40. Codeword: SugarTits
I sat cross-legged on my couch, a bowl of cereal in my lap, and flipped through channels. My cell rang and I glanced at it, Vic’s name on the display. I wavered, a second of indecision before I picked up the damn thing and answered it.
“Hello?”
His voice whipped in and out, bursts of static hitting the receiver. “Hey babe.”
“Hey Vic.” I gave a convincingly aggravated sigh and then mentally high-fived myself.
“You dating movie stars now?” Ah. There was the reason for his call. Jealousy had always been Vic’s weakness, possessiveness his calling card.
I looked at my half-eaten bowl of Lucky Charms. “Seriously? I don’t have time to talk about this.”
“Joey Plazen is a piece of shit, Chloe. He’s stuck his dick in half of LA.”
There were so many immature comments I could make in response to that but I shut my mouth and managed, for once, to not sound like the jilted ex. “Shocker. You don’t like him. I do.”
I hung up quickly, before he could say something that stung. My chances of dating Joey were slimmer than Nicole Ritchie, but the chances of falling back into Vic? That was a real danger. I shouldn’t have answered the phone, shouldn’t have fanned his fire. I stared at the phone and wondered if he’d call back, then scooped out a handful of Lucky Charm marshmallows. I shouldn’t have egged him on, especially since Joey’s photos with the girl from Mixing had already hit the Internet, his quest to distract the press through sex completed. Using Joey to make Vic jealous was a lost cause.
I had a moment of weakness and pulled up Vic’s Instagram, scrolling through his recent posts, all from Dubai where forty-six minutes ago he’d posted a pic of some brunette lying back on a bar with champagne in her belly button, hashtag cheers. I threw my phone back down and flipped channels for another twenty minutes. Called Benta, who sent me to voicemail. Called Cammie, who answered, mid-movie. I whispered an apology, then scrolled through numbers, my list of friends significantly reduced after graduation.
I stopped on Joey Plazen’s name and considered it. Moved on. Made it all the way through the alphabet and back. Then, his sexual sacrifice still fresh on my mind, I texted him.
hey
It took him five minutes to respond—hey
what r u doing?
—bored?
YES
—I’m on a date. Want to join us?
WHY did you respond if you’re on a date?! I inserted an angry face emoticon.
—shut up and come out with us. No paps in sight.
OK
The polite thing to do would have been to leave Joey and his date alone. My boredom, though, trumped social etiquette. Joey sent me the name of the pub and I threw a leather jacket on over my top, traded my Toms for heels, then grabbed my keys and headed out the door.
My spirits had almost lifted, my steps light, my push on the elevator button cheerful. The doors opened, and Carter stood there, our heads lifting and eyes meeting in awkward and perfect unison.
Almost three weeks since we’d hooked up. Two weeks since I resolved to forget that mistake and return to the world of Successful Men. That plan took a nosedive the moment Carter opened his gorgeous mouth. “Hey.” He smiled and I was done for, my girl parts beginning to pant inside my La Perla panties.
“Hey.”
“Going down?” His grin widened, and I laughed.
“Yeah.” I stepped on, my eyes lingering over his dark jeans and worn black V-neck. “Where are you heading?”
“Grabbing something to eat.” He leaned against the side of the elevator and crossed his arms. “You?”
“Just meeting up with some friends.” I fiddled nervously with my phone. “They’re at an oyster bar a few blocks over. If you want, you can join us.” I shrugged, like I didn’t care either way.
He scratched the back of his head. “I don’t want to interrupt a girls’ night or anything…”
I had to laugh at that, the elevator doors opening. “No. Please. You’ll save me from being an awkward third wheel. I was bored, my friend Joey is out on a date, and now I’m about to crash it.” I stepped off the elevator. “You’d be doing me a favor,” I added.
He opened the door for me. “If you’re sure. Is it Kumamoto?”
I nodded. “Yeah, you know it?”
“Yep.” He steered me right and pointed ahead. “This way.”
I followed his lead, stepping over the curb and crossing a side street. While we moved, I pulled out my phone and texted Joey.
I’m bringing someone. Behave.
—ooh, fun. Is she hot?
I rolled my eyes. Yes, he’s super hot.
—I only misbehave with women.
I stuck my phone in my back pocket and smiled over at Carter. “Just wanted to give them the heads up.”
“So we’re good?”
I didn’t know if “good” could ever describe this situation, but it was the only adjective I had. “Yeah. We’re good.” I stepped over a crack, and he moved closer, offering his arm. “Don’t let me forget,” I said. “I have your spare key.”
He looked down. “You ever find your set?”
“No. But I had a copy made of yours, so I’m good.” I smiled up at him. “I’ll hide it so I don’t have to bother you next time.”
“I didn’t exactly mind.”
I blushed, glancing down at my heels. “I should warn you about Joey, my friend we’re meeting.” I rushed into the subject change before it went from slightly awkward to full-out weird. “He’s an actor. Joey Plazen. That’s … that’s who he is. My friend.” I looked up at him nervously, not sure of his reaction. I shouldn’t have mentioned it in advance, should have just casually introduced them like Joey wasn’t the Movie Star of the Century.
“Joey Plazen?” His steps slowed. “That’s who we’re meeting?”
“Yeah. We work together.”
He shrugged. Chuckled a little and kept walking. “Okay.”
I let go of his arm when we got to the place. “Joey says they’re on the back deck,” I murmured to him as we moved through the crowd, which seemed thick for a weekday. I understood why when we got to the deck’s entrance, two security guards blocking the door. “Deck’s closed,” one said curtly.
I glanced down at Joey’s text and inwardly groaned. The password is Sugartits. I rolled my eyes and held up the screen, showing it to the guard.
We were waved through, and wove around and through empty tables, spying Joey before he saw us, his hand on a redhead’s ass, his mouth at her ear and I coughed loudly as we approached. He turned, raising a beer. “Chloe!” he cheered, stepping forward and hugging me. When he turned to Carter, his hand froze, his face tightening, first in recognition, then in anger. “Carter.” He dropped his hand. “You fucking prick.”
My introduction to the redhead stopped, my head turning, and I stared at Joey, then at Carter, in shock.