Hitting the top of Hollywood’s It List has its perks.
Money. Fame. Girls.
Lots and lots of girls.
I’ve definitely earned my reputation as a player.
But one thing I’m not is a cheater.
I don’t like cheaters. I don’t date them. I don’t stick my dick in them. I don’t do things to justify jealous boyfriends or husbands punching me in the face.
Tonight, I’d done all three.
Granted, I hadn’t known Missy Ives had a boyfriend at the time, but that didn’t mean shit when I could still picture the guy, looking confused, then hurt, then dangerously pissed right before he came after me two hours ago. I’d been bare ass naked, dealing with my own confusion, and suffering flashbacks to two years ago when I’d caught my girlfriend in bed with my brother. All that had slowed down my reflexes when Missy’s boyfriend swung at me, which is why I now sported the beginnings of a black eye.
Truth is, I’d probably have let the guy punch me anyway, that’s how bad I’d felt.
Unfortunately, in a few days I was starting my role as the male lead in a new network television series. I prayed the black eye faded before we began filming.
Pulling my car into the crowded circular drive of rocker Wesley Shaw’s Beverly Hills’ mansion, I killed the engine, and checked my reflection in the rearview mirror, gingerly touching my eye. The entire lid was purple and swollen. It also hurt like hell. But I wasn’t going to let that stop me from turning my Saturday night around. The bitter memory of Rachel’s betrayal, which I’d mostly put behind me, was suddenly a raw open wound that wouldn’t go away. I needed a drink. Several drinks. And I needed a girl. Maybe several girls. Anything to make me forget what a fool I’d once been to believe in love. And to have enjoyed Missy’s company for a mind-boggling three dates (including one on New Year’s Eve two weeks ago) while starting to think maybe we could actually be more than a casual hook up.
What an idiot.
Getting out of my car, I took in the scene of my buddy Liam Collier’s 22nd birthday party. Liam was the lead singer of Point Break, the same band for which Wes played the guitar, and Wes had used Liam’s big day as an excuse to throw his first party since moving in to the seven-bedroom villa. I’d only heard about the place until now, and damn it was sweet, with floating levels, glass walls held in place by a striking black frame, and even a circular tower adjoining the entrance. Wes had especially raved about the outdoor terraces that had amazing views of the Los Angeles city skyline.
Valets scurried to keep up with the procession of cars as guests arrived. Heavy bass and electronic beats pounded my ears and shook my car windows. A multitude of girls in low-cut blouses and four-inch heels wandered in and out of the house. I didn’t recognize most of them, but that didn’t surprise me. Anyone who was anyone in this town knew about Wesley’s new place, but only anyone who was someone would get inside.
Unless she had a great rack to go along with her anonymity.
Seeing one of the valets approaching me, I tossed him the keys to my black Bentley Continental GT. “Thanks, man,” I said as I started jogging up the white stone steps of the house. Two hulking men in dark suits worked security. I’d almost reached them when the front door burst wide open, letting out the muffled chatter and bursts of laughter of the hundred people inside. From my peripheral vision, a shirtless figure stepped—or stumbled, more accurately—into my view. It was Point Break’s drummer, Tucker Benning, all lean lines, scruff, and inked flesh.
“You made it.” Tucker toted a half empty bottle of Patron Silver, cigarette drooping at the crook of his lips. Long, disheveled brown hair hung in front of his bright green eyes, some sections slicked with sweat. He pushed them back clumsily.
A smudged lipstick mark stained his cheek. Swaying precariously, he threw open his arms, tequila sloshing out of the bottle. “We were wondering where the fuck you—Whoa. Man, what happened to your eye?”
“I fell into a wall.” I sighed, knowing I’d probably be saying it a lot tonight.
Tuck blinked at me as if trying to process my answer.
“But I’d never miss Liam’s birthday, Tuck.”
Liam Collier and I were friends from high school when we were both drama geeks. Liam had bounced from band to band back then, meeting Tuck our junior year. I hadn’t met his newest bandmates, Wes and Corbin Ross, who ripped the bass guitar, until last year, just before they’d gone platinum. Now they played to sold out crowds and were preparing for their first world tour.
