head, hands on her hips. “No way. I’m not sitting in that throne today. You are. I came here to make my man feel better and I intend on doing that.” Jules pushes me until the back of my knees hit the throne. Red velvet curtains hang around the room and a thick, plush carpet covers the floor. The chandelier above us is encrusted with jewels, and she finds the scepter leaning against the throne. Picking it up, she twirls it like a baton. “I think this is yours, Your Majesty,” she tells me. She offers me the scepter and I take it. With it in hand, I press it toward her, lifting her chin with the golden tip. “Would you like your king to tell his loyal subject how to behave?” I ask, playing along. The last thing I want to do right now is to tell Jules that I don’t want to play these games, that I don’t need to sleep with her in order to make our relationship work. Not all the time at least, God knows I want her now. I want her so fucking badly. But I also want her to know that this relationship is about so much more than sex to me. I can’t even believe I’m thinking these words, but I mean it. I mean it with all that I am. “Yes, Your Majesty,” Jules says coyly. “I want you to tell me how you’d like me to honor my king.” She reaches for the belt on her jacket, loosening it, and then lets the coat fall to the floor. Then she stands before me in nothing at all, her long hair loose around her shoulders, covering her tits. She pulls her hair back, pushing back her shoulders, offering me all that she is. And when she licks her red lips, my cock is ready for everything that is going to come next. “Take off my pants,” I tell her. She nods, dropping down to her knees, and she reaches up and unhooks my belt, sliding it through the loops and then dropping to the floor. She unbuttons my jeans, tugging them past my hips, easing them off and she does the same thing with my boxers. I look down at her, her angelic, heart-shaped face so pure as she looks up at me with her big brown eyes. “And what would you like me to do now, my king?” She wears a smile, a wicked little smile, knowing exactly what comes next. “I am your loyal servant.” “Now I’m going to sit down on my throne and you’re going to take care of the crown jewels.” She presses her hand to her mouth poorly concealing a laugh. “You’re so damn cheesy, Cal,” she says shaking her head. I love this about her, I love it. I love her.

I love that we can be role-playing in such a kinky, sexual way, without either of us being degraded or anxious or any of it feeling forced. Everything about this moment just feels good. Right. I sit down, thinking how I’m going to tell her the truth about who I am when this is over. I’ll tell her that I’m the owner of this club as soon as we play this game. Damn, I can’t wait to come clean, my shoulders are going to feel so light. I’m thinking about this—but only for a moment, because Jules opens her mouth and puts my long, hard cock in her mouth. Groaning, my head falls back, the stress of the last few weeks falling away as she takes me, her hands rubbing over my thighs, reaching for my hands and setting them on her big, bouncy tits. Fuck me, I really do feel like a king. I sit on the throne, my knees spread apart with my baby between them. She runs a hand over my balls, cupping them and squeezing them gently as her mouth wraps around my length, suctioning it off, making me harder than hell. Her fingers stroke my shaft, as she bobs her head up and down like a good member of the royal court. She moves faster and faster, my cock deep in her mouth, and there’s something about watching your woman go down on you, head moving, tits bouncing, her body vulnerable before you—that makes you feel like a goddamn ruler. And right now that’s exactly how I feel. I press my hand on the back of Jules’ head, wanting her to take more of me, all of me. Take me until she gags because that’s exactly what she wants to have happen. She wants to feel everything in the deepest and highest way possible. She wants to feel it all and I let her. I will guide my baby, and I will take her to places she has never dreamt of going. She keeps sucking me, sucking me until I’m about to explode. She moans as she tastes me and licks me, pulling me from her mouth, and twirling her tongue over my tip, rubbing her tits against my shaft as I get ready to explode. She dips her head back down and sucks me again, harder and harder. Her tongue runs over my velvety ridges and I know it’s about to happen. “I’m so fucking close,” I tell her. “Come all over me,” she begs, pulling me from her mouth. “Come all over me, my king. Please. I want you to come on my face, I want you to blow all over me. Give it to me, Cal,” she moans. “Give it to me now.” She starts stroking me again, then she takes her hand and licks her palm, lubricating my shaft as she strokes me again. Jerking me off like a fucking royal courtesan. I come on her, just like she asks. Ribbons of my come shoot across her tits, and she moves her face closer to my cock so my come can fall on her lips, on her cheeks, on her neck. She licks her lips, tasting me. The smile on her face tells me everything I need to know. She loves this. She fucking loves me. I’m still so hard for her. I pump my shaft a few times, watching her pleasure at being covered in my release. Then I pull her onto the throne, in my lap so that she straddles me.

“I want to come in your pussy, baby,” I tell her. “I want to come in you so hard. I want to fill you with my royal heir.” She pulls back then as my cock sinks deep inside of her. “To clarify, do you want to put a baby in me or is this just a role-playing line?” “Fuck, I don’t know. I want everything with you, Jules. I fucking love you,” I tell her as she starts grinding against me. Her hands reach to the back of the throne holding on tightly, her tits right up in my face where they belong, bouncing up and down against me. I grab her ass, squeezing tight, but not as tight as her perfect cunt riding me. “Fuck, Cal,” she moans. “I love you, too.” Her words are everything I never knew I needed to hear. When she says them, it’s like she’s given me all the power in the world. I fuck my girl as she sits on top of me, on the throne of my own making. Our words a confession that surges between us, our bodies melting into a pool of water, a fucking oasis of our devotion. Then the door swings open and Jordan is in the throne room. Jules’ eyes go wide as her bare ass gets slapped by my palm, her big tits right in my face, her pussy full of my cock. Our words of love still hanging in the air. “Boss, we have a big fucking problem,” Jordan says. He’s holding out his tablet, not even commenting on the fact that Jules is here, naked, on top of me. “Look,” he says. “More photos were leaked.” “Goddammit, can you give us a minute,” I yell, reaching for Jules’ coat so she is covered. She reaches for it, pressing it against her chest. I grab my pants to cover myself, not exactly happy about Jordan seeing my woman and me fucking. “There’s no time, Boss. The plan is ruined. I don’t think it’s the mob who’s fucking with us,” Jordan says not seeming to care what I’ve told him. “Why the hell not?” “Because these photos are of the mob, with Danny’s new girls.” It’s only then that Jordan realizes that Jules is here. And I realize that she is staring at me in confusion. “Why did Jordan call you boss?” she asks. Jordan looks at me, raises his hands in apology. “Sorry, man,” he starts. “I was just so fucking shocked—” I cut them both off. “Give us a sec,” I tell him. Jordan steps away, nodding, realizing his mistake. I want him to understand it’s okay, that I was about to tell Jules the whole truth and nothing but the truth in a few minutes. But before I can even speak, Jules has gotten off me, and pulled on her coat, cinching it tight.

“You’re his boss? What does that even mean, Cal?” “I wanted to tell you. I was going to tell you but I—” “But you what, Cal? Thought that lying to me was a better plan for you than being honest with me?” Jules’ voice still doesn’t rise to a yell but in this moment I want it to. I want her to scream at me, shout at me, tell me I’m a fucking asshole. But she doesn’t. She just looks at me with those big brown eyes as if she has no idea who I am. As if she’s seeing me for the first time in her life. “I wanted to tell you who I really am.” “If you’re the boss of Jordan, and Jordan’s the manager of the club, what does that make you, Callahan? Who are you?” Her eyes fill with tears and the words she said to me, the night we met, ring in my ears. She liked me because I wasn’t like the liars and the cheats in this town. The men making money off the pretty women and lonely men. She thought I was more. Bigger. Better. She thought I was a salt of the earth guy who happened to come from money. She believed I wasn’t like everyone else. But she was wrong and I let her believe I was someone I’m not. Maybe, someone, I’ll never be. But I love her. And she loves me. We just fucking admitted it. But right now she just stares at me, broken over the lies I didn’t have to tell, by secrets I chose to keep. “Tell me, Cal.” She swallows, as if not really wanting to know because once I answer it will change everything between us forever. She’ll never see me the same way again. “Who are you?” Jules asks one more time. Sitting on a throne like a king who knows he just lost everything valuable in the world, I answer, “I’m the owner of the A-List Fuck Club.” GET READY … THE FINAL PART RELEASES 5/25!!!

24

I

stare at him, his words hitting me in the gut, shattering my belief in what we have.

Cal played me. Hard. And why? He didn’t need to lie to me. I never once lied to him. I not only gave him my virginity, but I also gave him my heart. Jordan has slipped out of the throne room, and all that is left is Cal and me. His eyes search mine, and I tell myself to be strong, to be brave, to not let one man define me. I should get up, leave. Storm away while shouting fiery words at the only man I have ever fallen for. But it isn’t that easy. I don’t want to run away from him. I want to understand him. Understand why he’d do this to me. “I trusted you. But what kind of love is built on half-truths and lies?” I ask. I wipe my eyes, my body covered in this stupid trench coat but my heart splayed out for him to see. “I know. It was dumb but—” “I don’t want your buts, Cal.” My words are shaky, and I try to steady myself. But I don’t want to steady myself. I want Cal to be that person for me. I want him to fill in the gaps in my life. Be strong where I am weak and be hard where I am soft. I want to be in this—all of this: the leaked photos and the double-crossers at the club, and the death of Sawyer and the losing my family farm—all the parts that are messy, I want to figure them out with him by my side. But how can I do that when nothing between us is as real as I thought? Cinching the belt on the trench coat tighter, I try to steady my hands, slow my beating heart. “I want the truth, Cal. No excuses. Respect me enough to give me a straight answer.” Cal runs his hands over his face, still sitting on the throne, but he no longer looks like a man ready to rule—right now he looks as if he is witnessing the crumbling of an empire. He looks lost and he looks broken and I can’t bear to watch him fall apart before me. He sits back in the throne, and rests his elbows on his knees, raising his chin, he looks up at me. “You must think I’m a fucking monster. Representing everything in this world you hate. And I’m sorry, Jules. I really fucking am. My life was ruined by this town, so I

wasn’t lying when I said I fucking hate the games just like you. I hate them more than anyone—and after Sawyer’s death… I’ve never felt that as strongly as I do now. My anonymity became one of the only things I could control in a city hell-bent on taking everything I held dear. This town took my parents, I couldn’t let it take me too.” I’m standing with my hands on my hips, listening to his confession, watching as he pleads with me. And in this moment I don’t know what kind of woman I want to be. His words sound sincere and I know there’s more to his story. But do I even want to hear it? There could be more lies or smokescreens. More magic and mirrors. Just like this club, a promised oasis from the storm outside, but from the moment my friends and I walked through the doors all we found was trouble. Gretchen and Collette’s trouble was getting in the tabloids… my trouble was found with the man before me now. But right now this story isn’t about Gretchen and Collette, about this town or about Callahan’s parents. It’s about Cal and Jules. And I have a feeling that my response in this moment is going to decide how this chapter ends. “Say something, Jules. I never meant to hurt you.” He stands, reaching for my hands, trying to find a way into my heart. I lower my eyes, not sure if I can give him what he wants. “I swear to God, you’re the only thing I want.” What sort of heroine do I want to be in the story of my life? The one who fights or the one who forgives? The one who bends over and takes it, or the one who listens? The one who hears? The one who stays? It’s not even a question. “Say something, tell me you hate me, even,” he whispers, cupping my face with his palm. I lean into his hold, a tear falling down my cheek. “I would deserve that, Jules. You telling me it’s over. But… don’t say it.” “I trusted you, Cal.” My words are soft, and so is my heart. I could leave… but I could also stay. I want to stay. I want to believe that the love Cal and I have is real. The kind that lasts. The kind that will grow, refuse to fade. “Don’t make a fool of me.” He presses his forehead against mine. “Never.” “But you did,” I breathe. “You did once. Don’t do it again.” “I swear to you. Never again.” “Did you not think you could trust me?” I ask, revealing the part that hurt the most. He

