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Read On For The First Chapter of Playboy

Prologue

Chelsea

“I just heard,” my friend, Gidget, sympathizes, rushing through the door of the dressing room on the set of Skittle Skattle Doo.

I remove my Dodgy the Dog costume and blink back the tears. “It’s ok.”

It’s not, but what else can I say? I’ve just been let go from a small production of a kid’s show. I can’t even make it as a dancing dog. You may think I’m being a bit over dramatic, but I’m an actress. It’s what I do. While I've been told I have the poise and grace of a young Audrey Hepburn, I have all the luck of a broken horseshoe.

Although, I don’t feel very graceful in this furry dog suit I’m currently wearing. Big floppy ears. Bushy tail. You get the picture.

“I know. Don’t give up, though. You’ll land something even better than this crap show,” Gidget, the choreographer of this ‘crap’ show, says. She's always good at pep talks.

“I’ve only been here, what, like two months?” I pull up my jeans, and toss a t-shirt over my head. “I really thought when I came back here from Texas, I’d land the first role that came my way.”

“This town has a way of spitting people with real talent out.” She grabs my costume and places it neatly on the rack.

“Well, I need something to pay the bills,” I tell her, throwing my blonde hair in a ponytail.

“You know, you should try modeling. Lots of big stars start out modeling.”

“Hmm, my brother does have a friend who works at a magazine,” I say. “But, no. No way.”

“Which one?”

I raise a brow. “Bunny Hunnies.”

Gidget steps closer. “Wait, Bunny Hunnies? Chelsea, you should definitely think about that.”

“Really? I don't know if posing in a men’s magazine will help my career.”

She pulls out her phone from the back pocket of her skinny jeans. “Look,” she thrusts the phone in my face, and I see a picture of a shirtless guy with a ton of muscles, “that’s Wayne Craig. He’s a huge Instagram star...aaaand…he models for that magazine.”

I take the phone and swipe through a few of the pictures. “Well...”

She cuts in, “And June Dellaway got her start in that magazine.”

“Shut up,” I say. June is only the biggest sensation right now. Oscars. Red carpet. The whole nine yards.

“Listen, all I’m saying is, it can help you with money. You need an agent if you’re ever going to make it. Hell, even my dog has an agent,” she says, glancing at the pictures of Wayne one last time before putting her phone away.

“Yeah, agents are expensive.” I sit down in the lone folding chair, feeling a bit defeated.

“You should have Declan call that friend of his and get you in.” She points her finger at me.

Well, that’s the problem. The ‘friend,’ Jonah Marshall. I’ve had a crush on him since day one of meeting him. When Declan brought him home after baseball practice, my heart was a goner.

Soft brown eyes, dark messy hair. He was every young girl’s fantasy, and I was ‘rugrat,’ Declan’s little sister. Even so, my crush only intensified the older I got.

By the time I was sixteen and madly in love, my parents dropped a bomb on my brother and I.

Divorce.

I hate that word.

It’s ugly and upended my life.

I was whisked away to Texas to live with my mother while Declan, already in college, stayed in LA with my father.

But I’m back now in La La Land. Los Angeles. The city of my birth. Population 3,792,621. Two thirds of that are trying to land the same roles I am. And I’m ready for my big break. Since I just lost this job, maybe I will try my hand at modeling.

But, there’s no way I will let Declan call Jonah.

No, if I’m going to make it in this city...I want it to be based on my talent. Not for who I know.

In a city full of big sharks and vicious piranhas, I’ll be the little fish that swims against the current.

Sounds good, right?

Well, wish me luck, or break a leg. Whatever saying works best for you, because none of them work out very well for me.

* * *

Chapter One

Jonah

Name’s Jonah, and I’m a habitual dater. Sounds like I’m at some dating anonymous meeting, or something. For the record, I’m not. Is there such a thing?

What’s a habitual dater, you ask? I’m not entirely sure. I guess what I’m trying to say is: I date...a lot. I've been told with my height, brown eyes, and just fucked brown hair (their words, not mine), I could be in the pages of the magazine I photograph for. Not to sound egotistical, but getting women has always been easy for me. I wouldn’t call myself a manwhore, though.

Sure, I like to have fun with these dates, indulge in some extracurricular activities afterward, but they know the score: I don't do relationships. Sounds cliché, I know. But, I’ve tried a few of those in the past. Never worked out.

First, there was Tiffani. Started out great, but next thing you know, she hated my friends and wanted me to stop hanging out with them. Second, there was Bryn, who couldn’t keep her legs shut. She fucked the entire staff at the restaurant job she had. Male and female.

