Juggernaut Page 5

  “We’re back to that, I see.”

  “I never lose control, and I certainly didn’t convert anyone, so don’t try bullshitting me, Taylor.”

  “I didn’t say you converted them by deed, Evander.”

  “Then what the hell did you mean? And where are my pants?”

  “Oh, those,” she says absently. “You left them behind.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Because she asked for a souvy.”

  “She who?”

  “Sylvie. You really don’t remember, do you?”

  Fuck. No, I really don’t. And I am too out of sorts, staring at her in her camisole and underthings to process it. Taylor without makeup was fucking with my ability to speak. She was stunning and fuck, staring.

  “I left my pants as a souvenir to a lesbian?” I took my pants off in public?

  “You wore the same size,” she chirps. “She asked, you stripped. It was hot. Don’t worry, I took photos.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Just after eight.”

  “How do you propose I get home without pants?”

  “Carefully?”

  “Taylor, I don’t have the stomach for your sarcasm right now.”

  “Fine,” she huffs, sitting up. “I’ll grab you something that’ll fit. It may not be Brooks Brothers or whatever pricey shit you corporate attorneys wear, but it’ll preserve your precious modesty.”

  Stomping off, she comes back several minutes later and hands me a pair of track pants. Men’s track pants. Which irritates me immensely. “Who did these belong to?”

  “How should I know?” she shrugs. “After a while you all look the same to me.”

  Okay, that was galling. “Where are my keys?”

  “You’re a horrible morning-after drunk,” she mumbles, fetching them from the counter. Tossing them on the table closest to me sounds like a fucking bomb went off and I winced.

  “Hey, was that your Autobiography out front?”

  “It is,” I say freezing. “Why did you say was?”

  “Oh, because it was towed.”

  “Towed!”

  “As in away, yes,” she says, pouring a cup of coffee. “Want one?”

  “I want my goddamn car, Taylor!”

  “I didn’t tow the fucking thing!” she says, rolling her eyes. “You parked in a fire lane, genius.”

  “Worst night of my life,” I mumble into my hands.

  “Was it now?” she asks, slamming her cup down. “In that case, you can walk to the yard to get your whip, Evander.”

  “Walk to the what and get my what?”

  “Get the hell out,” she says, pointing at the door.

  Fuck me, I hurt her feelings.

  “I didn’t mean – ”

  “Get out before I put you out, you lightweight, judgmental, wish-making motherfucker.”

  Just then my phone rang, which was also on the coffee table where Taylor, no doubt, left it for me. Feeling like shit about that, I answer with, “What?”

  “Baby?”

  “Christ,” I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. “What do you need, Whitney?”

  “You’re late for breakfast with our parents, where are you?”

  “Fuck, I forgot.”

  “You never use language like that, is something wrong?” Of course I did. A lot actually, but she was too caught up in my net worth to notice what came out of my mouth. Was something wrong? Understatement. Everything was wrong, and it was my own damn fault. I had a shot with Taylor and ruined it. Again.

  “Give me half an hour,” I offer before hanging up.

  Standing across the room with her arms over her ample chest, Taylor asks, “Since killing you is out. Where am I dropping off your body?”

  I didn’t want to leave things tense between us, but I didn’t have a choice either. So, giving her the name of the restaurant, she nods and heads to her room to change. Minutes later, she came out looking gorgeous and rendering me mute. Opening the door, she saunters through working her hips and ass like it was second nature. As for me, I trailed behind wearing a stained oxford, messy ass hair, smelling like cinnamon and another man’s pants.

  At least I managed to keep my fucking shoes…

  After securing my seatbelt, Taylor started the car, and I realized there was at least one thing worse than being hungover with a pissed off woman behind the wheel.

  Gangster rap at max volume.

  The amount of bass this vehicle produced is terrifying and the look on her face dared me to reach for the knob.

  Forcing myself not to vomit and closing my eyes when she took sharp turns, I got the lesson she was teaching me.

