Sex, Lies & Wedding Bells
Chapter 1
Rainbow Awards Finalist in 2 Categories
Coffee Time Recommended Read &
TwoLips Reviewer's Choice
from Ravenous Romance
M/M contemporary erotic romance
248 pages
ISBN: 978-1-60777-064-7
Price: US$ 4.99, $12.99 print from Amazon
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Read Excerpts
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When columnist Kieran Quinn goes to Texas
to cover the latest wedding of a real-life "runaway bride," he falls
hard for the gorgeous—and straight—groom. Jaxon Lang is the handsome, confident
high school principal in a tiny Texas town. Kieran's charm and unique attitudes
about sex and attraction soon challenge Jaxon's concept of what—and who—he
wants. Will anything change when Kieran discovers the bride's been keeping a
shocking secret?
CHAPTER ONE
Copyright © 2009 by E.M. Lynley
100 Cummings Center
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in whole or in part without
written permission from the publisher, except by reviewers who may quote brief
excerpts in connection with a review.
ISBN-13: 978-1-60777-094-7
This book is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to
persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Chapter One
Thursday
The first thing Kieran noticed
when he woke up was something warm and wet on his cock. He let out a small
moan, enjoying the sensations. He remembered leaving Brut—his favorite club,
just a few blocks from his place—with a model. He couldn’t quite remember which
one, not that it mattered: Based on what the guy was doing to his cock, Kieran
had made a good choice. He slowly opened his eyes and saw a pair of big blue
eyes staring right back at him with a mischievous glint. Ah, yes. Now he remembered.
Kieran had no idea what the guy’s
name was, but his face was more than familiar. Just about everyone in the city
had seen it, 10 times larger than life, looking down from a
“No biting,” Rod said, as Kieran
scraped his teeth along one shoulder.
Damn underwear models and their rules, Kieran thought, and pulled
his lips over his teeth. He knew Rod couldn’t show up for a photo shoot with
teeth marks on his perfect body. Memories flooded back to Kieran: Rod mentioned
he was doing a new shoot in which he’d be completely nude, with just someone’s
leg thrown across his crotch area. A men’s fragrance ad with the tagline “It’s
all I wear to bed,” or something along those lines. Can’t wait to see the billboard for that one, Kieran thought,
looking at the real thing in his lap.
Kieran put his hands on Rod’s hips
and lifted him slightly, settling him onto his back, legs still wrapped around his
waist, heels pressing into the small of his back. Rod let out a throaty sigh
and relaxed back onto the lapis-colored, 800-threadcount sheets and spread his
legs wide. Kieran admired the view of Rod’s even tan on smooth, firm flesh and
reached over to the bedside table to grab a condom. Rod pulled the packet
slowly from Kieran’s fingers and ripped it open using his teeth, never letting
his eyes off Kieran’s, conveying his own need and arousal as effectively as his
erection did. He rolled the condom onto Kieran’s hardness and gracefully hooked
one knee over Kieran’s shoulder while he waited for Kieran to apply extra lube
to his cock.
Kieran tentatively pushed one
slick finger into Rod and met no resistance. He added another. Rod was more
than ready and Kieran wasted no time pressing the tip of his cock against Rod’s
slippery hole and plunging inside with one smooth move that overwhelmed his
senses. Rod moaned as he took Kieran in, encouraging and increasing Kieran’s
own pleasure at the tight, hot grip of Rod’s ass around his cock. It felt just
as good as it had the two previous times he’d fucked Rod, before they’d both
fallen into a deep, sated sleep in the early hours of the morning.
On top of Rod like this, Kieran
couldn’t really see as much of the man’s gorgeous body as he would like; so he slowed
his thrusts before either of them got too close to orgasm, wanting a better
view. Kieran sat at the edge of the bed, facing the large mirror door of his
closet and pulled Rod back into his lap, back-to-front, Rod’s legs straddling
Kieran’s.
“I want to see how beautiful you
are,” Kieran mumbled huskily, “and watch you lose control.” He helped Rod ease
himself down onto Kieran’s cock. With his and hands on Rod’s hips, Kieran
easily moved him up and down as he watched in the mirror.
“God,” Rod moaned, “yeah, just
keep…fucking me…like…that.”