No, me and relationships are like oil and water; we just don’t mix.

Instead, I prefer to play the field. No strings. Lately, though, no matter how appealing the first course may be, most dates end with me slipping out before the dessert is even on the table.

Like tonight, for example, the blonde sitting across from me has a smokin’ hot rack, like bigger than genetically possible. I couldn’t care less. She's dull and artificial. Not to mention, she hasn't stopped talking about herself since we arrived. Besides, she failed the quote test. What's that you ask? Well, I'm a die-hard movie fanatic, and I give all my dates a certain movie quote. They get it wrong, well, the date usually bombs.

And so far, it has.

I’m not sure when these things started mattering to me, but they have.

And, honestly, I don’t give a shit about what she's saying. Ouch, I know, that’s harsh. But, I’m really not an asshole. Well, mostly not. It’s just lately this whole game is getting old. Going out with girl after girl. There must be more to life, right?

So, here I am, in this upscale restaurant in the heart of LA, with my Chivas on the rocks and a pained grin on my face while Amy talks with her mouth full of food.

“So, then, my boss said, ‘Amy,’ ” she points her fork at me, “you can’t bring your cat to work.’ But, my cat told me he misses me during the day,” she whines.

“That so?” I ask, barely interested. “Where do you work?”

She stops talking long enough to stare at me with a blank expression on her over made face.

Fuck, did she already tell me, and I didn’t pay attention? Bad Jonah. I should be punished, but not by her.

“The bank,” she tells me in a ‘duh, don’t you remember’ voice.

“That’s right. Crazy how they wouldn’t let you bring...” I pause and wait for her to fill in the blank.

“Snookums.”

I nod. “Right, Snookums to the bank.”

I finish off my steak while Amy continues to drone on about her roommate, Kelly.

Who cares? I glimpse my phone on the white linen tablecloth, wishing it would ring. Wishing for a miracle call of a family emergency so I can bail. When Amy starts to tell me about Kelly’s rash from a spray tan, I switch the phone to silent and press it to my ear.

“Hello...what? Calm down. Uh-huh. Shit, ok. I’m on my way.” I slide the phone in my pocket, eyes on Amy. “I’m so sorry. I have to go.”

She stops chewing. “Are you serious?”

“I am.” I grab my wallet, throwing down enough cash to cover the bill. “This should cover everything. Again, I’m sorry.”

And that's that. I'm out of there and in my Jeep before Amy can say another excruciating word. You may think I’m rude, or hell, think I’m an asshole, but, I never claimed I was a good guy.

* * *

“Did you get the prints over to marketing so the models can sign them for the meet and greet?” my overbearing boss Glenda asks.

“When have I ever failed you?”

She rolls her big, brown eyes, and I give her a slow wink.

Did I mention I'm a flirt? Kind of goes with the territory, I guess.

“Today there's a new model starting, so be nice.” She smiles, showcasing a bit of an overbite.

“I'm always nice.”

Glenda narrows her eyes at me, and I crack a smile.

“Yeah, that's what I'm afraid of,” she mumbles under her breath, thumbing through a few pictures of a previous shoot in a folder in her hand.

I swing my legs off my desk, where I was comfortably perched taking my mid-morning break, and check the lens on my Nikon. She’s my baby, and I treat her well.

“Oh, and no long lunch today. The shoot is at two pm sharp.” She pivots on her six-inch heels and glides from my office with the sophistication of a former model turned editor-in-chief. The last title is thanks to her husband, owner of Bunny Hunnies. Lucky break. In this town, sometimes it's not what you know but who you know.

But I don't need luck. I've got the dream job.

I stretch my arms over my head and stand. Chattering people pass my door on their way out to the shoot, so I grab my satchel, throw in my camera, and send a text to cancel lunch with my friends. Every Wednesday the four of us, Declan, Booker, Ethan, and myself, meet up. We’ve been best friends since high school, and ten years later, we’re still the four horsemen. That was the name of our band in high school. And no, we don’t play a single instrument.

It was more karaoke in Ethan’s garage.

We thought we were the shit, though.

“Hi, Jonah,” a few of the models walking into the Falcon building call out to me.

“Looking good, ladies.” I wink and they giggle and smile.

I know you’re thinking it. Have I slept with them? I’m not one to announce every girl I bang, I keep my sex life private, but, no, I don't mix business with pleasure. Zanna, Lyla, and Maria are off limits, no matter how much they try to tempt me.

