Stand (Black Addiction Book 3) (2 page)

“You okay?” Ivy tapped me on the arm, my mental vacation noticed as I stared off into space.

“Yeah, just thinking about the old house. There were some good times there.” The elevator doors opened, our short trip over.

“Trust me, you’re going to like it here. Lots of good times coming your way.” She was so damned pleased with herself I had to wonder if it was more than a hypothetical.

“We’ll see, shall we?” We stepped into the foyer, the doorman we’d cruised past earlier giving us his full attention.

“Hi Ben, this is Max Reynolds,” Ivy slipped into the intro without skipping a beat. “He’s going to be moving into the penthouse on fifty. And Max, this is Ben Schwartz.”

Mutual handshakes were exchanged as the dude gave me the quick welcome-to-the-building. All pretty standard. Ivy took the few minutes that Ben and I were engaged to give her phone some attention. The meeting with me had forced her to shove the device in her purse and she’d been no doubt going through withdrawals.

“Well thanks, man. Looking forward to moving in.” Another handshake was exchanged with doorman Ben as I said my goodbyes, Ivy’s head snapping to attention as the phone went back into her purse.

“Thanks Ben, I’ll see you later.” Ivy gave him a wave as she threaded her arm around mine, our feet moving toward the door. Her smile more than just a little familiar.

Ordinarily I wouldn’t have paid it much attention. She’d already established she knew the guy, and the whole real estate gig meant she probably spent as much time apartment hopping as she did in her office. But there was something about the smile that got me more than curious.

“You have another client you need to come back to?” I held the door open as we walked out onto the street.

“No, not a client. A friend of mine lives here in the building.” She looked uncomfortable as she adjusted her jacket.

“A
friend
huh? This wouldn’t be the stockbroker you still haven’t told your brother about is it?”

“Maybe, maybe not.”

Sure, that wasn’t obvious. Her omission was as good as a signpost as far as I was concerned.

“Wow girl, you are playing with fire. You don’t think Joey might stop by and visit me at my new place? I’d say the chances of your little secret not staying that way for long are better than average.”

Not to mention she was obviously really bad at keeping it under wraps. The only reason Joey hadn’t clued in so far was because his wife and baby girl had his undivided attention, but the dude wasn’t blind. And then the fireworks would start; definitely not playing it smart if it was something she wanted on the down low.

“My
friend
lives on the twenty-sixth floor, you’re on the fiftieth. It’s a big building, no need for anyone to see anyone.” She waved it off like I was the crazy one. “Besides, it’s complicated. We don’t see each other a lot. Just occasionally here and there so it’s not going to be an issue.”

“What do you mean it’s complicated?”

Giving her a hard time about this dude was one thing, but if this asshole was doing anything disrespectful then it wasn’t going to be her who would be getting the third degree. She was family, and I’d do a lot more than have a friendly conversation with some guy if the situation called for it.

“Really Max, I have one big brother, I don’t need another.” She shook her head doing little to convince me that I didn’t need to be involved.

“Well it sucks for you then because that’s exactly what you have.”

“It’s nothing, really. Forget I said anything.” She fumbled with her purse; doing everything she could not to look me in the eye.

“Yeah, not gonna happen. So start talking.”

“Max, seriously. It’s fine. I just wanted things to be different, but I understand why it has to be this way. It’s probably for the best, I’m really okay with the way things are.”

That shit did not sound like anything I wanted to hear. And she could tell me to mind my business as much as she wanted, but a sit down with this guy was happening. And so help me God if this douche wasn’t deserving of her.

“What apartment?”

“Max, no. Don’t be ridiculous.” She yanked on my arm trying to pull me away from the door. “You aren’t going there. There’s no need for you to be involved.”

“You can tell me what apartment or I can knock on every single one on the twenty-sixth floor. I’ve got nothing but time. It would be a great way to introduce myself to the neighbors wouldn’t you say?” It would be the polite thing to do, and I wasn’t shy in saying hi.

She had to know that I wasn’t kidding because she suddenly stopped fussing with her jacket, purse and everything else that stalled her looking at me when her eyes snapped up to mine.