didn’t trust me enough with his secret. “I was scared. I don’t want to get hurt, or to hurt the people I love.” “You can’t keep me safe if I’m in the dark. Just like plants need light in order to grow, so does love.” “I’m sorry, Jules.” I kiss him then, and not just because I want to. Because I need to. Because choosing him right now is scarier than anything I’ve ever done in my life. Scarier than leaving my life in Resting. Because at least that choice came with a paycheck —this choice doesn’t come with any guarantees. It only comes with faith. Faith in the words Cal says and faith in the way I feel now. Faith is a free fall, but I choose to believe Cal will catch me. Our mouths part and his tongue presses against mine, and his arms are around me, his hands in my hair, drawing me closer, needing me the way I need him. Fervently. “I love you,” I tell him, pulling away, needing to see his eyes again. Needing to look at my choice hard and fast. “I love you more, Jules.” And then he picks me up and carries me out of the room. I may be a fool in love. But giving up on what we have seems most foolish of all. Life is hard, there are so many unknowns. So many things to fear and hide behind. And maybe my desire to move back to Resting is born from the fear of the future. Resting Hollow is safe and secure and is a guarantee. But maybe there is more to life than safety nets and promises. Right now, in Cal’s arms, I want to see where this love might take me.

25

C

arrying Jules in my arms, down the hall to a very special room in the club, my chest expands in a way I never thought possible. Her forgiveness is more than I fucking deserve—she is more than any man deserves. Yet, here she is—choosing me. Trusting me in ways that make me want to be a better man. That make me want to be the sort of man my parents would have been proud of—a man who her father and grandma will be proud of. The kind of man she will be proud of. I love this woman and I refuse to let her go. I push open the door, flip the light switch on, and reveal a dimly lit room draped in soft pink silk, the floor covered in lush velvet cushions. The entire room is a padded oasis created for pleasure. This may be a fuck club, but this room is made for more than just fucking. This room was made for making love. “It’s beautiful,” she murmurs as I set her down. “You are beautiful.” Her cheeks redden, her dark eyes lowered to the ground, and she reaches for the belt on her coat. “Should we check in with Jordan and the girls about the photos?” she asks. “I don’t want to keep you from doing your job. I get why you have been so stressed about the state of things here. This place is your baby.” “Was my baby.” Her eyes narrow, she licks her lips. “You’re my baby now,” I tell her. “You are the only thing that matters to me, Jules. I only made this club because I wanted a place for the elite of this city to go where they could be safe.” I shake my head, my hands reaching for her hips, pulling her closer. “My parents, they died in a car crash after paparazzi followed them for miles, causing a collision. They died on impact. Sawyer’s parent’s were in the car with them that night.”

Her eyes soften, melting into mine. “Oh God,” she whispers. “I’m so sorry.” “They were best friends, the four of them. They were all actors. Sawyer’s parents survived … mine, not as lucky. Their death was pointless. Just like Sawyer’s. Sawyer may have killed himself, but he got to that point because this city destroyed every good thing about him.” “Who were your parents?” My jaw tenses. I never say their names. But I’ll tell Jules everything she wants to know. I’ll tell my baby everything. “Jen and Thomas Mallone.” Her mouth falls to a perfect O. “The Mallones? You’re their son.” She is unable to conceal her shock. “And your first name, it isn’t Callahan, is it?” I shake my head. “They named me Levi. Levi Callahan Mallone.” “You changed your name, your everything after they died, didn’t you?” “I had to. They knew for the last years leading up to their deaths that things were out of control. They couldn’t leave their house without being bombarded.” Jules nods. “I remember. Your mom was compared to Princess Di, people loved her. She—” Jules shakes her head. “I’m so sorry, Cal. You lost so much.” “You lost your mom too, Jules, you know what it’s like to lose the people that made you who you are.” She wipes the tears from her eyes. “I wish I’d known… I could have been there for you more when you lost Sawyer. I’m so sorry.” “I didn’t know how to tell you, Jules. I was scared. And the fucking mob has been after me and this club, they want to buy this property, but if they find out who I am… my privacy is no longer guaranteed. People will start asking questions I’m not prepared to answer.” “I know your privacy is important, but Cal, there is a cost involved with every choice we make. And maybe…” She stops, shakes her head. “Sorry, I’m not trying to overstep.” “No, tell me,” I say, wanting to know Jules’ opinion on everything. “Well, I wonder if everyone knew who you really were, knew your family connections if someone would have risked going behind your back at the club and selling the photos. I mean, right now, whoever this is, thinks they can get away with it. If people knew you were Levi Mallone no one would mess with you.” I exhale, close my eyes. This is all so fucking heavy. “In my parents’ will, they stipulated I would only continue receiving their trust if I never got involved in the Hollywood scene. When I’m thirty-five I’ll get everything but I’m not even thirty.” Jules presses her hands on my cheeks, not letting go of my gaze. “Maybe it was worth it before, to get the money, but now Sawyer is dead, Cal. Things are no longer the same. The game changed. And your parents would never have meant their will to force you to be a shadow of yourself.” “They didn’t want what happened to them to happen to me.”

Jules looks at me with pity, with a brokenness I hate seeing in her. “But it already happened to Sawyer.” Her words cut hard, the truth a fucking blade that my heart can’t take. I am the reason Sawyer died. I should have immediately fought harder—louder. More. I should have come clean and demanded the culprit to show his fucking face. But I didn’t. I was a goddamn coward and now Sawyer is gone and for what? For my own security? It means nothing, not now. Not ever. Sawyer is gone and who knows who might be next. I can’t let it be Jules. I can’t let this go on. I need to tell my side of the story and demand justice for the death of my best friend. “You make me want to be a better man, Jules.” “You are a better man. You are the best man. And I love you. You can do this next thing, even if it’s terrifying. Even if it’s scary. You can show your face. Remember what I said earlier, you can’t keep anyone safe if you’re in the dark. Step out of the darkness and enter the light.” I nod, knowing she is fucking right. Then I undo the belt on her jacket, and pull back the fabric, revealing her bare shoulders, her perfect breasts, her everything. “I’m going to make love to you, baby,” I tell her. She nods, her face full of hope. Full of belief in me. It makes my cock fucking hard and my heart fucking hers and I know that whatever comes next we will be okay. Because we have one another. On the floor, I brush the loose strands of hair from her heart-shaped face, I kiss her ears, her neck, her lips. She tastes sweet and smells like home and when I press my hand between her legs, feeling her soft wet pussy, I know where I belong. “Take me, Cal,” she whispers. “Take me with you.” “Always.” My fingers slip between her folds, pressing against her beautiful flesh. She moans against me, echoing my movements as her hand reaches for my cock, taking hold of my shaft and running her hand up and down it. “Oh, Jules,” I growl, grinding against her perfection. She lies against pink pillows, our bodies melting together as I rub my thumb over her clit. She buries her face in my shoulder, then biting my neck, then begging me to fill her up, to take all of her right here, right now. I ease my fingers deeper in her, teasing her, wanting to get her so close to coming that

she goes crazy. Her pussy loves to be finger fucked, and I move inside her, her juicy cunt letting me know this is what it needs. I grind my hand against her, the walls of her tightness throbbing in pleasure. “Oh God, Cal,” she whimpers. “I’m so close, oh, oh—” And then her pussy is squirting, more than it ever has, she arches her back, her thighs dropping and giving me as much access as I want. I want it all. I move faster, my fingers finding the spot she likes and she keeps gushing. Lowering my head, I taste her sweet pussy, loving it when she comes against my mouth, and I lick up all her release, sucking hard on her round clit, her thighs wrapping around my face, locking me in place. Good, I don’t want to move from this position, I could lick and suck on her pussy all damn day. She twists away, though, and pushes me to the ground. Straddling me backward she fills her mouth with my cock again, telling me to keep licking her, and with her ass on my face, I start eating my baby out again. Oh god, she tastes so fucking sweet, my cock throbs as she sucks me hard, 69ing me like she can’t get enough. My hands are on her round ass, squeezing those cheeks, my mouth licking her slit up and down as she keeps coming all over me. And fuck, she knows how to blow me. My cock is ready to burst, our bodies slick with sweat as we fill one another up. She moans, her mouth so fucking full of me, and she takes so much of me I know my girl is gagging, and I love that she wants to take more. Her lips are so tight against my cock, sucking me off until I’m ready to explode. I come in her mouth, my tongue fucking her pussy as she swallows my seed, sucking as hard as ever as she pumps me in her, then her tongue swirls against my tip, licking my length, plunging me back into her mouth. And her cunt is just dripping, my tongue as deep as it can go, her ass pressing hard against me as I roll her back over, the soft cushions beneath us, around us. We are in a plush oasis of pleasure and I climb on top of her, both of us catching our breath. “You taste so good, Cal. I love your cock so much.” She bites her bottom lip, her hand still holding me, fondling my balls, making me hard as fuck all over again. “And I love your dripping pussy,” I say, pressing my cock into her. “I didn’t know you were a squirter.” Her tits are round and I can’t help but kiss her nipples, sucking them hard, wanting to press my cock between them. “I didn’t know I was either.” I can’t help it, with her on her back her tits are too fucking tempting. I put my cock between her full breasts. It’s rigged and ready, and she squeezes her tits around my cock as I pump against her. “You like to be titty-fucked, love?” I ask, thrusting myself against her. “Oh yeah,” she moans, looking at my tip with such desire. “I want you to come all over me.” I know she does, she wants to be covered in my come, wants it all over her and I’ll

give my girl exactly what she wants. I move faster, her tits turning me on like a mother fucker. Her hands reach for my ass, pulling my body closer to her face, and my cock is pumping so hard, I’m ready to explode all over her. “Don’t make me wait, Cal,” she begs. “Don’t be a dick tease.” I grin. “You don’t know what that means, and I sure as hell hope you never find out, sugar.” I come then, not wanting to make my baby wait. She grips my ass cheeks hard as I come all over her big round titties, her mouth wide open, lapping up all my cream like a good girl. “Don’t stop,” she moans. “Fuck me again.” I shake my head, wiping my come off her lips, leaning down to kiss her like she deserves. Hard and deep and forever. “I’ll fuck you as long as you need.” “I need it now. I’ll need it later too, but my pussy wants you so bad, Cal.” I move my fingers back to her sweet spot, feeling how wet she is. I press two fingers deep inside her, where I finger fucked her hard earlier. Damn, she does need more. And when she starts licking my cock up and down, getting it hard as a rock, I know I need more too. “I fucking love you, Jules,” I tell her. She closes her eyes, wrapping her hand around my cock. “I love you too, Levi Callahan. So much it hurts.” “Let me take away all of your pain,” I whisper, kissing her again, my fingers rubbing circles over her hood, right where she needs it. She blushes, wrapping her legs around my body as I fill my baby up. Her arms are around my neck, and I lower myself to her, our bodies one. I love that when we explore one another’s bodies, we learn more about ourselves. She’s learning that her pussy is so perfect she could be a goddamn porn star, and I’m learning that I could eat my girl out every day of my fucking life. “I love you, Jules,” I tell her, filling her up and rocking against her gently. “Whatever comes next,” she tells me, “I have your back.” Her words are a fucking gift I will never tire of. Jules is my forever, and I will never make her question that again.

