So. Long(89)

“Too bad.” Shayna tosses her napkin onto her plate. “I’m not so sure I’ll go through with this. You’re asking me to ruin my friend’s career.”

Ronnie massages her temples. “He’s right, Shay. We’ll all suffer. Let’s just do it and see what happens. Maybe it won’t be that bad. Maybe people won’t even care. Maybe I’ll be spared a lifetime of embarrassment by a record-breaking earthquake.”

Shit. How’d I go from getting a hand-job to threatening my date’s job in the time it takes a rabbit to fuck?





The air stirs around the table; I yank my shawl around my shoulders, tucking the edges between my thighs. What the hell was I even thinking? Have fun? With him? He’s rude and crude, a socially unacceptable cad.

He points to a heavy-set guy, probably pushing forty, with a six-finger forehead. “Him. If you can pull anyone in and make them grateful to have someone to love, it’s got to be him.”

Shayna huffs. “You want me to try to seduce that? Seriously?”

I elbow her.

“What about me? You may not even have to touch him. I, on the other hand, will have to run my fingers through—” A shiver runs through me at the thought of touching the unkempt slug of a man. “—ick, he looks so greasy.”

Shayna and I turn on Jackson, both of us glaring. “No.”

Jack holds his hands up. “Fine. Okay, let me look around some more.”

He pushes out of the booth and strolls around the dining room, perusing the choices of unattached men. Finally, he stops and points, not so discreetly, at a tall black guy. He reminds me of that guy on that FBI show, the one with the light eyes that calls the techy chick Baby Girl.

Shay turns to me, brows raised in question. I shrug.

Jackson returns to the table. “So? Does he fit the bill?”

Shay lifts one shoulder.

“He’ll cheat,” she says, matter-of-factly.

My jaw drops. “You don’t know that. He could be the very loyal sort.”

“He could be, but he’s not. He has the look. Then again, I wouldn’t kick him outta bed, so whatever.”

Baxter crosses his muscular arms, scowling. “But you won’t—sleep with him, I mean. No more than a few kisses, right?”

Shay rolls her eyes and then stares right at him. “Fuck and release. I told you, fuck and release; that’s the policy.”

Baxter’s mouth hardens, and the muscle at his temple works overtime.

Jackson slides into the booth next to me. “You okay with that guy? If so, I’ll get a picture of him on the sly. It shouldn’t take my crew long to figure out who he is.”

A huge sigh seeps out. “Sure, why not? One poor sap is as good as the next, I suppose.”

The idea of purposefully fooling someone doesn’t sit right with me. But I’ll be damned if I can figure out a way around it. I can’t afford for this to crash my career. This is my chosen profession. There is no plan B.




Cindy, the petite woman from Jackson’s staff, puts the little camera pin on my lapel. “Okay, just remember that if you need privacy, you’ll have to turn it off. Bathroom, intimate moments, whatever.”

I nod. “You guys can see it all. Got it.”

When Cindy vacates the room and closes the door behind her, I collapse in the chair at the dressing table.

This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. Well, maybe not as stupid as letting the architect of my demise finger-fuck me in a public restaurant—then again, no. No, this is definitely the dumbest ever.

The door opens. My knotted stomach sinks.

Jackson.

In the mirror, he smiles, those dimples peeking out of his perfectly kept stubble. My pulse beats in my panties, but I’m going to ignore that—for my own sanity.

“Hey, beautiful. You ready to win this bet?” He steps behind me and rests his hands on my shoulders.

I wrinkle my nose. “Don’t pretend that you think I’ll win. You said yourself that you won’t buy what I’m selling.”

Reaching around me, he covers the camera with one finger, and then he leans close and whispers in my ear. “All I can think about is how your pussy tastes. What do you say, after your date with what’s-his-face, I’ll come over? You can tell me how he’s falling for you, and I promise you’ll be glad I came.”

I bite my bottom lip. My body is a traitor—probably because my mind is far too imaginative about how he’ll make me happy he came. But, I can’t do that to myself. Or to… wait, what is his name? Donny or David or Dudley? Whatever—it doesn’t matter.

Pushing out of the chair, I brush his hand away. “Sorry, Jack. Just because you have no moral compass, it doesn’t mean I don’t.”