Dolce (Love at Center Court #2) (21 page)

Catie

I
handed the bar bouncer my brand-spanking-new fake ID, a little early Christmas present for myself. I’d gone home for two days for the holidays, and it had been forty hours too long. Thankfully, I couldn’t stay longer due to my new work demands.

As soon as I’d entered my childhood home, my sisters were on me about my failures.

“Thought you were going to be some big champion of women, Catie? And here you go getting the boot,” Grace had taunted me over the kitchen table.

Cedes cornered me in the bathroom, slapping my bare butt with her towel as I dried off. “Good thing you were sent packing. You look like you’ve been hitting the scones.”

“Shove off, Cedes,” I snarled. “And here I thought you were starting to be nice. You’re a bitch.”

My mom spent the first day glaring at me, pinching my waist as she chastised me for wasting my dad’s money on a “foolish education.” She’d continued to offer up the prospect of working with Grace as some sort of solace.

As usual, I ended up drowning my sorrows in rice pudding and cannoli at my dad’s restaurant while he ran around and filled the Christmas take-out orders.

With my head low, I’d walked down the snow-covered path to a waiting taxi, where I slumped in the backseat the whole way to the bus station. As the bus carried me back to campus, across Pennsylvania and parts of Ohio, I glanced wistfully at farmhouses decorated for Christmas and wished for a new family.

Now as I entered the Golden Goblet, a newish wine-and-beer bar at the edge of campus, I realized how much I yearned to be loved for myself.

I brushed the snowflakes off my coat and set it behind my bar stool, one that had seen the imprint of my ass all too frequently over the last week. At first thought, a wine-and-beer place seemed like a weird fit on a college campus, but after I’d been there once, I got it. They sold beer by the case and wine by the jug. It was the kind of place big groups of fun-loving people went to get their buzz on and have a good time.

I went by myself—mostly to relax—or to meet Sarina. She helped me with the ID and everything else I didn’t know jack about.

It was New Year’s Eve, and the few other women I knew were home. Tess and I had stayed in touch since my life had imploded, but she’d gone to Shelby’s house for the holiday. They went on for fucking forever about skiing, bonfires, and hot rich guys before they left. Of course, the women from the women’s studies program had distanced themselves since Thanksgiving when my expulsion from the program became official.

I hadn’t officially seen the guys since Thanksgiving either. Of course, I’d watched a few games from behind the scenes or on TV, but when I thought I saw a basketball player in the vicinity, I went the other way. Luckily, we were knee-deep in studying for finals right about then, and I was busy.

Sort of.

I discovered the Goblet allowed you to order wine by the glass at the bar the night I arrived back at school from Christmas, tired and bone cold off the bus. After that, I started coming regularly before going to work on my current project, which required being loose. Sarina and I met here every few days, and she’d fill me in on what I needed to know. It was quickly becoming a formidable bond between the two of us—two women from opposite ends of the social spectrum with nothing in common.

Tonight, I ordered a prosecco; after all, it was New Year’s. When in Rome, and all that. Sarina was at a party. She’d invited me but I declined, offering to pick up a shift for her at the studio.

Staring into the bubbly set before me, I smoothed my hair behind my ear. I’d straightened it using my new flat iron, and the lights above the bar were reflecting off its shine. I took out my new smartphone and checked my e-mails. There were a lot, so I scrolled down for a while.

Sarina’s picture came up on the screen, her long blond curls waved around her face and neckline, her blue eyes cool and collected, her lips a shiny hot pink and puckered.

SARINA
: Hey, girl! Hope you have an awesome new year. You’re the best!

I smiled. She thought I was the best, and I thought she was even better. What would Stanwick think about that?

CATIE
: Have fun, lady! I’ll see you this week? Happy NYE!

SARINA
: See you tomorrow!

I sipped my drink slowly and thought about my next stop. In a million years, I could have never imagined spending a day in my life doing what I was doing. Yet here I was, doing it on New Year’s Eve. My dad would have a fit, my sisters would never stop talking about it, and Blane . . . he would be disgusted.

Or not. I didn’t know.

Sadly, I’d lost a portion of my financial aid when I was dismissed from my major. A component of my aid package was based on the intrinsic value I brought to Hafton’s women’s studies program. The monies were derived from a fund, earmarked by the benefactor for the sole purpose of crafting women leaders.

Luckily, my mind continued to form a plan that started with Mean Beans and ended during my trip to the adult store. My original plan was to find part-time work and seek revenge on Stanwick. Little did I know the two concepts would merge and begin to sustain me in this journey.

Hafton was on a trimester calendar, and when the first trimester ended, I left campus for a studio apartment. It brought a little bit of a savings for my dad when it came to room and board, and it provided me with the privacy I required. And craved.

Sitting at the bar, deep in thought as I made mental notes for the book I was writing, I didn’t hear someone slide in next to me.

“Hey.”

Frowning, I swiveled toward the voice. “Mo, how are you?”

The large guy planted on a stool to my left took me by surprise, especially as he sat there in a black leather sports coat, his dark eyes focused on me.

“I’m good. We play tomorrow, so I have to head out soon, but I brought my lady out for a New Year’s beverage . . . forgetting she couldn’t drink because she’s knocked up. I’m an idiot like that.”

He tipped his head to the back of the bar where a stunning mixed-race woman sat sipping on a glass of club soda. Her hair was down, wavy and wild, and her cleavage practically burst out of a black halter top. She certainly didn’t look prego to me, but what the hell did I know?

“I’m sure you’re having fun anyway,” I responded, swallowing a lump of regret.

I’d only talked to Maurice once before at the team party back in November, and he seemed nice enough. But that wasn’t my scene anymore. Actually, it had never been my scene. I’d only hung out with cool college athletes once.