26

T

he next Monday Danny calls Gretchen, Collette, and me into a meeting. In the elevator, on the way to his floor, we can’t stop talking about the fact that the Sports Illustrated magazine hit shelves today. “You both look phenomenal in it,” Collette says. Her attitude is really something else. She could have become jaded or bitter over losing this spread, but instead of making this about her—she has been beaming over our photographs all day. When we get to Danny’s office, he has champagne for us, and he gives us hugs as he offers us his congratulations. “All three of you have really made a place for yourselves in this city in just a month.” “I’m sorry if I let you down,” Collette says. We each hold flutes of champagne and click glasses. Danny shushes her. “Not a word. You did nothing wrong. It’s the people who did this to you who should pay.” “It would help if we knew who that was,” Gretchen says, downing her glass in one swig. I lower my gaze, knowing Cal’s plans this week to meet with Exposé and tell his story. Doing so is going to change his life forever, but it will also put him in control of his life. It will let him take the wheel and drive his story in the way he wants. The Fuck Club hasn’t reopened, and even though he hasn’t quite figured out what he wants to happen to the place, he is determined to do something good with the property. I’m so proud of him, though of course I just want to tell everyone about who he really is, but I know it isn’t my place. It’s Cal’s story to share, and soon enough everyone will know it. And whether or not the person who was selling photos gets caught—at least no one will have any questions about the Fuck Club’s role in Sawyer’s death. “You have really lit up this town, and the fact I was able to sign all of you in the same month feels like I landed the luckiest break in the world.” I nod, and can’t help but think that even though the last month has been harder than I expected, there has been a lot of good from it too. I don’t have all the money I need for the farm, but I’ve made a dent in the bills. Danny grins and reaches for three envelopes on his desk. “These are for each of you.”

“What is it?” Gretchen asks reaching for hers eagerly. “What in the world?” I say, pulling the check from my envelope. Collette whistles as she looks at hers. “Bonuses,” Danny says, holding up his hands to explain. “I know the paychecks were lower than you initially hoped, but I hope these make up for it.” The checks are for twenty thousand dollars. “I don’t know what to say,” I whisper. This is going to really help with Dad’s debts. “Don’t say anything. It is the least I can do for the way you three have gone above and beyond for me this month. And I have another surprise, “ he says. “What?” Collette asks, her eyes lit with happiness. “I got you tickets to the premier of the new Jezebel movie tonight.” “Jezebel?” My heart sinks. “Isn’t that Sawyer Bennett’s new film?” Danny nods. “I promised Exposé you’d be there. And I have tickets for each of you to bring a date.” I shake my head, unable to swallow my emotions. “I don’t think I can go, I mean… Sawyer just died and it’s gonna be really hard to watch that.” “Sorry, darlin’, but you’ve got to go if you want that check,” he laughs. “Are you serious?” I ask. “You’ll cancel the check if I don’t go?” “Aww, no, I know you wouldn’t let your old Danny Bruneau down.” Gretchen reaches for my hand and squeezes it. “We will be with you. And maybe Cal will want to go. It might be good for him, actually.” Danny speaks up, “It might be. They are doing a whole tribute to Sawyer at the premiere. His parents will even be there.” “Oh, really?” I ask, feeling slightly better. Maybe it just felt callous, when actually it’s going to be a really meaningful and tasteful event. “See,” Collette says. “It’s going to be good. You should totally invite Cal. Although, if he and Sawyer were best friends, don’t you think he already has an invite?” “He didn’t mention it, but of course I’ll ask him.” “Great, ladies. Once again, you are going to be a smashing success.”

Cal had been invited but had declined the invite. “It’s fine,” I tell him over the phone. My roommates and I are in an Uber headed back to our apartment. “Look, I don’t want you to go to your first red carpet event alone,” he tells me. “I want to be there with you. But I think it’s kinda strange Sawyer’s parents wopuld even go.” “I know,” I tell him. “It’s so soon.”

“It might sound crass, but they’ve always seemed to like the spot light more than necessary.” “Ouch,” I say. “Kind of a cold assessment, isn’t it?” “I know,” Cal sighs. “I sound like an ass. I’m sure they are going with good intentions.” “Look,” I tell him. “I’ll be fine, you don’t have to be with me to make sure I’m safe.” “I’d feel a lot better if you weren’t alone.” “I won’t be alone. And honestly, I don’t have to go.” “I thought you said there was twenty grand on the line?” “There is,” I say, already having cashed the check in my mind. “But I bet Danny would let me keep it if I asked very nicely.” “You shouldn’t owe anyone anything in this town. And look, I can do this for you. Besides, Sawyer’s parents will be happy to have the support, I’m sure of it.” “If you’re sure,” I say, slowly. “I’m sure. Now I need to go find a tux. Haven’t worn one in years.” “I love you, Callahan.” “I love you more, Jules.” When I hang up, my friends tease me relentlessly for having fallen so hard, so fast. I don’t mind their teasing, not for a second. “So, what are we going to wear?” I ask them. Gretchen grins. “Something tight and gorgeous.” “And something expensive. Because we just got a hella big bonus,” Collette squeals. We laugh and tell the driver to turn around, headed to Rodeo Drive. I may not buy something as ‘designer’ as my roommates, but I will do what my dad and grandma insisted—appreciate this time in LA for what it is.

In the limo, Cal squeezes my hand. We decided to arrive on our own, separate from my roommates, who are going with Danny. This is a big moment for Cal, and while no one is going to recognize him as the son of the Mallones, it will still be the first time he has been in front of cameras since his parents died. His fingers run up my thigh. “You look insane in this dress, Jules,” he tells me. I found a vintage Dior, and the shop offered to lend it to me if I agreed to mention them on the red carpet. It is soft blue, strapless, and fitted to my knees. With black stilettos, I feel classy. “Oh, take a photo of me to send to Grandma,” I tell Cal. He takes my phone and snaps a quick picture. “Looks like they knew you were talking about them,” Cal says handing me back my

phone. My dad has texted. “He loves his new smartphone.” I send the picture to my dad and pull up the text. Before I can read it, though, the door to the car is opened by the valet. “Oh, crap, we’re here,” I say, stuffing the phone into my sequined purse. Looking at Cal, wanting him to have my undivided attention tonight, I smile. “We’re going to do great.” “Yeah, we are,” he says, holding my hand as we step out of the limo. “We’ve got one another.” I turn, blinking hard, as my eyes fill with flashing lights as the press document every step we take down the red carpet. Cal laces his fingers through mine. “And later,” I whisper in his ear between poses for the camera. “You get all of me.” “Is that a promise?” he asks. “It’s a guarantee.” I laugh. “Now, be good arm candy and smile like you mean it.” He looks at me, shaking his head. “Girl, when I’m with you, I do mean it. You can’t fake real.” “Are you always going to be so cheesy?” “It’s not cheesy when you mean it.” He kisses my cheek. “Now stop giving me a toothache.” I frown. “And how am I doing that?” “You’re just so damn sweet.” I swat him with my purse, shaking my head, our laughter helping us forget the tension this moment could bring. We finished walking the carpet and are safely inside the theater doors. We got through it. We did. We can get through anything. But then we see Sondra standing with Sawyer’s parents and the fear I had about being here forms around me again like a cloud of dust. Cal’s fingers tighten around mine. “Fuck,” he mutters. I hold on to him, but I already feel his energy shift, his memories resurfacing. We shouldn’t have come.

27

W

hen I was younger, I’d come with my parents to events like this. Everyone would stop and watch as my mom and dad walked down the red carpet. My mother would look like a Hollywood movie star from another era, my father, always right next to her, would watch her smile at the cameras with adoration in his eyes. I’d be beside them, looking at them with wonder, believing I was the luckiest boy in the entire world. Before we walked down the red carpet though, I remember being at home, watching my parents get ready for the evenings out. Mom would be in her dressing room, make-up artists fussing around her, stylists pinning up her hair—but she never seemed to notice any of that. She would catch my eye in the mirror, and smile at her only child. She’d mouth the words I love you, Levi—she only had eyes for me. And I knew she did love me. It grounded me, kept me stable in a world that could have easily got me all kinds of fucked up, especially as I got older. But my mom loved me, and my father loved me, and that was more than enough. Even as I got older, after they died, and I learned how to play as a bachelor, I still never let the excess get to my head. I had vacations all around the world, women when and where I wanted them—but it never caused me to think I was more than a man. I didn’t let it get to my head because I grew up watching my father remain loyal and devoted to my mother and me. I may be a bit of an ass, but I never became jaded, cruel, or entitled. Before the awards shows, after seeing my mom, I’d go look for my father. Instead of finding him already dressed in a tux as his assistant requested, I’d find him in the kitchen, leaning over the island with junk food and a grin. He’d wave away the housekeeper, Roselyn, who always told him to eat something healthy. My dad would offer me the bowl of chips, the leftover chicken wings, a can of Coke. He may have been named America’s Sexiest Man Alive five times, but he was one of those people who didn’t have to work for it. Both my parents—they were just naturally damn near perfect. I think that’s why the public loved them so much. Why the movies that they starred in together would become instant hits, why their photographs became so sought after. Why eventually, their fame killed them. They were famous in a way Brad and Angelina only dreamed about. Except my

parents never dreamed of this. They just were. They were in the right place at the right time, they met when they were young, on their first movie set, both wanting to act and both having the talent to get cast in more and more roles as they fell more and more in love. And somehow, even though they became beloved public figures, at the end of the day, they were decent human beings. Better than decent, the goddamn greatest. And somehow I was lucky enough to be their son. All those memories flood back as I walk down the red carpet with Jules. And as I watch her work the crowd, I realize that in a lot of ways, Jules is just like my mother. I try not to get emotional as I clasp my hand around hers. As she poses for photographs, I lower my eyes to the ground, blinking back all those memories. Realizing that falling for Jules wasn’t unusual or out of character at all—she’s the exact kind of girl I’d always dreamt of finding. She’s like my mother in all the best ways. Beautiful, unassuming, genuine—and not at all looking for affirmation from strangers. No, Jules doesn’t need anything from the people on this red carpet, yet she freely gives them so much of herself. I know deep down that Jules was made for this sort of limelight, or at least, she’s the sort that deserves it. Because she’s not chasing anything when she stands here and smiles, while she blushes at the photographers’ kind words and thanks people graciously for their compliments. For all the shady people in this town, women like Jules make it almost seem worth it. But when I see Sondra standing with Sawyer’s parents, Sophia and Henry, a different emotion washes over me. Fuck. Why is she here? But of course, that question is ridiculous. Of course, she’s here. She starred in this movie alongside Sawyer. I’ve read snippets of articles over the last several weeks, Somehow, they allude to Sawyer having some sort of sex addiction which is why he was cheating on Sondra. It’s bullshit of course, but right now, the studio is doing everything they can to keep the image of Sondra and Sawyer unblemished before the release of the new film that the studio has already poured millions into. They can’t afford to lose anything now just because Sawyer hooked up with a supermodel. So, from the grave, my best friend has been diagnosed with a latent sex-addiction. It was apparently ignited when he met Gretchen. Fucking bullshit. My stomach turns though, realizing the model Sawyer hooked up with, Gretchen, is coming here tonight. Why? Why in God’s name would she be invited? My eyebrows crease as I try to make sense of this.

