Hooker (L.A. Liaisons Book 2) (2 page)

I followed her gaze to see a guy wearing
Where’s Waldo?
boxers and knee-high socks shaking his…
Waldo
at a few frightened passengers as his friends high-fived behind him.
 

Ryleigh put her hands on her hips, looking ever so sassy in her vintage pinup top, peep-toe heels, and a pair of hipsters. She’d taken to wearing her long chestnut hair down more often than not when she wasn’t working, and we all knew the reason behind the change—her dreamy boyfriend Hunter Morgan’s preference for running his fingers through it every chance he got. The two of them were so damn cute together, I couldn’t even pretend to hate on them for what would normally be a little gag-inducing for anyone else.
 

“I thought we were supposed to pretend like nothing unusual is happening,” Ryleigh said. “Of course L.A. would fuck up the rules.”

As we reached the bottom and maneuvered our way through the crowd to the head of the platform to wait for the train, we earned more than a few stares and comments. If I were a blusher, my face would no doubt be as red as my hair from all the attention our half-naked bodies were getting.
 

I think I would’ve preferred the frostbite. Fuck. Me.
 

A fully dressed man chewing on a toothpick stepped out in front of me then, causing me to lose my grip on Ryleigh’s arm. When he gave me a long once-over and raised his thick unibrow in invitation, I skittered away, pulling the bottom of my shirt down as far as it would go—which, unfortunately, wasn’t over my ass.
 

Strike that on the fuck me part. Definitely
no
fucking.
 

“The only rule in my book is to come in your naughty best,” Paige was saying as I caught up to the girls. “And if we get a bit of eye candy in the next two hours”—she nodded at a sharply dressed businessman…with bulging grey boxer briefs—“then I’d consider this day a success.”
 

Oh God. No doubt there would be more “suit guys” like that one. You know, the hot men from your daily commute that you fantasized about and would finally get to see what was hiding underneath all that stuffy attire. Not that I was looking for that guy or anything. With my freckled toothpick legs bare, I’d prefer
not
to see that guy.
 

A light breeze wafted against my exposed skin then as the train heading for downtown slowed to a stop.
 

Quinn took the lead, and as we followed her inside the car already crammed with passengers, she said, “This would make more sense if we were raising money for a charity or to protest working conditions for kids in Indonesia or something.”

Paige laughed. “Feel free to ask for donations. I’m sure you’d get quite a few dollars stuffed into your underwear.”

The girls squeezed into the center aisle, grabbing on to the silver bars as the doors closed and the train started moving again. I tried to follow, but a woman with a stroller was blocking my path, so I sighed and gave the girls a shrug before reaching for the bar next to me.
 

I rode the train a lot to and from work, but I still couldn’t get used to the bodies crammed on all sides of me. At the end of a long day, the air was always hot and musky with sweat, and though it was still early afternoon, having less train cars on weekends meant it was especially crowded…and steaming. There was no way to avoid physical contact today, and as the train swayed to and fro, the bumps against my arms, hips, and ass had me missing my pants something fierce.

As the train slowed to the next stop, I tightened my grip on the bar to keep my body from knocking against anyone else, though no one else seemed to have the decency to do the same.
 

I’m naked, people. Fucking naked. Please don’t touch my private bits.
 

More passengers crammed themselves onto the train, and I sighed, giving up the fight. Ryleigh caught my eye and shrugged as she was pushed farther down the aisle.
 

“Excuse me, everyone, may I have your attention?” a male voice coming from a few squished bodies away from me shouted loud enough that his voice had to have carried to the far end of the car. Against my better judgment, I glanced in his direction, and when I did…the most gorgeous pair of hazel eyes met mine.
 

Standing just behind the loudmouth was a man who had my lips parting and my breath catching in my chest. Like me, he was a head taller than the majority of those gathered, with thick brown hair that looked stylishly windblown. And as our gazes locked, I was…speechless.
 

