Bradley's Whistle (P.ornstars of Romance #2) (12 page)

I handed her the lock, and she read it out loud:

No Secrets

Bradley and Wiska

“You’re going to tell me what you do?”

“Soon,” I promised, my heart beating way too fast and way too loud. I hoped I wasn’t having a heart attack. Wouldn’t that put the kibosh on the moment? “Just let me figure out how; it’s not something I’ve discussed with anyone . . . ever. But I know you need honesty from me, and I’m going to give you that.”

She handed the padlock back to me. “Can you do it?”

I clicked the lock into place, the resounding snap nothing more than an inconsequential noise, yet said so much. No secrets, and we were sweethearts, even though that sounded suspiciously lame and old-fashioned.

Taking her hand in mine, we walked away from the bridge, but a small piece of my heart stayed there. This was the official beginning of something big in my life. Slowly, one little piece at a time, Wiska was stealing bits of my heart, and I was scared to fucking death she might decide I wasn’t her
it
. If she left, she’d take all those pieces with her.

*

“We’re going for a bike ride?” Wiska exclaimed as I paid for our bikes.

We had left the love locks and both our moods seemed awkward and melancholic. The gesture wasn’t supposed to leave tension between us. Fuck, it had almost been a religious moment for me. It was meant to be positive and romantic and fucking awesome. We seriously needed to lighten the mood.

“We are. Think you can do this without breaking something?”

She glanced at her wrist where the cast had been for the last month. She had spent a few days with her fingers glued to her freshly revealed wrist, and I had found myself jealous of that wrist on many occasions. The thought of her fingers glued to me was not an unpleasant one.

“As long as we stay clear of the demon swans, I think I’ll be fine.”

“Grab your bike,“ I said, nodding toward the bike that had been unlocked from its confines.

“They aren’t very gender friendly. I want a pink one,” she mumbled, pulling her bike out.

“Sorry, pussycat. You can have blue, or blue. Personally, I like blue. It’s manly.” I gave her a wink. “You like riding manly things? Right?”

“Wow, I can’t believe I ever thought you were a gentleman.” She laughed as she peddled off into the park, her long blonde hair trailing behind her. “You surprise me, Bradley.”

I gave her a curious look as I caught up.

“Every now and again, I get a glimpse of the real you. He’s not cranky, and I even get the impression he doesn’t want to work himself into an early grave.”

“Oh, you think you’ve got me figured out?” I asked.

“Uh-huh, the real Bradley Emerson is fun, perhaps even a little spontaneous, and as of recently I’ve decided he is inclined to be somewhat romantic. I can easily see how the real Bradley was best friends with a bozo like Decker Steele.”

I laughed. “I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard anyone call Decker a bozo.”

“Well, if the shoe fits. Decker is always joking around and misbehaving. I can see the two of you together; you would be quite the team.”

I nodded in agreement. Being best friends with Decker was an endless adventure. Even though we didn’t see much of each other these days, we still kept in touch, and he still made me laugh. If it wasn’t for Decker’s warped sense of humor, I would never have met Wiska. Maybe I wouldn’t put a hit on him, after all.

“So, how long have you two been friends?”

“Since we were four,” I answered, fondly remembering our instantaneous, and a little crazy, friendship.

“You and Decker as pre-pubescent teens? That’s scary.”

“Oh yeah,” I said with a grin. “Terrifying. As soon as puberty kicked in, we became a pair of horny teenage boys with eyes that zeroed in on every pair of breasts in sight. I caught Decker checking out my forty-year-old aunt’s breasts once. It was weird.”

“At least he wasn’t checking out his own aunt’s boobs,” Wiska snickered. I guess I wore my guilt plain to see, because Wiska gasped and shook her head in denial. “No you didn’t?”

“Yeah, I did,” I said with a chuckle. “But in my defense, I was fourteen and my aunt was wearing this string bikini that hid nothing! I was surrounded by teenage girls who had barely a bump on their chests, and then there was Aunt Livy with her magical double D’s.”

