“And the last thing I’m gonna say on this, because it’s really your problem, if morals don’t interest you, how about hooking up with a chick who’s at least nice to you for a change? I’m starting to think you’ve got some masochistic fetish.”
Jax had just worked sixteen hours. Now, he would jump on a plane, arrive in another city, and work another sixteen hours. Then he’d drop into a hotel bed—alone—only to wake up the next morning and do it all over again.
Rinse. Repeat.
Masochistic? Not in a sexual sense, but when it came to work and women… Hell. Maybe.
He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the seat, his mind drifting over the plentitude of sweet girls Wes seemed to have in his life. Girls who not only gave him great sex—or so he said—but did all those thoughtful things. Jax had seen women bring him lunch and coffee to the set. Had seen them rub his shoulders when he sat down at a shoot.
Just the thought of a woman treating him that well made Jax’s muscles loosen.
“What’s your girl’s name?” Jax asked. “The one you’re with now? Kelly?”
“Kayla.”
Kayla, that’s right. Jax immediately pictured the woman. Midtwenties, cute, sweeter than sugar. A waitress or something. “How’d you meet her?”
“She waited on my table at the restaurant where she works.”
Jax propped his elbow on the window ledge and rubbed his forehead. “I’ve got time to hit the bar before the flight, right?”
“She’s got girlfriends who aren’t in the business. Granted, Kayla’s not Veronica, but I’m sure not kicking her out of bed for eating crackers either.”
“She’s cute,” Jax said. “I’ve seen her come to see you on the set.”
“Her friends are too. We could hook you up.”
Oh, hell no. The thought made him break out in a cold sweat. “No way. I’ve got girls I could call—”
“Girls like who? Like Veronica?”
“No,” he snapped. “There’s Kim—”
“Who fucked you for an introduction to Scorsese.”
Oh, right. “Okay, then Candy—”
“Who got you to pay for three months of acting classes in exchange for fucking you.”
“Or Jolie,” he shot out, scouring his mental list for the least offensive women in his dating data bank.
“Who was secretly fucking you and Holt at the same time? While Holt was married?”
“I’m not telling you another goddamned thing.” Jax rubbed his face with both hands. Christ he was tired. “You fight dirty.”
“This is why your life never changes.” Wes smacked the steering wheel as he took the ramp toward LAX. “You’re not willing to get out of your rut. If you want different results, you’ve got to use different tactics. You’ve got to decide where your priorities lie—exterior or interior. You’ve done the hell out of exterior, and it’s not working for you.”
Jax closed his eyes and pressed his fingers against the lids. “Okay, I’ll consider it. Not saying yes. Just that I’ll consider and I’m not doing it blind. I want a picture or something. And information.” He uncovered his eyes and glared at Wes. “And if you get me in more trouble than I can get myself into, you’re so dead.”
Wes laughed and pulled in front of the Virgin America terminal. “It’ll work out great. When your head’s on straight, good shit always happens.”
Jax wasn’t so sure.
Two
The Ferrari banked hard left and revved out of the turn. The rear tires fishtailed and squealed on Los Angeles’s famed Sunset Boulevard, skidding as the sports car gunned forward.
In the passenger’s seat, Lexi LaCroix reached for the handle along the doorframe and smiled at her best friend. “I should have called a taxi.”
From the driver’s seat, Rubi Russo shot Lexi her evil you-love-it-and-you-know-it grin. “But this is so much more fun.”
Lexi couldn’t hold back her nervous laughter, and Rubi joined in with a wild-child scream to the warm Los Angeles night through the T-top.
Every last cell in Lexi’s body bubbled with adrenaline as Rubi gunned the sports car down Sunset, weaving through the sparse traffic at midnight in the middle of the week. “It won’t be fun if you get another ticket, lose your insurance, and can’t drive at all.”
Rubi flashed those wide, clear blue-green eyes, so sharp and striking against her light cocoa skin. Added the glimmer of perfect teeth in her silent I’m-going-to-take-that-as-a-dare look. “I can always move to New Hampshire.”
And she jammed the gas pedal to the floor.
Squeal. Smoke. Streak. G-forces.
“Shit, Rubi.” Lexi laughed the words as her body slammed back against the seat and adrenaline surged up her chest. “You know you can’t leave me, and you know I can’t live in New Hampshire. And I’d like us to get to the airport alive.”
The plea drowned in Rubi’s triumphant scream as she sped toward the freeway on-ramp. Lexi tightened her fingers on the handle again and let the warm air whip her long hair into a witch’s nest through the open windows. The Ferrari’s powerful engine roared in her ears and shivered through the small car. Rubi’s sweet, effervescent giggle floated through the car, and Lexi drank it all in. Reveled in the rush. The relaxation. The abandon. The freedom.