Tucker slung his arm around my shoulders, using me as support. “Don’t tell him or Wes I said this,” he mock-whispered, his breath reeking of alcohol. “But I’d miss Liam’s birthday for a chance to hook up with Missy Ives. Jesus, that SI swimsuit spread she did…”
“Dude, come on.” Instead of Missy’s swimsuit shots, I pictured the whole tawdry scene with Missy and her boyfriend again. A sudden clenching in my chest had me rubbing the spot and wincing as we crossed the tile floor, splashed with confetti, streamers, popped balloons, and loose glitter raining down from flashy cocktail dresses.
“Hey, you were the one who said she seemed different than most girls. I’m not letting you clam up now.”
That was before I knew she wasn’t single.
Of course, I didn’t say that. Wanting to change the subject, I eyed him oddly. “Tuck, where the hell is your shirt?”
He looked down at his naked chest. “I don’t know, man. Earlier, I was shotgunning some beers in the bathtub. And all of a sudden, it was gone.”
“Wow.” I leveled him with a condescending smirk, glad I’d gotten him away from the Missy talk. “That’s an impressive memory you’ve got there.”
Tucker slowly shoved a finger into my arm. “Dude, I don’t need your judgery. And quit changing the subject. Dish, man. Did you actually hit that? How was it?”
“You’re relentless,” I murmured, reaching across his body to snatch the Patron bottle by the neck. I knew if I didn’t say something, Tuck would just keep asking. “We were interrupted.”
“Bam!” Tucker boomed theatrically, squeezing me all rough, his eyes growing comically wide. “Cock-blocked by a jealous ex?”
“Something like that,” I muttered, taking a swig of the tequila, happy Tuck was obviously too inebriated to connect the cock-blocking with my black eye. “Anyway, too much trouble for me. That’s over.”
“Still, three dates is a record, man.”
True, which was why I was done talking about it.
Tucker and I continued across the foyer and into the kitchen, done in dark granite and stainless steel. Recognizing a few Hollywood types, I tossed them nods of acknowledgement and fended off the flurry of queries about my black eye by reminding people I still did my own stunts. There was a set of twins I liked, for the most part, a brother and sister often cast in the same films together. Their eyes flashed with respect when they saw me.
“Hey, Garrick,” the girl twin called. “Congrats on the new series. You’re going to kill it.” She lifted a shot glass in my honor.
“Thanks. Should be interesting.”
I was an action star, not a romantic lead, but I was hoping my stint as Payton Baber would result in more dramatic roles. As Baber, I’d be playing a college student at the University of New Mexico and frontman for a garage band who becomes romantically involved with a good girl book nerd named Lacey. Point Break would be contributing to the show’s soundtrack, and Liam would be dubbing my musical parts, since I couldn’t sing worth a shit. It was pretty awesome when I recommended him. The network had been set on hiring another band for cost reasons, but when I’d hinted I was reconsidering taking the job, the network had caved and ponied up an insane amount of cash to hire Point Break. Really showed my newfound pull in the industry.
Liam was the perfect dude for the gig anyway, with his rich, tenor voice that soared into falsetto at just the right moment. Man, it’d always irked me the way he could do the one thing I couldn’t so well.
Not that I hadn’t tried. Believe me, I had. But, as it turned out, even the best voice coaches in the world couldn’t make a frog sound like a canary.
I used to sing a lot, even being as bad as I was. Of course, I’d limited it to when I was alone in the shower. No way did I ever sing in public. I’d even refused to sing along to the car radio with Rachel, something that had—
Fuck! I hadn’t thought about Rachel in months. Now thanks to Missy, I’d thought of her multiple times this evening. I scanned the room for something—anything—that would drive her from my mind.
Cheers broke out in an area of the house. “Where’s Wes?” I asked.
“That idiot’s been upstairs asleep since six p.m. I’m pretty sure he’s in the middle of something raunchy, and he doesn’t even know it.”
We took a detour into what looked like a den with a huge movie screen. Seeing who was already there, I immediately grinned. I’d asked for something to take my mind off my troubles and this was a pretty good start.