  That lesson is to not piss her off.

  Roughly twenty minutes later, we pull up in front of the valet to a waiting and falsely concerned Whitney. By the way, everything about her is false all the way down to her soul. Rushing to my door, she opens it and the music literally forces her to take a step back. Whitney Noble doesn’t listen to rap music.

  If I didn’t feel like a bucket-o-fuck, I would have laughed about it.

  Once Taylor turns it down (not off) to a manageable level, Whitney immediately returns and begins the act of pretending to care. And then she noticed Taylor.

  “Who is this person? And why are you with her? Oh God, you smell like cinnamon… Baby, what on earth are you wearing?”

  “Name’s Taylor, I’ve seen you, but I don’t expect you to remember. Being so busy judging and all,” she says leaning forward. “He’s only with me because we closed The Box Office this morning, and he donated his pants to Sylvie. He’s wearing signature Nike, size large, in case you plan to call your personal shopper.”

  “Did you…” she whispers loud enough to be heard. “Is she a hooker?”

  “Clue in, princess silicone, hookers don’t drive a Lexus RC F. The ones I run with like Toyota and Hyundai. Good gas mileage and large folding seats are where it’s at.”

  “What is she talking about?” When it came to Whitney, I guarantee she didn’t catch any of it.

  “Give me a minute,” I demand and facing Taylor, I couldn’t find my words. Because in that moment, despite being hungover, wearing a stranger’s pants, and my ex hovering nearby; Taylor being pissed at me… hurt.

  “So much for the man I thought you were,” she says, staring straight ahead. “Get out, Evander.”

  “It’s breakfast with my parents,” I try to explain.

  “Don’t fucking care,” she says, gripping the wheel.

  “I ended things with Whitney two years ago.” The night I met you, I want to say.

  “I have places to go and people to do, so if you don’t mind…”

  “I’m coming back tonight,” I promise. “We have things to discuss.”

  “You seem like a smart guy; I mean, you do have a law degree. So, I’m sure you know coming anywhere near my place tonight, or any other night, is all sorts of a bad idea. PS: I own a Taser.” Facing me, she schools her features and says, “Last night, I forgot who you were. This morning, I was reminded. Go have breakfast, Evander.”

  Having no choice but to fold out of her car, I heard her say, “and choke on it,” as I closed the door.

  Taylor tore off while the bass echoed from her car and with my ex standing next to me, I vomited all over her designer heels.

  I was in college when I realized I have an addictive personality.

  When I enjoy something, I gorged myself on it until I either grew tired of it or found another source of gluttony.

  This applied to men, too.

  And it still does.

  The logical part of me knew better than to get anywhere near him. The part knew no good could come of it.

  But then the addiction, the promise of a high, ignored being logical and ran headlong toward disaster.

  And I did it with both eyes and my mouth wide open.

  Once again, being myself with him blew right up in my face.

  It was better this way, tr
uly.

  So why was I feeling strung out right now?

  How could I possibly want more even knowing how bad it was for me?

  Because I was fucking tool, that’s how.

  Here I was pushing forty and still let shit like pizza, scones and men kill my resistance.

  I have never learned to do anything in moderation and it was clear this was a forever habit.

  This was evident since I literally, could not stop thinking about him. Or his tongue, breath, and pretty words.

  Scott and India vouched for him, swore he was all sorts of misunderstood and I saw he was. After several cocktails, I witness the guy Evander wanted to be dying to get out. He was social, he made jokes, flirted, and God when he smiled… Then he started to dance. I didn’t care that he wasn’t a Dancing with the Stars candidate, I loved he was having fun. Honestly, I wish all men could grasp it wasn’t about talent but willingness. When he shed his pants for Sylvie, I almost fell off my stool. I guarantee you my mouth was hanging open. Because I knew Evander was attractive, but seeing him let go? He was the sexiest man I’d ever seen. While for him, last night was a nightmare, I’d had the time of my life. Never, not once in my history with the opposite sex had I ever enjoyed myself more. I was only in his presence a few hours before I realized that I wanted all my nights to have him in them. I was convinced I saw it in Van. Clearly, I can’t trust my eyesight.