Rod’s head was thrown back against
Kieran’s shoulder, legs splayed wide so Kieran could stroke and play with his cock
and fondle his balls as Rod fucked himself down on Kieran with an uneven
rhythm. It didn’t take long before Rod was so fucked out he could barely move
on his own and Kieran had to do most of the work. That was fine with Kieran; he
loved seeing a guy this far gone
Kieran had Rod coming with a few
skillful strokes, shooting thick creamy jets up across his chest and shuddering
around Kieran’s cock as he grunted and sighed with his orgasm, whispering a few
mouthfuls of delightfully filthy comments. Kieran came a moment later, still
feeling Rod’s aftershocks squeezing his cock, trying to keep his own eyes open
so he could enjoy watching Rod as he pumped his own release inside him. The
nearly dead weight of Rod’s body in his lap intensified Kieran’s own pleasure,
as his orgasm ripped through his body, pleasurable sensations ricocheting and
reverberating along every inch of his skin and leaving him spent and exhausted
and perfectly satisfied.
Kieran lay back, pulling Rod along
with him. They lay quietly while their breathing returned to normal. Then Rod
slipped out of bed and into the bathroom, and Kieran was surprised to hear the
shower start. He disposed of the condom in a trash can next to the bed and waited,
reliving the activities and enjoying his own afterglow. Rod took a surprisingly
short shower and came back into the bedroom with just a few droplets of water
on his beautiful nude body as he toweled his long, damp hair.
“Got any coffee?” he asked,
bending bent down to collect his scattered clothes from the floor.
“Sorry, no. I usually go out for
breakfast.” Kieran sat up in bed and watched Rod dress himself. “Want to come
along?”
“I’m late as it is,” Rod said, not bothering to button his shirt. He slipped on
his jeans, socks and shoes hurriedly before leaning down and brushing his lips
against Kieran’s. Rod’s hand slid down Kieran’s chest gently stroked his cock
one last time before Rod straightened up
and left, waving a farewell.
“Bye, Rod,” Kieran said.
“Todd,” Todd-not-Rod corrected with an annoyed look, then turned on
his heel and left. Only slightly embarrassed, Kieran listened as Todd let
himself out the front door; and then with a heavy sigh padded into the bathroom
to shower and get his own day started. He had to go into the magazine’s office,
and by the time he had breakfast it would be close to noon. No matter, he decided as he shampooed
his hair. He’d already turned in his column the evening before by e-mail. All
he needed was to get final approval from his editor.
Once Kieran washed and dressed,
the only clue to his late-night and morning activities was the broad smile on
his face as he walked out the front door of his building’s lobby. He rounded
the corner of his street and walked half a block to the tiny diner where he had
most of his breakfasts. Inside he was greeted with warm smiles and cheerful
waves by the two waitresses on duty, and seated himself in a booth near the
window. Kieran liked watching people pass by on the street while he ate. He
ordered a vegetable and cheese omelet, hash browns, and a fruit salad. His food
arrived quickly and while he ate, his mind went over the night and morning he’d
spent with Todd.
Physically,
there was nothing to complain about. He’d been more than satisfied in that
regard. But Kieran still felt that there had to be something more than what he
and Todd had shared. Once again, here he was having breakfast—more like brunch,
considering the hour—on his own, the way he did nearly every day. It was a
seemingly endless parade of hot guys who had been to his place or with whom
he’d gone home. Last night’s guest was one of the few who spent the whole night;
but Kieran would much rather have woken up in someone’s arms than someone’s
mouth. He’d even asked Rod—Todd, he
reminded himself—to have breakfast, and that was certainly a break from the
usual routine.
It wasn’t as if they’d had anything to talk about; but Kieran had at least tried for more than a few pleasant hours in bed with the guy. It might have gone better if I remembered his correct name, Kieran thought, but reminded himself Todd had already turned down the breakfast invitation before Kieran’s faux pas.
Kieran finally rolled
into the office of Gloss magazine—a New Yorker-style
literary weekly aimed at a younger audience—well past noon, and got a mixed
response of smiles and murderous glares from his coworkers. One person went so
far as to mutter “Prima fucking donna” under her breath. Kieran was unfazed.
He smiled his usual million-watt smile and greeted everyone cheerfully as he set
his six-foot, four-inch frame at his desk in the center of an old-fashioned
bullpen writers’ room. He was still in a fantastic mood after the night—and
morning—he’d spent with Todd, a guy who undoubtedly everyone in this room would
recognize.
He was quietly humming as he
tugged at his half-tucked shirttail, fanning himself to help the cool
air-conditioned breeze counteract
“Kieran, nice to see you!” boomed
a loud voice behind him, oozing sarcasm and irony.
