Torrid Love: Friends to Lovers Romance (Bad Boy Studs Book 1) Page 3

  “I’ve known him for so long,” I point out pragmatically.

  “So?” Holly is staring at me like I have two heads.

  “So, we’ve been practically glued at the hip since we met,” I shrug, uncomfortable with the scrutiny.

  “And?”

  She’s going to be a hard sell.

  “I don’t see him like most women do,” I lie.

  “Is there something wrong with your eyes?”

  “No, Holly. My eyes are perfectly fine.”

  “In that case, your explanation fails to help me understand how you can keep a guy like Rod in the friend zone.”

  “I’ve been dying to know since I found out the two of you have been best friends forever,” Zoe says. “I never asked the question because I didn’t want to overstep my boundaries since we aren’t close friends. But Holly is right, Rod is delicious––”

  “So are all the Wolfe brothers,” Holly points out. “They have alpha names referring to rulers, warriors and kings. They’re gorgeous and they proudly sport their masculinity. These guys have no idea how to spell the word, metrosexual.”

  I couldn’t agree with her more.

  “You’ve really never wanted more with Rod?” Zoe asks.

  Not until recently.

  A stab of guilt slices clean through me as I think of our earlier conversation. I hate myself for having been so short with him. It’s just that I have no idea how to share my growing feelings with him without fucking everything up.

  Holly and Zoe blink at me, waiting for an answer.

  “Dom?” Zoe presses.

  “Relationships are fragile,” I say. “Guys flake out all the time.” Thanks, Dad, for the lesson. “There are too many options in LA, so of course men here suffer from shiny object syndrome.”

  “Yeah,” Holly nods.

  “Tell me about it,” Zoe sneers.

  “Rod knows everything about my personal ghosts and demons,” I point to my inked arm.

  “So there’s more to the intricate tattoos?” Zoe asks.

  A lot more. “It’s too heavy to delve into on the eve of your birthday,” I tell her.

  “I can respect that,” she says.

  I’m relieved she drops the subject.

  “If he knows everything about you—the good, the bad and the ugly—why not take it all the way? I mean, there aren’t any more surprises,” Holly insists. “I know I would.”

  Wanting more could complicate—or shatter—one of the best things in my life. “Rod and Dom. Best friends forever. That’s who we are,” I explain, hoping I can convince them, although I can’t seem to convince myself lately. “We made a commitment to each other when I was thirteen and he was sixteen—right after he came to my rescue for the first time.”

  “He rescued you from danger?” Holly asks.

  “Yes. Twice.”

  “Oh.” Holly and Zoe’s shock is painted all over their faces.

  “Certain things should remain untouched… like a lifelong friendship,” I conclude.

  Rod’s been through some heavy shit and his less-than-ideal childhood was as undesirable as mine. I’m an only child with a set of rotten parents. I have no one else but Rod in my corner. I’ve always been there for him and vice versa. I can’t risk losing our friendship. It would break me. I have to find it in me to tame whatever weird feelings have been surging lately. It’s not his fault if I want to move what we share out of the friend zone. It’s not like there’s any shortage of options for a guy like Roderick. It’s so easy for him not to see me as more than his trusted sidekick.

  * * *

  “What an amazing turnout,” I shout over the music. “You’re one popular girl, Zoe.”

  “I was dreading this birthday thing, but now, I love it!” she grins from ear to ear.

  After an hour-long dance marathon, Zoe, Holly and I are taking a short respite by the bar located in the back of the room. I love to dance. There’s nothing like moving freely to the sound of the music. I’d still be out there shaking my thing, but my feet hurt. I have yet to get used to these platform heels. Since I’ve had enough to drink for the evening, I’m nursing a glass of sparkling water with a wedge of lime. My companions opted for some red wine. I look them up and down.

  Sigh.

  Even with these skyscrapers strapped to my feet, I’m still so much shorter than they are. And just like that, my illusion of being a tall Amazonian in my new heels dies a slow death.

  Oh, well.

  “Nothing beats a milestone birthday like celebrating it in style in a setting like this,” I say.

