Only Trick Page 9

  There must be a Betty White club Nana belongs to. If she doesn’t lose her mind first, I’m certain she will die with her last comment being completely snarky.

  “I’m screwed.” I sigh.

  “Maybe they’ll let you watch.”

  “Nana!”

  Chapter Ten

  Wyatt Jasper will be picking me up in ten minutes. If he shows up wearing a cowboy hat and a Stetson belt buckle I’m going to murder Nana. I know nothing about him, not even if he’s been hired or has willingly volunteered for the role of Darby’s date in tonight’s double date saga.

  My hair is another Gemmie masterpiece, but my makeup is DIY. I spent almost thirty minutes arguing with Trick about it. Grady has him doing makeup for three of the celebrities that will be attending tonight. I know he’s a perfectionist who doesn’t like to be hurried so I refused to add to his stress today.

  I dig a Rachel Hart original out of the back of my closet. It’s a strapless olive—green—cocktail dress with iridescent beading along the bodice. Oh … and it’s ridiculously short. Before heading downstairs, I wrap a thin black scarf around my neck, slide into my black strappy heels, and take one last glance in the mirror. My volume-enhanced tresses fall in red waves, bangs pinned off to one side, and my makeup is minimal. Trick would be more critical if I tried to be too adventurous with it.

  I grab my clutch and silver wrap just as my door buzzes. “Coming!” I yell into the intercom.

  Tucking my clutch under my arm, I open the door. Gulp! I hold up one finger and smile then go back inside and shut the door. Leaning against it, I dig out my phone and call Nana.

  “Hello?”

  “What the hell, Nana!” I say in a yelling whisper.

  “You like?” she asks with a rolling purr to her voice.

  “Where did you find him?”

  “My friend Mary; her daughter, Nora, owns a modeling agency. Wyatt is new and Nora thought attending a high-class party like yours would be a good way for him to make some connections. And you needed a date so I thought he was a better choice than an escort. It would be awkward if someone at the party recognized your date as an escort. You know, like showing up in the same dress some other broad’s wearing.”

  “How old is he?”

  “Hmm … can’t say for sure, but young. Maybe keep his drinks virgin tonight just to play it on the safe side.”

  “Ugh! Bye, Nana!”

  Slipping my phone in my clutch, I rest my head back against the door and roll it slowly side to side. Unbelievable. My dress is definitely too short for my date that’s probably too young, and I’m off to meet my dream guy’s gay lover for the first time. The only thing that might save me tonight is the hospital. They needed an extra person on call and I volunteered. I think my subconscious is looking out for me.

  “Hey, sorry about that.” I smile, opening the door. “I needed to make a quick phone call. My apologies for keeping you waiting. I’m Darby, by the way.” I hold out my hand.

  “Wyatt.” He takes my hand and kisses it. Smooth.

  There’s probably a million words to describe the flawless figure in front of me wearing black pants with a white shirt unbuttoned at the top and a tailored black jacket, but the first thing that comes to mind is a young Ashton Kutcher look-alike. And I would know because when I was thirteen I had posters of him on my wall, most covered in lipstick marks.

  “Nice to meet you. Thanks for escorting me tonight.” I’m not sure why I feel the need to clarify that this is a mutual arrangement and not a date, but it might have something to do with his age.

  He leads me to the town car, undoubtedly arranged by Nana, and the driver opens my door. The party is at an exclusive whisky bar only a ten minute drive away, not long enough to go over everything.

  “I’m not sure what you’ve been told about tonight but—”

  He unbuttons his jacket that hangs perfectly from his broad shoulders. “I know everything about you, probably more than I should…” he grins and I blush “…and my story is yours to tell, so what’s it going to be.”

  Damn! He’s good.

  I fiddle with the fringe of my wrap. “Well, I think we should keep it as close to the truth as possible. I suck at lying, and if you plan on making connections tonight I don’t think a made-up job like an intern at the hospital where I work is a good idea. So … you’re a model and we recently met through mutual friends. Saying your boss’s mom and my Nana fixed us up sounds cheesy.”

  Wyatt grins. “A little.”

  The car stops and before Wyatt gets out I grab his arm. “By the way, how old are you?”