“Jeff, hey!” Kieran replied
cheerfully.
“Kieran, what does the sign on my
door say?” Jeff asked, walking around to the back of Kieran’s desk and perching
himself on its edge. In one hand he had a rolled-up sheaf of papers which he
thwacked against the palm of his other hand menacingly.
“Morgan Jeffries, editor,” Kieran
replied, wrinkling his brow. He hadn’t expected a pop quiz. Jeffries preferred
to be called “Jeff” rather than any permutation of his first name; in fact he
loathed his first name, so it was best never uttered.
“Okay, good,” Jeff replied sardonically,
“you noticed that. And what does the sign on your office say?”
“I don’t have an office?” Kieran
replied, knitting his brows and wondering if it was a trick question. The
conversation had attracted the attention of his coworkers. Kieran could hear a
few people still tap-tap-tapping at their keyboards, but no one spoke.
“Precisely,” Jeff said
cryptically. The entire room was silent now.
“Are you telling me I’m getting a
promotion?” Kieran asked eagerly, his grin widening, flashing his sure-fire dimples.
“Uh, I wonder what the Magic 8-Ball
would say about that. All signs point to fuck no.” Jeff leaned down into
Kieran’s face, breathing the tuna fish he had for lunch onto Kieran. Snickers
and giggles echoed around the room.
“Okay, then what are you telling
me?” Kieran asked. He didn’t consider himself a slow learner, but he still
wasn’t sure where this was going. He was here and he’d turned in his column—by
e-mail—well before the five p.m. deadline.
“Kieran, do you like your job?”
Jeff asked, leaning back again. Someone in the far corner snorted and
Kieran’s eyes darted in that direction without moving his head.
“Yeah.” Kieran didn’t like the way
the conversation was going. He’d been thrown off because Jeff had called him
“Kieran.” When Jeff was angry at someone he used his surname instead.
“Then what the fuck is this?”
Jeff demanded, smacking the roll of papers onto Kieran’s desk. The sheets
fluttered to the floor. Kieran bent down awkwardly to retrieve the document,
scanning to see what it was.
“Uh, my column—‘Crazy Things People
Do to F
“No, I ‘don’t like it,’” Jeff
replied, mimicking Kieran’s voice. “It’s too fucking nice, for fuck’s sake!
Fuck, Kieran!” Jeff liked to say “fuck,” and averaged about one use per
sentence. He was clearly making up for lost “fucks” so far in this
conversation.
“Nice?”
“Too fucking nice,” Jeff repeated.
“We don’t pay you to write nice interesting little columns with heart and hope
and happy endings. We pay you to be bitchy and snarky and
enter-fucking-taining, for fuck’s sake. This is bo-ring! I wouldn’t use it
wrap dog shit in! Come on! You talked to matchmakers and psychics and
speed-fucking-daters and more crazy-ass lovelorn sons of bitches, and there was
a fucking fuckload of potential for snark here, and you end up writing
some fucking sympathetic piece about how hard it is to find ‘love in the big city.’”
Jeff mocked. “Fix it the fuck up or pack your fucking desk and get a job at Redbook
or Ladies’ Home Fucking
“Fuck yes?” Kieran ventured with a
grin. Jeff didn’t return the smile. He had
managed to say “fuck” 14 times; a
personal best for one conversation,
Kieran mused. When he started working here, he found himself counting “fucks” rather than paying attention to
what Jeff was actually saying. After three years of practice, Kieran could
listen and count “fucks” at the same time.
“Deadline is five p.m., which
gives you four hours to get me a new draft. Or to pack. Your choice, Quinn.”
Jeff stormed back to his office. Eyes followed Jeff until he slammed the door
behind him. Then everyone stared at Kieran.
“Thanks, all y’all, for your
concern about my well-being,” Kieran said in his sweetest, most drawling native
Texas accent. “Now mind your own fucking business!” He added in his normal,
only barely-a-trace-of-an-accent-voice, and smiled a huge, pleasant and clearly
facetious smile, showing most of his large and very pearly whites.
Kieran booted up his computer and opened the file to edit his
column. Slowly, the room returned to its normal level of noise and activity.
Everyone was used to Jeff’s weekly tirades, but Kieran hadn’t been the object
of Jeff’s disaffection for quite a while. A lot of the other staffers thought
he deserved it, the way he swanned in—never swished, despite what some people
might say—at all hours of the day and consistently turned things in at the last
minute. But no one disputed he was one of the most talented and most popular
writers—at least with the readers—at Gloss. His columns invariably
generated hundreds of letters and e-mails, a mixture of plaudits and
complaints, but the magazine didn’t care, as long as people were buying and
reading it. The circulation department discovered a good number of people
bought the thing just for Kieran’s column.