“I shouldn’t have said anything. There is really no issue. None actually. We’re fine. Nothing you need to involve yourself in.”

It was a little late for her to be having regrets now. “So if there is
no
issue, what’s the harm in me saying hello? I like to meet new people, think of it as me being social.” Yeah, ‘cause that’s what it was about.

“If I tell you, promise me you won’t lose your cool?” She bit her lip nervously and it wasn’t an act either, she was genuinely worried about me and this asswipe meeting. And didn’t that just give me the scratch.

“I’ll be a model fucking citizen, I’m just going to go introduce myself.”

“I mean it Max, promise me. Whatever happens, you cannot be angry.”

“Cross my heart, you have my word.” Beating his ass was still on the table and if she was looking for assurances that I wouldn’t, she was SOL.

“Fine!” She huffed out a breath knowing that I would make good on my promise to acquaint myself with everyone on the twenty-sixth floor. “But don’t do anything until after you move in. Okay? And remember about keeping your cool. You’ve promised.”

“Jesus, Ivy.” My fingers raked through my hair in frustration. What the hell was she doing with this guy in the first place? Whatever, I’d find out soon enough and fix it, promise or no promise. “Fine, now give me the number.”

She hesitated a beat, the argument over as far as I was concerned. “Twenty six sixteen.” The numbers said in a rush.

“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” I’d just save that piece of information for later. I’d honor my part of the deal and not go door knocking until the place was mine, but I was paying cash and the apartment was empty; it wouldn’t take long before I had my chance to do some investigating.

“I’m already regretting it.” She blew out a breath, her feet moving restlessly on the sidewalk. She didn’t bother trying to talk me out of it, or elaborate why things were complicated. Possibly because the damage was already done and like it or not trying to stop me meeting him was going to be a fruitless exercise.

“Everything is going to be fine.” I pulled her in close and gave her a hug.

It wasn’t an idle promise either; whatever was making her nervous was going to be sorted real soon. She could bank on it.

I wasn’t used to
hangovers anymore.

That horrible feeling of regret mixed with wanting to die. It had been a while and now I remembered why.

Ugh. I was probably going to puke.

It hadn’t been my intention to get drunk last night. In fact, my intention had been to have a glass of wine or two and spend a nice evening finally having sex with the guy I’d been
sort of
seeing. I guess you could call it dating if you had a really wide definition but even then it was a stretch.

Stupidly on New Year’s Eve—the last time I was drunk ironically—I’d committed to getting into shape. Yes, I know, save the eye roll, but it seemed like a good idea at the time. Jules—my roommate and co-conspirator in this stupid plan—and I had been drinking cheap pinot grigio straight from the bottle and eating nachos while sitting on our couch. Of course unless you counted an occasional sprint to the subway as a workout, we hadn’t even attempted getting fit before, but surely it couldn’t be that hard. It seemed like a solid idea, what could possibly go wrong?

Jules lasted exactly two weeks before she waved the white flag of defeat, while I continued defiantly more to prove I wasn’t just another cliché. Enter the hot guy who ran beside me on the treadmill almost every single morning.

Yep, another freaking cliché.

Believing the gym gods were rewarding me for my diligent commitment, I flirted shamelessly with the hot specimen of man while I ran beside him. Like
Rocky,
but with less coordination and no theme song. He was stunning.

So, I took the flirting a little bit further and suggested we go out. I mean, I’d been seeing him for months, no rings, no jailhouse tattoos—what could possibly go wrong?

Unfortunately, it didn’t start well with my promising night taking a nosedive the minute we met in front of the gym. He’d arrived late, picked a hideous restaurant and talked about himself for most of the evening. I should have heeded the signs, the ones that told me to say goodbye and find my good times elsewhere.

While usually I wasn’t a one-night-stand kind of girl, I figured it didn’t count because technically I’d known him for weeks. Technically, you could count our shared workout time as
dates
, right? And, my love life was in such a funk I thought what the hell. Besides, I was trying to remain optimistic and hoped there might be some redemption in between the sheets. A body like that looked to deliver promises of a good time and I didn’t care it seemed shallow; surely everyone deserved a little no-strings fun? And he was my reward remember?

