Made in America (9 page)

“Because I’m not that kind of girl,” I spew. “I’m not the kind of girl you can just woo with your dashing smile and filthy mouth who will drop to her knees for you. It’s not just about looks for me. I need more than your pretty face and your forked tongue. I need what’s inside here,” I point to my heart.

Grant looks on and I can see my words having an effect on him by the way he screws up his face in understanding, though I doubt he’s ever been connected to anyone other than by way of his cock.

He gives another intrigued nod and grins. “You’re a complicated woman, Raven Young.”

I let out a huff of air and start to gather up the remnants of our lunch. “And you’re a goddamn Rubik’s Cube, Grant Huffman.”

- 10 -

Raven

My phone buzzes incessantly on the toilet next to the bathtub. Groaning, I dry my hands on the bathmat and grab it, slinking back into a warm bubble bath.

GRANT: What are you wearing?

RAVEN: You just don’t quit, do you?

I smile, swishing the soapy water around my thighs. It’s only three in the afternoon on Saturday, but after the crazy first week I’ve had, this is the first opportunity I’ve gotten to relax before Tito and Frankie’s engagement party tonight. I spent all morning trying to come up with a toast that would seem appropriate to express the affection they share for one another, and after that I had to run out and pick up a new pair of jeans since the ones I was going to wear were ruined under suspicious circumstances.

I was crouching down to get something under the kitchen sink, and…well, they split. Wide open. I say suspicious circumstances because at the time I was daydreaming about Grant and that sexy smirk of his, and then riiiip, right at the crotch.

It’s like the universe is trying to get him into my pants.

GRANT: I meant tonight. To the party.

RAVEN: That’s a shame, because right now I’m not wearing a lick of clothing.

I know I shouldn’t tease him the way I do. It’s not fair to him, or to me, but I can’t help it. He just leaves himself wide open for torture, and to be honest I think he kind of likes it.

The problem is, so do I.

GRANT: Prove it.

Strategically placing the bubbles over my nipples, I allow the swell of my breasts to rise above the water in the tub. Snapping a picture, I send it to Grant and await his response.

GRANT: Fap, fap, fap, fap, fap.

A surge of laughter escapes me as I read his text. The onomatopoeic representation for jerking off. I have to admit, the idea of him having a tug while looking at my pictures is kind of exciting, and the fact that he’s willing to admit he does it a turn on. Most guys I know keep their extracurricular activities a secret, but the truth is it’s only natural. To know my body is enough to make his cock hard, gets me horny as fuck.

RAVEN: Prove it.

GRANT: Is that a dare?

I bite my bottom lip, trying to decide how far I want to take this. I have no doubt that he’d send me a dick pic if I asked him to, the question is am I really ready for that? We’ve been non-stop flirting with one another since the day we met, and while sending him a little skin dressed in my undies could be construed as just some harmless fun, seeing what he has to work with in all its glory might be taking it a bit too far.

Then again, I have been dying to see his cock, and if I’m not going to fuck him, now’s as good a time as any for a peek.

RAVEN: Yes. I dare you to prove it.

Moments pass. A minute. Two. The pulsating ache growing between my legs is almost too much to bear. Then, three little dots appear, signifying he’s finally responding.

GRANT: Okay, you asked for it.

I open the attached image, but instead of seeing Grant’s manhood on display, there’s a picture of a rooster staring back at me. A fucking rooster. It’s quickly followed by another text.

GRANT: What do you think of my cock?

I belly laugh. Hard. So hard I nearly drop my phone in the bath water, so I shift my position and lean over the edge of the tub, making sure my phone is safe.

RAVEN: Now who’s the tease?

GRANT: Serves you right.

I roll my eyes, feeling slightly disappointed Grant didn’t show me his goods, but there’s also a feeling of relief to go along with it. I don’t know how I’d be able to look him in the eye tonight if he actually went through with sending me a dick pic.

RAVEN: I’m wearing jeans tonight. It’s totally casual, so don’t go getting all gussied up for me.