I jump in my Jeep and head down to Venice Beach. Traffic is a bitch, but I finally ease into a parking spot and settle in to glimpse at the crashing waves. Living in LA is like living on a different planet. It’s perfect weather all the time, ideal for photo shoots on the beach.

I spot the production crew down by the shore setting up, so I hop out of my Jeep and slip inside Hank’s Franks, a local diner, and order a burger.

“Thanks, Gary,” I say to the man behind the counter when he hands me my bag of food. Ah, food. Real fucking food with grease and fat. This is what I need.

I step outside and chomp down on my burger while I watch the crew set everything out along the beach. My eyes zero in on the model. She’s far away, but even from here her body’s bangin.’ She’s not as tall as the other models and curvier.

Long blonde hair. Skimpy little pink bikini. Today’s going to be a good day.

I finish off my sandwich, wash it down with a Coke, and head over before I lose the best light of the day.

“Jonah, over here,” Tim, the shoot coordinator yells. “Meet Chelsea.”

I drop my bag near the set and fish out my camera.

Her back is to me when I walk over, and I get a great view of her sweet ass barely covered by her bottoms.

She turns around and my jaw drops. Beautiful blue eyes I’ve seen countless times before stare back at me. Eyes I’ve known since I became best friends with her brother, Declan.

“Chelsea Sincock?” Fuck. Her last name suddenly takes on a whole new meaning. To say I'm shocked is an understatement. I was staring at her ass. At Declan’s sister’s ass. When did she grow up? I haven't seen her since their parents divorced and she moved to Texas with her mom at sixteen. Eight years ago. Declan mentioned she moved back a few months ago, but I had no idea she was modeling. How could he forget that detail?

“Oh my God, Jonah.” She rushes over to fling her tanned arms around my neck. Her nearly naked body presses up against me, and I shake off how good it feels.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

She releases her hold on me. “I’m the new model, obviously.”

“Like hell you are.” She can't model for this magazine. I hit the brim of Tim’s ball cap as he ogles her. “Stop staring.”

“Let me have your attention,” I call out to the small crowd of set designers, makeup artists, and other crew workers. “No one’s allowed to stare at her.” But me. “This is my best friend’s little sister.”

Chelsea throws me a stunned glance. “Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack.”

“Nice to know you’ve matured since last I saw you.”

She’s angry, hands on her curvy hips, and it’s cute. Cute in a kid sister sort of way. Because that’s all she is to me, a kid sister.

“Nice to know you have, too,” I shoot back. The tone comes out all wrong. Sounds a little husky and sexual. Her body has definitely matured, and that’s the problem. The pink triangles of her bikini barely cover her breasts. Does Declan even know?

He’d shit a brick if he knew. I need to tell him.

“Let’s get started,” I shout, yanking the cap off my camera and lining everything up for the shoot.

Chelsea gets into position, and I focus on her through the lens. The breeze lifts her blonde tresses, exposing the perfect symmetry of her face. High cheekbones, pert nose, full lips—my camera loves her. Now to figure out what to do with her. I want her in the water with the waves crashing over her body.

“Ok, make your way over to the shore. Dip your toes in.”

She crosses the sand, and her tiny pink tipped toes dip into the waves rushing up the shoreline.

She shivers. “Oh, that’s cold.”

Her smile is perfect, and I snap a shot.

“She’s gorgeous,” Tim whispers next to me.

“Don’t look at her,” I warn over my shoulder. He thinks I’m joking but I’m not. I scan around at all the crew men's eyes gawking at her. “Guys, no staring,” I remind them.

They laugh off my warning like it’s some big fucking joke.

I really need to tell Declan. This is not ok. When she was younger, Declan and I would look after her when the kids would bother her. And now, a sense of over brotherly something or other is kicking in.

But, the more I aim my camera at Chelsea, the more I forget she shouldn't be here. She’s a natural at this. The sun kisses her skin, making my shot even better.

I loosen up, get into it—moving, shouting demands—and she follows every cue.

It’s one of the best photo shoots I’ve had in a long time. Some of the other models have to be prompted to even smile. Most times, they won’t react unless I say something to get them going.

But not Chelsea. No, she’s really good.

Doesn’t change my mind, though. I’m still telling Declan.

“Get all the way in the water,” I direct, standing so close I’m almost right over top of her, snapping photo after photo. She does as told, and the shutter snaps furious and fast through every pose...

Stretched out on the wet sand, the frothy water rushing over her toned stomach.

Snap.

On her knees, beckoning with a seductive smile on her face.

Snap.

The waves crash at her back, and she loses her balance.