  Add to that the ties he still had to that nutbag, Whitney, and the evidence was suggesting I seek professional help.

  Too bad my insurance didn’t cover desperation.

  “—loves the pants,” Sugar says. “And I loved taking them off with my teeth. Dare I say the woman can fill out a pair of denim? I will also say Evander has excellent taste in attire. Those babies retailed for five hundred easy. Good to know even tanked, he remembered to take his wallet out. But color me bummed because I had high hopes when I checked.”

  As if showing Evander the worst night of his life wasn’t enough, Sugar got in his designer pants before I did.

  Once again, it’s Sugar for the score and Taylor riding the bench.

  “I’m going back to bed.”

  “Alone?”

  “Yes, alone.”

  “Because last night, after his tongue was down your throat, I thought – ”

  Hanging up, I shed my clothes, powered down, and promptly passed out.

  My buzzer blaring scared the piss out of me. Flying out of bed, I stumble to the intercom to allow whichever girl it was who heard about last night from Sugar to come and razz me. Falling to the couch and pulling a blanket across me, I bed down wishing I could hide.

  Worst night of my life…

  Go fuck yourself.

  When my door opened, I groaned, “If you came to remind me that I’m incapable of good decisions, tell Sugar I said to fuck off and sell the pants on eBay.”

  “Speaking of pants, I brought them back,” he says, looking down at me. “I also brought pizza, a twelve-pack, and a sincere apology. Which do you want first?”

  Freshly dressed, fully groomed, and smelling divine, Evander Church is once again in my space. All evidence from the night before is gone. He’s back to business. And here I am, looking exactly how I felt.

  Pathetic.

  For several tense moments, he just stands there looming over me with an expectant look on his face. If I did’t know any better, I’d swear he’s holding his breath. I just don’t know why he’d bother.

  No matter how hard I try, I don’t believe the man he presented to the world is the man he truly was. However, since last night was a nightmare for him, I cut off this train of thought and said, “Leave the carbs and the booze on the counter.”

  “What about the apology?”

  “You can shove that up your ass.”

  “Move over,” he says, lifting my legs and setting them in his lap. Silent, I watch him tuck the blankets back under me and take great care in doing it. This man, he baffles me and I’m not sure how I feel about that or why I feel anything at all.

  “That’s better,” he says satisfied with himself.

  “Are you done?”

  “Not even close,” he smiles warmly and dammit, it looks amazing on him. Given the chance, I knew, without a doubt, I would ride his face and his wallet. God, I needed a hobby.

  “Who are you really? The guy who pretend he has it all figured out, or the one who wishes he didn’t?”

  “You see me, don’t you?” he asks quietly, unaware he was squeezing my toes.

  “If I did, I wouldn’t be asking,“ I lie.

  “You’re no more the juggernaut your girls call you, than I am the stuffed shirt everyone calls me. Yet, we both play our parts because they’re safe.” Stunned by this, I realize my jaw is hanging open and promptly close it. “I see you, too, Taylor. I always have, which is why you scare the fuck out of me.”

  “You remember that?”

  “I remembered all of it after I managed to settle down,” he grins again. “And I had fun. Although, my favorite part was kissing you. I’m starving again by the way…”

  “I’m not scary,” I whisper, although I was the juggernaut, but correcting him was useless. Besides, if he wanted to see me as something more than a caution sign, I’m not going to stop him. Show him? Yes. Stop him? Nah.

  “You’re an anomaly to me. You’ve managed to structure your life by not structuring it. My life is predictable by my own design, whereas yours is the perfect storm.”

  “Is that a compliment?”

  “Yes. I want to know what it’s like. I want to live, Taylor. Even if it’s just for a little while.”

  Unsure what to do, I sit up and look him in the eyes. “What is it you really want from me, Evander?”