Having her here is intentionally inviting drama to this premiere—I don’t get it. I look at Jules, needing to ask her what the fuck is going on, why Gretchen would come, who would even have given her an invitation. “I knew we shouldn’t have come,” Jules says. “I’m really sorry, Cal. We can go. I didn’t even think about the fact that Sondra would be here. I was so self-absorbed.” I shake my head. “It’s not her, what I’m wondering about is why Gretchen is here? Tomorrow’s headlines are going to be questioning why Sawyer’s hookup came to the premiere on the night he’s being honored in a memorial. Nothing about it makes sense, Jules.” Jules’ eyes widen, realizing the meaning of my words. “I didn’t even think of it this morning when we were at Danny’s office. Gretchen was just so happy to have the bonus and the tickets, but you’re right. This is weird.” “Where’s Danny?” I ask. “I need to talk to him, to understand what’s going on here. Gretchen shouldn’t have come. It’s awkward with his parents being here—they don’t need to deal with this.” Jules nods. “I was so caught up in how you would feel about being here I didn’t even think about his parents. But why would Gretchen even want to come?” “Everything you told me about her is that she goes wherever she can get good publicity. That’s it.” “After everything, I think she would have learned—” I cut Jules off. “Babe, that’s not the way the city works. At the end of the day, a headline is worth a hell of a lot.” “But isn’t your integrity worth something too?” Jules asks, and her words just solidify my belief in her. In our relationship. In our future. My parents would have fucking loved this woman. “I think it’s worth something, I think our integrity is worth a hell of a lot. But I’m not everybody. And neither are you, Jules.” “I want out of this city before it rips me apart,” she says, shaking her head. Her eyes are sad, and I wrap my arms around her just as Sondra, Sophia, and Henry see us and walk over. In her ear, I whisper, “I love you, Jules.” Then I pull back, greeting Sophia and Henry with hugs and introductions to Jules—who they have heard all about already—and then offer Sondra a curt greeting. I don’t have time for her bullshit. “I’m so surprised to see you here, Callahan,” Sondra says disapprovingly. “Didn’t know they were giving bartenders tickets to this event,” she says. “Or are you working the open bar tonight?” She laughs as if she’s said something funny. Everyone else just looks at her tightly.

Sophia and Henry know who I am, obviously, and so does Jules. So Sondra’s words just sound fraught and shallow. “I can’t believe our son isn’t here,” Sophia says, dabbing her eyes, a slight slur to her words. She is unsteady in her heels, and I watch Henry steady her with his hand on the small of her back. “It’s okay, love,” Henry tells her. “But the night before he died he told us he hated this movie,” she says under her breath. “Why are we even here?” I turn to them. “I thought you said you hadn’t spoken to him the night before he died?” Sophie and Henry exchange a quick glance. “Right,” Henry says. “It was in the voice mail he left. You’re right. We didn’t speak to him.” Sondra shakes her head. “We need to act supportive of one another right now, okay?” She locks her eyes with Sophie. “Remember? We are here for—” “The tribute?” Jules says. “Right? For Sawyer’s tribute?” “Exactly,” Sondra says, straightening her back. “The tribute.” Confused at whatever angle these three are vying for, I lean close to Jules and tell her that I’ll be back. “I’m looking for someone.” “Do you want me to come with?” Jules asks. Before I can answer, Danny Bruneau walks toward us with Gretchen and Colette. Speak of the devil. I need to get Danny alone and ask why he thought to bring Gretchen tonight was a good fucking idea. But before I can, Danny’s already giving out handshakes and hugs, and Gretchen and Colette are in a stare down with Sondra. Danny works his charm, dismantling tension between Sawyer’s parents and Sondra, getting his models to smile at his old fashioned jokes. Jules has moved on and is standing with Sophia now, discussing something quietly, but my eyes are still focused on Danny. “Can we have a word, sir?” I ask him. “Well, I think they’re gonna call us to our seats in a few minutes, don’t you?” Danny asks. “It can’t wait,” I say. Danny looks at me, his eyes narrowing. With pursed lips, he steps back as if using Gretchen and Colette as his armor. “What is it, Cal. Anything you want to say to me you can say in front of my friends.” Then he grins again, warmly, but it isn’t a sincere smile. I grew up in show business, I can fucking tell the difference.

“I don’t think this is a conversation for everyone, actually,” I say, my eyes darting between the women before me. “Aww, come on Cal. Feeling nervous at your first red carpet event?” Danny asks. “Because, son, you have nothing to worry about with a girl like Juliana on your arm.” At that, Danny turns to Jules and gives her a peck on the cheek, but he seems nervous, and when he moves I can tell his hands are shaking. Something isn’t sitting right—with me or with him. “Anyone want a drink?” Danny scans the crowd for a cocktail waitress. He flags one down and she delivers everyone glasses of white wine. Danny takes his, drinking it quickly. Too quickly. “Everything okay?” Colette asks him. Apparently, I’m not the only person clued in on the fact that Danny’s not acting like himself. “Oh, I’m great. I’m great. Just dandy.” “Okay, I just…” Colette shakes her head. The waitress comes back around and Danny grabs another glass of wine, and when the waitress hands it to him, he seems to grip it a little too tightly with his shaking fingers and half of it sloshes over the rim. The waitress reaches for a napkin to wipe the spill off the gleaming hardwood floor, at the same time Danny leans over to take the rag from her. His phone falls from his pocket as he bends over the floor cleaning the spill, and I reach down to pick it up for him. The lock screen isn’t on, and a text message lights up the screen. Maybe it’s tacky for me to read it, but I can’t help myself. Danny still doesn’t realize he’s lost his phone, and the words on the screen are glaring at me, refusing to let me look away. The text reads, “Video received. Payment made. Keep up the good work.” Maybe it’s the word video that strikes a chord with me, I press on his camera icon, wordlessly, and watch as images pull up on his phone. Images that are being delivered through a private feed. Images of the Fuck Club. My Fuck Club. “Hey, hey, you got my phone there, Cal,” Danny says standing and reaching for it. “What the fuck is this?” I ask. I don’t even look up, don’t register that Danny is coming toward me and reaching for the phone. When I click on the video tab, the first one is a video of my mother fucking throne room. And it’s a video of Jules naked, on her knees, before me. Someone is going to fucking pay for this.

And that person is Danny Bruneau.

28

I

t all happens in a flash, but it’s also as if time stands still.

I know both of those things can’t be true at once, but right now, they are. I watch as Callahan lunges for Danny. My eyes flash in confusion, not understanding what has caused the man I’ve given my heart to lash out at the man who gave me a chance. The man who saw potential in me and believed in my ability to be a model. I reach for Cal to pull him back, but he just throws a cell phone in my direction. I catch it, gripping it tightly in my hands at the same moment Cal’s hands grip tightly around Danny Bruneau’s neck. Cal squeezes until Danny’s face turns red, and Danny reaches for Cal, clawing at his hands, and that’s when time stalls out for me. For everyone at this premiere. Everyone in the room stops moving and looks at the two men in one another’s clutches. Danny’s eyes go wide, and Cal’s go dark—fueled with a fury I’ve never seen in him. I’ve only seen Cal in a fight once, back at the club the first night we met—and he was angry then… but this? This is personal. Deeper. Cal is out for blood. I look down at the phone in my hands. A video is on the screen and with trembling hands I press play. But even from the still frame, I know what I am about to watch. What I never wanted to see. Something so intimate, so sacred, so pure. Me, on my knees before the man I love. Giving Cal my body as he gives his to me. On the throne room floor, I have Cal’s hard cock in my mouth and am sucking hard and fast. I remember how our words of commitment, our I love yous were heavy in the air that day. But this footage doesn’t capture that. This video is of my bare body giving my boyfriend a blow-job. The video keeps rolling as my head bobs up and down. Cal’s eyes are closed, his hands are in my hair as he pulls my head closer to his groin. You can hear our moans, our grunts, you can hear us as we make love. My eyes filled with tears as I watch, my mascara running rivers down my face, and I

know my cheeks are streaked in black. I shake my head, gasping as I cover my mouth, holding the phone so tightly in my hand never wanting anyone else to get ahold of this. No one can see this. I’m shaking, and I fall to the ground. My eyes lift for a moment, watching Cal’s bicep pull back, and as a punch lands square across Danny’s jaw. Without restraint, Cal pushes Danny toward a wall, people move aside, shrieks and hollers fill the room. Security rushes in, and Gretchen and Colette fall to the floor next to me, trying to understand what’s happening amidst all this chaos. My hands hold the phone as the video plays, as I… God, I can’t watch anymore. Colette and Gretchen watch the video, gasping as they come to realize what I am processing. As I come to understand what Danny has done to me. To them. To Cal. And with a deep ache in my belly, I register the worst crime of all. I understand what Danny Bruneau has done to Sawyer Bennett. How? Why? No. The reality hits me, I cry out as the realization floods me, as I watch Callahan yell in Danny’s face. “What the fuck did you do? You will pay for this, you fucking piece of shit.” Callahan’s words are loud and volatile and the press is here and they take pictures of everything, flashes surround us, a hush falls over the room. Sawyer’s family witnesses this alongside everyone else, and I wish they could have a moment of privacy. I hate this for them. I hate this for all of us. This city is cruel, more calculated than I wanted to believe. The people you trust are frauds. The people you love can be taken in a moment. And what is left? When the dust settles? What is there? All that we have is a moment. The here and the now. We have to hold tight to them. After all, they people we love most can be taken in a flash.