“Mildly disturbing, yet understandable.”

“What about you? What was Wiska James like as a teenager?”

“Well, I certainly wasn’t checking out my aunt’s boobs,” she said with a giggle. “My A.D.D. meant I had to work hard to maintain my very C average grades. My parents were strict, so I didn’t have boyfriends and I didn’t go to parties. It was hard because I developed early, and you would have been one of those drooling, horny teenage boys who couldn’t take his eyes off my developing D cups. I was asked out a lot, and while curious, I didn’t date. I was a cheerleader, so that complicated things further, because I was expected to date.” She gave me a stunning grin that had me momentarily lose my concentration. The wheels of my bike lost the smooth path and dug into thick grass. I quickly recovered, though, and Wiska seemed oblivious to my lapse in focus. “I am proud to say I held out, though. I didn’t date until I left high school, and I was twenty-one when I gave up the sacred V card.”

“Twenty-one?” I practically shouted.

“I know, and here I am a porn star at twenty-four.”

Three years! She’d been introduced to sex only three years ago! It kind of made me feel like a dirty old perv.

“When did you lose your virginity?”

It took me a moment to put my brain back into working order. “I was sixteen,” I quietly confessed.

“Holy shit, you were a baby!” Wiska squealed.

“Hardly,” I snorted.

“I guess, with a friend like Decker, it isn’t surprising. Andi told me he was a teenage boy-whore.” She didn’t say it with a bitter inflection; it was simply an acknowledgement.

“I actually lost my virginity before Decker.”

“Oh, my god, you were a pair of teenage boy-whores!” She gasped.

“Now, now, be nice. You don’t even know the circumstances. I was sixteen, and she was nineteen. We shared a bottle of cheap champagne which tore down all inhibitions. I only meant to kiss her, but she had other plans. She more or less did all the work; I just lay there in drunken teenage bliss, completely stunned that I was losing my virginity. I bragged for months, but I didn’t repeat the experience until I was eighteen, by which time Decker had caught up and surpassed me in a spectacular fashion that only a four time winning adult film entertainer can.”

“Wow,” Wiska murmured. “It couldn’t have been that good if it took you two years to do it again.”

“Honestly, it didn’t last very long, and the effort I had to put in to beat Decker to a woman wasn’t worth it. Mind you, after that second time, I learned that the effort was absolutely and utterly worth it.”

We rode along the cement path, through the grass and trees in comfortable silence. The sun shone off Wiska’s white-blonde hair, and I found myself drawn to the happy, blissful image she painted in the warm autumn day, sitting atop that damn bike like a carefree angel. Her distracting beauty had me almost miss the elderly couple shuffling ahead of us. I swerved around them easily, and it was far from what one might call a close call, but I didn’t miss the grumbled, “kids these days,” curse from the old man.

“Sorry,” Wiska called over her shoulder on my behalf. “Do you know what I’ve always wondered?”

When she didn’t enlighten me, I glanced her way. “I’m almost scared to ask . . . what have you always wondered?”

“Do your pubes go grey when you get older?”

I have no doubt the shock inside me was mirrored on my face.

“Well, your hair goes grey, your facial hair goes grey, so what about your pubes?”

“Ummm . . .”

“I guess I’ll find out eventually. I just want to be prepared for the changes that will happen to my body as I get older.”

“Luckily for you, you’ve got many years between now and old age to find out how your pubes will fair,” I said with a chuckle.

The spontaneity of her conversation was sometimes mind-boggling, and all I could do was laugh or bang my head against a brick wall. Laughing was much less violent, and Wiska’s face would always light up at the sound. Just like now, as she glanced over her shoulder and gave me a wink. Yeah, I could laugh all day long to see that smug, satisfied expression on her face.

