Metal & Lace (An Opposites Attract Novel Book 1) (16 page)

Our drinks arrive and we watch the insanity around the club
unfold.
As I scan the club, I notice a slutty blonde watching me, nibbling on her bottom lip. She has that I’m gonna fuck ‘em look in her eyes, hooded and focused. This is going to be trouble.

Just as I knew she would, she saunters over to us in our private booth, running her hands over her dress to emphasize her curves. And she has some deadly turns, her tits, large and fake, are like two globes.

I feel Lace tense under my arm as she approaches.

“Hi,” she purrs out.

“Hey,” I greet her flatly, tightening my grip about Lace’s shoulders. She pretends not to notice.

“I just love your music.” She trails her fingers over her almost too big tits. “I’m a huge fan.”

“Thanks,” I answer with little enthusiasm.

“Can I have your autograph, Mr. Haze?” She pulls a pen out of her purse.

“I don’t see why not.” I remove my arm from around Lace and grab the pen out of the eager fan’s hand. “Where should I sign?”

She takes a step closer, bends over so her big ole’ breasts are right in my face, and heaves them up with her hands.

“Right here,” she murmurs in an overtly sexual tone.

I glimpse back, noting Lace’s wide eyes, before quickly jotting down my name on her knockers. She stands back up, tucking the pen between her cleavage, and asks, “Do you want to dance?”

“Sure do,” I answer with a smirk.

I can feel Lacey tense next to me. I rise, gently pushing the slut out of my way, and turn back to my pouty girl. “Join me?”

She grins up at me, places her hand in mine, and stands, adjusting her dress, which gathered up high around her thighs. I pull her behind me, glimpsing back occasionally to be sure she’s alright. We hit the dancefloor as a faster song spins into another. Since it’s not fast, it’s easier to dance to without making a fucking fool of myself.

“You dance?”

Not at fucking all. But for you I will.

“Not well, but I think you do. So, I’ll manage.”

I stop and yank her into me, her back pressing into my front. I don’t move at first, just hold her there, smelling her scent, feeling her against me, and then I start to move. Digging my cock into her perky ass, I bump and grind slowly. She moves with me, resting her head on my shoulder so her hair flows over my back, and moans. I feel it against my cheek, hovering next to hers, so close they gently stroke the other.

My hands grip to her waist, keeping her against me. One, under its own control, moves over her stomach to her breasts and up around her neck gently, my thumb caressing the sharp line of her jaw. Her bottom lip drops open, her breathing shallows. Her body moves with mine, gyrating under my touch, pressing into my cock with hard rotations of her ass.

My breathing quickens and my pulse races, all my blood moving straight into my ever growing dick.

I nip at her earlobe, and she hisses, opening her eyes to look up into mine. I grasp her jaw, pinning it, and kiss her hard, thrusting my tongue into her warm, soft mouth. She relaxes into me with a whimper and reaches her hand up into my hair, entwining it with her fingers.

Oh, my fucking head.

Where am I? What day is it?
I sit up, looking around the room.
That’s right. Vegas. Penthouse. Gunnar.

The room begins to sway and the light from the open-curtained window kills my eyes. I fall back onto the bed, flipping the comforter over my head.

What happened last night?

The last complete memory I have is clinking shot glasses and
everyone cheering out, “Vegas!” The rest of the night is a fuzzy, head-spinning blur, just unclear flashes of twinkling lights, endless dancing, loud laughter, and general drunken debauchery.

Ow! Shit!

I feel a tender stinging sensation on my upper back, right around my shoulder blade.

I jump out of bed and rush into the bathroom to check in the mirror, slapped in the face by the hot mess before me. My make-up is smeared, liner streaked and lipstick smudged. My hair is one giant, tangled, kinked disaster. My shoulder burns, and I twist about, attempting to find the source of my pain. My eyes are round and wide like apple pies, and my mouth falls open, my jaw nearly hitting the ground.

I got a fucking tattoo! Not some little tattoo, a heart or a flower or something girly most drunken females get on a whim. Oh, no. This is a
tattoo
. It’s musical notes mingling with smoky pink swirls.

