July (Calendar Girl #7) (4 page)

“Hello, Mia? Dick got your tongue? I sure as hell hope so. You’re grumpy since that political prick got his grubby hands on you.”

“Gin! I was attacked. Have a little mercy.”

Her voice went instantly soft. “I know babe, I’m sorry. I just don’t want you to let that fucker get the best of you. No man gets to have that power over you. Remember. That’s what you told me after all the shit you went through with Blaine.”

I groaned. “I don’t know girl. Anton here is mouthwateringly hot—”

In true Ginelle fashion, she cut me off. “Girl, what I would give to be in your position right now. No, not your position. You like playing all hard to get. See me and my awesome tits, come look at ‘em, oh, no, you can’t have ‘em. Me, I’d be down on my knees in front of that hot piece of mocha-covered goodness sucking down his manhood like a frappuccino-flavored, icy treat.”

I busted out laughing. “You would, you skanky ho-bag.”

“Who me?” She pretended to be surprised.

I groaned and flopped back onto the bed. “But Gin, here’s the thing, the second he got close, I freaked. Had a full on flashback of that night with Aaron.” Scowling I picked at my cuticle, working a piece until it bled. The pain was nothing compared to the worry that I was more screwed up than I thought after what happened.

“Hmm, I think you need to give yourself some time. Is he pressuring you?” Her voice turned hard, that high pitch hitting a crescendo. It was a warning that she was about to blow up.

“No, no, no. Not at all. Just in the beginning, there was some serious flirting going on between us, but now, it’s like a wet blanket has fallen over my libido.”

“Hmm, maybe Wes coming to town is the exact thing you need. You know, get your groove back.”

“Are you seriously quoting movie titles?”

“Babe, I got nuthin’ when it comes to you not wanting to bang an exceptionally ripped, powerfully gorgeous, rich hunk of yumminess. Goes against everything that I am.”

“True…big whore.” I added for levity.

“Gotta stick to what I know.”

I rolled my eyes and sighed. “Fine. You owe me though.” It took effort to sound hard and unyielding, especially to my best friend, but I felt I managed pretty well.

“So I’m forgiven for meddling?” she squeaked out in a tiny, almost nervous voice.

Staring up at the ceiling I let the swirls in the plaster settle my mood. “Yeah, for now. But don’t contact any of them again. I mean it, Gin!”

“Scout’s honor!” she rushed to add.

“You’ve never been a scout!” I scolded her and laughed.

“Sounded good in the moment.” She giggled.

“Whatever. Go back to bed ‘hood-rat!” I grinned, and even though she couldn’t see me, I’m certain she knew all was forgiven just by my tone.

“Aye aye, captain coochie! Love you, bitch.”

“Love you more, bitch-face.”

We hung up, and I read Wes’s message again. He’d be here in two weeks. My birthday was July 14th. Bastille Day.

Figured I’d better get this over with.

To: Wes Channing

From: Mia Saunders

Ginelle should have kept her mouth shut. You really don’t have to come. I’ll be fine. I love that you’re thinking of me.

Love? There’s that damn word again. Love. Did I love Wes? Truly? I didn’t know. Maybe. Probably. Possibly. It was definitely not something I had any business thinking about when I was with yet another client. One that true to Gin’s words, was a mocha colored hunk of yumminess. And also a
player
. Then again, wasn’t I? I’d been with Wes, Alec, and Tai, and here I sat in another rich man’s apartment considering how fuckable he was.

Lightning fast, I pulled up my Internet app and typed in the word
Player
. Google helpfully supplied the following.

Not the type of player definition I was going for. Just under that definition was a link to a different website named “Urban Dictionary.” I clicked the link.

player

A male who is skilled at manipulating (“playing”) others, and especially at seducing women by pretending to care about them, when in reality they are only interested in sex.

