Ruckus (Sinners of Saint #2)(40)

"Ugh." She turned her back to me, burrowing into the blanket with her eyes closed. "I'm so happy I don't have to see you until the rehearsal dinner."

"Don't be so happy just yet." I brushed some hair from her face, causing her skin to break out in goosebumps.

"And why is that?" she asked, and apparently, Rosie LeBlanc had the ability to have long-ass conversations during her slumber.

I leaned down, pressing my lips to hers, my tongue darting out and swiping along her bottom lip before sucking it, long and hard. It was the kind of leisured, teasing kiss that left you thinking about the next one for a week after.

"Because I've just decided that I'm moving to the mansion to spend time with you," I whispered, then ambled to the door, turned off the lights, and smirked to the dark blue of the night. "Sur-fucking-prise, Baby LeBlanc. Now we're not only neighbors, we're practically roomies."

I drove home that night, grabbed the suitcase I didn't have time to unpack, and moved my shit to Vicious's. I'd tell him my parents were remodeling parts of the house if he asked. Good thing he never gave a shit about anything.

It was better this way. My parents were big on bugging me about meeting Nina in recent months, and I didn't care for the same old conversation. I also didn't care why they were so hot on getting me to meet him.

Because all I cared about was my next conquest. Her.





I picked up Trent at San Diego airport the following day, this time taking Dad's Volvo XC90. The red truck stayed in the garage. I hardly ever used it, but Rosie asked to keep our little date a secret, and for the time being, I was all about pacifying her.



       
         
       
        

If Vicious saw me picking her up, he'd start asking questions just to piss me off.

And once he heard my answers, we were going to brawl again. Not that I particularly minded. Throwing a few punches into his face was my idea for meditation. Though I preferred to go around it without the excess drama. Vicious, on the other hand, was an over-the-top Sweet Valley type of asshole. He loved making a huge production out of shit.

I double-parked directly in front of the arrival gate and tipped my Ray-Bans down, checking out the herd of flight attendants in blue uniform that crossed the road in front of me. As if sensing my gaze, two of them turned their heads in my direction and smiled. I smiled back, then flicked my eyes down to check my phone.



Jaime

Me and the girls are landing in SD in four hours. C U on the other end, fucker.



Vicious

Hello, Captain STD. Hope you're sober enough to read this. Make sure you pick up Trent today. Seating arrangement is waiting in your email. Call when you're done.



Trent

Get your eyes up from your lap. It looks like you're jerking off.



Laughing, I looked up and spotted my best friend breezing through the gliding doors with a business trolley. To say Trent Rexroth was a good-looking guy was like saying that cyanide was slightly unhealthy. The guy turned heads. Women's and men's alike. Sure, we were all easy on the eyes, but there was only one motherfucker who always stole the show. He was striding directly toward my vehicle, in all of his six-foot-four, aristocratic face, ripped-to-fucking-shreds, ex-quarterback glory. Every chick in our radius did a double take, then a triple one to make sure this guy was really human, and when he climbed into my SUV, two even took pictures on their phones. Probably mistook him for that dude from the mug shot-you know, the mixed one with the blue Calvin Klein bedroom eyes.

Trent slapped my back, the international 'Good to See You, Bro' signal and buckled up.

"Am I getting older, or are they getting less attractive?" He motioned with his chin toward another harem of flight attendants, this time clad in burgundy uniforms.

"Definitely getting older." I stuck to my script as the manwhore, even though I wasn't feeling it either. "Maybe it's time for Viagra."

"Maybe it's time you shoved your foot into your mouth." Trent shot me a dry look, flipping the glove compartment open and taking out a rolled blunt he knew would be waiting for him.

"Wait until we leave the airport." I kicked the vehicle into drive. He obeyed, glancing at his phone for emails in the meantime.

"How's Luna doing?" I asked, checking the side mirrors. His daughter was almost a year old now. Babies were never my jam-I didn't want to make them, but I loved practicing while using protection-but Luna had chunky thighs like Pillsbury rolls, a big-ass smile, and she clapped and did a weird dance every time I saw her on Skype. There wasn't really anything not to like about her. Other than her mother.