  “I know, right? I never thought I’d see the day where I’d set foot in this place,” Zoe says.

  “Same here,” Holly says.

  Zoe’s older sister, Emma, threw her a big party with Holly’s help. The upscale venue is a gift from Adelaide McAdams. The Wordsworth is a posh members-only private social club for powerhouses in showbiz. It’s reserved to women, but they make exceptions for parties, galas and events. If you have an extra fifteen thousand dollars to burn on initiation fees and a thousand a month, this is the club for you! It’s a bit too rich for my blood.

  The dance floor is packed. Zoe’s guests are moving to the beat of the latest club music. Most of the guests here work with Zoe at UTV.com except for a handful of Zoe’s childhood friends and her cousins.

  When the DJ drops a chart topper, the crowd goes wild. Zoe, Holly and I get swept away by the collective energy and raise a hand above our heads, swaying our hips side to side to the catchy tune, careful not to spill our drinks. It’s quite the sight. Gabriel McTillerson pokes his head above the crowd and waves me over. He’s been my dance partner for the better part of the evening.

  “I’m taking a break,” I mouth.

  He nods and gives me the thumbs-up before grabbing a co-worker by the waist and forcing her to dance with him.

  Gabriel is fit and he has a great sense of humor. He’s tall, dark and handsome, but not like Rod. He lacks the badass cocksureness that characterizes Rod. I’ve met him at a few of UTV.com’s team events when I’ve accompanied Rod as his plus one. Gabriel didn’t recognize me at first. I quickly revealed my identity when he started putting the moves on. He was shocked. Since then, he’s been all compliments about my new look. In fact, most people who know me are as taken aback as Holly and Zoe.

  “Oh, look who just showed up,” Holly says tugging on Zoe’s arm. “Tall, dark and very handsome is here.”

  “Where?” Zoe asks.

  “Near the other bar,” Holly says.

  Zoe stretches her neck. So do I.

  “Your man came for you,” Holly says.

  “He’s no longer my man,” Zoe rebuts. “Pity. He looks so fucking delicious. He’d make for a perfect birthday gift,” she says, longing—scratch that—lust veiling her eyes.

  “I believe getting dirty in a public place is part of your sex-bucket list,” Holly notes.

  “You’re right,” Zoe laughs.

  Holly joins in.

  I’m unable to laugh, let alone smile. I’m too preoccupied by the erratic beating of my heart. The sight of the gorgeous strapping man standing next to Roark Wolfe is enough to cause me to go into cardiac arrest. His dark brown eyes pierce right into me, taking my breath away and making my pulse hammer.

  Rod.

  CHAPTER 3

  Roderick

  Eddie’s party was a departure. I expected topless and naked women, lots of huge silicone tits and a never-ending flow of booze. In other words, I expected raunchiness. Eddie has set a precedent with his trademark over-the-top parties. The last thing I expected was for a bunch of us guys to hang out on a boat, catching up. Other than some of the staff––who were all fully dressed––there were no other women on the yacht. Since we were all confused, Eddie fessed up. He’s the lead actor on a blockbuster action series and his short-lived marriage had already caused enough talk. His recent divorce exploded in the news. The studio vetoed any possibility of Eddie embarrassing them
by putting their foot down late last night when they caught wind of his party. Basically, any inappropriate conduct—on his part or ours—would end his very lucrative contract on the next six movies of the series. That’s all it took for a notorious bad boy to walk a straight line.

  To make up for the lack of pussy, Eddie gave us the next best thing—a guaranteed adrenaline rush. The flying jet skis he rented were a blast. Speed, height, water and daredevil acrobatics. What more can a guy ask for?

  By the time Eddie’s yacht docked, we had all showered, changed and feasted on a king’s meal. For a change, no one got wasted. The rest of the guys made their way to the gentleman’s club while my brother and I hopped in a cab heading to the Wordsworth. After the security check, Roark and I enter the Hera—the main party room.

  “Looks like the entire team of ‘Pushing the Distance’ is here to celebrate Zoe’s birthday,” I say to my brother, scouring the crowd.

