Juggernaut Page 4

  “Me?” I exhale hard. “She hates me.”

  “She doesn’t hate you,” Scott explains. “Taylor is truly herself with you. In all these years, I’ve never seen her like this with any other guy. Ever, Evander. No matter how badly it goes with you, she always tries again. Do you understand what that means?”

  No, I really didn’t.

  “Be yourself with her,” India insists. “She doesn’t know the real you and won’t until you show her.”

  “You really think she’ll agree?”

  “Yes,” they both say in unison and for the first time in two years I feel…hope.

  Almost at a whisper I ask, “What are the odds you’ll anonymously share her address?”

  Exactly one hour later, I’m standing outside her warehouse door sweating profusely. One would think, judging by the desert in my mouth, I’m about to argue my very first case. In a sense, I suppose I was. But this is a case I refused to lose.

  She is the most important jury I would ever face.

  When the cargo buzzer sounded, it jolted my wrist causing mascara to bleed into my eye. Running over to hit the intercom, I yell “Come on up,” to Sugar then ran back to the mirror hoping I hadn’t damaged an orb. Turning my music back on, I bee-bop around my room, belting when I think about you I touch myself while waiting for the sting to wear off.

  When the door to my loft opens, I pause to call out, “Grab me a glass of wine, get in here, and tell me if my ass looks big. And don’t hold back. We both know my eye sight is twenty-shitty.”

  Resuming my party for one, a moment or two passes before I hear, “I didn’t peg you for a Divinyl’s fan.”

  Blinking rapidly because I’m in shock, I could only reply with, “What? Are you with the fucking 90’s throwback police?”

  “No, just curious, is all. Don’t stop on my account. Truly.”

  Mute, I can do nothing but stare. Clearly not done, he says, “I had Lasik so you can trust me when I say your ass is inspirational, and please tell me your breasts are real? Fuck, I just said that out loud, didn’t I?”

  Was I high? Because Evander Church would never be standing in my bedroom holding out a glass of wine for me, handing out compliments, and asking about my tits?

  “You’re not Sugar,” I say stupidly.

  “And you’re not dressed,” he says openly staring because no, I wasn’t dressed. I was in my bra and underwear with my hair in rollers. I looked like Broom Hilda in a thong after a bar fight she lost.

  “You have three seconds to explain to me why you’re in my bedroom.”

  “You specifically said, grab me a glass of wine, get in here, and tell you if your ass looks big. I did as you said and even complimented you. After I took a moment to watch you, of course.”

  “You’re not Sugar!” I squeal in mortification.

  “What’s wrong with your eye?”

  “Forget my eye! Get out!”

  “At least take the wine,” he says, stepping forward cautiously. “It appears you need it.”

  Evander Church is in my bedroom. Where I have underwear strewn across the floor! My clip in extensions were laid out on my comforter! My trusty Spanx were on display! My vibrator, the Executive, was on my pillow! (This particular piece of self-pleasuring technology boasts built-in lithium batteries and has two motors for professionals like myself.)

  And he was fucking staring at it!

  Snatching the glass, I point at the door and demand he, “Go.”

  “I meant it when I said I wanted you, Taylor.”

  “Huh?” I ask because did he just say he wanted me? At this, my mind blanked and my clit throbbed. Maybe I could excuse myself and take the Executive with me… Seriously, it was powerful, and I’d be done in a jiffy.

  “Earlier at the party, for the event, I want you.”

  “Oh,” I mumble in disappointment. “And I said I would find you someone else, and I will. You really didn’t need to come here.” With me half naked sucking it in all for all I was worth, I didn’t add.

  “My mother,” he says, adjusting his collar which I had to admit was extra hot. It is also nice knowing I wasn’t the only one off kilter, too. I never thought I’d see the day that anything rattled this man. Especially my near nakedness. But it was happening. And I’m getting off on it. “When talking about her fiftieth anniversary, said her wish was for you to host it. She’s aware I know you somewhat personally and that you book quickly. For her, if I pulled this off…”

  “Wait, they know you know me?” I’ll dissect that later. “She really said it was her—I mean she wants me to do it? Wow. Fifty years?” His parents were legendary. At least they seem that way based on what Scott and India have told me. Genuine, salt of the earth people. People who, from what I’ve heard, had partied harder than The Shit did.