“What’s going on over there?” Wiska pointed to an area of the park I was more than familiar with—Speakers’ Corner. It was a place renowned for gatherings of debates and discussions. Sometimes controversial in nature, and more often than not, boring. People would take every opportunity to debate and argue their ideals and beliefs. I wouldn’t have bothered to visit if it weren’t for the seasoned regulars who took great pleasure in heckling the speakers. A large crowd was gathered today, and I wasn’t surprised—it was a beautiful, sunny day.

Wiska brought her bike to a stop and climbed off. “Oh, my gosh, that is so adorable.”

I glanced at the crowd with a raised brow, trying to figure out how on earth it equated to adorable. Looking back at Wiska, I noticed she had knelt down beside a family with a tiny little chihuahua nuzzling into its owner’s arms.

“What’s his name?” she asked the portly woman who smiled politely at her.

“Duke,” the woman answered.

The woman happily passed the excited puppy into Wiska’s arms as Wiska told them about her friends and their doggy day spa back in America. While I admired her ability to slip so effortlessly into conversation with complete strangers, I sighed, disappointed we needed to pause our afternoon to pet the rat, and looked back towards the crowd at Speakers’ Corner. It would be a hell of a lot more interesting than playing with the puppy. Before I had a chance to take a step in that direction, a high pitched squeal brought my attention back to the family with the dog. Wiska was standing, holding the little rat out in front of her while doing what could only constitute a clumsy, freaked out dance.

“He peed on me. Ewww, get it off, get it off!”

The woman took the dog from Wiska, and my smile turned into a chuckle, which led to a full bellied laugh. Wiska glared at me as she flicked pee from her hand. The front of her blouse was wet, and she leaned forward to try and prevent the fabric from touching her.

“Bradley!” she demanded, and I dropped my bike to the ground and approached her. “Stop laughing!”

“I’m so sorry. He gets a little over-excited from time to time,” the woman rambled.

“What is it with you and animals? If they’re not attacking you, they’re leaking on you.”

“If you must know, animals and I have never really gotten along.” The woman handed her a tissue, and I watched Wiska scowl as she tried to wipe the dampness off her skin.

“Perhaps you should accept this as a lesson learned and stay away from animals of the feathered and canine variety from now on.”

“And cats,” she quietly confessed. “A stray tabby once shredded my arms to pieces. Oh, and horses. I got bit by a horse once.”

I looked to the owner of the dog who was trying hard not to laugh along with me.

“Don’t worry about this, it happens all the time.” I chuckled.

I took another tissue from the woman and helped Wiska wipe her arm and hand clean. She raised her fingers to her nose and grimaced, which just made me laugh harder. “Come on,” I said, dragging her away from the family and the excitable rat. She was trying to walk stooped, obviously horrified with the idea of getting the wet shirt too close to her skin.

“Here.” Pulling my shirt over my head, I handed it to her. I’m sure her relieved gaze would meet mine, just as soon as she dragged her eyes away from my chest.

“Thank you,” she said with a genuine smile, right before she pulled her wet top over her head.

“Wiska!” I hissed, my own eyes lingering on her chest now. She was wearing a pale blue satin bra, which cupped her breasts lovingly. I glanced nervously around, ready to defend her from fellow perverts like myself, or the police who would no doubt arrest her for public indecency.

“That’s so much better,” she sighed, handing the peed on garment my way.

“What do you want me to do with it?”

“Please take it. I’m ready to puke from just the sight of it.”

“It’s just dog pee,” I laughed.

“Uh-huh. Bet you wouldn’t be saying that if you were the one peed on.”

I took the shirt and tucked it into the back of my shorts before we climbed on our bikes and road away from Speakers’ Corner and the dog that passed as a water fountain. I found a mild sense of pleasure in seeing Wiska dressed in my clothing
. Pfft, just beat your chest like the Neanderthal you are, Emerson
.

“This is the second time you’ve brought me to this park and I’ve had an incident with an animal. I don’t think I want to come back here again.”

Wiska pouted, and the look had me burst out laughing again.

“You’re mocking me?” she asked.

“I’m laughing with you, not at you.”