The company intentionally didn’t
post Kieran’s columns on Gloss’s Web site
in order to force people to buy the magazine. The tactic worked. Circulation
was at an all-time high: Quite a feat, given the Internet had caused most
magazines and newspapers to lose huge portions of their print readership.
Almost four hours later, Kieran
had been to the coffee cart in the lobby three times and was so hopped up on
sugar and caffeine he couldn’t sit still. He furiously tapped away at his
keyboard, banging one knee rhythmically against his desk, and occasionally
muttering to himself. Several co-workers stared at him, probably wishing Kieran
hadn’t shown up in the office after all. The feature writers had the option of
working at home a couple of days a week, if their jobs allowed—the news writers
clearly couldn’t—but everyone was expected to be in the office on the day of deadline;
preferably before noon. The
room now was nearly empty, as the writers who had already turned in their
stories went home or off to live their lives.
“So, Kieran, how’s the rewrite
going?” Chad Raines asked from a few desks away. He was Kieran’s closest friend
at Gloss, and possibly outside of work, as well. He reviewed films for
the magazine’s entertainment section. Kieran imagined
“Great,
“Really?”
“No,
“So what’s got your thong in a
twist, dude?”
“I don’t know,
“For fuck’s sake, Lex, that
fucking hurt!” Kieran shouted, rubbing his head, but his smile said he wasn’t
really angry.
“Hm, sounds like Mr. Grumpy Pants
is trying for Jeff’s job or something,” Alexa said with a laugh. She spent
most of her time in
“I just don’t feel right making
fun of some of the people I interviewed for this piece,” Kieran admitted. “This
matchmaker, for example. She was the sweetest little grandmotherly thing. She
actually did remind me of my grandmother. I can’t bring myself to mock her.”
“So, just mock the people who go to her,”
“I’m surprised people even agree to let you interview them,” Alexa
said. “You’re known for making people the butt of jokes or embarrassing them.
How do you manage to convince anyone to talk to you?”
“It’s his country boy charm and
good looks,”
Kieran didn’t bother to protest.
He did abuse that ability, thanks to his
mixture of good looks, hours spent in the gym, and a genuinely engaging
personality. But he was the first to admit he’d been pretty lazy on this piece.
He definitely should have interviewed more people, but was taken with the
matchmaker and spent too much time chatting with her. She was quite successful
at pairing up couples, many of whom had stayed together for years. Kieran had
half-considered asking her to help him,
since he had no luck finding love in the big city. The night before aside. Then
again that wasn’t love, that was fucking,
he reminded himself, and he knew the difference.
The whole theme of the column had
hit a bit too close to home for him, and he’d gone into it with entirely too
much empathy for who Jeff called the “lovelorn sons of bitches.” Kieran thought
he could use some help in that department himself. He didn’t want to spend the
rest of his life picking up hot guys from bars. He really did want to find
someone special and settle down, but he seemed to be much more successful with
the underwear models than with anyone who could actually be his soulmate.
He’d had a lot of fun interviewing
the psychic, too. She did readings out of her tiny apartment in
“Earth to Quinn,”
“Huh? The outline is due today?”
“Oh, right, you weren’t here the
other afternoon when Jeff announced the new schedule,” Alexa said. “Now we have
to turn in the new outline along with the story for the current issue. I guess
bankers’—make that underwear models’—hours can be a bitch, huh?” she teased.
She knew him all too well.
“Figures,” he complained. “He
probably said that just because I wasn’t here.”
“Well, there was an e-mail, too,”
“I never read emails from Jeff,”
Kieran said, a touch of concern creeping into his voice. A lot of Jeff’s e-mails
ended up in the spam folder, filtered out for having the word “fuck” in there.
Kieran hoped he hadn’t deleted everything in the trash folder in his e-mail
program. He wondered what else he might have missed. Kieran loved research and
interviewing people, and of course the writing, but he hated the planning and outlining Jeff was so keen on. “I don’t have
a clue what I’m doing two weeks from now!”
“Well, do you at least have this
week’s column finished?” Alexa asked. “Or are you gonna pack your fucking
desk?”
