Bradley's Whistle (P.ornstars of Romance #2) (18 page)

A burst of laughter escaped my lips, and soon we were both laughing at the absurd direction our night had taken.

“Hi, I’m Maggie,” came a bright, cheerful Irish lilt from beside us.

I pulled away from Bradley, ready to fend off another jilted, wannabe lover, and took in a tall, leggy, brunette beauty with a sweet smile and dimples. She paid Bradley no attention, her eyes heavy on me. Oh, perhaps it wasn’t me who needed to be defending my territory this time.

“I hear you are wrestling Blair.”

“Good news travels fast,” I murmured.

Maggie’s gaze roamed over my body, and I shifted, feeling a little awkward under her study. I was more accustomed to being ogled by men, not women. Not that I had a problem with it; it was just new.

“Yeah, word travels fast in these parts. Come with me, I’m pretty sure one of my suits will fit you.”

I smiled and handed my drink to Bradley. Before I could step away, he grabbed my fingers in a loose grip.

“Pussycat, you don’t have to do this. We can head back into town and find a McDonald’s. I’ll even buy you a caramel sundae.”

I patted his cheek in an attempt to let him know that I was okay with this. I was actually excited about Jell-O wrestling. I’d never done it before, and although it wasn’t on my bucket list, I was totally last-minute adding it.

“Tell you what, let me take care of this red haired succubus, and then you can take me to Mickey D’s for a burger, and maybe, if you’re very, very lucky, I’ll let you get to second base in the backseat of your car.”

Bradley’s eyes flared with undisguised arousal. “You’re on, pussycat.”

Bradley

Well shit, operation whisk Wiska had taken a deadly turn for the bizarre and interesting. A busy Saturday night in this place was supposed to be no more than eight people sitting at the bar. It was supposed to be quiet, the lights dimmed to a shade that you could hide in, the air filled with the smell of steak pie and Guinness. Instead, it was yell-if-you-wanna-be-heard loud, the lights were a shade of ugly and bright, and the air held a strong odor of sweet Jell-O and alcohol, which kind of reminded me of shooting Jell-O shots in college.

I held my and Wiska’s drinks high as I pushed my way through the crowd. Finding a familiar face, I moved up alongside Lenny “Two Socks” and nodded a hello. I still, to this day, had no idea why they called him Two Socks.

“Emerson, thought you’d be at the Lovely Lounge tonight,” Lenny said with his own nod.

“Not tonight. How long has Kelly been Jell-O wrestling?”

Lenny chuckled. “Must be about three months now. He tells me revenue has tripled on a Saturday night since he introduced it.”

“I’ll bet,” I murmured, noting a few women strutting around in nothing but strips of lycra and string.

“I knew it wouldn’t be long before you caught wind of this. Emerson and female flesh go hand in hand, don’t they?” Lenny joked.

“I can’t deny the old Emerson was a lover of female flesh.”

Lenny gave me a questioning look. “There’s a new Emerson in town, and he doesn’t like female flesh?”

“Seems he prefers only one woman’s flesh these days.”

Lenny’s eyebrows rose. “Nooooo, Emerson’s gone monogamous?”

“I’ve always been monogamous, Lenny, but I’ve rarely had a relationship to use it in.”

At that moment, Wiska walked out of the bathroom on the other side of the Jell-O filled kiddie pool, and my tongue rolled out of my mouth and across the floor. Well, at least that’s how I imagined it looked—images in my head were always funnier when turned into a cartoon impression. She was wearing a white bikini that wasn’t quite as insubstantial as Blair’s, and yet I found it far more appealing.

Lenny whistled. “Damn.”

“Careful Two Socks, that’s my monogamy there.”

“Double damn,” he grunted, casting me an impressed look.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the large, round bellied man in the center of the ring bellowed. The crowd went quiet . . . well, quieter. “Bah, who am I kidding, there are no ladies or gentleman here, perverts the lot of ya,” he laughed. “For our first battle this evening, we have a special treat for you.” The man turned to Blair and encouraged her forward. “In the red corner, we won’t say what she weighs, because that would be rude and she’d probably hit me, but she is a feisty little ginger-nut with a temper to boot. Please give a round of applause for our reigning champion, BLAIR.”