Nothing is sacred when people are hungry for fame; it’s like a flame that can’t be quenched. Everything and everyone has a price tag. I don’t want to know what Danny thought I was worth. Danny sputters as Cal is forced away from him by security, his death grip on him had been so tight that Danny is now keeled over, gasping for breath. Cal’s fists are clenched—his strength and honor, his integrity has been publicized. He didn’t want to show his face… and I understand that… but his character? That can’t be locked away. It is his essence. It is who he is at his very core and I love him more in this moment I ever dreamed possible. Cal will fight for me. He is fighting for me. For us. And in this town that wants to destroy, Cal has vowed to lift me up. I’m far from my daddy and my grandma, but Cal is here, willing to protect me. Danny, though, he is nothing. He begs for forgiveness. His voice is ragged and raw, desperate. His voice so very weak. “I never meant to hurt anyone,” he sobs. I get to my feet, step toward him, needing to understand this man I so trusted. “I was blackmailed. I was forced to do this. I was only trying to pay my wife’s bills. She was dying and I needed the money. I had an opportunity that seemed too good to be true…” His words are lost through his pleading. Security lifts him to his feet, everyone trying to get to the bottom of what’s going on. They still haven’t seen the evidence in my hand. They don’t understand that blackmail or not, Danny is the one behind the scandal. I click on the phone still in my hand. In Albums, I see a cache of footage from multiple rooms at the club. Other celebrities have been filmed. My heart races as Gretchen and Colette grip my shoulders, steadying me. We’re in this together and that gives me comfort. I click on Photos and see so many shots of the last month—all taken at the Fuck Club. We’re speechless, but we know what we see. We know what Danny Bruno has done. He brought us here, Gretchen, Collette, and me. Three women with no prior experience of this industry. He told us we were required to attend events with him, come to the Fuck Club with him. He encouraged us time and time again to join him there.

Never acting like it was a big deal when those articles came out against Colette and Gretchen. Never suggesting that this might be a bad situation for us. Instead, he brushed off our concerns and told us it was just business. And that any press was good press. And we were too naïve to understand. The person who was supposed to guide us was the person leading us into the lion’s den. He’s a monster and he needs to pay. Cal has been pulled back by security and is dragged away from the premiere. Danny is taken too; the security guards need to understand what just went down. And I hold the evidence that is going to put the man I trusted behind bars.

29

I

’m dragged down to the police station, in the back of a cop car, where I’m then put in a holding cell until the cops bring me in for questioning.

But I’m not behind bars for long. While I was taken to the station, Jules was meeting with officers and gave them all the information they needed to know along with the phone. Now, I’m just waiting to see my girl. Needing to see her. I want her to know that I will do anything within my power to make sure no one else ever sees that footage. I get out of questioning fast because once they understand my story, once they’ve seen the tape of me and my woman—everyone seems to understand why my blood was boiling so damn fast. And Danny, he’s not a fool enough to press charges. That man will never set foot in this town again. An officer hands me back my belongings, a Rolex and my wallet. Things that mean nothing to me. The only thing that matters anymore is Jules. “So, you’re Levi Mallone?” the cop asks, shaking his head as if he can’t believe it. “Damn shame what happened to your parents.” I had to give them my legal name when I was brought in. I was fingerprinted too. I understand the drill and don’t mind that these guys know. Maybe it was better this way, you know? Having to be honest about who I really am. It might make it easier for me when I tell everyone else. Or, make it easier when everyone finds out from the tabloids—because I’m guessing once I started throwing punches at Sawyer and Sondra’s premiere, people started putting two and two together. “My parents were the best. I’m lucky to have had the honor of being their son,” I tell the cop. Jules’ words—plants need light in order to grow, so does love—flash through my mind once again. I never talk about my parents publicly. Hell, I never talk publicly at all.

Which is why, now, telling the police officer that my parents were the best, makes me feel like I’ve been doing them a disservice for a hell of a long time. My parents died, but the memory of them died that night, too because I’ve held all information I have about them back. I could have done interviews, told the world just how great my parents were. And instead, I hid out of fear. I was scared that what happened to them might happen to me. And sure, they wanted me to be protected in ways that they weren’t, but now I’m a grown ass man. Now I don’t have to hide who I am or where I come from. I’m proud of my past. And when I walk out to the station’s waiting room and see Jules sitting in a plastic chair, waiting for me—I’m proud of my future too. A life with the woman before me. “Cal,” she says, wrapping her arms around me, squeezing tightly. Crying softly on my shoulder. “I love you,” she says. My hands are on the small of her back and I whisper in her ear, “I love you too, baby. I love you too.” And then I take her hand and we head back to my loft. It’s been a long time since we’ve made love in a bed, and tonight I need her in my arms. I won’t let go.

In bed that night, Jules rolls up on top of me, sinking her warm, wet pussy down onto my cock. She grinds against me, her tits bouncing as she moves, her long hair brushing against my chest, her eyes locked on mine. “What happens next Cal?” she asks. “I don’t know yet, baby, we’ll figure it out together,” I tell her. “Together.” She nods, needing the affirmation from me. It makes me feel amazing, having this girl’s devotion, having her trust back. She moves against me, her perfect hips swiveling above me, her pussy filled with everything I can give her. I’ll do anything in my power to keep her this happy forever.

– –

The next morning, Jules is still naked in my bed and she reaches over into her purse and

says her phone is dead. Since I don’t have the same phone as her, she can’t charge it at my place. “I can call someone and have a charger delivered,” I tell her. She shakes her head. “I should go home anyway, shower and get clean clothes. And honestly, I don’t really know how Colette and Gretchen are doing either. I should check in on them.” “You’re a good friend,” I say, kissing her neck and pulling her back toward me in the bed. “We could also just stay here all day.” She lets me roll on top of her, filling her with my morning wood. “How about we just do this one more time and then deal with all the shit we have on our plates,” she says. I nod in agreement, thrusting inside her, knowing I need to talk to Jordan and confirm where the cameras were planted in the club, knowing the cops are probably already there surveying the crime scene. We were damn sure last night that the people Danny admitted were blackmailing him were with the mob, but the cops are going to take care of that piece. I fill Jules up, and her morning smile makes my whole damn day. “How about two more times?” I ask, rocking into her hard. She gasps as I do, her arms reaching out for my headboard and holds on tight as I fill her perfect little cunt with my come. “If you promise to do that move again,” she tells me with a twinkle in her eye. Then she laughs, and her voice fills my heart with promise.

I get to the club and see the cops there just like I expected. Jordan’s here too, and he’s in a heated conversation with an officer. I walk toward them and they nod, motioning me over. “They were only in a few times,” Jordan says. “But I could identify them if you got me the pictures. Though Cal would do a better job of identifying those gangsters than me.” “You talking about the mob guys who’ve been coming around here?” “Yeah,” the officer says. “We have a tipoff about a few of them, and I think we’ll be able to get them behind bars for something. They were making a killing from selling photos, using Danny as their puppet. He took the photos; the gangsters would buy them for a pretty penny. But not as pretty as they were turning around and getting for them from news outlets.” “And why were they so hell bent on knowing who owns this place?” I ask. The officer looks me in the eyes, not messing around. “Those guys wanted to cover their bases, knowing who the owner would guarantee that, Callahan.” My jaw tightens and I run my hands through my hair. Dammit.

If I had just told them all those weeks ago, then and there, that the owner was Levi Callahan Mallone, they would have walked away. They would have found some other shady agent to blackmail, at some other club. It would have kept them from messing with us. Jules is right, hiding did nothing for me. And the fact that Sawyer died? I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for that. It’s fucking hard to accept, thinking about in those terms. Jordan takes a hard look at me. “You alright, boss?” he asks. I exhale, grateful that Jordan, the man I’ve been trusting for years, has had my back all along. “It’s been a long few months.” “But now it’s done,” Jordan says. “Now you get to move on.” Move on. Right. I get to do that. But Sawyer? He’s been dead a month. He doesn’t get to move on at all. The officer walks away writing something down in a notepad and Jordan and I walk around the club. Officers have been dismantling cameras that were in nearly all the rooms. I feel sick inside that this place turned into something so dangerous, so fucking fast. “Did you see the headlines this morning? Jordan asks. “Nah.” I shake my head. I’ve been trying hard to avoid that shit—especially today. “Were they bad?” Jordan smirks. “Damn, people are using the term A-list Fuck Club all over the internet. Crazy, really, considering for so long we really were able to keep tight-lipped about what went on here. Danny’s greed got the best of him. No more photos were leaked, but lots of names were mentioned.” “My name?” Jordan shrugs. “Are you pissed?” “No,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m gonna do an interview with Exposé this week anyway. Come clean about it all: why I made the club, what happened with Sawyer. My parents. All of it.” Jordan whistles low. “Damn, never thought I’d hear those words from your mouth. I thought you said you’d always be a bartender.” “Just because I’m giving them a story, doesn’t mean I’m out of the bartending business. I can make one hell of a lemon drop.” I laugh—and the fact that I can laugh in the midst of all this is fucking surreal. But we all have to keep moving, right?

One step, then another. “So, what happens to the club?” Jordan asks. “It fucking sucks that I’m gonna be out of a job, you know.” I nod. “I talked my attorney on the way over here, apparently there were stipulations in my parents’ will that if there were unforeseen complications, I could have my trust when I wanted it. Meaning now. Which also means, I’d love to use some of my inheritance to invest in a new club.” Jordan cocks an eyebrow at me. “What kind of club?” “Not that kind of club. I’m thinking something with bright lights. Beach front. No doors. No walls. Just everything out in the open. No more secrets.” “Like the antithesis of the Fuck Club?” “Exactly. You think you can manage it?” “Will you be the bartender?” he asks. “I don’t know. I’m thinking of moving.” “Where? You’ve lived in LA for your entire life.” “I know, but I’m ready for a change.” Just then, my phone rings. Seeing Jules’ number on the screen, I excuse myself to answer it. “What’s up, baby?” She sobs into the phone. “Cal, it’s Grandma. She died.”