Let’s just say that my
reward
came up a little short in the pants department.

As in, it was tiny.

Like, I wasn’t even sure it had been inside me.

How I wish I were joking.

So after faking a terribly overacted orgasm, and trying not to make eye contact with his microscopic penis, I hightailed it out of his apartment and back to wine. I mean,
mine
. Where I consoled myself with
wine
. It took a while, which is why I feel like I’d licked the floor of a public bathroom. Oh, and now I needed to find a new gym as well. Which proved nothing good came of New Year’s resolutions. And my alcohol tolerance had been substantially lowered in the last three months.

“Beth, did you die?” Jules knocked tentatively on my door, the sound of her knuckles against the wood making my head pound.

“Yes, I’ve perished,” I mumbled, praying that if I kept my eyes shut the room would stop spinning.

“So I assume your night didn’t go so well?” She ignored my corpse imitation and sat on the bed beside me.

Jules was not only my roommate but had grown to become one of my closest friends.

Deciding a few years ago the best thing for me was to get serious and leave my party-girl days behind, I moved away from my home in the Bronx. Not only did I finally get to use my college education for what it was intended, scoring a teaching position at a swanky elementary school in the Upper East Side, but I also gained a new BFF who not only taught at the same school but was also looking for a roomie. While her original place had been small—the second bedroom really just a glorified closet—we found a newer place with more room that was still in the budget. And the location was outstanding. Everything pointed to me making the right decision, and while I still loved seeing my friends and family from the old neighborhood, those parts of my life stayed very separate.

“
Not go so well
is an understatement.” While his insistence that we only eat organic and carb free hadn’t bugged me initially, it wasn’t my stomach being left unsatisfied as why I was rocking a headache from hell. “It seems there is no direct correlation to the size of a man’s body to other
parts
of him.” I tried my best not to be unnecessarily crude. Not that there was any other way around it, his
fingers
had been more substantial.

“Whoa. Hold on a minute.” Jules refused to let me wallow in my self-induced misery as she grabbed my shoulders forcing me to turn around. “He had a small cock? That can’t be right, he was like seven feet tall.”

“This
thing
wasn’t a cock. I’ve seen cock, trust me, this didn’t qualify.” I dared to crack open an eyelid. “I’m assuming it’s either steroid usage, or the reason for the rest of him being so big is compensation.” I wriggled my little finger, “It’s like it stopped growing or something. I even snuck a look at his ID while he was in the bathroom to make sure he wasn’t a mutant sixteen year old and I needed to hand myself to the cops.”

The fear had been real.

While the chances of him being a minor were remote, I wasn’t about to end my career, face statutory rape charges and be fodder for the Mommy Mafia of my current work place. Thankfully, the crisis was averted with him being of legal age, but the experience drove me to drink. Heavily.

“I swear, it could only happen to you.” Jules laughed, my misfortune being her morning entertainment. “Why don’t you haul yourself out of bed and I’ll make you waffles. Lots of syrup. It’s either going to soak up some of the alcohol or put you in a carb coma, either way you’re bound to feel better than you do now.”

As unappealing as leaving the warm sanctuary of my comforter was, she had a point. My dinner of macrobiotic, organic, free range
whatever
hadn’t been appetizing, which meant most of it stayed on the plate, another reason as to why the wine had done its worst. Last night had just been a disaster.

“You’re so good to me.” I marveled at how, despite my failures in the relationship department, I really did lead a charmed life. Finding Jules and my new job was better than I’d ever hoped.

“I know.” She shrugged, “But you’d do the same for me, so we’ll call it even.”

She was right. I would totally do the same for her, even if I’d known her a fraction of what I’d known my other friends.

Jules didn’t linger, making good on her promise to feed me and bring me back to sobriety with calorie laden breakfast food. And I decided to help the process along by trying to wash away last night’s disaster under a spray of hot water and a gallon of shower gel. As much as moving made me want to hurl, getting clean did make me feel marginally better. Plus, I had smelled the cheap wine oozing from my pores when I’d lifted the comforter and if the hangover wasn’t enough to make me nauseous, my own eau-de-wino surely would.