The crowd went nuts.

“And in the blue corner, hailing from New York and looking like an angel of temptation in her white bathers, we have WISKA.”

The crowd was much less enthusiastic, and offended by their cavalier attitude, I hooted and whistled on Wiska’s behalf. She turned in my direction and gave me a double thumbs up. Her smile was wide, and her eyes held an excited gleam. Then the people around me began placing bets with each other, most in favor of Blair. Insulted, I turned to Lenny.

“Five hundred says my girl takes red down.”

Lenny killed himself laughing, before finally straightening. “You keen to lose some money tonight, Emerson?”

“I won’t be losing, but how about we make it a little more interesting.” Lenny gave me a look that said he was clearly listening. “You tell me what the hell ‘Two Socks’ means.” He laughed, again.

“Blair is a tiger. Your wee little slip there has no chance. When Blair wins, I want that five hundred pounds, and you can get me a meet with Willie.”

I rolled my eyes. Lenny worked for Willie, but he was so far down the ladder he would likely never meet his boss, and I doubted I’d be able to set such a thing up.

“I can ask, but I can’t guarantee anything.”

Lenny held out his hand. “Good enough for me.”

Finishing my drink, I set the empty glass down on a table, placing Wiska’s beside it. By the time my eyes moved back to the ring, both the girls were standing in the ankle deep green Jell-O—Blair sulking; Wiska beaming. A little blue tag hung out the back of her bikini, and Lenny explained a red one was tucked into Blair’s. The objective was to grab a hold of the other woman’s tag, kind of like tag football. Easy enough. Blair obviously had the advantage, having wrestled before, but she would underestimate Wiska’s flexibility and strength, not to mention her intoxicating enthusiasm. Finally, a bell rang and the girls began to circle each other. Blair kicked off the verbal assault with vengeance.

“So, you’re Bradley’s flavor of the week. You look like boring ol’ vanilla to me. He’ll toss you aside any day now.”

Wiska laughed, and I could tell it wasn’t forced. “Oh, sweetie, your schoolgirl crush is adorable. I could just pinch those pretty little cheeks of yours.”

Blair growled and launched herself at Wiska who easily sidestepped the screeching banshee. The Jell-O obviously made for slippery footing as Blair slipped to her butt. She quickly scampered to her feet again, but Wiska simply reached out and pulled the red tag free. The crowd went quiet, and I went loud, cheering for my girl. Blair was clearly mortified as she moved back to her place in the Jell-O pool, tucking the red tag into the back of her bikini bottoms once again.

“Wow, that was a surprise. The foreigner takes out Round One!” boomed the referee, rubbing salt in Blair’s wounded pride. “Girls ready?” He glanced to both corners.

Blair was steaming mad; the only thing missing was the actual steam blowing from her ears. Wiska, on the other hand, was grinning like a loon. Fuck me, she was gorgeous. I wanted to sigh and point out the petite sized angel, letting everyone around me know that she was my girl . . . but I had balls, big manly balls, so no sighing or screaming like a crazy, lovesick fool.

The bell rang and Blair quickly moved forward. This time she went low and managed to get her arms around Wiska’s waist. Wiska wiggled, her cute little ass teasing me in a way that had my jeans tighten.

“Not now,” I muttered, deciding in the middle of a Jell-O wrestling match, smack bang in the center of a pub, was not the place for my relentless Wiska boner.

Wiska somehow pulled Blair away, and they both tumbled down into the Jell-O. I winced as Wiska’s head was dunked into the green by a livid Blair who held her hair in a ruthless grip. I stepped forward to protest, but the referee was quick to intervene.

“No hair pulling,” he growled at Blair.

It gave Wiska a chance to regain her footing, and when Blair turned to face her once again, Wiska went down low and picked Blair up, dumping her onto her back, Jell-O splashing over the floor all around the ring. I laughed as Blair slipped while trying to get to her feet, and Wiska fell back to her knees and ducked her head, lunging into Blair’s mid-section. The crowd went wild as Blair was tossed to her back again. I was beginning to see the lure of Jell-O wrestling. This was fucking awesome.