I have got to figure out what happened last night. I remember dinner, the casino, and a bit of the club, but after that, it’s all wonky.

I clean myself up, brushing out the knots and washing the make-up off my face. I change out of my dress from the night before and into some jean cutoffs and a plain white tee before heading downstairs to find out the details of my forgotten night.

“Well, good afternoon, sunshine,” Gunnar greets me. He’s sitting at the dining table just off the open kitchen.

“What time is it?”

“It’s now,” he glimpses down at his phone, “three forty-five.”

“Jesus.” I take a seat at the table next to him. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

“I thought you could use the sleep after your wild night.” He takes a hit off a joint I hadn’t noticed and passes it to me. “Here.”

I wave my hand at it. “I don’t think I should.”

“Have you ever smoked before?”

“I’ve never felt the need.”

“How do you feel?” he asks. “Are you hungry?”

“Not great, and no.”

He puts the joint in front of my face, hovering it about. “Then trust me. Take a few hits of this. It will help with your nausea and appetite.” I hesitate. “No peer pressure, baby. If you don’t want it, I understand.”

I take it from him, placing it to my lips and inhale. I cough but once I stop, I take a few more hits and hand it back.

It isn’t long before it starts to take effect. I feel light, relaxed, and hungry as hell. Gunnar smiles and sets a plate in front of me with appetizing waffles and bacon. He was right. I have the munchies something awful. I dig in and take a sip of milk. It’s cool and helps wash the icky taste of dry mouth away.

“How does your pussy feel this morning?” he asks, and I nearly spit my milk all over the table.

“Um…Fine?”

“You are an insatiable little fuckdoll when you’re wasted. We went at it like fucking rabbits.” He takes my hand and brings the tips of my fingers to his lips, nipping them softly. “Your cock-gobbling snatch couldn’t get enough of my love gun.”

He smirks at me mischievously and wiggles his eyebrows.

“Your love gun?” I giggle out.

“Your words, not mine,” he retorts.

“I,” embarrassment causes my voice to crack, “called it a love gun?”

What else did I say or do while under the influence?

“Speaking of the events of last night.” I push my humiliation down deep. “Would you tell me why I woke with a permanent marking on my shoulder?”

He smiles and shakes his head. “We went to a tattoo parlor after the club. I wanted something to commemorate the trip. Anyway, you asked if they hurt. I said it might for you since you’re such a wuss. I don’t think you liked hearing that. You hit me and pouted. Next thing I knew, you’re picking one out, too.”

“You practically dared me, you jerk!” I slap him across the arm and he laughs, which makes me hit him more. He just keeps laughing, entertained by my annoyance. When I go to smack him again, he snatches my wrist and yanks me into his lap. I push at his chest, but I’m not really trying to shove him away.

“Maybe a little.” He runs his thumb over my bottom lip and sticks it in his mouth, sucking off the syrup. “Are you mad, baby doll?”

I pucker my lips, pretending to think hard. “No, I’m not. I was just shocked at first.”

“We match now,” he says quietly.

“How so?”

He stands us up and turns his back to me, pulling off his wife-beater. At the top of his back, dead center between the two pistols along his shoulders, is the same tat as mine. The only difference is the smoke weaving through his is dark blue where mine is vivid pink. And there’s a huge cursive L in the middle. At first, I assume it represents the musical note until it dawns on me.

“You got my initial?”

“Sure, just like you got mine.”

“What?!” I walk to a large mirror and peek over my shoulder. My vision must have been really blurry cause I completely missed the G hiding amongst the design.

I got ink with his initial…
Shit.

I’m expected in the Hamptons next weekend for my mother’s Labor Day Party. I’ll be in a swimsuit ninety percent of the time.

She
hates
tattoos. I don’t know how I’ll keep this secret.

“I wish you’d stopped me,” I state.

“I tried but your stubborn ass insisted. So I got one, too.”

Did he get it so I wouldn’t feel like an fool for insisting on etching him on my skin? Or did he want it as a lasting reminder of me, too? Was that his way of telling me he may want more?
A million questions and thoughts swarm my brain, trying to wrap itself around the idea.