Now, I’m a career matchmaker, so I don’t preach the whole love at first sight, “you just know from the moment you lay eyes on someone” spiel that others do. I’ve always said it takes more than a look to know if you’re compatible with someone, but at this moment I’d take back all my words, stuff them into an old suitcase, and toss them out on the side of the PCH. Because that guy…

I couldn’t even finish the thought. My heart seemed to be expanding in my chest at a rapid rate, all the blood in my body rushing to accommodate the growth, leaving me lightheaded and tightening my grip on the bar so I wouldn’t fall over. A hint of a grin lifted the corner of his mouth, and as I stood there blinking, it slowly grew until a blinding, brilliant smile lit up the car. It seemed to scream several things to me all at once:
 

Hello.

You’re beautiful.
 

And I feel that too.
 

Still I could only blink, not quite believing the flurry of stars and hearts and flowers exploding inside. The reaction didn’t make sense. I’d never seen the guy before in my life. What if he was a rapist or murderer, or worse…a Republican?

My thoughts were interrupted as a glass-shattering a cappella rendition of something that vaguely resembled a Michael Jackson song assaulted my ears. Serenades happened on a daily basis on my commutes, and let’s just say this was not New York City, where the casts of Broadway shows made surprise appearances. We’re not that lucky. Because of those pop-up singers, I always made sure my headphones were attached to me, and I was sorely missing them now.
 

My forehead wrinkled as I cringed from the shrill sounds destroying my eardrums. Across from me, gorgeous guy’s smile had morphed into a pained expression that matched mine. As he shook his head and rubbed at his ear, I couldn’t help but laugh, which made him smile again.
 

Geez, how did anyone get through life sounding like a dying donkey? And worse—who’d want to share that with the world? I couldn’t imagine anyone giving him tips for his vocal stylings, but maybe he made his money by people paying him to shut the hell up.
 

Tempted to do just that, I reached down to grab the five-dollar bill in my back pocket, but stopped short when my fingers grazed my thin panties.
 

Oh fuck shit ass and hole.
Ryleigh had my pants. Which meant I’d been making googly eyes at Mr. Gorgeous without them, which
also
meant I’d have to exit the train with my underwear on full display.
 

Oh my God. Oh my
God.

As my eyes widened, I quickly looked away from his gaze. Anywhere, anywhere but looking him in the eye. I felt suddenly exposed, because not only could he see the reaction he’d had on me, but…well…what if the pulsing between my thighs would show quite another…
ahem
…response?
 

Was it possible to stroke out from embarrassment at twenty-eight? Because my face felt numb and I was positive anything I uttered would come out in a slur, like I’d had one too many of Ryleigh’s Slippery Slutbag boozy shakes. I could’ve been drooling and I wouldn’t have felt it. Or drooping. There could be major droopage on one side of my face…

There was no way to get the attention of the girls to check for me unless I shouted over the human fucking loudspeaker still “singing,” so instead I stole a glance at Mr. Gorgeous. His eyes were still on me, and the way he was staring made me feel pretty sure half my face wasn’t melting off, though I did brush the corner of my mouth to make sure I wasn’t salivating.
 

Nope. I seemed to be okay, even if my panties weren’t.
 

Gawd.

His head cocked to the side as his eyes trailed over my lips—and damn if I didn’t feel
that
all over. And yeah, okay, maybe I sort of beamed under his appraisal. Not because I was an “ooh, that boy is staring at me” virgin, but because, hell, who wouldn’t want
his
attention? I wished I could see the rest of him, but I was also grateful for the squished sardines currently separating us.
 

As the train rattled on, I made sure to look elsewhere often before ever so casually glancing in his direction—as though I was simply skimming over the crowd instead of forcing myself not to blatantly stare at him. I even attempted to watch the man singing “Dirty Diana,” though I didn’t dare make eye contact with him either. I mean, hello—no pants, no money to give.

The Seventh Street/Metro Center stop came into view before I was ready, and my eyes immediately shot to Mr. Gorgeous. He’d glanced out the window and then back at me, and I got the feeling this was his stop too.
 