30

“Y ou don’t worry about a thing,” Gretchen says. “Let me pack for you, and you just lie down until Cal gets here.” My eyes are red, I can’t stop crying. Grandma is gone. I never returned my dad’s call last night. Turned my phone off and then the battery ran dry. There had been so much going on at the premiere… and I’ll never forgive myself for not being there for her. Then when I got back to my apartment earlier this morning, I spent my time doing damage control with Gretchen and Collette. We were hashing out our futures—the two girls want to stay here in LA, and even before I learned about Grandma, I was done with this place. It took hours for me to call Dad. When I did, he was choking on his tears… he lost his wife, then his mother, and I’m not there to help him through this. “You can come back after things calm down in Resting,” Collette says, handing me a mug of tea. “Even if it’s not forever. You still have more jobs lined up, and if you want—” I cut her off. “I’m not coming back. This isn’t my home.” Collette nods, wiping the tears from her eyes too. This month has been one thing after another, and we all have so much healing to do. “I know, sweetie.” Gretchen comes in with my suitcase. “I packed your overalls, but I threw in a nice black dress and heels for you to wear for the service.” She grabs a tote bag and puts in my wallet, keys, and water bottle. Having friends who are here, taking care of me in the midst of this means more than they will ever know. I start crying all over again. “I feel weird leaving you guys here after everything last night with Danny. You need a new agent and…” “Shhh,” Gretchen says. “None of us need anything right now beside one another. We will figure out the rest later. Okay?” Her words calm me, and Collette braids my hair while we wait for Cal. Gretchen is reading articles, and giving us updates on what the press is saying. It keeps me from

continually sobbing if nothing else. The most shocking is when a news source reveals the true identity of Cal. “Holy fucking shit,” she says, reading the article aloud. “Hollywood legends, Jen and Thomas Mallone, died tragically in a fatal car crash after being trailed by paparazzi. At the time of the crash they were with Sophia and Henry Bennett, parents of recently deceased Sawyer Bennett. The loss of those silver screen pair was felt around the world, but none more so than by their son, Levi Callahan Mallone. Levi went into hiding after his parents’ deaths and has never given an interview about the beloved couple that had won America over. Now, he is thrust into the limelight for the first time in a decade. As the owner of the exclusive underground nightclub, dubbed the A-List F*ck Club by the celebrities in Los Angeles, he has come under heat for the leaked footage at his private venue. It’s not so private anymore—and when Levi started throwing punches last night at the supposed culprit of the photos, all eyes were on him… She stops reading, shocked by the information. “Did you know?” she asks. I nod. “I found out over the weekend. He had reasons to keep it a secret.” “It’s all so sad,” Collette says, shaking her head at the revelation. “His parents… then his best friend.” I can’t swallow my tears, they flow freely again, thinking about the losses I’ve experienced too. Mom, now Grandma. It’s all too much. When Cal gets here, he wraps his arms around me and lets me cry against his chest. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he says, cradling me in a comforting hold. My friends watch, stunned at both our genuine care for one another and the fact that the man I am in love with is the son of one of the most famous couples Hollywood has ever known. With my bags in hand, he leads me to a car in front of the apartment complex. He’s already arranged a pilot to meet us at his jet to fly us to the farm. The fact that Cal has taken control of the situation is a relief. That is what I need right now. I don’t have the energy to deal with anything besides my grief. With a pang, I realize that is exactly what Cal experienced a month ago when he lost Sawyer. My roommates follow us out onto the sidewalk and say their goodbyes while wrapping me in heartfelt hugs. “You’ve been an amazing friend to us,” Gretchen tells me. “I know the city and this job haven’t turned out the way any of us thought it would but I’m really glad we met.”

“Me too,” Colette says. “And you better come back. But if you don’t, that’s all right. Gretchen and I will come find you.” I hug them again. “I love you,” I say, meaning it. How my heart could be so tightly connected to these two who, on the surface, are so unlike me is a miracle in and of itself. When we met, I didn’t believe I had anything in common with them besides being built for a runway. But that is a testament to what friendship can be. Because what’s inside, at our core, is what matters. And Gretchen and Collette, they may have gotten caught up in the hype of this job—but at the end of the day, they are here holding me up when I need them most.

At Grandma’s service, I wear the black dress Gretchen packed for me, and Daddy holds my arm, Cal has me at the small of my back—neither of the men in my life is letting me go. When the casket is lowered into the ground we’re all in tears. But later, when we are back at the farmhouse, and friends of Grandma’s come with casseroles and berry crisps, I feel the warmth I remember from when my mom passed. The community gathering around us, reminding us that we aren’t alone in our grief. Cal slips his hand through mine. “This is why this town is special, isn’t it?” I nod, my eyes rimmed in red, and I lean against Cal’s chest. A few people have mentioned the headlines that cover the truth about his family, and the club he ran in LA, but no one mentions my role in anything, and no one says the name Fuck Club—at least not in our presence. Though I’d be a fool if I thought for a second that everyone here isn’t wondering about it. Dad wondered about it too. We hadn’t been here a half hour before he started asking questions. Pointed ones at the man I brought home with me for the second time. Daddy wanted to know Cal’s intentions, wanted to make it crystal clear that I wasn’t an object—I was a beloved daughter and friend and that no man ought to think of me any differently. My face got red and blotchy and I tried to stop the conversation but Cal wasn’t letting himself off the hook. “I understand your concerns, Johnny. You love your daughter, but so do I. I know the scandal that is in the news isn’t something you want Jules to be a part of—and neither do I. But I want you to know that I am getting out of the business I was running. I never intended it to become a place so dangerous.” “And what kind of business do you want to get in, then, son?” he asks. Cal smiled—which is saying something considering the interrogation taking place. “I want to be an honest man who can provide for his family.” My dad’s eyes narrowed. “Family?”

“Eventually, yeah.” “From what I’ve heard, you have plenty of money,” Daddy pressed, not easing his stance. “Money, sure, but I want stability. I want to offer my future wife the life she wants.” At that, Dad seemed satisfied. He nodded curtly, and told Cal if there was anything else he’d like to discuss, he could always find him in the barn, for a heart to heart. That was three days ago. Now we’re in the kitchen of the farmhouse, Grandma’s knitting club and the ladies from Bridge are here, everyone telling me how much they loved her. “So, what are your plans next?” a gray-haired woman asks, stirring sugar into her coffee. “We all saw the Sports Illustrated issue.” She raises her eyes and gives me a smile. “Striking poses, really.” My cheeks are warm, and I catch Cal’s eye across the room, He is in a conversation with another woman who I recognize as being one of the ladies who volunteered with Grandma. She’s unabashedly wrapping her arm around Cal’s bicep. “I want to stay here for a bit.” “And then?” the woman presses. I shake my head, not knowing. But knowing I will be alongside Cal no matter where I end up.

Later, Dad finds me in Grandma’s room where I am looking through her old photo albums. “You doing okay, Jules?” I shrug, frowning slightly. “Even though I knew it was going to happen eventually… it’s hard to believe she’s really gone.” Dad sits next to me on the bed. “She left a letter for you. Well, her hands had been flaring up for a few days before the clot, and she couldn’t write anymore, her fingers were too tight, but she told me what to write.” “A letter?” My eyes furrow. “Where?” Dad pulls the letter from his pocket. “I’ll let you read it alone.” I nod, taking the slim envelope from him. “You know,” he starts, standing and headed to the doorway. “Cal came out to the barn to have a talk with me.” My eyes raise. “Yeah?” “He’s a good one. I know the papers are saying crazy things about that club he was running—and I don’t know anything about that stuff, you know me, I’m a simple guy. But there have only been a few things in my life that matter. The women in my life and

this farm.” I can see that Dad is struggling to keep himself composed. “And I guess what I’m trying to say is, it seems like Cal feels the same way as me.” “He cares about this farm?” “He went to the bank and paid off our mortgage. That tells me he cares an awful lot.” “That’s too generous,” I say, shaking my head. “We can’t accept it.” “I’d have said the same thing a year ago. Hell, six months ago even. But right now, with the farm paid off, that means my daughter isn’t going to be tied to this place anymore. You can be free to go live the life you want.” I bite my bottom lip. Hating how it always circles back to this. “Can’t this be enough?” In the doorway of Grandma’s room, Dad slaps his hand to the hardwood. “Read the letter, then tell me what you think.” I open it, spreading the white stationary in my lap. Reading it, in my dad’s handwriting, I try to imagine my Grandma dictating the words for him. But as I read it, I mostly only cry. Dear Jules, Growing up is hard, no matter your age. Here I am, lying on my deathbed, yet I am faced with the same questions as you. What next? What do I regret? Is this life I am choosing to live enough? I don’t have all those answers. What I do know is this: Yes. Choose yes. Saying no, resisting, pulling back, living in fear—those are the easy choices in life. But they are also the ones that will make you small. And Jules, you are more than that. We all are. For years I’ve told you to leave this farm, to take a chance. A leap. You’re still scared. You want to come back to the land you know. You’re scared of missing out on the things that matter most if you choose something other than this farm. I’m going to tell you something: you won’t miss anything if you know who

you are. And you’ve already figured that out. It wasn’t easy—there were awkward years and uncomfortable times where you were learning how to be comfortable in your own skin, but you are your mother’s daughter and your daddy’s girl and you carry that with you wherever you go. You are loved, and that has allowed you to look within, not out, for validation. Life gives you opportunities when you least expect it, in places you never imagined. Follow them. And remember that your family will always be where your heart is. Now go take a chance and see what might happen next. I love you, always, Grandma

31

W

hen Jules finds me sitting on a tractor, her eyes are gleaming, and I know she’s been crying again.

I want to tell her the tears will stop soon, but I can’t guarantee that.

Seeing her in pain this past week has told me everything I need to know about the woman I love. She is soft in all the right ways. She knows who she is, where she comes from, and she knows what it means to stick by the sides of those you love. And I also know I need her to be my wife. “Cal,” she says, pulling herself up onto the tractor, sitting beside me. “What on God’s green earth are you doing out here?” “Trying to think why people stopped being farmers. It’s fucking gorgeous here.” “I’m guessing people stopped being farmers because the work is hard as hell,” she tells me, laughing. “But you’re right, it is gorgeous.” She leans back in the seat beside me, and my hand slips through hers. Not meeting my eyes, she says, “Dad says you paid off the farm.” “Are you mad?” I ask softly. She shakes her head. “No. But it was more than you needed to—” I cut her off. “Jules, it’s the least I could do. I brought his daughter into a fucking sex scandal. I owe your dad. Especially considering the question I asked him.” Jules raises a brow. “What did you ask him.” “A big question. The big one.” Her eyebrows raise, and she bites back a smile. “Look, Jules,” I say, pulling her toward me, squaring our shoulders so we face one another. The cornfields are before us, and it’s like a sea of possibility and it is fucking beautiful, this place and this life and this possibility—especially in light of the last few months. Losing so damn much—but still, we found one another. I clear my throat and start again, “Look, I don’t want to offend you, but I want to say something.”

