PLAYED - A BRITISH BAD BOY ROMANCE (3 page)

Overlooking the one-sided romantic fixation between us, I carried a lot
of respect for Connor Carelli. While I was in some galleries and Reiko managed
someone else’s sandwich shop and followed around that band, Connor had chased
his dream of owning a bonafide record store.

The location was shit, the parking was worse, and the place was held
together with a barebones staff and a lot of improvised renovations… but Connor’s
little record shop was
his.
Not only
that, but he’d developed a reputation for carrying a carefully curated
selection of classic obscurities and important memorabilia.

“Just to let you know, the guy usually leaves around 9PM,” Reiko cut in.
“So, if we’re going, we’d better get down there soon. Unless you think you can seduce
him in half an hour, at any rate.”

I glanced at the clock. Despite the fact that the sunlight outside was
only just waning now, it was already 7:30 PM. “Fuck these summers and their
long hours…” I muttered to myself. “You two make yourselves comfortable. I’ve
gotta get changed.”

“Don’t forget, your head is a canvas!” Reiko reminded me. She was used
to me completely forgetting to wipe the paint smears off and apply a little
makeup. “Put that artistic touch to work and get your face on!”

“Yeah, yeah…” I smiled, pushing past them to dive around the corner and
into my bedroom. I reached into wardrobe and snagged a couple of items – a nice
dress, a decent belt, a few accessories...

As I whipped off my oversized tee and my pair of black leggings, I
suited myself up for what could be an
interesting
night.

I scanned my face in the mirror, tugging over my makeup bag from the top
drawer beneath my sink. A little foundation, some contouring, maybe just a
little refined shape to my eyebrows… I had the time to put this together.

The sounds of some old sitcom played from the living room. Undoubtedly,
Reiko and Connor had made themselves comfortable on my couch, chilling with the
Netflix on my old Xbox. At least they were occupied.

“Alright, Riley,” I whispered to myself as I lifted the first instrument
of my quick, studious makeover. “He sounds like a catch, and he’s looking for
something…” I smiled confidently at myself in the mirror. “You are gertting
your mojo back! You are getting
laid
tonight
by a thick, British cock. Time to get on the war paint…”

Chapter 2

Lex

While I nursed a Newcastle, I quietly ignored the young piece of ass that
was giggling loudly in my ear with her cute southern drawl.

Jess’s idea had been great on paper.

In England, there’s a fresh
scandal waiting around every corner for you. Brett Barker wants someone
wholesome, and spoiler alert, Lex: that just ain’t you, you know?

You’re not just a bad boy.

You’re THE bad boy.

You’ve gotta chill the fuck out
somewhere that nobody recognizes you. Lay low for a couple of weeks… maybe find
yourself someone out of that damned life. Someone intelligent who can do more
than just look good on your arm or your damn balcony.

You need to go to the one
place where nobody knows your name… America.

It was true.

Nobody here had recognized me.

Nobody here knew my name.

I couldn’t tell whether to be relieved or offended. Tellingly, I seemed
to cycle between the two at any given moment.

Of course, people here were equally obsessed with football, but they
were fixated
on the wrong one.
Over
my drinks every night, I’d stared up at the screen as some talking heads loudly
and bombastically speculated over sports footage on some asinine show called
SportsCenter.

Needs a new name
, I thought to myself.
I haven’t
once noticed them mention even a hint about the most beloved sport on the
planet.

So far, we’d been here a week.

It had been my idea to visit New Orleans. I figured, I could disappear
for a little while, find one of those pretty Southern belles I’d heard so much
about, and kick back and ride out the tabloid cycle.

No harm, no foul.

Jess had been less than enthusiastic about that prospect – she’d wanted
to get me
away
from the party scene,
not drop me smack dap into the party capital of the Western Hemisphere. But
with a little convincing, she’d been onboard with it.

After all, she could drink her weight in wine, and New Orleans was a
city rich with historical significance and culture. I wondered if there might
really be some voodoo out in those swamps, and she was eager to at least check
out the world-famous port city.

Now, I’d heard the stories of belligerent Americans and how raucous they
could be, but I hadn’t been prepared for the Deep South.It seemed that all
there was to do down here was (a) drink, (b) drugs, (c) fuck, and (d) stare at
the goddamn television.

And I had to stay away from almost all of those things on
this
little trip… Lay low, stay out of
the news, and come back to the UK a kinder, gentler Lex… The kind of Lex who
gets his face on a cereal box instead of a tabloid.

Not that it would surprise anyone if I cocked this up.

“So, are ya gonna buy me a drink, or what?” The blonde beside me drawled,
snapping me away from my thoughts. “Ah’ll take a Bloody Mary, thank yew very
much.”

Maybe she’d be fun for the night, but getting caught with some slutty
college student from the US would be a whole new scandal.

Jess would kill me.

“Yeah, piss off,” I muttered absentmindedly, glancing lazily towards
her.

She gasped indignantly, wheeling her hand back to slap me. I took the
blow, my cheek wincing with pain. I growled menacingly under my breath as she
took a step back.

“You’re an asshole,” She shouted.

“Don’t hit me again,” I retorted.

“Hey! What’s going on here?” Some loudmouthed bucko stepped into view,
his lustful eyes glued to this chick. “This guy givin’ you a problem, darlin’?”

“Sure as shit is!” She looked proud of herself.

“Hey, you’re that
foreigner,
ain’t’cha?”

“Might be,” I replied noncommittally.

“Hey! Fellers! It’s a
Brit!
”
He called out with that stupid fucking voice of his, as if I was some kind of
novelty in this area.

Then again, this was New Orleans.