My stomach flip-flopped at the possibility of more outside our eye-fucking commuter ride. Then he looked down at himself, his mouth twisting. Before I could analyze what
that
look meant, the doors opened and he was lost in the rushing tide of passengers exiting the car, while others shoved their way inside like assholes.
 

As I peeled myself out of the train, I searched the crowd for him, but he was nowhere to be found. Disappointment filled my gut, but what had I expected? That he’d wait for me to get off? And, honestly, did I really want him to see me without my pants,
especially
with the reaction I’d had?

Hell. No.
 

Still. That connection had been so intense, I couldn’t imagine what the purpose had been if I’d never see him again. But he
had
gotten off on this stop, so maybe he was still around…

As the girls filed out of the train car, I pulled Ryleigh aside.
 

“Quick, I need my pants back,” I said.
 

She arched a brow in a you’re-fucking-crazy kind of way. “Uh, let me think. No.”

“I need them. I’m serious.”

“No can do, my sweet. Time to hit the bar.” Ryleigh hefted the bag farther up her shoulder, and as she started to walk away, I took hold of her sleeve.
 

“Hand over the bag and no one gets hurt.”

“Shayne, you can’t put your pants on yet. We haven’t gotten to the—”

I grabbed the side of the bag and it fell off her shoulder, but she caught it just in time and yanked it back.

“You don’t understand,” I said, my fingers tightening on the bag again and pulling it toward me. “There’s a guy—”

“Dude. No—”
 

“Just give it to me—”

A back-and-forth war ensued as we each struggled for the tote.
 

“You’re being ridiculous—”

“And you’re being a cuntba— Oh
fuck
.
” As I jerked it toward me, something dark went flying out, littering the train tracks. And wouldn’t you know it—my jeans were the victim.
 

“Oh no.” I stared at my True Religions spread-eagled across the track. Without thinking, I took a step forward over the yellow line, and a stern voice to my left rang out.
 

“Don’t even think about jumping down there.”
 

I glanced over my shoulder to see a security guard coming toward me, his hand moving to the belt at his hips. “Consider those our property now. You try to make a play for them, and I’ll be forced to take you in.”

My mouth opened and shut several times as I searched for a response, but since I wasn’t in the mood to be arrested—especially half-naked—I kept silent. Except in my head. There was a lot of
fuckingfuckityfuck
going on in there.
 

Holding my hands up, I backed away slowly and swallowed. Fine. I’d just steal one of the girls’ pants and rock them as high waters. Or walk home in an epic trench coat walk of shame. No big deal. Really.
 

Ugh.
 

“Hope you enjoy,” I muttered, and then one of the girls wrapped their arm around my waist and led me up the escalator as a sick feeling settled in the pit of my stomach. It wasn’t like I could afford to throw away a pair of hundred-dollar jeans. Those had been a rare extravagant purchase for me, and not one I’d be able to afford anytime in the near future if my cheapskate boss Val had anything to do with it.
 

“Cheer up, babes, I’ll get you another pair,” Quinn said, rubbing my arm.
 

I sighed. Feeling like the constant charity case in the group was the last thing I wanted, even though I appreciated the gesture. “Thanks,” I said as we stepped out of the Metro station, “but I think I’ll stick to something from T.J. Maxx from now on.”

“Don’t be silly. It’s not— Hey, watch out for the—”

With her warning too late, my boot landed in a pothole, and I tumbled down onto my knee, the scrape of the concrete stinging to high hell and no doubt leaving a bright red souvenir.
 

Cut. Wrap. It’s official.
 

I’m never taking my pants off again.

CHAPTER TWO

Rockin’ the Cradle

“SO, SHAYNE. ANYTHING you want to tell us?”

I raised a brow at Quinn before I finished off what was left of my Pretty in Pink drink. The liquor went down smooth, which should’ve been a tip-off that I’d indulged a bit too much over the last two hours we’d been sitting at the corner bar at The Vortex for the official Pantsless after party. But who the hell cared at that point? It had not only numbed my super-sexy scraped knee, but also my inhibitions, which had been desperately needed so I could relax and enjoy myself in the midst of half-naked partygoers.