She nods telling me to go ahead. “It took awhile to understand what kept bringing you back to this land, but now I think I know. You haven’t found your thing. And coming back to what you know is easier than stepping out and finding something new.” Instead of pushing back, like she did before when her dad tried to talk with her about this she just smirks and hands me a letter. “Seems like everyone who loves me, figured out the same thing.” When I narrow my eyes in confusion she hands me an envelope and says, “Read this.” I unfold the paper and read a handwritten letter. I feel myself welling up with emotion as I read her Grandma’s last words to her. It was dated the day before she died. “That’s beautiful,” I tell her. She nods. “I never thought of it like that, I just thought, I love it here. This is home. Where I belong. And when I got to LA, I so quickly knew that was not where I belong. But the truth is, I’ve never been anywhere else. Seen anything else. And maybe there is more. And maybe there isn’t, but if I don’t try again, if I run back home after the first fall, what sort of woman will I be?” “The truth is, Jules, I haven’t stepped out either. I’ve lived a safe life just like you. Just had more money while I lived it. But since the day my parents died, I started hiding. Let my world get smaller until it was a cocoon that nearly killed me. A cocoon that did kill Sawyer. I need more. We need more.” “You better not be breaking up with me.” I shake my head. “I’m too much of a romantic for that.” “You know that the idea that the man who ran a fuck club considers himself a romantic is pretty messed up?” “See,” I say, grinning. “That’s what I mean. We need to go to Paris. Tuscany. We need to expand our romantic horizons.” “Leaving my dad seems scary. He’s the only family I have left.” I run my hand over my jaw, wanting to be her family too. Maybe she isn’t ready for this, for a leap with me. “But,” she continues, “I think that me giving him space to live his life might be a good thing. He’s not even fifty, has never had a house without another woman living in it. Moving in with him might cramp his style. I mean, maybe he wants to get married again.” I raise my eyebrows in surprise. “Could you handle that?” “I think so,” she says slowly. “Honestly, after reading Grandma’s letter I feel freer than I have in a long time. Maybe forever.” “Then I guess there’s no time like the present.” I reach into my pocket and pull out my mother’s diamond engagement ring. “I love you, Jules. And I want to take a chance and see what might happen next. I want to be your partner. Your best friend. You lover. Your

protector. I want to be your husband.” She covers her mouth. “This was the big question?” I nod. “And paying for the farm, was it like a modern day dowry?” I shake my head. “I think dowries go the other way. And this wasn’t that. This was a way to give us all that we want.” I take her hand in mine, kissing her knuckles, her fingers, her wrist. “Marry me, Jules. Be my wife.” And then she says yes. She wraps her arms around me. Pulling herself onto my lap. She covers my face in kisses and grinds against me, instantly revving me up. “Yes, Levi Callahan Mallone. I will marry you.” I grin, starting to slip the ring on her finger, but she pulls back. “On one condition.” “What’s that?” “You’ve still never taken me on a proper, pick me up at eight, bring flowers, make reservations, date.” “Is there a restaurant we can make reservations at in Resting Hollow?” She shakes her head. “In Paris. The Eiffel Tower.” I smile at the woman I love, who has changed my sorry life for the better, knowing I no longer need a fuck club—all I need is her. “Damn, you’re ready to take a leap, all right.” “With you? Yes, Cal, I am.”

EPILOGUE ONE YEAR LATER…

T

he sun is hot as fuck, but luckily, there’s a hell of a lot of spiked lemonade to keep everyone cool. Also, everything feels a little hotter when you have a woman as gorgeous as Jules walking down the aisle, headed straight to you. The farm is beautiful, I’ve helped Jules’ father by investing in new farming equipment, a crew, and updated technology, which has allowed him to have his most profitable year in two decades. And this place looks fucking top-notch—as it should for my bride’s wedding day. There is nowhere either of us could imagine getting married besides this farm—and that’s saying a hell of a lot after a year long whirlwind, around-the-world adventure. We started in Paris, and then found ourselves in wine country, stayed for a month long course on wine. And had lots of sex. After that, we were ready to focus on something besides one another. In Asia, we fell in love with China, and we spent the fall volunteering at an orphanage. It was hard work, but I helped build a playground and Jules worked in a nursery, holding babies and helping with laundry and meals. We went south for the winter, found a non-profit animal rescue farm that needed help in Papua New Guinea. We helped muck stalls, loaded bales of hay, and fed the animals— something Jules did with pride, saying her childhood at her family farm was being put to good use. But besides being do-gooders, we also had plenty of fuck club inspired fun… My baby blew me in Belarus, and we role-played in Rome. We tried butt-plugs in Bolivia and cracked out the handcuffs in Hungary. Then we spent a month in LA, visiting our friends. Jordan has gotten the new club up and running—a premiere Oceanside oasis for the rich and famous. But it is everything the Fuck Club wasn’t. White and gold and bright. No walls anywhere but the bathrooms. He says there are still lots of hookups. And Jules tells me his favorite hookup is with Collette. And Gretchen. Apparently, they are the hottest ménage in LA. I was surprised as fuck; I had never known Jordan’s type—but if it is two hot as hell supermodels, I guess he ain’t doing too bad.

But that wasn’t the biggest shock this year. Not by a long shot. I smile down the aisle, Jules is in white, her body a piece of art in this gown—the one her own mother wore on her wedding day. She beams back at me, her father walking her down the aisle. A cellist serenades us, and I watch as Jules takes in the people standing, watching her walk toward me. Gretchen, Collette, and Jordan are here. Along with Sophia and Henry, Sawyer’s parents. They sit next to Sadie, who we first met when she was the bartender at Dusty’s, but now has her newborn daughter in her arms. My best man leans over. “Who would’ve fucking thought? The two of us, in a cornfield.” I grin. “Married, no less.” Sawyer nods. “She’s lucky to have you, Cal.” Sawyer was the surprise I never saw coming. I look at my bride. “Not nearly as lucky as I am.” “You’re such a fucking sap.” I look at Jules, a vision in white, and don’t care who thinks of me as a sappy romantic. I hope I always am. Johnny gives me his daughter, and hand in hand, Jules and I make our vows. To have and to hold. To death do us part. Our eyes both flick to Sawyer at that word. Because death can be a tricky thing. A painful thing. Jules’ mother and grandma, both of my parents, they were all buried and never came back. But that’s not true for everyone. Life is like that, there are very few guarantees. As the priest tells me to kiss my bride though, I lift the veil, looking into Jules’ eyes, and now there is one thing I can always count on. The love we share. And if you can find love at a place like the A-List Fuck Club, it’s the real fucking deal. That is a goddamn guarantee. DEAR READER, YEP, YOU READ THAT RIGHT.

SAWYER IS ALIVE!!! LEARN HOW THIS MISUNDERSTOOD HERO COMES BACK FROM THE DEAD IN SMALL TOWN FUCK CLUB!! The Prologue is on the next page….!

S M A L L T O W N F *C K C L U B

SMALL-TOWN F*CK CLUB PROLOGUE

W

hen I decided to fake my own death, I knew it was a drastic choice. But sometimes drastic situations call for exactly that.

Drastic, irreversible measures.

For a long-ass time, my life hasn’t been mine. And after the scandal broke out at the Fuck Club, I knew that the person I allowed myself to become was no longer the person I wanted to be. Maybe it makes me sound like a selfish bastard. Maybe I should have drawn hard lines in the sand that I could abide by. But I know my strengths. I also know my fucking weakness. I’ve always been a sucker for attention, a sucker for accolades from people who mean nothing to me. And I had let those very people dictate my life. The only solace here is, I’ll never have to take shit from them again. I’m dead, after all. My hand’s on the wheel of the car I bought with cash. The windows are down in this classic Chevrolet, and there’s nothing in front of me besides wide-open land. I just keep driving east. Because if I drove west, I’d be in the Pacific Ocean. Which is the very place my family and friends think I am. Dead on arrival. But I don’t really care what my family thinks right now. My parents have as much to do with this—my death—as anyone else. And I can’t let anyone know that—ever. Ever. The only way I could face their truth is by killing myself. They knew it and I knew it. No one else ever needs to. I exhale, trying to get rid of the feelings of regret that have been tearing me up inside. Maybe I’m a selfish motherfucker. What kind of man allows his friends to believe he’s dead when he’s not? A man who’s desperate, that’s what kind. My family has put Cal through enough shit…. Being friends with me is only going to cause him more pain.

I pull in to a gas station, needing to refuel so I can keep driving through the night. As I step out of the car and stretch my legs, I run my hands over my beard. What was scruff a week ago is now the beginnings of a full beard and has helped with my disguise. I reach into the passenger seat for my trucker cap and pull it on low. With my jeans and plain white T-shirt, no one is going to identify me as the Hollywood celebrity, Sawyer Bennett. Especially now that everyone on Earth thinks I’m dead. With my fake ID, a trunk full of cash and an offshore bank account, I don’t need anyone or anything. That gives me a hell of a lot of freedom…. The only problem? I don’t know where the fuck I want to go. In the gas station, I pay for a Red Bull and shitty food that’s warmed by heat lamps. Before I go, I see a copy of the latest issue of Exposé. Motherfucker. My face is on the front of it. Despite the fact that it is everything I hate, I find myself reaching for the magazine, lowering my eyes as I do, and handing the cashier a five-dollar bill.

I drive all night, sleep the morning away at a rest stop, and then keep driving. I’m in the fucking middle of nowhere, and if I was trying to leave the past behind, I’d say I goddamn have. My eyes keeps shifting to the damn magazine beside me, and I tell myself I won’t cave in and read it, even though I want to know what has been said about me. Is this sick? A fucking twisted game? I don’t know. But my best friend, Cal, has already been through the wringer. He watched his parents die because of the fucked-up town we were raised in. I can’t let the same thing happen to me. And I knew I was spinning out of control. Dating Sondra. Agreeing to shitty movies I didn’t care about. Signing on to product placements that I didn’t vouch for. Everything about me had become a fucking advertisement and I didn’t want what I was selling. I had lost myself. It’s better this way. The studios owned me while I was alive but they can’t own me in death. It felt like the only goddamn way out. If Cal knew the truth, it would tear him up. Which is why he’ll never know. The truth of my parents will wreck him more than it has hurt me.

Which is why I keep driving. Which is why I feel like a fucking monster, tormented by demons of my own making. I want more, but I fucking lost the man I was. Sawyer is dead. And the truth is, I don’t know what’s left.

SMALL TOWN F*CK CLUB CHAPTER 1

When I decided to fake my own death, I knew it was a drastic choice. But sometimes drastic situations call for exactly that. Drastic, irreversible measures. For a long-ass time, my life hasn’t been mine. And after the scandal broke out at the Fuck Club, I knew that the person I allowed myself to become was no longer the person I wanted to be. Maybe it makes me sound like a selfish bastard. Maybe I should have drawn hard lines in the sand that I could abide by. But I know my strengths. I also know my fucking weakness. I’ve always been a sucker for attention, a sucker for accolades from people who mean nothing to me. And I had let those very people dictate my life. The only solace here is, I’ll never have to take shit from them again. I’m dead, after all. My hand’s on the wheel of the car I bought with cash. The windows are down in this classic Chevrolet, and there’s nothing in front of me besides wide-open land. I just keep driving east. Because if I drove west, I’d be in the Pacific Ocean. Which is the very place my family and friends think I am. Dead on arrival. But I don’t really care what my family thinks right now. My parents have as much to do with this—my death—as anyone else. And I can’t let anyone know that—ever. Ever. The only way I could face their truth is by killing myself. They knew it and I knew it. No one else ever needs to. I exhale, trying to get rid of the feelings of regret that have been tearing me up inside. Maybe I’m a selfish motherfucker. What kind of man allows his friends to believe he’s dead when he’s not? A man who’s desperate, that’s what kind. My family has put Cal through enough shit…. Being friends with me is only going to cause him more pain.