Mo studied me. “So, what’s the story? My man says you dropped off the face of the earth, and here you are toasting the New Year by yourself?”

“I’m doing some soul searching, finding my own way, figuring shit out—pardon my language. Blane didn’t need all that baggage. He’s got a life of grandeur ahead.”

“Keep telling yourself that, Catie.” Mo patted my shoulder and stood up. “I have to get back to my lady. Happy New Year.”

“Same to you.”

I tossed a twenty on the bar and got up. It was time for me to do what I needed to do.

With my bag tucked under my shoulder, I entered the warehouse. “Hey, Frank,” I hollered as I headed toward the back, my boots clunking on the cement floor.

“Hey, girl. Thanks for coming in tonight, Ari.”

“No problem.”

Seated in the back, I slipped out of my coat and oversized sweatshirt, leaving me in only a sheer T-shirt as the script called for. I quickly pulled my hair in a bun on top of my head and fitted my wavy red wig on top. I’d curled it the night before. Sometimes I wore it straight and glossy, but tonight I was doing a coed type of scene, and I felt wild hair was best.

“I’ll be ready in fifteen,” I called out, swiping on some red lipstick before grabbing my fake eyelashes out of the case.

Grace had no idea what she was actually recommending them for when I called her for advice; she was so excited I wanted faux eyelashes. Sarina had explained they were a must in the industry.

My sisters had also been flat-out excited when I said I was heading back to school early from the holidays. Apparently, my presence stressed Mom out, which spoiled the holiday for my sisters.
Bitches
. I could only imagine what they’d say if any of them found out why I’d hurried back to school.

“Hey, Ari,” I heard from toward the door.

“Hey, Ricky,” I called back.
Tricky Ricky
, my partner for the night.

That’s right, I was now a full-fledged member of the porn world—Ariel Stone in the flesh. In only a few short weeks, I’d been dubbed
Queen of the Titty Fuck
.

Oh, the power of the Internet
.

I was living out my thesis, making a quick name for myself on the Internet and paying my bills while doing it. And all the while, I was writing a book, a book that would twist Stanwick’s knickers. When I was tossed out of the program, I’d gone into deep-research mode, and my thesis paper had transformed into a full-length book.

Bitch
.

Meeting Sarina has been a lucky break for me. Turned out, she was a single mom living in the middle-of-nowhere, Ohio. Originally from Arizona, she’d followed some guy to the Midwest, and he had his fun with her until he knocked her up. Then she was stuck all alone with nothing more than a GED and a screaming newborn. She’d tried working at a grocery store for a while, but the hours sucked and the pay was worse.

Then she met Frank.

After that night she first took me to the set, we met for coffee. Over a big piece of cake, of which she only took one bite and I ate every last crumb, I told her all about the three S’s that had ruined my life.

Stanwick.

Steele.

Sonny.

After hearing my story, she agreed to introduce me to her world and help me expose the harsh realities of why women stayed in the porn industry. How it helped put food on the table and afforded women time to be with their children.

I squeezed my eyes shut and took a deep breath before dusting a fine layer of pale pink glitter onto my cheeks. It had been Sarina’s idea for me to try out in a skit, and the thing went berserk with five-star ratings. She’d suggested I keep going but hold true to my hard limit—penetration—and make some money on the side while learning exactly what went on in the adult-film industry.

I knew it would isolate me from the entire women’s studies world, but I couldn’t help but feel compassionate toward Sarina and her friends. They were women too, and how could I really write an exposé without going undercover?

So Ariel Stone was born and the real Caterina Presto was found—the Catie with a new purpose. I finally had a mission, a cause, a place to call my own. I’d been looking for that my whole life.

I also knew it was the last thing on earth Blane Steele needed in his life with the league calling. Maybe it was self-punishment on my part; I didn’t fucking know. What I did know was Blane would have no use for me when I finished with this project.

As if Blane Steele wants me in his life
.

I frowned at my reflection, hating when I thought about Blane at work. Sometimes I got so wrapped up in thinking about what would happen if he knew about this, tears stung my eyes.

Tonight, I shoved any thoughts of the six-foot-four baller out of my mind and took a deep breath. It was a new year and a new me. What had started out as an experiment to prove Stanwick wrong, a way to prove my theories correct, was slowly turning into a way of life.

“Let’s go, kids. I got a party to get to,” Frank hollered across the room.

“Me too,” Ricky yelled back, rolling his eyes.

Frank had turned out to be an okay guy. He produced the videos on the cheap and passed a lot of the profits over to us; it was how he kept good talent. We made money, and he made more movies and even more money.

I dusted a little glitter over my boobs and puckered my lips, making sure my lip gloss was even before I headed out to the set.

As I lounged in a sexy pose on a red velvet chaise, Ricky approached—more like sauntered for the camera—while rubbing his hand over his clothing-covered erection. His dick bulged in his skinny black pants, and he made all kinds of weird moans and facial expressions for the camera. I thought he looked like he was in pain, but Frank had assured me that was what ecstasy looked like.

To me, that wasn’t what Blane looked like during our one moment. The one I ran away from because I was ashamed of what we’d done.

Look at me now.

I kept trying to imagine what it would be like to actually be turned on by Ricky with his mouth shaped like an
O
and his body now angled over me, his breath puffing on my face.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” I said, repeating my lines. “If it isn’t another hard dick. Oh my . . .” This cued my long sigh and husky breathing as I ran my fingers along Ricky’s bicep.

“Baby, you have no idea,” he said, his voice all deep and manly.

I almost giggled because the dude was as gay as they came, or maybe he was bisexual. Whatever. His penis was huge and hard, so he must like women a little.