“Yeah, just about done,” Kieran
said, wheeling himself back to his desk and taking one more look at what he
hoped was the finished column. Just then a trim, good-looking guy with
dark, shoulder-length hair approached Kieran’s desk, delivering mail from a
pushcart.
“Hi, Kieran,”
Chris-the-mailroom-guy said cheerfully. That was how most people referred to
him. “I can’t wait to read your next column; I hear it’s about finding love.” He
was obviously flirting. Kieran tried not to glare at him, and flashed a
toned-down version of his normal smile. He didn’t want Chris getting the wrong
idea—although it was probably far too late to avoid that.
“Yeah, Chris, something like that,
if I can get it done in the next ten minutes,” Kieran said in a tone that let
Chris know the conversation was over without directly snubbing him. Chris
didn’t seem to notice the undertone and headed to the next desk, swaying his
hips. Kieran rolled his eyes and turned back to the monitor, ignoring the huge
pile of mail Chris dropped on his desk.
“Looks like love might have found
you, Kieran,”
“No,
“Hey, do we have to have this
conversation here, now?” Kieran asked, exasperated his personal
life was common knowledge around the room. He looked around and realized the
three of them were the only ones still left, except for the book reviewer—the
short, balding Eric
“I still think it’s so fucking
hilarious you went home with Chris-the-mailroom-guy from a bar, and then
found out he worked here!” Chris cried with a laugh. “And he’s got the biggest
crush on you. I’ll bet a week’s salary he followed you to that bar in the first
place, hoping you’d pick him up.”
To Kieran, the whole point of
one-night stands was simply that: it was only supposed to be one night. You
were supposed to fuck him and forget him. They weren’t supposed to show up at
your desk everyday making puppy-dog eyes hoping you’d ask them out again. It
was no wonder Kieran preferred to work from home as often as possible. If he’d
had found any sort of deeper connection with Chris, it wouldn’t have ended up
as a one-night stand in the first place.
“It’s so cute, the two of you
together,” Alexa added in a saccharine tone. Kieran ignored both of them, focusing instead on
finishing his column by the deadline.
“Okay, this is done!” Kieran
announced 10 minutes later. He hit the enter key with a flourish and e-mailed
the final draft of his column to Jeff.
“What about you guys? Almost
done?” Kieran asked.
“Yeah,”
“Me, too,” Alexa chimed in. “We’re
just here offering you moral support.”
“And mocking my unfortunate sexual
encounters,” Kieran added wryly. He smiled, happy his friends stuck around
until he got his piece done.
“We’ll stay ’til Jeff signs off on
the piece, and then we’ll let you take us out for drinks to show your
gratitude,”
“I see money does buy
companionship, if not respect,” Kieran said.
While waiting for Jeff’s final
approval on his column, Kieran needed to find something to write about for the
future issue. He glanced at the pile of letters on his desk. An idea formed in his head. How about writing about the people who write
me letters? He could pick a few choice ones, call the people up, and speak with
them. He would need to figure out what the angle of the piece would be, but
figured something would come to him after chatting with a few of them. Kieran
grabbed the pile of letters and flipped through them, looking for interesting
return addresses or uncommon names that would make good fodder for ridicule.
One envelope made of thick pearly
beige paper with a return address of
“Hey, I got invited to a wedding,
I think, by one of my readers,” Kieran said excitedly. He tore the envelope
open and read out loud:
“‘Mr. and Mrs. Robert Harris
request the pleasure of your company at the marriage of their daughter Danetta
and Jaxon’—with a fucking X!—‘Lang.’ Hell, I don’t know these people. There
isn’t even a letter in here explaining who they are or why I’m invited.”
“Hang on,” Alexa said. “Did you
say Danetta Harris?”
“Yeah,” Kieran said. “Why? What
the fuck kind of name is Danetta anyway? Of course she’d have to marry someone
with an ‘X’ in his name.”
“I went to college with her,”
Alexa replied.
Kieran took a good look at the
envelope and saw it was addressed to Alexa, not him. Chris obviously isn’t as good at sorting mail as he is at sucking cock,
Kieran thought with a laugh. Poor guy is going
to have to sleep his way to a better job.
“Sorry, I didn’t realize it’s
actually for you. It was in my pile of letters.” Kieran handed over the
invitation.
“Well, how interesting,” Alexa
said, reading it over. “The wedding is next weekend, and I’m just getting an
invitation now? I guess I was on the
second string.”
“Are you going to go?”
“No, for a few reasons,” she said.