  “Nineteen, but that sounds cheesy too, so let’s say twenty-one for tonight.”

  Oh, God, I’m going to hell!

  He climbs out with … well, the confidence of a runway model while the driver opens my door. I expect Wyatt to offer his arm, but instead he takes my hand which feels too intimate, but I go with it. As expected I’m on the VIP list with “and guest” and we breeze past the snaking line to a private entrance on the side of the building. The roar of the crowd mixed with music pours out as a muscle-bound bouncer opens the door for us.

  “They’re in,” he says into a bluetooth. “Ms. Carmichael, welcome.”

  “Thank you.” My eyes scan the open two-story room.

  “If you’d like, Mel can check your wrap.” He nods to the blonde behind the counter on our left.

  After checking my wrap, we get drinks from the bar and head upstairs to the VIP lounge. It’s wall-to-wall people from the top of the stairs to the back windows and doors leading to a patio with heaters, string lights, and more tables, as well as an outdoor bar.

  “Do you see your friends?” Wyatt rests his hand on my lower back, leaning down by my ear.

  “No … wait.” I lift up on my toes a half inch more than my heels already allow. On the patio I see a circle of people, mostly women, one of whom is teasing her fingers along the nape of a guy’s neck … my guy’s neck! “This way.” I attempt to keep my seething to a minimum as I grab Wyatt’s hand, worming us through the crowd.

  The cool night’s air serves as a welcome greeting to my already flush skin. An average height gentleman with a fit-looking body, dressed in light gray pants and a pink, gray, and white striped button-down shirt, spies me through his thin black-framed glasses. It’s hard to tell because of his shaved head, but he looks more mature, but definitely handsome. He’s standing in front of Trick, who has his back to me and the clingy anorexic bimbo fingering his hair.

  “Oh. My. God! You just have to be Darby!” The shaved-head guy yells in a very feminine way. Grady.

  Trick and bimbo both turn toward me and Wyatt. Bimbo frowns as her eyes make a catty inspection, but Trick’s lips twitch, cracking his cool bad-boy façade—but only to me.

  “Darby, darling!” Grady saunters toward me with his arms open wide.

  Darling—a word I’ve never heard Trick use and most certainly not in Grady’s soprano voice. Trick could take a few gaying-up lessons from Grady. I hug Grady and then he kisses both of my cheeks.

  “You are just exquisite. Trick said you were beautiful, but mmm mmm mmm, that’s an understatement.” Grady brushes his finger down my cheek. “Trick, give this woman her money back. Not even your raw talent could improve on such perfection.”

  Screw Trick. Grady’s my man. He’s the gay BFF jackpot. I’m talking shopping, manis-pedis, and serious girl talk. And although he is handsome, there’s not a cell in my body that’s physically attracted to him. “Grady, it’s so nice to meet you. Trick has been singing your praises.”

  Grady looks over his shoulder at Trick. “Reeealy?”

  Trick shrugs. “It’s true.”

  “Well, who knew? Anyway, who’s your handsome friend?”

  I look beside me and smile. “This is Wyatt Jasper.”

  Wyatt offers his hand to Grady.

  “Wyatt Jasper, it’s a true pleasure. I’m Grady Cross.” Grady is a complete flirt. I glance at Trick who
eyes Wyatt as well, but he’s not smiling. I imagine he’s not too thrilled that Grady’s so blatantly drooling over my date.

  “So, Wyatt, what do you do?”

  “I’m a model.”

  “Oh my God this just keeps getting better. How did you two meet?” Grady eyes us over the frame of his glasses.

  “A mutual friend introduced us,” Wyatt responds and I smile in agreement.

  Trick pushes off the edge of the patio, leaving bimbo behind, and makes his way closer to us. “Mutual friends, huh?”

  And … here we go.

  “Yes.” Wyatt nods but doesn’t elaborate.

  “Which friend? As you know, Darby has so many.”

  I glare at Trick. What’s his angle with this? Inviting me to this party was his idea, and me bringing a date was his idea. Now he wants to interrogate Wyatt?

  “He’s a patient of Darby’s so I don’t think sharing his name is a good idea. You know, HIPPA and all that privacy stuff.”