I remember how our personal server kept referring to me as Mrs. Haze when Gwen and I were down at the pool. “Yesterday, a staff member called me, Mrs. Haze. Why do they think we’re married?”

“They assumed we were, and I didn’t correct them. Plus…I thought it would be funny as shit to see your face when they called you my wife.”

“You’re such an asshole.” I slap him across the chest, wrestling back a smile.

“Your asshole, right?”

Mine.

My stomach flutters, but I’m not sure if it’s a good or bad thing. He’s leaving soon, and I’ll be left to lick my wounds. I can’t let myself get too attached to him.

“Yes, Gunn, mine.” I smile at him, attempting to put on a brave face. My head is screaming at me to stop this now, before I get hurt. But my heart…

So much for living beyond consequences.

We flew home that night, dropping Gwen off before heading to
Gunnar’s loft.

After a long day, all I want is to crawl into bed with him and pass the hell out. We enter the loft, the air conditioned room welcoming us. It’s so hot and humid outside, making my clothes stick to my skin. I’m already missing the dry heat of the desert.

“Welcome home, sexy.” A busty brunette walks out of Gunn’s kitchen with a whiskey glass in hand, naked as sin. He prefers them curvy and top-heavy…clearly. She halts in her tracks, staring me down. “Who the hell is this?”

“What the fuck do you want, Kelsey?”

“You know what I want.” She doesn’t even have the decency to be ashamed of her nudity. She just stands there, her lady bits staring me right in the face.

He walks over and snatches the drink out of her hand, setting it on the counter.

“It’s time for you to leave.” He picks her clumped up clothes off the floor and tosses them at her. She clasps onto them, giving him a murderous look, but doesn’t move. “Get out, Kelsey. And don’t fucking come back.”

I almost feel for her in this humiliating moment.

“Fucking asshole,” she murmurs before practically storming across the apartment, slamming the door on her way out.

“Are you alright?” he asks, obviously conflicted over the whole debacle. Sauntering up to me, he slinks an arm about my waist. I refuse to show him she got to me. I have to act like this is nothing, just let it roll off.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” I shroud my arms around his neck. “Want to head upstairs?”

“Can I have a minute alone?”

I set my lips against his cheek and whisper, “I’ll be waiting for you…naked.”

“I can’t wait.”

I walk over to the stairs, wagging my ass, knowing his focus is on me. I glimpse back to him as I make it to the first step, blowing a kiss and winking. He smirks at me and winks back.

I head up and jump in the shower, hoping to forget.

I sip on the whiskey Kelsey made for me, mentally running
through
the events of the past few days, taking in everything Callie brought to light in Vegas. Like a swarm of stinging hornets, her words buzz in my brain,
“You’ve changed.
She’s changed you.
”

Once I’ve downed my drink, I climb the stairs with a knot in my throat and a feeling of impending doom. When I open my bedroom door, I find her clothes scattered on the floor leading into the bathroom. I follow the trail and find her in the shower, running her hands through her hair, eyes closed, with an almost serene look on her face. I lean on the doorframe and watch her for a moment.

“You’ve changed. She’s changed you.”

Fuck!

“What are you doing?” Lace asks, breaking me out of my head.

“Nothing. I’m just watching at you.”

“Well, quit it, asshole.” She smirks at me and scrunches her nose. It’s probably the most adorable fucking thing ever. She turns off the shower and opens the glass door, stepping out soaking wet, beads of water dripping down every curve. “Can you hand me a towel?”

I grab one from the towel rack and walk behind her, wrapping it about her lean frame. I hold her there, pressing her back to my torso.

“Are you mad, baby?”

“I’m not the jealous type, Gunnar.” Her head falls back onto my shoulder. “Besides, I know my role. I have no delusions about us.”

Us.

She steps away from me and into the bedroom, creating a void between us.

“You’ve changed.”
I can’t keep these words from replaying in my head.
“She’s changed you.”

Shut the fuck up!