  “Emma and Zoe’s best friend have—” Roark stops mid-sentence. “Whoa!”

  “What?”

  “Have you seen Dom since she got back?”

  “No. Why?”

  “Because your best friend came back from Europe a changed woman.”

  “What are you talking about? Where is she?”

  “Over there,” my brother points.

  I search the crowd until I find her.

  Shit.

  Dom looks stunning.

  I mean, sexy as hell.

  Holy smoking-hot bombshell!

  What a jaw-dropping transformation.

  She was breathtaking before, but now she could stop traffic. I flash her a wide smile and I’m pleased when she returns it.

  “Let me go say hi,” I tell my brother.

  “You better before another guy goes after her,” Roark says.

  I frown my confusion.

  “What?” he challenges.

  “Don’t be an idiot. It’s Dom we’re talking about here.”

  “Exactly,” he cocks an eyebrow. “Your Dom.”

  I shake my head, shrug my shoulders and roll my eyes. “You’re crazy.”

  “And you’re blind if you’re incapable of seeing what’s standing right in front of you,” he retorts.

  Oh, don’t worry, I see her.

  “Whatever.”

  He’s been on my case for months now about Dom.

  I should’ve never told him about Thanksgiving and I should’ve kept my mouth shut about the battle shots game.

  I take a step forward, when out of nowhere a chesty brunette with glaring fake eyelashes steps in front of me, blocking my way.

  “Are you who I think you are?” she asks in a playful tone.

  “Err…” It’s not like me to hesitate, but I’m caught off guard. I slide my gaze to my brother’s grinning face before focusing on the brunette again. Clearly, the desperate soul vying for my attention doesn’t work for him or else she’d know better. “Sorry, sweetheart, I’m no mind reader,” I deflate.

  “I’d recognize you anywhere. You’re the manful and virile drummer from Random Misconception. Aren’t you?”

  “I don’t even know what manful means,” I tell her.

  “It means you’re a hot hunk.” Noted. “I’m a huge fan,” she purrs dropping her brown eyes to my crotch.

  “I’m just a regular guest like everybody else here,” I counter.

  Sometimes, stardom can be a curse.

  “Roderick Wolfe just a guest? That’ll be the day,” she laughs.

  I look up and meet Dom’s piercing blue eyes. Her unimpressed gaze tells the whole story.

  I have no control over this.

  “I’m Clemensia, by the way.” Why does Chlamydia come to mind? Instead of extending her hand, she sticks out her chest.

  “Clemensia, this evening is to celebrate Zoe’s birthday,” I say taking a step forward.

  “Oh, no you don’t,” she stops me by placing a hand against my arm. “You’re not getting away from me that easily. Since I saw you first, I get first dibs.”

  I let out an exasperated sigh. “What are you talking about?”

  She takes a step back, pulls down her super-short red tube dress and flashes a pair of double-enormous tits. Since she has a tiny frame, her tits look like giant inflated balloons.

  What the hell?

  There’s a rumble around us. From the look of shock on guests’ faces, they’re as stunned as I am.

  “Can you sign them?” she asks. She even hands me a Sharpie. Not that I know where she was hiding it.

  Clemensia’s question is one I used to get all the time at the height of my rock star career. Since I’ve retired, I spend my time behind a desk. This is no longer part of my life.

  “You’re kidding?” my eyes flicker up to Dom. She’s shooting daggers at me now.

  Fuck.

  This is not how I’d envisioned our encounter after not seeing each other for so many weeks.

  “Of course I’m not kidding,” Clemensia says, “Please will you sign my boobs. They’re big enough, it’s not like you can miss them.” She shakes her torso, sending her tits swinging from side to side.

  “I don’t sign body parts,” I tell her.

  Well, I should say I don’t anymore.

  You wouldn’t believe the crazy requests we used to get from groupies in our heydays. One woman begged our lead singer, Beckett Christensen, to sign the inner walls of her pussy. Not a word of a lie. He was never able to downplay that one.

  “I can even beg, if you’d like,” Clemensia insists.

  Talk about overly aggressive. And delusional.

  “I said, I don’t sign body parts.”