  And somehow, they had Evander.

  “She did,” he nods once, managing to maintain eye contact. “She loves your work. She even follows you on Facebook.”

  “When? How many guests?” Shit, was that excitement in my voice? It so was…

  “I would like to secure the date for October 21st,” he says, and I gulped. Shit. That was fifty-eight days from now. I mean really, how does he even come up with fifty-eight days? “Seventy-five guests tops.”

  Okay, this was doable. I mean, fifty years was huge. And it’s what she wished for? Balls. I couldn’t say no, not even to Evander. But especially not his mom. Mrs. Church is the OG party girl.

  Mrs. Church is also my spirit animal.

  “Okay, fine, but by Monday morning I need the guest list from you, location, budget – ”

  “I’ll have the guest list to you by Monday, but the location, budget, and anything you think is befitting such a milestone is entirely up to you. I trust you, Taylor.”

  “Uh…”

  Just then the buzzer goes off, causing him to jump and me to spill my wine all over the area rug. “Perfect,” I groan at the timing. “Hang on.” I won’t even lie. On my way over to the intercom, I totally exaggerated my movements, hoping he would notice. Just before hitting the button, I glanced back to see his jaw wide open.

  Yep. He noticed.

  My ass had that effect on people and it was powerful to know he was no exception.

  Yelling to Sugar to come up, I grab the paper towel roll on my way back. She walks in as I clear my bedroom door and Sugar, not knowing any different, follows me in. The look on her face was classic and no doubt mirrored my own. Red wine was everywhere with Evander bent at the knees. “Towel?” he asks, and I hand him what I hold, which is not a towel but my shirt. Why I did this, I have no idea. Tossing the paper towels over my shoulder, I faced Sugar and simply shrugged. Here I am, in my lady things while Evander Church wiped the rug with my shirt. There is no explaining this.

  “We’re going balls deep with this on Sunday,” she grins unabashedly.

  “Oh, shut up,” I wave her off. “Evander, you remember Sugar?”

  “Of course,” he says glancing over his shoulder. “Forgive me, I’m trying to contain my spill.”

  “By all means,” Sugar bites her lip. “Contain away. With her Michael Kors blouse, no less. Wish I could say this is a first, but it’s Taylor we’re talking about, so…”

  “Give me two minutes, and I’ll be ready.”

  “Um, is he coming with us?”

  “Oh,” I say, ready to brush him off when I had an idea. A holy-fucking-shit-idea. “Actually, yes. He is.”

  “I am?” he asks with wide, excited eyes. Evander befuddled is adorable. And my theory is correct. He doesn’t get invited out a lot, if ever. Everyone deserved to party. Especially this man.

  “We have an anniversary to plan, don’t we?”

  “Yes, but – ”

  No buts. He’s coming and I’m planning to make him as uncomfortable as he sought to make me. Sure, I’d fulfill his mother’s wish, but that doesn’t mean I couldn’t enjoy making him suffer while I did. Okay, fine, so I wanted to hang out with him and
see if he was redeemable. But if I was being honest, I wanted to see if I could redeem myself to him, too.

  After all, I was only the juggernaut sometimes.

  The rest of the time I was too goddamn adorable for words.

  “Wash your hands, Evander. We’re going out!”

  “Here comes the juggernaut,” Sugar coughs then says low, “You can stop now.”

  “Stop what?” I ask when she follows me to my room to dress.

  “You’re thinking fat thoughts, I can tell.”

  “He saw me half-naked,” I remind her.

  “Yeah, him and half the men over thirty on Tinder,” she rolls her eyes. “Exhale Taylor, you look ready to explode.”

  Damn, she was right. Letting it all out, I face the mirror and groan, “When does the back fat go away?”

  Sugar being Sugar says, “When you stop looking at it.”

  Bitch had knowledge. But she was also petite whereas I was…not.