Giggling like crazy, Wiska worked at turning Blair over to get at her tag. Blair didn’t appear to be having as much fun, her face turned in a frustrated frown as her hands slipped from Wiska’s skin. Blair had made it to her knees and was crowding Wiska’s space, leaning over her, which in turn forced Wiska to lean back. Her head was just about touching the Jell-O, displaying a core strength that I’m pretty sure rivaled my own. Blair was trying to push Wiska to her back and was about to succeed when Wiska simply reached around the redhead’s back and snatched the tag from her bikini. Wiska fell into the Jell-O, and Blair rolled to her side and just sat there, dumbfounded.

Wiska climbed to her feet and bounced around the pool with a victorious grin on her face, punching her little fists into the air. My eyes, of course, were automatically drawn to her bouncing breasts, and when I noticed Lenny also concentrating on that area of her body, I frowned and cuffed him on the back of the head.

“Sorry,” he said, grinning, trying to avert his gaze and failing.

“And the foreigner takes out Round two,” called the ref, and this time the crowd cheered. “Final round!”

The girls retreated to their corners and fixed their bikinis, then the bell announced it was time to wrestle again. Blair ducked her head and lunged forward, and Wiska shocked the crowd by falling into a perfect split, reaching her hand between Blair’s thighs and snatching the tag from the back of her bikini bottoms. Everyone was stunned, including me. The sight of her sitting in a split . . . fuck being embarrassed about a boner in a crowd. I was proud of my girl and my dick was cheering for her, too. The silence around me turned to groans as people realized Wiska had unanimously beaten Blair, which meant a lot of people had lost money.

I turned to Lenny and smiled. He just rolled his eyes and pulled out his phone.

“I don’t have that kind of cash on me. I’ll transfer into your account.”

“And?”

He glared at me, but I wasn’t intimidated. In theory, I was higher up the Bianco ladder, much higher, which kind of made me Lenny’s boss.

“If I hear anyone repeat this story, I’ll know where they heard it.”

“Yeah, yeah, spill, Two Socks.”

“As a young lad, I masturbated quite a bit, as all young lads do. I liked to jerk off into a sock; it made clean up easier.”

I somehow stifled my laughter.

“I actually began using two socks because I had so much baby juice it would leak through just one. When I discovered my cousin had stiff, dirty tissues lying around the floor of his bedroom, I told him. He called me Two Socks, but because he began doing the exact same thing, he kept it quiet. But Two Socks stuck . . . literally.”

I slapped Lenny on the back. “Well, think of it like this, it’s a hell of a lot better than Jerking Sock . . . or Shooting Socks . . . or Shining Socks . . .”

“Uh huh, quit while you’re ahead, Emerson.”

Having used his smart phone to transfer five hundred pounds into my account, Lenny turned at the sound of someone squealing behind us. I only just caught sight of the slightly green, wet, white bikini clad sex-pot before she launched herself into my arms. I caught her, barely; she was pretty fucking slippery.

“That was so cool!” she exclaimed, wrapping her legs around my waist.

I could feel the heavy stares of the people around us and the heavier sensation of Vlad rising to sniff at the object of his fascination that hovered precariously above him.

“All that’s missing is my victory kiss,” Wiska murmured with a twinkle in her eye, or maybe it was the Jell-O dripping in them that made her squint that way. “After all, I did win the man.”

“You won him way before tonight,” I whispered.

The last thing I noticed was the shock that registered on her face, right before I pressed my lips to hers. She tasted vaguely like lime, and I wondered if the Jell-O was mint flavored. That would explain why her eyes might be stinging if the green crap was dripping into them. I licked and sucked at her sweet lips, and when we finally pulled away, Wiska let her legs drop, and I placed her feet back to the ground. I followed her gaze to a clearly pissed off Blair who stood nearby.

“Well, if you’ll excuse us, we need to be going. My man here wants to pick up where we left off before we came out tonight . . . namely, this mouth,” her finger ran lightly over my bottom lip, “between . . . my . . . thighs.”

I dropped my face to her neck in an effort to hide my laughter, then kissed the tender spot beneath her ear. I reveled in the sweet shiver that racked her body at my touch.

“Come on, pussycat. I do believe you, me, and the backseat of my car have a second base date.”