  Holy crap!

  My young pretty boy is good … real good.

  “I see.” Trick looks at me.

  “So who’s your friend?” I nod my head toward bimbo, changing the subject.

  “I did her makeup earlier.”

  “I see. She seems real appreciative.” My face wars between a smirk and a scowl.

  Trick narrows his eyes at me; it’s challenging like he’s daring me to say more. Between work and finding a date this week, I haven’t seen Trick in five days and I’m a little agitated, but I don’t know why.

  “All the ladies love my Trick.” Grady pinches Trick’s cheeks together. “But look at this face … why wouldn’t they?”

  My thoughts exactly as I take in my handsome friend in his usual black attire, tats on display. Grady looks like a fashion queen; I wonder what he thinks of his partner’s selection of clothing for the occasion. I notice he’s wearing a thin dark guyliner tonight that makes his eyes double in intensity. It’s definitely been too long since I’ve touched him, or myself; I’m feeling too warm on this cool evening.

  “Oh, there’s Trent! Darby, I must steal your man; he just has to meet Trent.” Grady pulls Wyatt away.

  I face Trick and we both look each other over then make eye contact again.

  “Wyatt’s young.”

  I shrug and take a sip of my drink. “Grady’s old.”

  Trick grins. “Older, yes.”

  The awkwardness of the moment grates at my nerves. I want to wrap my arms around him, bury my nose into his neck, and feel at home again, but I don’t know if that’s allowed here with Grady and all their friends.

  “Think you’ll see him again?” Trick crosses his arms over his chest.

  “Wyatt?” My emotions override my commonsense. “I hope so. Did you get a good look at him?”

  The muscle in Trick’s jaw twitches. “That dress looks amazing on you.”

  I gulp back my shock, not expecting that compliment from him. “Thank you. You don’t think it’s too short?”

  Trick’s eyes explore my legs. “Depends on the effect you’re going for.”

  I chug down the rest of my martini, needing to numb the nerves that keep firing every time he looks at me. “Well, since you thought I needed a date for the weekend, I suppose I’m going for the spread-me-wide-and-fuck-me-hard effect.” Oh shit! That did not just come out of my mouth. Sadly, it’s not the first time those words have breached the parting of my lips … it’s just been a few years.

  Hiding my own shock behind a fake smile, I look up expecting to see Trick’s mouth hanging open or him smirking with amusement. Instead, he looks like he could kill something.

  The empty martini glass in my hand gets replaced with a full one, but I’m so focused on Trick I don’t see who does it. I imagine the staff here know to never let the VIPs mingle with empty glasses.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” I throw back my martini like a cup of water.

  Trick grabs my glass and hands me his. “I think you’ve had enough.”

  I take a sip of his. “This is awfully watered down, what is it?”

  “Water with lime.”

  Then it hits me. I’m on call tonight. Shit! I take down the rest of his and signal to the waiter for another water. “You’re distracting me. I’m on call tonight and shouldn’t be drinking.”

  “I’m distracting you?” He laughs, shaking his head which only infuriates me that much more.

  “Yes, you’re distracting me. You and the women hanging all over you, and Grady acting like it’s no big deal. The way you look at Wyatt, the way you look at me … It’s all fucking distracting me!” Oh god … where is all this coming from? I’m self-destructing right here, right now. Someone make it stop!

  A pocket of silence surrounds us. My skin burns crimson from the glaring eyes all over me.

  Trick’s a statue—unreadable eyes, lips set in a firm line.

  “Is everything okay?” Wyatt’s hand rests on my back.

  I clear my throat and blink away the emotions. “Everything’s fine. I-I’m not feeling well; I think I should go.”

  “Oh … okay, I’ll get your wrap.” Wyatt takes the empty glass from my hand.

  “Wyatt, darling!” Grady calls across the crowded patio.

  Wyatt looks at him then back at me. He shrugs with a sad smile, then taking my hand leads me back inside and down the stairs. I make one last glance back at Trick. Still nothing.

  “Stay,” I say while snaking my wrap around my shoulders.

  “What? No, I came here with you.”