“Speaking of raunchy…” I nudged my chin in the direction of the couch where two buxom girls knelt, one a blonde, one a redhead, bracketing a pair of dark denim clad knees. The girls were passionately swapping spit, wearing nothing but their bras and panties. I have to say, they presented quite the erotic sight with their feet tied up in red, strappy heels. The lucky dude in the middle had his head thrown back against a couch cushion. I didn’t have to see him to know he was one lucky son-of-a-bitch. I doubted he was thinking of past betrayals or irate exes at that moment, and that’s what I desperately wanted—to wash away what happened earlier. Going back several years would be nice, since it would mean washing away Rachel completely. I wondered if he’d let me take his place.
“Shit,” I commented. “That is not unfortunate looking at all.”
The guy’s head came up, and a pair of hands planted themselves between the girls, on their “girls,” nudging them apart. Liam’s chiseled face appeared, short dark brown hair spiked and collared shirt stained with booze, the buttons one hole off.
“Gar!” Liam shouted, nodding with a shit-eating grin on his face.
I laughed. “Happy Birthday, Liam.” Somehow, seeing my friend eased the pressure inside my chest a little.
Liam looked wasted, but good. He’d taken to his recent rock god status like a fish to water without remotely becoming a dick. He had this infectious carefree attitude. He rolled with the punches. He didn’t stress. Everybody loved him from the moment they met him. Friendly, outgoing, laid back, confident, and courageous, Liam could charm the pants off of any girl, and the snarl out of any guy. He remained close to his parents and brothers. And while he was now definitely playing the field, he still believed that one day, he’d find the right girl and settle down.
In other words, he was damn naïve.
His parents were abnormal. Most people didn’t find love like that. Most people were assholes, cheaters, quitters. Missy had just reminded me what I already knew. I didn’t want to be the one who popped his bubble, but he’d figure it out at some point.
“Tucker,” some girl called from the kitchen, poking her head around the corner and brandishing a green bottle before him the way a trainer might dangle a treat in front of a dog. “We’re doing Jågerbombs. Get your ass in here.”
“On my way. Later, man.” Tucker smacked my shoulder. “We need to get a few shots in ASAP.” With that, he ducked out and strutted into the kitchen. “Let’s do this,” he announced, followed by a swell of cheers.
Liam popped up from the couch, bounded across the room, and attempted to football tackle me. Luckily, I was ready and braced myself in time to avoid being bowled over, giving him a few slaps on the back instead. “What’s up, bro?”
“You sneaky little shit,” he chided. “You came.” He smiled lopsided, pleasantly drunk, eyes dilated.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” I assured him, clamping my hands around his shoulders, giving him a good shake. I was lying. I probably would have missed it, if I had something in my life worth missing it for. Professionally, that was the case. Personally? Not so much.
For half a second, I wanted to be away from the party, the noise, the liquor, even the girls. I thought it wouldn’t be such a bad thing to be able to go someplace quiet and just talk to someone who cared about me.
I shook my head to clear it. Fuck, I sounded like a pussy. This was Liam’s birthday party. The guy didn’t need me getting all morose and sensitive on him.
I scrambled for something to say. “So. Where’s Helen?”
“She’s out in the infinity pool, I think.”
Helen had been in our drama class too, and she and Liam remained close friends. As far as I knew, they’d never dated, only drifted in and out of each other’s lives like smoke—like phantoms. Recently she’d taken a job with the band, helping with their merchandising, and I couldn’t help but wonder if that was a little too close for the comfort of their friendship.
Liam pressed a gallant hand on his chest. “And on that note, I’m going to check on Helen. Hey, buddy, can you hold down the fort for a while?” he asked, thumbing toward the girls in lacy lingerie, lounging on the white leather sofa, passing a bottle back and forth while they giggled.
Good ol’ Liam. What a pal for offering me up the very distraction I’d been admiring moments earlier.