GRANT: Wouldn’t dream of it.

RAVEN: See you at eight, Mr. Huffman.

GRANT: I’ll be there, Miss Young.

I run a damp hand through my hair and place the phone back on the toilet before slipping into the tub for a quick release, and with thoughts of Grant’s cock—his real cock—running through my mind, it definitely doesn’t take long before I shudder with delight.

The party room at Drake’s is full by the time I get there at 7:30. Tito and Frankie are casually working the area, having fun with their friends, co-workers, and family. I look around, searching for Grant, but he isn’t here yet. Instead, Tito catches my eye and he slaps Frankie on the arm to get his attention.

“Rave!” he shouts from across the room. They both saunter over and we exchange hugs.

“Hey guys.”

Tito puts me at arm’s length, giving me the once over. “Damn, girl. You look good.”

To go with my jeans, I chose a fringed halter top that ties in the back and around the neck, and a pair of strappy black sandals.

“This old thing,” I joke. “I just pulled it out the rear of my closet.”

“Honey,” Tito chides. “I’ve been in your closet, and I ain’t never seen that.”

“Where’s Mr. Huffleupagus?” Frankie asks.

“Not here yet.”

“I still can’t believe you invited him,” Tito adds.

I shrug. “Honestly, I didn’t think he’d come.”

“Seems you underestimated him.”

“Yeah,” I mumble. “That’s been happening a lot.”

Tito cocks a cautious eyebrow at me, trying to do his best Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson imitation.

“Relax,” I laugh. “I haven’t shagged him, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“It is, and why not?”

I shake my head. “God, you guys are worse than he is. I haven’t fucked him because I said I wasn’t going to, and I meant it. He’s my boss.”

“And a friend,” Frankie says, snatching a bottle of Twisted Tea from a nearby table.

“
And
a friend,” I add, “but that’s it. There’s something…weird about him.”

Tito and Frankie eyeball one another, turning back to me with confused looks on their faces.

“I need a drin—”

“Got it,” Tito smiles, handing me a bottle of watermelon punch that he’s been keeping in his hand. “Now what’s this about Huffy being weird?”

I take a swig of my drink, swallowing the liquid courage. “I don’t know. I went home the other day and tried to do a Google search on him. You know, like a big one.”

“You do have some strong Google-Fu,” Frankie nods.

“Right? But that’s the thing, I couldn’t find out anything about him pre-billionaire status. Nothing about where he grew up, who his family is. Normally that stuff is front and center on a Wikipedia page, or at least in a passing interview somewhere, but this time? Nothing. It’s like Grant had his entire history scrubbed from the Internet. The only thing even remotely curious that I could find was a reference to JHBM, whatever that means. I tried Googling it, but all I found were references to some building and maintenance company in the UK.”

Tito screws up his face, just as confused as I was when I went digging for information on Grant’s past. Maybe it’s wrong of me to pry, but the Internet is fair game. If it’s on there, anyone can know anything about you. Doesn’t make it necessarily right, but because I couldn’t find anything on Grant Huffman, it’s got me even more curious about the man I’ve been mindlessly flirting with this past week.

What is he hiding?

“Maybe you should just ask him,” Frankie says.

“But then he’ll know I’ve been digging.”

“So?” Tito shrugs. “What did he expect?”

“I know, but with Grant it’s different. He’s very…particular. He could take it one way, or take it another. You never know with him. I just don’t want him to get the wrong impression.”

“And what impression would that be?”

“I don’t know. That I’m into him?”

“But you are into him,” Frankie nods. “Aren’t you?”

I sigh, and take a long, hard pull on the bottle of alcohol. “I don’t know what I am. I mean, he’s definitely hot, and we’ve been going at it back and forth all week, I just don’t know if he’s—”

A thunderous noise coming from outside interrupts my thoughts, and everyone in the party room falls silent, giving way to an idle rumbling that sends me, Tito, and Frankie over to the window that looks out onto the sidewalk.