  I shake my head and smile. “Really, I’m going home and going to bed. You should stay … you’ve earned it.”

  Wyatt glances back up the stairs with a tense, contemplative look. “Are you sure?”

  “Positive.” I kiss him on the cheek. “Thank you, maybe I’ll see you around.”

  *

  I have my driver stop for electrolyte water and snacks on the way home. The person back at the bar is not me, or maybe it is. God! With Trick in my life, everyday feels like a near-death experience—watching myself from outside my own body.

  I blame Trick, which is ironic that I’d blame my friend who doesn’t drink, on my irresponsible behavior with alcohol. But I do. I blame him for robbing me of my self-control, my ability to see clearly and think clearly. I thought it would get better over time; I thought seeing him with Grady would change everything, but it didn’t. The rational part of me wants to make its case for my part in everything too. I knew he was gay, but chose to get involved anyway—the sleeping together, the masturbating. Where did I really imagine this relationship going? But right now, I’m in pain and no amount of rational thinking is going to ease it.

  The driver lets me out. “Thank you.”

  “Have a pleasant evening, Ms. Carmichael.”

  He pulls away from the curb, but I can’t move. My feet are lead and the rest of my body falls victim to the paralyzing heartbreak I feel over the thought I could be losing Trick. Just feet away from my gate, I close my eyes and let the tears fall. It hurts so damn bad. I’ve fallen in love with my best friend and he can never love me back.

  “Don’t cry.”

  I swallow the sob that begins to escape as my body freezes from the sound of that deep voice I love so much. I will my body to turn around.

  Trick stands on the edge of the curb with his arms limp at his sides.

  “Please … just go away.” The words cut through my throat. “I can’t do this … I can’t be your friend anymore.”

  “Why not?”

  Looking up at the sky, I swipe away more tears and shake my head. “Don’t do this…” each word a desperate plea “…please don’t do this.”

  I look at him, my pride too broken to hide my feelings, so I let him see my pain. “You gave me the thing I thought I wanted most in life.” Biting together my quivering lips, I taste my salty emotions. “But then you changed everything … and I-I can’t breathe when I’m with you…” sniffling, I
suck in a shaky breath “…and I can’t think without you.”

  I laugh over my tears, while shaking my head. “God! I’m such a fucked-up mess. I know you can’t change, but…” a renewed stream of tears race down my cheeks, and the crippling pain holds my words to a soft whisper “…but neither can I.”

  I let go of my sob and through the glassy haze of tears I watch him close the distance between us. Fingers weave into my hair, clenching it to bring my lips to his. My world explodes into a million fragments of heaven and hell as I fall limp into his arms. I can’t think so I just react to his punishing lips and demanding tongue. My arms fly around his neck—fingers clawing the back of his head. I taste him, smell him, feel him, want him … I fucking need him.

  He steps forward and I step backward until we’re at my gate, then through the door. I’d rather die than lose his touch. He kicks the door shut and jerks off my wrap. A quick draw of my zipper and my dress falls to my ankles. His strong hands cup and squeeze my breasts, thumbs grazing my hard nipples. I moan into his mouth while pushing up his shirt. He grabs it with one hand, breaking our kiss for the first time as he pulls it over his head. Standing inches away, completely breathless, we stare at each other.

  His eyes travel from my lips to my bared chest, my white lace panties then to my heels, before meeting my eyes again. And as if it’s been chasing us all the way into the house, my brain catches up. I can’t read him, but that look … I think it’s confusion … Oh my God, it’s regret. It’s not his fault, and I hate that it’s happening, but my already red eyes fill with more tears—shame. I knew the moment our lips broke, the ugliness of our reality would be waiting, shaking its fingers.

  I try to blink my tears away while biting that stupid quivering lower lip. Moving my hands to cover my breasts, I avert my gaze. “It-it’s okay. I’m sorry, it’s my fault.”

  His hand cups my jaw, turning my head. My fleeting glance turns into a longing gaze. He brushes his thumb across my wet lips. I close my eyes. Ghosting his mouth up my neck to my ear, he whispers, “It’s nobody’s fault.” Bringing his other hand to cup my face, he kisses me again. If he stops this time … I. Will. Die.