As if they had supersonic hearing, the two girls zeroed in on me, their bedroom eyes laced with big, flirty false lashes. They batted them, freshly manicured index fingers beckoning. Yes! There’s no way the shadow of the night’s earlier events, or those of two years ago, could survive me getting it on with these two gorgeous girls. I took a deep breath. “I don’t know, Li. It’ll sure be taking one for the team,” I joked. “And you’ll owe me. Like, huge.”
Suddenly, he planted his hands on my face, locking eyes with me. “You can do this,” he said, shaking my face. “I believe in you. HOOAH!”
“Hooah!” I bantered, grinning ear to ear.
Five minutes later, could I help it if I sat nestled between the two girls on the Italian sofa, my arms around them to keep me warm? The blonde introduced herself as Britney, the redhead as Angela. Britney tsked and lightly touched my bruised eye, while Angela said it made me look even hotter. They both claimed they were big fans of my work. They liked to giggle and give each other kisses. I was more than okay with that.
After the first round of kisses, though, their hands instantly gravitated toward my body, as though I was pure steel, and their fingers were magnets. They plucked off the buttons of my shirt, one by one, kissing each other every two buttons. I wondered what they would do by the sixth set. By then, I was half undressed, and Britney pulled my shirt open while Angela rubbed her hand over my crotch, inching closer to what had already begun to tent my jeans.
My hands searched for their hips, thighs, and breasts. I took turns kissing one, then the other. I mean, it was only fair. They were both doing such a great job. Britney reached behind the couch to the glass display table and seized the neck of a half empty bottle of whipped vodka. Taking a swig, she leaned close to me and let the shot drop through her strawberry-glossed lips into my mouth. I swallowed the sweet liquid, the burn gone from it, and squeezed her tighter, tasting the flavor between our tongues.
Angela sucked lightly at my neck, her mouth trailing over the curve of my jaw to my ear. “Let’s go upstairs,” she purred in her syrupy voice.
I groaned, my body more willing than normal since it hadn’t found release with Missy earlier—we’d been going at it pretty hot and heavy when her boyfriend showed up.
Unease and bad memories threatened to swamp me again, and for an awful second, my mind actually superimposed Rachel and Missy’s faces over Britney and Angela’s. Talk about fucked up. But then Angela’s hand slid over my groin and pressed.
Rachel and Missy’s faces faded away. I was firmly focused on a goal now—getting the three of us off as hard and as many times as possible.
“Upstairs?” Angela’s fluffy eyes waited hopefully.
Breathless, blood boiling, I nodded.
Both girls managed to shed their bras before we reached the top landing, giggling madly and tossing them over the banister onto the guests below. Whistles, hoots, and hollers echoed from downstairs.
From somewhere, Tucker whooped triumphantly. “Get ‘em, Gar! Who wants body shots, ladies?”
The three of us stumbled into one of the upstairs bedrooms, Angela wielding the vodka bottle by the neck, holding my hand in her free one. A couple was already in the room, but they took one look at me and excused themselves, leaving me in the room with Angela and Britney.
Kicking the door closed, Britney hooked her finger into my belt loop and tugged me toward the bed, working those eyes and pouty lips like a fucking pro. She made quick work of my belt buckle while we walked, unbuckling it, then sliding the belt out of the loops.
Angela clambered onto the bed, taking a pull from the bottle and purposely letting some drizzle out of her mouth, dripping over her chin, throat, and pert, plump breasts. I reached out to squeeze them even as I turned my head to crash my lips against Britney’s. Still standing next to me, her hands felt around in all four of my pockets until she found a condom. Finally, my jeans came off, pushed down around my thighs, followed by my Calvin Klein boxers.
“Baby, you’re so big.” Her eyes danced with delight.
Actress. It took one to know one, but at least she knew what to say, right?
She ripped the package, removed the condom, and rolled it on me. Dropping to her knees so our profiles were to Angela, Britney enveloped my rock hard cock with the sweet, wet warmth of her mouth. My hand shot into her hair. The glorious pressure, the friction she provided, as her head bobbed back and forth, coiled around me.
“Yeah,” I breathed hotly. “Take it all.”
She moaned and took my cock down further, as if to demonstrate how well she could do what she was told.