  “Van,” he says, brushing my cheek with his fingers. “It does something to me when you say it.”

  “Reflux?” I counter lamely.

  Ignoring me, he continues, “And what I want is to be swept up in your storm. Be my fiancée, please.”

  Panties aside, I’m buck-assed under this blanket so clutching it tighter, I change the subject. Because the alternative was tossing the blanket and riding him. Damn you, addiction!

  “Let’s talk about this engagement,” I suggest. God, I’m so easy. I blame my mother.

  “Alright.”

  “First, you’ll go on record as worshipping me.”

  “Agreed.”

  “I’ll have access to alcohol at all times.”

  “Doable.”

  “I’ll want a nickname. Something sappy, but flattering.”

  “Then I must insist it be about your ass.”

  “Fair,” I agree.

  “Anything else?”

  “You really want to ride this train, Van?”

  “Taylor,” he groans. “Just offer me the seat, and I’ll do the rest.”

  At this, the juggernaut smiled.

  God, she smelled amazing.

  I don’t think it was perfume or lotion either, I’m certain it’s just her. But I don’t want to get caught sniffing her, so I don’t ask. For so long I’ve wanted this nearness. To be pulled into her world and be lost within it. Now here I am, on her couch, with her. Internally, I’m a man at war with himself.

  Completely out of my element, I hold her feet in my lap and found myself rubbing them. It isn’t absently done either. No. Each stroke, point of pressure and squeeze has intent behind it. I’m claiming her the only way I could. I’m using my hands until she’s ready for the rest of me. The fucking thought of her clutching onto me, moaning for me…is killing me. Because she would. She was passionate, and her kind of passion couldn’t be held inside. I was certain, if I was lucky enough to ever be on the receiving end of her wild, I’d be brought to my knees. And that’s exactly where I wanted to be.

  At her feet, worshipping her as she deserved.

  With no makeup on her face, hair tossed up on her head, and mismatched socks on her feet, I was undone. I’ve seen pretty women, I’ve even s
een beautiful women, but I’ve never seen a single one that came close to her. Each time I looked at her, I found her more stunning than the last.

  Since India explained Taylor lives for granting wishes, I’ve begun making my own.

  I’ve made sure no detail was overlooked and I even repeated each wish three times.

  To even be next to her right now and not kicked to the curb while holding my balls was proof wishes do come true.

  And she was naked underneath that blanket. I could see the swells of her breasts; I could almost taste her on my tongue.

  I could strip her of that material and be inside her…

  Fuck. I was sixteen again…

  “—engagement announcements have to say St. James-Church, because fuck you, that’s funny.”

  She thought so, but I didn’t. Because Taylor having my name, hyphenated or otherwise, sounded perfect to me. I did not voice this. So I went with, “I can have two thousand made by morning.”

  “Really?”

  “If that’s your wish, then yes.”

  “I’ll consider it,” she says, adjusting her blanket which disappointed me. “So, explain what’s expected of your future wife. What am I expected to wear at these events? Are we fudging my background? Am I to smile in adoration and be biddable? While you spell it out, don’t stop rubbing my feet.”

  “You’re capable of dressing yourself, and I happen to like everything you wear. However, I will suggest form fitting. I like your form so it seems fitting. Fudging your background is unnecessary, it’s perfect the way it is. You’ve done well for yourself, and you should be proud of it. Smiling in adoration is a must, I’m afraid, and being biddable might be a stretch for you, but I would love watching you try.”

  “A few important things you need to know about me.”

  “You have my attention,” I assure her. A nuclear blast wouldn’t move me from this spot.

  “First,” she holds up a slim finger. God, I even loved her fingers. “I believe drinking wine from a box is not only adulting responsibly, but also good for the environment. While I love the good stuff, I’ll drink anything in a pinch. Second, though I can’t put it on my resume, I want it noted that I’m a lifelong kegler. Third, I don’t do hissues and – ”