If only even for a few delicious minutes.
Rubi shot onto the Los Angeles freeway, screaming the Ferrari past existing traffic, weaving among cars until she settled into the fast lane at a sane speed. At least sane for Rubi.
Heart ticking quick and hard against her ribs, hand frozen around the handle, Lexi glanced at her friend. This was one of those moments when Lexi wondered how they could be so close when they were so different in so many ways.
But one look at her too beautiful profile made Lexi remember how they’d met modeling here in Los Angeles many years ago, and how much they also had in common. They shared a physical beauty at opposite ends of the color scale—where Rubi was a mix of African-American, Japanese, and Caucasian, Lexi was an all-American blonde. In that way, they’d pulled a full house from the deck. As far as family, though, they’d both crapped out big-time.
In the end, that fact had enabled the two of them to build an even stronger bond, and for nearly a decade, they’d taken care of each other like family. They shared a far tighter relationship than most blood-related sisters she’d met.
Rubi’s elbow rested on the ledge of her open window, her hair sexily tousled, lids heavy and knowing. “You could have gotten there really alive if you’d fucked Jake in the back room at Stilettos.”
Lexi’s belly burned with embarrassment, but she’d known this was coming. “Don’t even start. I never will, and you know it.”
“But you wanted to. Admit it. He was so hot, and he was drooling over you. Did you see that package he was sporting in those jeans? You wanted to take him into the back room, push him down on one of the settees, and—”
“Rubi!”
“—rock him to some ear-shattering Nickelback.”
Lexi’s body throbbed at the image Rubi created. But not because of Jake’s hotness or willingness to screw her in public. It was because Lexi had gone too long without a decent man in her life. She’d been working too long and too hard without a break and was under way too much pressure. “He was like…what? Twelve?”
“You know damn well he was twenty-one. The older woman–younger man thing is totally the rage. Besides, you’re only twenty-eight and you look twenty-two.”
Lexi shot her a get-real look.
“Without your makeup,” Rubi amended. “Twenty-four with.”
“I still can’t believe you took me to a sex club. That’s over the top, Rubi, even for you. See if you ever get another thank-you drink out of me.”
“Maybe I won’t recover your crashed program next time.”
Lexi quirked an irritated smile. “Why are you being so pissy with me?”
“Desperate measures, I admit. When’s the last time you created a really fresh design?”
Lexi closed her eyes in dread. “I can’t believe you’re bringing this up now.”
“Three, four months?” Rubi asked, knowing damn well how long it had been, because Lexi showed Rubi every one. Often consulted with her on each. “And before that, how often between fresh designs? Really ground-breaking designs, Lexi? Another three, four months?”
Lexi slumped in her seat. “Nice, Rubi. Point out what a loser I am the night before I fly across the country to meet Martina Galliano to discuss the proposition of my career.”
A life-changing opportunity Lexi couldn’t think about too long or she’d hyperventilate. One of the most successful female designers still active in the fashion world, Galliano wanted to talk to Lexi about a partnership for a new line. The woman had the money and reputation to shoot Lexi’s company of couture wedding gowns into a stratosphere she could never reach on her own.
“There’s never a good time,” Rubi said. “You’re always too busy. You never want to talk about it. But it’s becoming a problem, and as your friend who loves you and wants to see you succeed, I’m telling you what we both already know—you can’t go into a partnership with someone like Galliano operating at half capacity.”
Lexi’s frustration mellowed. Rubi was right. Lexi was quick to anger lately. Easily frustrated. Creatively bound.
Stagnated.
Her great designs came far too infrequently for a designer looking to break out. And Lexi had to twist her mind into a pretzel on crack to find them. Her creative side felt more like a desert than the lush tropical jungle it had once been.
The lack of sex in her life—for pleasure, stress relief, intimate human connection—only seemed to bunch the issues, like fabric gathered too tight. And the emotional snags keeping her from seeking a lover pulled the string taut.
Yes, she admitted, feeling like she should stand up and profess, My name is Lexi and I’m a sexual train wreck.
She’d never expected the weight of potential success to be heavier or more stressful than potential failure.
Rubi took the ramp to LAX like a normal Los Angeles, California driver.
“I know why you’re careful.” Rubi’s soft, serious voice drew Lexi’s gaze back. Her friend’s compassionate old soul had eclipsed the wild child. “You have real obstacles to cultivating a relationship. But your OCD has leaked out of your designs and overtaken your life, Lexi. And I’m not talking about picking up a guy like Jake. He is too young for you. And I don’t expect you to go to a sex club. Those were props to make my point.”
“A point that could have really hurt me,” Lexi said as they slowly passed the different airline terminals. “All it would have taken was one of those stupid photographers following us from the studio.”
Rubi waved a hand carelessly. “I made sure they didn’t.”