“Hey,” she says. “Get out of that fucking head of yours.” She smiles at me, sweet and sexy.

I need to lose myself. The only way I know how.

I saunter up to her, snagging her towel from her torso and drop it on the floor. Pulling her into me, our lips connect forcefully, drowning out every nagging thought.

Over the next few days, I hide out at Gunnar’s loft, working from
there. Being a writer has one really amazing benefit, you can do it anywhere.

We’re sitting in his bed, our backs against the brick wall behind it. Gunnar strums on his guitar, working out a new song in his head. I listen to him while I bang away at my keyboard, attempting to finish up the article.

My cellphone goes off, playing the ringtone for my boss, ‘I Wanna Be Your Dog’ by The Stooges, his favorite. Gunnar bobs his head to it.

“Great fucking song,” he murmurs.

I answer it, “What’s up, boss?”

“Hey, Lacey,” he greets me, but seems distracted. “I’m going to cut to the chase. I need you to cover a press conference this afternoon.”

I glimpse over at Gunn, studying me. I don’t really want to leave him, but it’s work, and I don’t really have a choice. I’ve enjoyed our time locked away together, ordering in Chinese, watching movies, fucking whenever and wherever we please. On more than one occasion this week, he’s woken me up in the early hours, going down on me with an insatiable tongue. He said he couldn’t wait until morning to have me.

But I know I have to get back to the real world and my apartment.

“Yeah, I can do it,” I tell him.

“Awesome. I will text you all the info.” With that, he hangs up, and a second later, I receive the text. Opening it, my eyes practically pop out of their sockets when I spot Anarchy’s name. I’ll be interviewing the band.

Should I tell Gunnar? Or surprise him?

I smile, deciding to keep it to myself.

“I have to head into the office today, finish up a few projects,” I lie, fighting back the smile trying to bust across my face.

“That’s cool. I have a work thing later.”

I move my laptop onto the bed and jump up, grabbing my floral dress off the ground. “I’m going to head back to my apartment first to shower and get ready. Will you drive me?”

“Of course.” I rip off my shirt and sweats and slip the summer dress over my head, going sans undergarments. “No panties, baby?”

I smirk at him from over my shoulder, bending forward a little to give him an eyeful.

“You are a dirty girl.” He crawls off the bed and stands behind me, slithering his finger up the backs of my thighs and under my skirt, lightly tracing the curve with the tips. It feels so goddamn good.

“Will I see you later?”

I straighten up and lean my weight into him, resting my head on his shoulder. “You can count on it.”

“Gwen!” I call out, dropping my bags by the door. “Are you
here?!”

“In here,” she yells from her room.

I walk down the hall and find her standing half-naked in front of her closet, hands on hips, lips puckered. I plop down on her bed, watching her pick out possible outfits.

“Where are you going?” I ask, picking up a magazine off her bed and skimming through it.

“I have a date tonight. And I don’t want to scramble to get ready just before.” She reaches into her closet, pulling out a red little number. “How about this one?”

I give her two thumbs up. “Who’s the date with?” I ask, and she shoots me a side-glance. “So, you and Dylan, huh?” I comment.

She turns to me with a genuinely happy smile. “Yeah. I like him.”

“Just be careful, ok?”

“It’s casual, Lacey. I can separate sex from feelings. I’m not like you.”

“What the frick does that mean?”

“I mean,” she says, popping off her bra, “it’s obvious that you have real feelings for Gunnar.”

She’s so comfortable in her nakedness, but undressing in front of others comes with the modeling gig. She shimmies into the tight dress with thin crisscross straps across the back.

“As opposed to fake ones?”

Making an annoyed clicking noise, she rolls her eyes at me. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“I’m not dumb, Gwen. It’ll be over soon and he’ll leave.” I twirl the ends of my hair about my fingers. “But I don’t know…”

“Just admit you like him.”

I rise from her bed and move for the door. “I plead the fifth.”

“Hey, Lacey.” She stops me and I glance back at her. “You can deny it to me all you want. But you should at least be honest with yourself.”

I smile softly at her then walk out, but it nags at me.