It’s a motorcycle, and when the rider takes off his helmet, a collective gasp goes through the three of us.

“Oh,” Tito whispers.

“My,” Frankie says.

“Gosh,” I heave.

It’s Grant, dressed in a black leather jacket, a button up checkered casual shirt, and a pair of blue jeans that hug his ass like a set of hands giving it a nice squeeze.

My body reacts to the sight of him, and I take a step back as he meets my gaze through the window. He flashes a knowing smile that soaks my panties ten ways from Sunday, making me forget about everything I was just talking about.

In this moment, I don’t care who he is, where he’s from, or what he’s hiding.

All I care about is how much trouble I’m in, because with him looking the way he does, it’s going to be hard to keep my hands off him tonight.

“Rave,” Tito says.

I gulp, and look at him when he turns to me. “Yeah?” my voice quivers.

“You gotta fuck this guy.”

- 11 -

Grant

Stepping in to Drake’s, I feel every eye in the room on me. I’m used to that, but the only eyes I care about belong to the British beauty standing near the window.

I walk over to Raven, who meets me halfway. Her voluptuous body teases me with every step, and when we finally connect, she looks me up and down with a gaze that betrays what her body is feeling, even if her heart isn’t up to the task yet.

“You clean up nice,” she smiles.

“So do you,” I purr.

It occurs to me this is the first time I’ve ever seen her in street clothes. The first time she was wearing her Drake’s uniform, and after that she’s been in business attire around the office. Seeing her in those tight jeans and a halter top that shows off her ample tits makes my cock stir just thinking about all the things I’d like to do to her.

But tonight I’m on my best behavior. For my sake and for hers. What she said the other day didn’t fall on deaf ears. She wants more than a pretty face. I get it, I really do, and for the first time in a long time I find myself wanting to be that person for her. The person who isn’t just about sex or money, but the person who’s more than his superficial good looks and materialistic possessions.

I couldn’t resist making an entrance, though.

Her friends, the ones I assume are the engaged couple, come up behind Raven and stand on either side like two, overprotective brothers. I don’t blame them. If I had a sister and she was fooling around with a guy like me, I’d want to protect her too.

“Aren’t you going to introduce us to your friend, Rave?”

She looks back over her shoulder at the taller of the two and nudges him slightly. I look on, amused.

“Grant, this is Tito,” she says to the one who spoke, and to the other she adds, “this is Frankie.”

“Nice to meet you,” I say, extending my hand like a perfect gentleman.

Tito takes it, and although he’s tall and lithe, his grip is strong and firm. I’m impressed.

I shake Frankie’s hand as well, and he says, “You must be Mr. Huffleupagus.”

Raven’s face falls at the mention of the nickname, and she smacks Frankie in the chest.

“I’m sorry,” she tells me. “They don’t mean that.”

“It’s okay,” I chuckle. “I’ve heard it all before.”

“You have?”

I nod. “Sure. Huffleupagus, Hufflepuff, Huffington Post. With a last name like Huffman you have to expect it. Besides, it’s just a little harmless fun.”

She looks on, pleased with my answer.

“What kind of bike is that?” Tito asks, motioning toward the window.

“It’s a Harley Davidson Night Rod. I had it custom made. All the bells and whistles of a Harley, but with a little extra thrown in for looks.”

He whistles, and I laugh, asking, “Do you ride?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “I’ve always wanted to, but have never been able to afford one. Besides, Frankie here hates the idea of them. Calls them
murdercycles
.”

“Well they are.”

I wave him off. “They’re perfectly safe, trust me, and it beats riding in a stuffy old limo any day of the week.”

Raven leans into me. “I never would have figured you for a Harley guy.”

I look down and allow my eyes to search her face for a moment. God she’s beautiful. “There are a lot of things you don’t know about me.”

“I’m figuring that out,” she says, though there’s a slight tonal shift to her voice that tells me she isn’t just talking about motorcycles.

Tito claps his hands together, interrupting the look Raven and I are locked into. “Well how about we get this party started, huh?”