  “Have you seen him?” I counter. “Nothing on him moves. If I sneeze, I cause a minor quake.”

  “Have you seen you?” she retorts. “Believe me, Tay, he’s not looking at you thinking natural disaster. He’s looking at you like he’s seeing…”

  “What?” I ask, squeezing into my jeggings.

  “His own salvation.”

  That was too much for me to process, so I focused on finding my full coverage bra.

  Approximately twenty-seven minutes later, and no longer thinking fat thoughts because I was layered in Spanx, the three of us enter The Box Office and I watch his entire face pale.

  “Are you okay?” I ask, trying not to laugh.

  “Why are we here?”

  “It’s ladies’ night.”

  “You aren’t into ladies,” he says then leans in, looking worried. “Are you?”

  “I’m here to help Sugar score.”

  “Why am I here?”

  “To entertain me while I do.”

  “I’m not entertaining, Taylor.”

  “You’d be wrong about that, Evander.”

  “Van,” he says for my ears only. “I like when you call me Van.”

  Well, hello wet panties…

  And what was up with the about-face? Why did it give me chills? I wasn’t sure, but I had a strong suspicion he wasn’t done calling in favors. It’s the only thing that made sense. Because fact was, Van-Evander, didn’t wake up today and do a Taylor one-eighty. He’s had ample time to get to know me, yet he waited ages to bring the full court press. So, I decided the best way to get him to talk was to get him drunk. And for the next several hours, that’s exactly what I did. I also got myself nicely buzzed in effort to control my own nerves. Between dancing with Sugar, helping her rank her potential bed mates, and keeping it light with Van, I had my hands full. Speaking of hands, his kept finding ways to touch me. I kept looking for reasons to hate it, finding none. The man had large, strong digits.

  Moving closer so I could hear him speak, I noticed how lovely his eyes were when they weren’t narrowed.

  And don’t even get me started on his grumbly voice!

  “Something’s on your mind, Van,” I nudge him in the chest. And yes, it was firm. “Care to share?”

  “Are you seeing anyone?” he asks facing me, and when his knees met mine I didn’t move away.

  “No. Why?”

  “I practiced what to say, but… fuck it. Subtly is not my strong suit, so I’m just going to say it.”

  “Swear to God, if you call me a cougar, I’ll claw your eyes out.”

  “Where did that come from?” he asks with wide eyes. “Don’t answer that. Look, if I promise you nothing that comes from my mouth will be anything less than complimentary, can you forgive my past behavior?”

  That was fair and sweet so I say, “I can do that.”

  “You can?”

  “Didn’t I just say I could?”

  I’m not that much of an asshole…(today).

  “Taylor, I need to do this before I ruin it.”

  “Okay, shoot. I’m all ears.”

  “Will you be my fiancée for the next two months?”

  …and my stomach just bottomed out.

  “I have a feeling I’m going to be asking this a lot tonight, but why?”

  “Prior to my parents’ party, I have an alumni event to attend, my lacrosse championship, and a wedding.”

  “And you want me to be your fake fiancée for these events because?”

  “You know what I wish, Taylor?” he asks, closing his eyes and swaying a bit in his seat. Using my body to hold him up, I don’t object when he leaned in further. He smells fantastic. And he just nuzzled my cheek. Focus! “I wish people would stop asking me why I’m not married. As if there’s something infinitely wrong with me because I’m not. I don’t want a trophy wife and dating is hell. But just once, I’d like to go to one of these god-awful events and have them eat their words. I want to walk in with you, show them I not only found the most beautiful woman in the world, but that she agreed to marry me. Even if it’s a lie, that’s my wish.”

  Holy-fucking-matrimony.

  “Van, are you drunk?”

  “Little bit,” he grins adorably. I’ve never seen him grin and it nearly undoes me and the string to my panties.

  “And you’re sure you want me to be your fake fiancée?”

  “The most beautiful fiancée in the world, don’t forget that.”

  “What happens in sixty days?” Well fifty-eight, but who’s counting?

  “You can dump me.”

  “That’s your wish?”