Hmm, is the term player only used to describe males? My get-out-of-jail-free-card holding side wants to cash in that coupon as fast as you can say go, collect my two hundred dollars and buy Park Place. Unfortunately, my self-loathing, guilty conscience wouldn’t allow me to think so highly of myself. That niggling simpering twit within had me visiting Wikipedia. It never let me down before.

The first definition said it all in black and white, noting exactly what I feared.

Player
may refer to:

• Player (dating)
  , a man or woman who has romantic affairs or sexual relations or both with other women or men but will not marry or commit to any one relationship
  

That was all I needed to see. Confirmed. Mia Saunders, honey, you are a PLAYER.

***

After spending an ungodly amount of time scalding my skin to a tantalizing and oversensitive pink hue, I made my way up to the elevator. The text I’d received from Heather directed me to dress casually and meet Anton on the roof. Why the roof, I had no idea, but I was on their dime, so followed the request without response. It had been an hour since my text to Wes, and he hadn’t yet responded. I didn’t know what I wanted him to say. Would he push back and force his way into my heart? A part of me wanted that so badly I could hardly breathe. Another part of me wanted to continue with the way our relationship was, at least for now. No expectations, no rights to one another, just friends. With benefits.

Friends with benefits.

Was that the relationship I really wanted with Wes? My Wes? Shit. And when did he become
my Wes
? I suspected somewhere between admitting I was falling in love with him and thinking of home being California. No, not just California. His place in Malibu. That’s where I felt most like myself. Free to just be Mia.

With a snarl, I smashed the elevator button so hard my thumb smarted. I shook it out and watched the numbers climb. Why now? After dealing with a shitty experience, licking my wounds in Boston with Rach and Mace, to come here, find a hot guy who is overt in showing his appreciation for me, or at least my body, and everything builds up to this? Had it always been coming to this point? Where I felt as though my emotions and fears were simmering like lava under the Earth’s surface, a volcano that could erupt at any moment?

The elevator dinged and I was catapulted into a very strange world. Plants, trees and the humid air blasted against my skin, making it hard to breathe. The humidity was so thick you could cut it like a pat of butter.

“Jesus...” I swallowed reflexively trying to bite back the fish-out-of-water feeling.

“
Lucita
! Over here.” I heard Anton call but only saw a man’s form, a blur of white as he moved from plant to plant. On closer inspection, his shirt, linen pants, even his boat shoes were white and smattered with dirt, marking up the toes. A huge, Asian style sunhat peeked up over a large shrub as I made my way closer.

I stopped and stared at Anton as he pulled weeds, twisting the bottom and yanking them out, scraggly, webbed roots and all. “What are you doing?”

“Gardening. There’s gloves over there. Do you have a green thumb?” he asked, with what sounded like hope in his tone.

I shook my head. “ ’Fraid not. I kill most things.”

He stood tall, the linen shirt forming around all his muscles. A stirring of excitement started low in my belly but fizzled out when he stepped closer, within touching distance. Look but no touch. Interesting.

“Guess we’ll have to change that, won’t we?”

Shrugging I pulled on the gloves. “Never gardened before. Back in Vegas we have what’s called zero-scaping. Rocks instead of lawn, cacti instead of bushes and succulents instead of flowers. You don’t have to do much to keep those suckers alive.”

“Ah, but the joy comes from the tending and caring for something other than yourself.”

Lovely way to think of it.

“Here, you see this plant?” I followed his fingers and assessed the wild green sprout that didn’t look like the others. “This weed will end up infiltrating this entire box of Pawpaw.” I crinkled my nose not sure what the heck a Pawpaw was. He grinned. “It’s a shrub, but it flowers. See this?” He held up a stem that had a flower unlike any I’d ever seen. It was a deep, dark eggplant color at the center, with three long petals that were light, greenish yellow in color. Unique for sure. “The weed will infest the entire lot and destroy the beauty growing within. Kind of like negative thoughts.”

Negative thoughts. “How so?”