Meanwhile, Angela made a show of peeling off her panties. When she was completely naked, she crawled toward me, big bedroom blues ablaze with lust, her knees mussing up the sheets. She licked her lips, rose on her knees, and kissed me deeply. I twisted my torso toward her and slid my hands down her chest, smearing the vodka across her naked body, until my fingers found the liquid heat between her thighs.
I bucked my hips forward, pushing my ache into Britney’s throat. She responded with a greedy moan, her nimble fingers trailing up my thighs to cup my balls and fondle to her heart’s content. I groaned my approval and gave her hair a tug.
Angela and I went into full kissing mode as I pushed my tongue into her mouth, tasting the sweet sugary vodka with just a hint of cigarettes. She moaned while I stroked her, teased her, fingered her… She broke away from me, laid back, and opened her legs, giving me a front row view while she pleasured herself, middle finger caressing her slippery center. I watched, more aroused by the second, until Britney pulled my cock out of her mouth with a wet pop. She stood, turned around, and climbed onto the bed, positioning herself between Angela’s perfectly smooth thighs then burying her tongue inside her.
Angela gasped and writhed.
My cock at full mast, I hooked my fingers into Britney’s baby blue thong and dragged it over her perfectly round ass cheeks. Taking a moment to squeeze and admire what she so happily displayed for me, I licked my top teeth like a lion eyeing its next meal. With my shins touching the bed, I gripped her hips and plunged into her. Daaamn, that felt good.
Apparently, she liked it too, since she moaned desperately. I was hoping she’d be a little tighter, considering how in shape her body was on the outside, but then again, she probably did this pretty often. No judgment on her. I mean, after all, I did too. Britney licked and sucked and fingered Angela while I fucked Britney, my release inching up my spine. She squeezed her pussy around me, opening her knees wider as if to take as much of me as she could, then she wiggled away all together.
What was she going to do now? I could only imagine.
Crawling over Angela’s body, she turned around and planted her knees on either side of the Angela’s face, sinking herself down. Instantly, Angela’s tongue sprang into action, and I used the backs of Angela’s knees to lift her legs so I could plunge into her.
They both moaned in that theatrical, porn way. Britney mapped out her body with her hands, massaging her own breasts, as she gyrated her hips, gleefully surrendering to the pleasure. I have to say, it was pretty freaking hot. I took Angela’s legs and hooked them over my shoulders, the sight of her strappy heels as her only clothing even more of a turn on. Britney leaned forward, so we could kiss. We swapped positions like that, fucking for the next hour, until we all lay there in a heap of sweaty, sated flesh.
It took a while for my body to cool down and to stop shaking. I felt drained. Empty. For a short time, I’d been granted relief from the sting of Missy’s betrayal and the bitterness of bad memories, but now they returned full force.
My inner demons taunted me with my worthlessness, making me feel like shit in general. I’d been working my ass off and partying for two years in an attempt to rid myself of this feeling, and now this episode with Missy had broken through the wall and all I felt was pain.
I stared at the textured ceiling, any remnant of physical pleasure swiftly subsiding. Next to me, the girls lay motionless, spent. Not long ago, I would have playfully slapped Britney’s ass then tickled Angela until they got up and dressed, but now, I just lay there. If they wanted to go, they could. If they wanted to stay, I didn’t care.
I didn’t know them. I didn’t care about them. I didn’t know them enough to like them.
Right then, I didn’t even like myself. But that wasn’t going to work.
I was all I had. Me. My career. The partying. The booze and women. I had a life most guys would kill for. I had to remember that.
Forcing myself to move, I turned to the girls. “Ladies, that was amazing. Thank you.”
Angela propped herself on her elbows. “There’s more where that came from,” she purred.
Suddenly, Tucker banged on the door. “Garrick,” he slurred. “Come take birthday shots with us. Before Liam passes out. Come on, bro…dry your dick and get out here.”
I scrambled up to get dressed, ready to forget all that haunted me with the help of my friends and a lot of shots. The niggling feeling that I was pathetic pestered me, and I fought to push it out of my head. I don’t know what more I wanted, but I was inexplicably flooded with a desperate certainty that it wasn’t this.
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