After toweling my body dry until it pinked, I pulled on a pair of sweats and a favorite unicorn T-shirt. The sweats were for comfort, not function, with my resolve to never step foot inside that gym anytime soon well and truly in place. And the T-shirt was my fave; the well-worn fabric hugging my body like a second skin. I also forwent the bra because . . . who the hell cared? It was Saturday morning and I had no one to impress.

“You almost look normal.” Jules smiled, pulling out two plates and placing them on the counter. “I hope you’re hungry, I made loads.”

“Uh-huh.” I picked up my juice and sipped it tentatively. I didn’t want to get cocky; puking wasn’t completely off the table.

The plates had just been loaded up with waffles, ready to be smothered with syrup when there was a knock at our door.

A knock.

Jules and I locked eyes as a surge of panic overrode the hangover.

“Does he know where you live?” she whispered, her eyes darting between me and the door.

“Even if he did, how did he get past the doorman?” One of the perks of living in our apartment was no danger of door-to-door salesmen or unwanted boyfriends banging on your door at three in the morning. Every visitor had to be signed or escorted in, with the concierge militant about the no-stranger rule. Unless someone vouched for you, you were left to chill on the sidewalk.

Of course the smart thing to do would be to open the damn door. Then we’d see who was on the other side, rather than deliberating if someone had been stealthy enough to get through the rigorous security measures. The second knock punctuated the point.

“We should answer it.” Jules’ head tilted toward the door, and by
we,
she meant
me
. She had made breakfast so I guess if we were going to get murdered by some random stranger, I should be the first one to go. It would be the polite thing to do.

“Fine, I’ll do it.” I shuffled to the door, regretting my decision to not wear a bra. Last thing I needed was the murderer checking out my rack before he went slasher on me. Seriously, enough with the fucking clichés.

I tiptoed to the door like an idiot, unsure of when I turned into a moron and pressed my eye to the peephole.

Oh.

My.

God.

“What the fuck?” I said it out loud as well as in my head, because my brain couldn’t connect with what my eyes were seeing. My hands fumbled with the lock as I tried to open the door.
C’mon fingers, twist and pull
; the door flew open confirming who I’d seen through the peephole hadn’t been a mirage.

“Beth?”

Standing on my threshold was Max Reynolds, the six-foot-three, dark haired sex god from Black Addiction who I’d said goodbye to years ago. And goddamn those years had been good to him. Sure, I’d seen him in magazines, on TV or the occasional Google search, but it was nothing compared to what he looked like in the flesh.

Wow.

Was I staring? I must have been, because he was looking just as confused as I was.

“Beth?” He said my name again, stepping forward without an invitation. Not that he needed one; he pretty much owned every room he ever walked in. Mine—was no exception.

“Max, what are you doing here?”

There were a million questions running through my mind, but what had brought him to my front door was probably the one that was screaming the loudest. Along with, “How did you get hotter?” and “Can you please take off your shirt?” Thankfully the last few were saved just for me.

“Whoaaaaaaaa, Max Reynolds, the bass player from Black Addiction?” Jules’ voice reminded me I wasn’t alone as she sidled up next to me, her eyes almost bulging from her head.

“That would be me.” His lips spread into a huge grin and every memory of that smile and what it was capable of came flooding back.

That smile was dangerous and I was already having trouble fighting gravity today. The temptation to check if this wasn’t some alcohol fuelled dream proved too great as I reached out and placed my hand on his chest.

Hard.

Even through the fabric of his T-shirt, I could feel the toned muscles underneath.

“Do you fondle all your guests or just ones you haven’t seen in a while?” His brow rose as we both looked down at my hand. It seemed to have a mind of its own, wandering with reckless abandon all over his torso, as I stood there mostly silent.

“Crap, sorry.” I yanked my offending hand away from his delicious body and reminded myself I still had no idea what he was doing here. It was also a safe bet I had no idea what
I
was doing either so I hoped he had a better handle on it.

“No apologies needed.” Another smile.

Don’t touch him,
I reminded myself.