Snap.

She rises from the ocean.

Snap.

I drop my camera and rush forward, throwing my hands over her tits. “Cover your fucking eyes,” I shout. “There's been a wardrobe malfunction.”

* * *

Chapter 1

Booker

Of all the places I’ve been, this is the last place I want to be. But, here I am. Back at my childhood home. Back to sell this place. To move on and forget it.

It feels as though a million years have passed since I was last here. And maybe in some weird way it has. A million years worth of memories are suppressed neatly in the dark hollows of my mind.

A tall overgrowth of grass brushes across the lawn, the blades nicking my calves. As I trudge through, I can't keep my eyes off the paint-peeled, red door. Majestic and unyielding, larger than any other in this quiet neighborhood, it keeps the world out and its secrets tucked safely inside.

Thump. Thump. My heart pounds.

Welcome back the lock creaks out when I turn the key. Stale air suffocates me when I step inside. The large space seems coffin sized.

“This place is a dump,” I mumble into the stillness.

The house has barely been touched since I left it as a kid.

First order of business, getting the power on. No way will I spend my time fixing up this hell hole without electricity.

As soon as I push the faded curtains aside in the main room, I see it, the ticket seller to this forgotten home—the Pacific Ocean with its dark blue water crashing over sleek, black rocks in the distance.

Life pumps and breathes outside this paned glass.

This view will be the reason buyers flock, hopefully offering more than my asking price.

Anxiety leaves an icy sheen of sweat on my forehead as I walk through the cavernous rooms, assessing. Floors groan under my footsteps. Dust skitters in the air. The marks notched in the doorframe of my old room wink at me as I pass.

Before I head out to the hardware store, I take inventory of the things I’ll need: paint, drywall, tile, grout, a bed to sleep in. A handle of bourbon. It’s going to be one hell of a fixup.

Lucky for me, I have all the time in the world.

The now outdated kitchen, once the artery of this house, needs the most work. I push the back slider open and step out onto the drab patio. The backyard isn’t much to look at, a nine by nine concrete slab surrounded by encroaching weeds. This area needs to be the focal point at showings. People like the illusion of happy—pretty flowers and landscaping. Maybe I’ll hire a gardener. Maybe even plant a bush here or there myself.

The wind tugs at my cargo shorts and black shirt, and I wander to the edge of the property.

Like it always does, the ocean beckons.

The Pacific wants a word with me. I oblige, following the dirt trail down to the shore. The problems with the house can wait. I need some alone time. Just me and my thoughts.

Not even bothering to remove my shoes, I step onto the sand. The sun hangs low in the sky. Soon it will be a myriad of blood oranges and ghostly greys.

I spot the smooth rocks where I used to play as a kid and drift down to the edge of the ocean, smelling the crisp salty air of the surf.

The black rocks off to my right call to me. I take a seat, tilt my face to the sun, and close my eyes. Once upon a time I took long walks with her here. Laughed with childhood friends as we collected seashells.

“Excuse me, Sir. Can you move?” a lilting, annoyed voice calls out.

I open my eyes and focus on the dream before me. Long brown hair, flying in the wind. Sweet, rosy lips. Eyes as blue as the ocean. Pink Wonder Woman t-shirt hugging a set of pretty wonderful tits. A body composed of tight curves with long legs flowing out from a jean mini skirt.

Her eyes narrow on me. “Well?” She gives me a little move along head gesture.

“I’m sorry?” I ask.

There’s not a soul in sight, so I’m not sure why she needs me to move. Or where she even came from for that matter.

“Can you please move?” she repeats.

“No, I can’t.” Fuck this. Public beach. Public property.

“I asked nicely.”

“Noted.” I close my eyes, breathing in the saline air once again, trying my best to tune her out.

“I need that rock between your legs,” she continues, apparently oblivious to my zen seeking state.

Now she's got my attention. I open my eyes. “Well, I’ve never been propositioned like that before. Let me get this straight, you need the ‘hard rock’ between my legs?” I crack a smile. “Wow, and I don’t even know your name.”

“It’s Cat, and that rock is perfect,” she says, not catching my meaning.

“I’ve been told that. A perfect, hard rock between my legs.” I wink, grabbing my crotch with one hand. “I’m blessed in that department.”

She blushes. “Not that.” She shakes her head. “I mean the rock at your feet. I need it.”

She needs a rock? I glance around at about five hundred other black rocks littering the beach.

“Right,” I draw out. “So, Hell Cat, you need a hard rock? Please, tell me more.”