He smiled softly, his eyes a bright green. “Sit with me,
Lucita
.” I did as he bade. Planting my bum on the small edge of the flower box. “Negative thoughts are planted like a seed in the brain, and then once they grow, they take over the whole mind. Infecting your ability to see truth and beauty clearly. To see the honesty behind a person or situation. In the end those thoughts take over, and you lose sight of the joy of having that person in your life. Like the weed. It will grow and infest the entire planter box until all the beauty is destroyed and all that remains is the one thing you didn’t want in the first place. The weed or in this case, the negative thought.”

“You surprise me.” I laid my hand on his bicep and squeezed. When he placed his hand over my knee I froze. Fear and ugliness creeped from the center of his touch up my leg, over my body where a tightness stuck in my chest. Without realizing it at first, I held my breath. His green eyes searched mine, and he closed his eyes, blinking slowly before letting my knee go. It was as if I could breathe again. I turned my head, braced my hands on my knees, and breathed in through my nose and out through my mouth, trying to be stealthy about it. Didn’t work. He noticed but had the decency not to comment.

When I got myself back in order, he finally answered my question. He waggled his eyebrows and licked those plump, kissable lips. “I surprise most people.” And there was the sarcastic side.

“So, gardening is your hobby?”

He nodded. “
Si
. I love to see beautiful things grow. And I love to eat what I’ve grown.” There was pride in his tone. This hobby seemed beloved to the Latin Lov-ah and somehow it made him more real, a bit more earthy.

The word
eat
jangled around in my mind. Reminded me of the way he’d eaten dinner the other night and how he reacted when I told him I hadn’t eaten. “Are you a food lover?” I asked toying with a leaf of a bush I couldn’t name. Everything was so exotic and new to my untrained eye.

Anton got up and moseyed over to another bush. “Food is a necessity. No one should be without it.”

“Sounds like man who’s lived without it and knows what it’s like.”

His jaw tightened and his lips thinned. Bingo!

“Are you going to tell me why you freeze when I touch you, even in a friendly manner. Though I’d like to touch you in other ways. If you were willing.” His eyes blazed with intensity, proving that he did, in fact, fancy me the same way I fancied him, only it wasn’t meant to be.

Walking through the lines of flowers and bushes, I ignored his question and his comment about being attracted to me. “What’s this?” I pointed to a bush that had bright yellow, fuzzy balls with fern-like, deep green leaves connected to it.

“Sweet Acacia. It flowers all year long but don’t touch…” he said just as I grasped the yellow bud and was pricked by its thorns.

“Ouch!” I pulled my finger back and flailed it into the air. He grabbed it and plopped the digit into his mouth. Three things happened all at once.

One, a fire lit in my belly bringing with it all kinds of lustful desire and need so strong moisture set up shop right between my thighs.

Two, that scary, gnawing, anxious feeling wrapped it’s way around my entire body effectively putting me into an immobile lockdown.

Three, my vision went black. When I opened my eyes I was back there. Against that fucking wall.

“You think you’re special don’t you?” Aaron’s words are a piercing bite loaded with poisonous venom.

I shake my head and try to sound calm. “Not at all, actually.” It’s the truth, but based on his response, he doesn’t agree.

He scowls, turns on a heel and prowls forward until I lift my hands in front of me in defense. Aaron doesn’t stop. Continuing forward, I find myself pressed up against the concrete wall of a darkened area. In a few more steps his chest is against mine, all before I realize what is happening. Inhaling shallowly, I consider the best way to handle this, only the champagne is fogging my reflexes, making my limbs feel heavy and lethargic. “Aaron, you don’t want to do this.”

His face is closer now, and he slides his nose along my temple. Shivers of dread slither down my spine, prickling the hairs at the back of my neck. “Of course I do.” His voice sounds dead, devoid of any real emotion. I push against his chest to see if there is any give. No dice. Fear, ripe and hot, tickles my senses, the fight-or-flight response building within. “Trying to escape, little whore,” he says in a drunken slur.