“Firstly, I have to be in
“Oh, poor thing,”
Alexa ignored him. “Second,”
she continued, “I’m annoyed to be invited so late. And third, get this. This is
the fourth wedding invitation I’ve gotten from Danetta over the past
five or six years. And she’s still
not married yet.”
“Fourth? What d’you mean?” Kieran
asked.
“Well, I missed the first wedding.
It was before we were really friends, but I went to the next two. And at all of
them she decided—at the altar—she didn’t want to get married after all!”
Alexa shrieked with laughter.
“You’re saying she dumped the guy
in the middle of the wedding?” Kieran was dumbfounded.
“Yeah. Twice.” Alexa
couldn’t say more because she was laughing so hard. “Well, twice I saw,
and then one more time when I wasn’t there, but it was while she was still in
college.”
“Oh, that’s hilarious,”
“Well, it’s too bad if it happens
once, but she’s done it three times. I haven’t gotten an invitation for a
couple of years—so maybe now she’s serious?”
“Hang on a minute,” Kieran
interrupted. “I saw this in a movie!” He wondered why
“Danetta has,” Alexa replied.
“Yeah, it does sound like that movie, doesn’t it? Stupid film. I hated it.”
“Lex, you should go just in case,”
“Shut up,
“What kind of shit-for-brains guy
would even date her; much less propose to her with that track record?” Kieran wondered
aloud, shaking his head in disbelief. “Guys, I’m getting an idea here. I can do
a column on the wedding! What do you think?”
“What’s the angle?”
“I could focus on Danetta, and how
she’s such a flake. She is a flake,
right Lex?”
“First class.”
“That could work, but it doesn’t
quite do it for me,”
“Okay.” Kieran paused, the wheels
turning in his head as he sought a more original slant that would be snarky
enough to a travel budget approved.
“Okay, okay, how’s this? I focus on the guy. Guys, I guess. I can interview the
first three to try finding out what her secret is for getting all these proposals.
Then I can focus on the current one—what’s his name?”
“Jaxon,” Alexa read from the
invitation.
“Danetta and Jaxon. How on earth
do people come up with these names for their kids in that town? I never heard
of either of those names. But anyway, so I hang out with Jaxon a couple of days
before the wedding, see how he’s dealing with the uncertainty of whether she
will or won’t actually marry him.”
“Yeah, that’s good,”
“Good, good.” Kieran was on a roll
now with their brainstorming. “And of course it will be easy to make him look
like a fool for even asking her to marry him, considering her past behavior. And
if she bails again, I can really go to town on him.”
“Kieran, I think you’ve done it,”
Alexa said. “Now hurry up! Write up the proposal, send it off to Jeff, and
let’s get to the bar.”
“She’s having cosmo withdrawal, I
can tell,”
“I am so over cosmos,
They leaned over Kieran’s
shoulders as he outlined his idea, correcting his punctuation and mocking his
overuse of adverbs while he tried to type. He did his best to ignore them, and
when he was fairly satisfied with the proposal he emailed it Jeff.
“So, Kieran, tomorrow let me call
Danetta and tell her you’ll be going to the wedding in my place,” Alexa
offered.
“That’d be great, thanks, Lex,”
Kieran replied. “I’m going to have to spin it differently for her if I want to
get a chance to interview her and
“Jaxon,”
“
“Whatever. So, how about if you
tell her I’m there to do a column about how this time she’s so sure, and how in
love they are and…” Kieran stopped talking, eyes on the ceiling. “Hey,
could she be pregnant? ‘Cause if she is, she might be more likely to go through
with it this time. That would fuck everything up for the story.”
“Well, I’ll see if I can find out
when I talk to her,” Alexa said.
“Anyway, we’ll make her think my
angle is how this time it’s right, and how special and different things
are with Justin. He’s totally Mr.
Perfect,” Kieran mocked.
“Jaxon,”
“Yeah, I know. How could I
possibly forget a name like that?”
They all turned around when they
heard Jeff’s door bang open.
“Quinn, in my office, now!”
Jeff roared out of the open door.
“How about we just meet you at the
bar?” Chad suggested. “Boulud okay?”
“Wow, I’m generous tonight, huh?”
Kieran asked. He walked toward Jeff’s office as his friends gathered their
things to go. “How about Brut instead?” Kieran shouted over his shoulder.
He’d rather they went to the small champagne bar close to his SoHo apartment
rather than the most expensive restaurant in town. There was someone he was
hoping to run into there.