“You don’t understand. That one is perfect for what I’m doing.” She brandishes me with a pleading stare.

“What could you possibly need a rock for?”

“A waterfall.”

Her eyes sparkle when she smiles. I want to keep looking at her, but I don’t.

“Well, I’m sure the other rocks will work just fine. A rock is a rock.”

“You’re not very nice.”

I laugh as her cheeks redden with anger. “I know. Some say it’s my best quality.”

“Well, that’s just sad.” She sighs. “Let's start over. My name’s Cat. I run a little business called Cat’s Landscaping Creations. I’m working on a waterfall, and that rock right there,” she points to one flat, black rock at my feet, “would be perfect for it. I was just coming back for it after I dropped a few off at my truck.”

“Well, I’m relaxing.”

Sure, I could move out of her way, but where's the fun in that? I wouldn't get to see her riled up. Watch the expressions on her face change from anger to astonishment. Isn't that what life's about? Acting and reacting?

Her blue eyes hold my brown in a stare off. I pull the rock closer with my foot. A little gasp escapes her before she turns away.

Nimble and agile, like her namesake, she climbs a few more rocks, grabbing a couple and chucking them into a pile. These aren’t little rocks she's collecting, so I’m impressed at her dedication.

“Hope you can relax when I come for that rock,” she threatens, stalking closer to me.

“What the fuck?” I ask as she marches even closer, bending at her knees to grab the rock at my feet. She tugs a little, but doesn’t give up.

“If you’d just move this leg.” She bumps my leg with her shoulder, and I can’t help but laugh a little.

“Need help?” I glare down at her.

“Yes, would you mind?”

Her deep-aqua eyes catch mine, and she really is something else. Unlike the women back in LA with plastic faces and too much makeup, her face is fresh and bare—almost innocent. We hold each other’s stare, each of us silent. It would be so easy to lift this rock out of its spot and hand it to her, hell, even take it to her car. Ask for her number. Maybe even offer to buy her a drink. Something. But, I’m paralyzed.

My lips lift into a quick smile. Raising a brow, I say, “I don't mind at all. Would you like me to unzip my shorts?”

She stands in a rush, abandoning the perfect rock. “You’re an asshole.”

Maybe I am. Truth is, she’s irritating me. I came here for peace and quiet, and all I get is this chick talking about waterfalls and rocks.

I pick up the rock, it’s kind of heavy, but nothing I can’t handle with one hand, and she smiles holding out both hands as if I'm going to give it over.

Something snaps within me, and I chuck it right into the ocean.

“There ya go. Now can I get back to relaxing?”

“What did you do that for?” she almost yells at me. Her indignant eyes are wide. “You’re… I can’t… Ugh.” She storms off, abandoning the little pile she created.

If I were in a different frame of mind, I’d chase after her. Apologize. But, I can’t be bothered with some beauty I met for five minutes on the beach. Hopefully, I’ll never see her again.

Hours pass. The tide creeps closer to me. Beautiful and deadly. When I can no longer take the jarring thoughts in my brain, I walk once more to the edge of the frothy water, spotting the rock I threw a few feet away. The perfect rock. Nothing’s perfect.

I pick it up, brushing off a few grains of clinging sand, and carry it home.

Home. As if this place could ever be fucking home. I grab a bottle of Jim, pour a glass, yes, a glass, and settle in for a night with no power. And no sleep.

* * *

STUCK is the 3rd book in the series, releasing soon. Here’s a sneak peek…

You may think I'm weird, or even a little cuckoo. And heck, maybe I am. Who knows? All I know is I'm not like most guys. Why, you ask.

Well, because I actually want to fall in love.

Relationships don't give me hives, and I'm not allergic to being monogamous.

But dating in this day and age is a train wreck if I ever saw one. Too many walls, and lies, and deceit.

It's all madness and insanity at its finest.

And well, I'm done looking.

You can call me a hopeless romantic that's given up searching.

I used to give my heart out to everyone I met. Every girl I dated was worthy of holding my heart, but all I got back was a bloody, broken mess as they threw it back in my face.

So, wishing for love, and what do I get instead? Money. Lots of it. So much money I don't even know what to do with it all.

An inheritance, and no one to share it with. Lucky me.

So now I'm stuck in this life of never knowing if the women I meet even want me for me, or the me with all the money.

So, now I'm stuck. Somewhere in the life I want and the life I have.

What's a man to do? You guessed it, I packed my sh*t up and headed into the wilderness. A wealthy man's wilderness, but the wilderness still the same.

To figure it all out, and to try to teach my heart that loving is for the birds.