Page 91 of One More Bad Boy

Startled by this revelation, I stood up. There was sweat glistening on her forehead—mine, or hers? “Sorry. I got a little dazed,” I said.

Shaking her head with a tiny smile, Amina kissed my cheek. I did her one better by capturing her mouth with mine, our tongues gently, lazily exploring each other. The PA system came on overhead again. Someone was rattling off names, neither of us cared. We were absorbed in our own existence.

“...And Amina Richards of Beats and Blast!”

She stirred in my arms. “Huh?”

My reaction was sluggish. Holding her at a distance, I looked at the ceiling. “Did they decide your song counted as an entry?”

Amina gawked at me, sharing my shock. “But I didn't sign in this morning. How can I be considered an official contestant?”

“You were submitted in the name of the company weeks ago,” I said, thinking it through. A wave of disbelief struck me. “Sherman must have spoken to the judges. He pulled some strings.” Staring her in the face, I brushed her hair from her temple. “You did it, you won.”

Coiling her arms around my neck, she kissed me roughly. Then she wriggled free of my cock, standing up and fixing her dress. I watched her closely as I zipped my pants back up, throwing the used condom in the nearly-full trashcan. “How do you feel?” I asked.

“About winning an award?” Her smile was a mystery. “Surprised.”

“I thought you'd be jumping up and down in joy.”

She reached out to tuck her hand in mine. Soon, we were hugging again. “I'm happy, I swear. I'm just so much happier about you, and us, that this award can't compete. It's like someone offering me a peach when I've gorged myself on sugary ice cream.”

A new rush of love engulfed me. “Do you want to go out there and get your award?” I asked.

“Do I have to?”

“No, they'll mail it if you don't show up. The part that mattered was the performance, and you nailed that.”

“I got dragged off the stage,” she reminded me.

“Right. No one will forget that. They'll be talking about you for ages, which was all I was trying to make happen, award or not.”

She guided me to the door. “Let's get out of here. I want to be alone with you, not you and a hundred cameras.”

Eager to oblige, I led her down the hallway until we reached a staircase to the underground garage. Our shoes scuffed on the concrete as we jogged down the line of cars. When we reached mine, she gasped.

Amina stared at the Tesla. I took her hand, carefully pressing the key she'd abandoned on my kitchen counter into her palm. “Feel like driving?”

She climbed inside, adjusting the driver's seat, the mirrors, and when I settled beside her, she leaned over to give me a heartfelt kiss. “I missed this,” she said.

I grinned slyly. “Wait. Are you marrying me for my car?”

“Of course not,” she said, looking horrified. “I'm marrying you for your body.”

She revved the engine to drown out my laughter.

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