Boys and Toys. Cara Lockwood

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       Chapter Three

      Liv woke Monday morning feeling a deep sense of dread. She’d managed to avoid thinking about Porter for most of Sunday, running from one errand to another, but now she had no distractions. Now all she could do was relive that kiss over and over again. She’d never felt one so...earth-shaking. Was that how it was supposed to be? Was it just because she’d had so few kisses? That single kiss was hotter than most of the sex she’d had in her life.

      She felt herself tingle with the memory.

      She sighed. If a single kiss was so amazing, what would a sex toy party for one be like, she wondered.

      Not that she could allow that to happen.

      If she did, he would probably find out—first hand—just how inexperienced she was.

      She knew what guys expected from a sex hostess. It was exactly what Kincaid had wanted when she’d let slip that was what she did for a living. When he’d convinced her to come back to his place, he’d been disappointed when she hadn’t pulled all means of entertainment out of her tiny black clutch.

      She still remembered how indifferent he looked as he showed her the door afterward, as if he’d been disappointed by her, by the whole experience. A week later, she’d seen him kissing another girl at a neighborhood bar. She shouldn’t have been upset by it, but she was. Since then, she’d become an expert at keeping men at arm’s length.

      She worried Porter would be just like him. Hot and heavy until he found out she didn’t know what she was doing. He’d find her out. Just like Kincaid had.

      “He wants what?” Liv’s roommate, Jordan, said after Liv had told her everything. Jordan had just finished the early-morning shift as a barista, and she smelled strongly of espresso as she brushed out her ponytail in the bathroom mirror. She checked out her new neck tattoo, a butterfly, before turning back to Liv. “You know he’s just after sex. Why else would he ask for a private party?”

      “Yeah, I know. But I have half a mind to give it to him,” Liv said, scooting past her part-time punk roommate into the bathroom to grab her toothbrush. Together, they shared the small apartment not far from North Avenue and Damen, in the heart of Wicker Park. It was the first one they’d moved into after college graduation, back when Liv thought her dream marketing job would fall into her lap and Jordan was sure she’d land a record deal for her garage band. Three years later, both dreams were still on hold.

      It was a miracle her parents even let her room with Jordan. Somehow, she’d managed to slip past their defenses, mostly because she was a good egg, despite the tattoos. It had been Jordan who’d skipped a final so she could take Liv to student health when she’d come down with a very late and very serious case of chicken pox junior year. Her parents loved Jordan for it and were able to overlook the fact she played drums in a rock band.

      Jordan brushed out her short blond hair and barked a laugh. “I told you your dry spell was going on too long. This is what happens when girls don’t get laid. They get blackmailed.”

      “He didn’t blackmail me!” Liv exclaimed.

      “Didn’t he?” Jordan quirked an eyebrow. “He says he won’t tell your dad and then he asks for a party. Like they’re not connected?”

      Liv’s mind whirled. “They’re not. He wouldn’t do something like that....”

      “You sure?” Jordan challenged. “You think if you tell him no, he’ll take it nicely?”

      Liv sighed, pushing a jet-black strand of hair out of her eyes. “No,” she admitted. She jammed the toothbrush in her mouth and scrubbed.

      “That doesn’t mean you should do it,” Jordan said.

      Jordan threw the towel back on the silver rack and retreated to her room as Liv finished brushing her teeth and spat.

      “It does, though!”

      Jordan shook her head. “You should just call his bluff. He’s got his job to lose, you know.”

      Jordan winked as she shrugged out of her barista T-shirt, exchanging it for one that didn’t smell like stale coffee.

      “The worst that can happen is you have to come clean with your dad. So what? “ Jordan kicked off her Converse shoes and plopped down in the center of the couch, reaching for her Mac.

      Liv moaned. “You know he’d put me out of business. And then you’d have to take over for me.”

      Jordan just cackled. “I couldn’t sell dildos and you know it. I can barely sell coffee and that practically sells itself.” It was true Jordan wasn’t a people person. She tended to be a bit blunt and to the point.

      Liv heard the sounds of music as Jordan started to mix a new track before she plugged in her headphones. Liv cinched the belt tighter on her terry cloth robe and retreated back to her room, where she plopped on her bed and opened her laptop. She’d need to start working on her dream, too, landing a job she could talk about at Sunday dinner. The problem was nobody was hiring marketing writers these days, and even when she did land a job interview, she had the sticky situation of what she’d been doing for СКАЧАТЬ