  “Oh, come on. Roderick Wolfe is up for all sorts of nastiness.”

  “Nastiness? Don’t you have any decency?” I snap.

  I never thought I’d see the day where I’d say that to a half-naked woman.

  “I’ll make it worth your while,” she purrs.

  Before I can respond, Clemensia pulls her dress over her head and drops it on the floor next to her.

  My jaw drops.

  The music stops.

  The crowd gasps.

  A collective round of, ‘Holy fucks’, replaces the latest club hit.

  Not only is Clemensia naked, but two silver hoop rings are dangling low from her pussy, staring at me.

  Jesus Christ.

  “I told you it would be worth your while. I’m all yours, big boy.”

  I used to live for those words. Coming from her, they sound so crass.

  No thanks.

  “Show a modicum of class,” I tell her.

  She looks confused.

  “You’re at the wrong event, lady,” my brother says, “There aren’t any strip clubs in this neighborhood. Put your clothes back on.”

  “Who the hell are you?” Clemensia barks.

  “I’ll tell you who—”

  “Hey, lady! You over there, what the hell are you doing?” A large man shouts. He’s running towards us, wagging his index finger furiously. The two bodyguards who were manning the door follow him closely. “This isn’t that kind of club.”

  “But—”

  “No buts. Chris. Paul. Escort this skank out of here,” the large man orders.

  One of the guys picks up her discarded dress and throws it at her.

  “Hey! Watch it!” Clemensia protests.

  “You’re pathetic,” the large man tells her.

  “Get your hands off me!” she shouts when the guy I know now as Chris pulls her hands behind her back.

  “Come on, let’s go,” Chris says without giving her time to cover up.

  “The show is over, folks,” the large man says. “DJ, please resume the music.”

  Watching Clemensia’s walk of shame with those silver hoop rings clinking between her legs is a sad, sad sight. When she’s no longer in view, I shift my attention to where Dom was standing.

  Where the hell did she go?

  Goddammit.

  CHAPTER 4

/>   Dominika

  Roderick Wolfe always commands attention when he walks into a room. Even before he hit superstardom, his mere presence would force everyone to stop and stare. It’s his smooth, confident swagger. When he was younger, every step he took, screamed, ‘Don’t fuck with me or else’. Now, it says, ‘I own the place’. And he does.

  I knew my dramatic change would get a reaction out of him, but from the sinful sparkle in his eyes, I wasn’t prepared for this delicious warm tide rippling all over my body.

  Damn.

  When his eyes meet mine, I gasp under my breath. I smile, blushing when he turns on his trademark bad boy potent charm. It’s usually directed at someone else, but when he turns it towards me, it always makes me weak in the knees. Rod has this undeniable breathtaking effect on women. And as much as I’ve lied to myself for years, I’m not immune to it.

  Between his former career as a rock star, his devastatingly good looks, intense deep brown eyes, large frame, bulging muscles and inked torso and arms, Rod is every woman’s dream. He’s so gut-wrenchingly sexy, most other men don’t measure up. Yeah, my best friend is so hot, it hurts. And he knows it too.

  I swear, when God was allotting good looks and magnetic personalities, he spent a solid month on Roderick Wolfe.

  Rod never hesitates to use that unfair advantage to disarm—I mean charm—women. Like he is now with the woman who’s making a spectacle out of herself.

  “Holy fuck, did you see that?” Holly asks.

  “How dare she steal the limelight at my birthday party,” Zoe complains.

  “Same old, same old,” I say with a detached voice. God, I’m a good actress. “You’d be surprised how quickly some women will degrade themselves just to boast they’ve fucked Rod Wolfe. It was worse at the height of his career. It’s sad. Pathetic even. But for some women, it’s a milestone to hit.” I’ve witnessed this kind of scenario too many times to count. “Judging by how desperate this one is, she’ll get her way.” I wouldn’t be surprised if Rod ended up fucking her in a random bathroom in this club or taking the action to a hotel.

  “Given his godlike status,” Holly says, “it’s no surprise she’d want to stake her claim on him, but does she have to be such a whore about it?”