  “Yes,” he attempts to nod. “Well, that and I wish I could convince you to like me. Like me so much you won’t dump me. Wouldn’t even think of it, in fact. You’d be sick over it. Sick in love with me. You’d tell everyone I was yours. Sixty days isn’t long, but I’ll make it worth your time. I’m great with deadlines, too. I work best under pressure. I feel I should mention that. I should also mention I want to romance you. Wait, let me start over.”

  “Okay.”

  “I want to romance the fuck out of you.”

  Jesus, he talked a lot when he was hammered. But seriously, was he trying to win me over?

  I have to tell you the idea of Van’s undivided attention didn’t…suck. Fake or not.

  “I’ll agree,” I find myself saying. “On one condition.”

  “Name ‘em.”

  My God, he is drunk. He’s abbreviating.

  “When the sixty days is up, you’ll tell your parents the truth.”

  “What’s the other condition?”

  “Just the one, Van.”

  “You are my kind of perfect, Taylor.”

  “And you’ve got to be blotto to say that to me,” I chuckle.

  Clasping my wrist, he gets nose to nose with me and growls, “You scare the fuck out of me.”

  “I do?”

  “But I like it. I’m obsessed with it. With you.”

  Kiss me, I wish silently.

  And it’s granted when he does.

  It isn’t the awkward kind of kiss where we take turns closing our eyes, choosing which side to turn our heads, or wondering where to place our hands either. No. Van cupped my face, pulled me close, and attached us.

  Soft, warm, liquor-stained lips met mine and he wasted no time teasing my mouth open.

  When his tongue slides inside, my fingers dig into his thighs while my tongue welcomed him home. Fuck, not home. Inside. Yes. Welcomed him inside.

  On a deep groan, he slowly breaks our bond and whispers, “I didn’t know.”

  Still reeling from his taste, I licked my lips waiting for what was next.

  Never releasing the hold on my face, he eases back in and says. “I didn’t know I was starving. Until I tasted you.”

  “Consider me your buffet.” Did I just say that?

  “Good answer,” he smiles and this time kisses me so hard I grab his face to return the favor.

  I think…No, I’m certain… I died.


  Rolling to my side, my face hits a soft pillow, and I feel my ass hanging off the bed. I also feel cold air on my skin.

  Reaching down, I felt the hair on my legs which meant I had no pants on.

  When did I take them off?

  And if I’m not dead, where the hell am I?

  And how the hell did I get here?

  Rolling the other way, I misjudged the size of the bed and met the floor with my face.

  Not a bed then, but a couch. And a hardwood floor.

  Perfect.

  Groaning in discomfort, I’m about to pray for a quick end when I hear, “Morning, Van Wilder!” Her voice like nails down a chalkboard, only inside my head.

  Fuck.

  Taylor.

  And…Fireball.

  So much Fireball.

  “What is it with you and movie references?” I groan in misery. “Van Wilder is about college and idiots.”

  “Wow,” she whistles. “You’re breaking my heart right now, for real. Everything you need to know about life can be summed up with that movie.”

  “They jacked a dog off to fill cannolis,” I counter, though that was pretty hilarious.

  “I know!” she claps. “Genius, right?”

  “Can you try being loud quietly?”

  “I can say I’ll try, but I won’t. Anyway, hell of a party last night!” she says, plopping down next to me and falling to her back. Clearly, she wasn’t suffering as I was. Then again, I’m dealing with a professional. A chipper one.

  “Dare I say you even converted a few die-hards?”

  “Die-hards?”

  “Sisters of the vag,” she announces then sighs when I blink in confusion, “Lesbians, Van, Jesus.”

  The Box Office, shots, our agreement, and kissing her. Everything after that is a blur. The taste of her mouth though…

  “I converted lesbians?” That seems monumental. Wouldn’t I remember that? Why was I so disappointed I didn’t?

  “Who knew a wild man was hiding under there,” she says, poking my side. “Lord knows I was surprised. Proud, but surprised.”

  “My name is Evander,” I groan, tasting the cinnamon lingering in my mouth.