I pull in to a gas station, needing to refuel so I can keep driving through the night. As I step out of the car and stretch my legs, I run my hands over my beard. What was scruff a week ago is now the beginnings of a full beard and has helped with my disguise. I reach into the passenger seat for my trucker cap and pull it on low. With my jeans and plain white T-shirt, no one is going to identify me as the Hollywood celebrity, Sawyer Bennett. Especially now that everyone on Earth thinks I’m dead. With my fake ID, a trunk full of cash and an offshore bank account, I don’t need anyone or anything. That gives me a hell of a lot of freedom…. The only problem? I don’t know where the fuck I want to go. In the gas station, I pay for a Red Bull and shitty food that’s warmed by heat lamps. Before I go, I see a copy of the latest issue of Exposé. Motherfucker. My face is on the front of it. Despite the fact that it is everything I hate, I find myself reaching for the magazine, lowering my eyes as I do, and handing the cashier a five-dollar bill.

I drive all night, sleep the morning away at a rest stop, and then keep driving. I’m in the fucking middle of nowhere, and if I was trying to leave the past behind, I’d say I goddamn have. My eyes keeps shifting to the damn magazine beside me, and I tell myself I won’t cave in and read it, even though I want to know what has been said about me. Is this sick? A fucking twisted game? I don’t know. But my best friend, Cal, has already been through the wringer. He watched his parents die because of the fucked-up town we were raised in. I can’t let the same thing happen to me. And I knew I was spinning out of control. Dating Sondra. Agreeing to shitty movies I didn’t care about. Signing on to product placements that I didn’t vouch for. Everything about me had become a fucking advertisement and I didn’t want what I was selling. I had lost myself. It’s better this way. The studios owned me while I was alive but they can’t own me in death. It felt like the only goddamn way out. If Cal knew the truth, it would tear him up. Which is why he’ll never know. The truth of my parents will wreck him more than it has hurt me.

Which is why I keep driving. Which is why I feel like a fucking monster, tormented by demons of my own making. I want more, but I fucking lost the man I was. Sawyer is dead. And the truth is, I don’t know what’s left.

SMALL TOWN F*CK CLUB CHAPTER 2

The moment I showed up in Resting Hollow, I knew it was a good place to fade to black. I couldn’t hack it in a city even if I wanted to. I’m a small-town girl through and through. Besides, my car broke down the moment I pulled into town and I took it as a sign. I’m here until I get enough cash saved up to keep rolling west. As far as the Pacific Ocean. I’ll keep going and never look back. For now, though, I got an easy job pouring cheap beer to sorry-ass fools looking for love in a dive bar. And I get to live in the cottage behind the bar owned by Dusty. Free rent so long as I do as I’m told. Possibly ominous words, but I have a furnished place so my lips are sealed. I’ve had worse gigs. And tonight? I’m certainly not complaining. I have no idea who this guy is who keeps checking me out. He sure as hell isn’t from here—,and while I can’t see his eyes hidden by that dorky trucker cap, I can see his smile. He owns a pair of perfect dimples, and his hands are clean. That might not seem like it matters too much, but I grew up with a stepfather who spent half his life working on his motorcycle. I swore I’d never be with a man who had greasy nails. Though I may be getting ahead of myself. But considering the way he keeps looking my way, I don’t think I am. “You like the nachos?” I ask, after serving a group of women who were fawning over this man like he’s Bambi. Well, a sexy as fuck Bambi. Okay, that analogy is kinda weird. The point is, they were all over him. Then as I lean over the bar with my tits hanging out, I realize I’m doing the exact same thing. Shameless, sure. But this last month I’ve been through hell and back. Honestly the chance to forget all that for a moment; to just close my eyes, spread my legs, and forget, sounds damn near perfect. “They are the best tater-tot nachos of my life.” I cock an eyebrow his way. “You’ve had them before?” “Never.” He shrugs, finishing the last sip of his beer. I pour him another. He takes a

drink. “Can’t say I’ve ever been out this way. I’m looking for a motel. You know of any decent ones?” “Can’t you Yelp it?” “I don’t have a phone.” I eye him suspiciously. He may be dressed in casual clothes, but they’re nicer than the stuff Wal-Mart sells. Plus, he’s obviously ripped but not from manual labor. He has a body that has spent plenty of time in the gym. He has money, that’s for sure. His teeth are white, he’s polite, he isn’t like the Podunk boys who hit on me here. So, the fact that he doesn’t have a phone is a red flag. A big one. The only other person I know without a phone is me. And there’s a reason for that. “The motel in town is scary,” I tell him. “Too scary for me, and that’s saying something.” He shakes his head. I wish he’d take off his ball cap. I want to see his eyes. “I need to sleep somewhere other than my car tonight,” he tells me. I bite my bottom lip, look at my watch. It’s nearly 1 a.m. The bar will be open for another hour. “I bet there are plenty of women out on the dance floor who would take you home.” I know. Shameless. I’m fishing, trying to figure out his game. He bites. “I don’t want to go home with any of them.” “Anyone on the dance floor or anyone at all?” I lean closer, knowing I’m showing him everything I’ve got, but damn, I’m suddenly craving a sexual connection. Something that will let my head fall back, my shoulders drop, and my heart race. I want to escape my demons, if even for just one night. He smiles slowly, running his hand over his stubble. “It’s the dance floor I’m avoiding. I’m not opposed to other offers.” Just then another couple saddles up the bar, more out-of-towners. What the hell? I have no idea what Dusty is running here, but it’s starting to creep me out. At least thirty people have come in tonight asking for the Dusty Special. “That’ll be 5.99,” I tell them. This time though, since the crowd at the bar have thinned out a little, it’s easier to watch them pass the bathrooms and turn around a corner. “What the fuck is that all about?” he says. “I have no idea.” I wipe down the counter, pursing my lips. “The only thing down the hall is a supply closet.” “Well those fancy-ass people are not here to refill the deep fryer, I’ll tell you that.” I laugh at that, appreciating his down-to-earth demeanor. “What’s your name,

anyway?” His Adam’s apple bobs and I swear to God he is coming up with an alias on the fly. “Bennett,” he answers. “Now that we know who one another are, what do you say we go find out about Dusty’s Special ourselves?” I duck my head, trying to see his eyes, but he seems intent on not revealing them to me. Before I can answer, another group of men—locals in their dirty clothes and greasy hair come up and order a round, hitting on me as they wait for me to pour their pints. “Hey, honey, you wanna come home with me tonight?” one guy asks with a slurred voice. “I’ll pass,” I say tightly. But he doesn’t drop it. “Aww, you gonna make me get myself off at the thought of you? Wouldn’t you rather ride my big old dick all the way home?” “Fuck off,” I tell them, raising my hands and stepping away from the bar. “Oh, we won’t fuck off. We wanna fuck you,” another man chimes in. “You wanna take this outside, boys?” Bennett asks, standing up from his stool. When he stands, I see how big he is. His biceps flex under his thin cotton tee, and his broad shoulders would intimidate anyone in this place. The guys, though, are too drunk to recognize what’s happening. “No, we wanna take her right here, right now,” one guy laughs. But before Bennett can throw one his way, the drunk lobs for Bennett, clumsily connecting his fat fist with Bennett’s chiseled jaw. He isn’t having any of it. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” Bennett asks, not waiting for an answer. He pulls back and slams his fist into the guy’s jaw. He falls back, too wasted to throw a punch in return. I race around the counter, shocked at these men fighting over me. From the ground, the drunk asshole laughs, looking up at me. “Aww, so you wanted to ride me down here on the floor, is that it?” Bennett pulls the man up from the floor by the collar of his shirt. “You need to get the fuck away from here, understand?” Before Bennett can toss this idiot to the ground again, Dusty is here, pulling the men apart. I haven’t seen a bar fight break out since I got this job, but it’s almost closing time on a weekend, so if there was a time for shit to go down, I suppose now is the witching hour. Dusty’s a big man, and when he speaks, the people in this town listen. That much I’ve gathered in a short while. He may own a dive bar, but he has his finger on the pulse of a hell of a lot more in this sleepy town than people realize. My skin crawls thinking about his 5.99 special, and I wonder what else he has going on besides a strong read of Resting Hollow. “It’s time you boys go home, understood?” he bellows. They scatter immediately,

falling over their boots on their way out the front door. Once they’re gone, Dusty turns to me. “You can call it a night, Sadie,” he says. “I’ll close up.” I thank him, tossing my apron in the dirty washcloth bin, and stuffing my tips into my purse. The confrontation didn’t scare me, but it did piss me off. I didn’t leave my old life just to have to deal with more assholes in my new one. I didn’t disappear so I could be treated like shit. Ready to walk away, I turn and reach for Bennett. He may not be a sure bet, but he stuck up for me… and really, that is the number one thing I’m looking for in a man. And even if it’s a one-night stand, I still know my line in the sand. “You coming?” I ask him, tugging on his arm. He takes my hand and presses his own against it. His hand is heavy and warm. It pulses with a longing I understand. He’s not alone in his loneliness, though; it’s a feeling I know all too well. He looks down at me, and I see the darkness in his eye, but I know there is a lot more to see if only I could toss that cap aside and take a deep look at him. But for now, he won’t let me. I don’t press; after all, there’s a lot I’m not willing to share, either.

Small Town F*ck Club releasing June 2017

ALSO BY FRANKIE LOVE THE ENTIRE FRANKIE LOVE COLLECTION

The HIS Collection: HIS Everything The Mountain Man’s Babies: TIMBER BUCKED WILDER HONORED CHERISHED The Modern-Mail Order Brides: CLAIMED BY THE MOUNTAIN MAN ORDERED BY THE MOUNTAIN MAN WIFED BY THE MOUNTAIN MAN EXPLORED BY THE MOUNTAIN MAN

An Arranged Marriage Romance: COURTED BY THE MOUNTAIN PRINCE CHARMED BY THE MOUNTAIN PRINCE CROWNED BY THE MOUNTAIN PRINCE Las Vegas Bad Boys: ACE KING MCQUEEN JACK Los Angeles Bad Boys: COLD HARD CASH HOLLYWOOD HOLDEN SAINT JUDE THE COMPLETE COLLECTION Stand-Alone Romance: KINKY RESOLUTIONS WILD AND TRUE

Stand-Alone Bad Boy: BIG BAD WOLF Stand-Alone Mountain Men: MISTLETOE MOUNTAIN: A MOUNTAIN MAN’S CHRISTMAS HEART OF GOLD: A MOUNTAIN MAN’S VALENTINE HIS LUCKY CHARM: AN IRISH MOUNTAIN MAN

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Frankie Love writes sexy stories about bad boys and mountain men. As a thirty-something mom to six who is ridiculously in love with her own bearded hottie, she believes in love-at-first-sight and happily-ever-afters. She also believes in the power of a quickie. Find Frankie here: www.frankielove.net [email protected]