I probably
was
a novelty here.

I’m too conspicuous,
I thought to myself.
I need to
leave a smaller footprint, maybe stop going to the same bar every night… even
if they do make the drinks the way I like ‘em…

There were some murmurings as another fuck got up. He was dressed in a
plaid shirt, dusty jeans, and cowboy boots. A ten-gallon hat was perched above
his face. As he waddled into view, I could see that over a quarter of the room
was quietly watching us now.

Not really the kind of attention I wanted.

“I don’t know how you treat the ladies in your part of the world,
pahd’ner
, but here in the U, S of A, we
treat women with
respect
,” he told me
with some sort of misguided authority over me.

The guy looked to be in his upper forties, sniffling a bushy moustache
as he carefully summed me up.

I almost laughed…

But I was supposed to be playing it quiet. Tearing up a bar in New
Orleans wouldn’t play well if I wanted that sponsorship back home.

“No offense meant, lady,” I told her, turning to the bartender. “One
Bloody Mary for the lady, and a round for the house.”

I cast my eyes back on the girl. “I’m not buying you another drink, but
I’m sure one of these
strapping
young
lads would be happy to take my place.”

The first guy looked thrilled at the prospect, and the scene quickly
died down. Within moments, the two of them were seated at a spare pair of
barstools down the counter, and the
pahd’ner
was ambling back with his drink at my expense, apparently satisfied.

There were still eyes on me, but I expected that now. I’d started to
recognize some faces since frequenting this fine establishment, and no doubt
I’d raised some eyebrows. Maybe they didn’t know who I was, but they sure as
hell knew I didn’t belong.

“Thanks for not causing a scene,” the bartender murmured quietly enough
for only me to hear. “I know you’re still getting acquainted with the local
flavor, but Southerners are fiercely patriotic… one syllable off your tongue,
and you stick out like a sore thumb here.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” I nodded thoughtfully.

“Anyway, this one’s on me,” he grinned, popping the top and dropping a
second Newcastle beside the first.

“Cheers, mate.”

I noticed him glance over towards the door and grin knowingly. Since
there was nothing better to look at in this place, I glanced over and spotted a
trio that I didn’t recognize.

The Japanese chick was returning his smile. She was clad in some
hodgepodge blend of biker gear and punk rock attire. Her interesting fashion
sense somehow came together cohesively, even if it was a tad much.
Who the fuck is she trying to impress?

The scrawny chap with the shaggy curls and the glasses looked mildly
uncomfortable. Dressed in a ragged jacket and torn jeans, he looked like a
highly functioning vagabond of some sort. When he made eye contact with me he
looked even
less
comfortable, which
almost made me grin. Did I just catch a hint of recognition? Maybe I’d finally
found the one soccer fan in the whole country. I was hoping I wouldn’t bump
into too many of those here…

My entire train of thought derailed as shaggy-head moved aside.

The bird between them stole the show.

I didn’t really go for the brunettes, but there she was, standing tall
and confident. Her black dress elegantly hung around her womanly hourglass
shape. Those beautiful eyes caught my attention in a heartbeat. Her radiant
face scanned the room for a moment, zeroing on me at the bar, and a small smile
crossed her lips.

Well, what do we have here?

The Japanese one noticed me as well, and whispered something into her
ear. Their mate looked none too pleased, and he placed a hand on her shoulder
and started to say something.

Bad move, apparently.

She shrugged off his touch and turned, quietly ripped him a new one, and
then broke away from the two of them.

By the time she slipped into the chair beside me, I was
thoroughly
intrigued. The other two
found a small bar table in the corner, which gave them a great vantage point to
watch whatever we were about to do.

“Say something,” she told me.

“Excuse me?” I asked.

The mysterious young woman smiled. “That’ll do. What is that,
Estuary?
”

I raised an eyebrow.

“You know your accents.”

“Could say that.”

Unlike the other locals, she seemed to have a more dignified tongue,
even if her own accent faintly slipped through.

It was my turn to smile.

“Who the Devil are you?” I asked.

“My name’s Riley,” the woman answered, holding out a small hand. Without
thinking, I took it into my own, feeling how soft and delicate it was within my
much sturdier grasp.

“Charmed. Call me Lex.”

“
Lex
,” she repeated, trying
out the syllable for herself against the backs of her teeth. “I like that.
Short for “Alexander?”

“Naturally.”

“Well, Alexander, just between you and me, would you like to know a
secret?” She leaned in closer, watching my eyes. I couldn’t help but play along
with whatever this was.

“Go on, then.”

Riley glanced around quickly, then whispered into my ear, as if she were
telling me the most important secret in the entire world: “We’re going to fuck
tonight.”

If there had been beer in my mouth, it would have sprayed across the
counter. I took a quick, hard look at this woman who had sat down next to me,
and I couldn’t help but shake my head in surprise.

Or was it admiration?

“Awfully presumptuous, yeah? And what exactly makes you think that I’m
taking you to bed?”

“I don’t care what reason you pick,” she shrugged nonchalantly, smiling
as the bartender walked over. “I just know that it’s going to happen.” Her tone
shifted. “Hi, could I have a glass of shiraz?”

“Certainly,” the bartender nodded.

“Oh, and put it on his tab,” she jabbed a thumb to me without turning
her head. “If you’d be so kind, Geoff.”

He glanced over for confirmation, and I was so impressed that I could
only give a crisp nod.

The bartender poured a glass of wine for her, setting it down in front
and giving a slight nod of acknowledgement. I returned the gesture and watched
her take a quick sip.

“Delicious,” she cooed.

Who the hell
is
this woman?

I was about to find out…