Page 102 of Make Me Sin (Bad Habit 2)
We stand and talk for a while, about nothing particularly deep or important. I know I’ll get the third degree from Grace as soon as she can get me alone, but for now I just enjoy the sun, the conversation, and the wonderful feeling of A.J.’s arm slung over my shoulders.
Then Grace, looking across the yard toward the house, does a double take. “Holy shit. Is that Bono?”
A.J. says with a smirk, “Stupid wraparound purple glasses give it away?”
“Haters gonna hate,” she replies, not looking away from the surprisingly short lead singer of U2. “I’m going to get an introduction. Judging by the way he’s fondling that cocktail waitress, I bet he and his wife need a lot of marriage counseling. God, I can’t wait to hear all about it. Back in a sec.”
She sails away. I have no doubt she’ll get her introduction; there are few things Grace wants that she doesn’t get. Actually I can’t think of a single one.
Then suddenly A.J. stiffens.
“Just a few more minutes and then we’ll go, sweetie. I just want to make sure I say good-bye to Kat on the way out. I wonder if Kenji’s here?”
When he doesn’t respond, I look up at him. But he’s not looking back at me.
He’s looking at the raven-haired, large-breasted, incredibly beautiful siren in the skintight red minidress headed our way.
My stomach drops. My eyes flash to his face. It’s clear from his expression that he’s not looking forward to speaking to her, which makes me feel a little better, but it’s also clear that there’s some history here that he’s very uncomfortable with.
Or maybe he’s just uncomfortable because I’m standing beside him.
The siren stops in front of us. I’ve never seen a woman with such perfect skin, hair, or teeth. She’s absolutely stunning. A model, no doubt.
And he’s had sex with her, no doubt. Her knowing smile and bedroom eyes are proof enough of that.
“A.J. Good to see you.”
He replies with a curt nod. “Heavenly.”
Heavenly. Dear lord, I’ve come face-to-face with the infamous five-thousand-bucks-a-pop whore.
In spite of how much I instantly hate her, how I’d like to scratch out her eyeballs and tear her glossy hair right out of her scalp, I miserably understand why she can charge what she does. I’d bet men would pay her thousands just to look at her naked, and not even touch her.
She turns her eyes to me. No joke, they’re the color of sapphires. I pray they’re as fake as her boobs, or God is exactly as much of a bastard as A.J. thinks he is.
“And who is this?” she asks pleasantly.
“Heavenly, meet Chloe. Chloe, Heavenly.” A.J.’s voice is wooden, his back stiff.
If any other part of his body is stiff, I will murder him where he stands.
“Of course,” says Heavenly, looking me up and down. Her smile widens. It almost looks genuine. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
Whoa. What? He’s told her about me? When? It takes me about three point five seconds to control myself, then I slip into sphinx mode, and calmly return her smile. “And you.”
Her smile falters. She glances at A.J. I can tell she’s wondering what he’s told me about her, which, as we know, is nada. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to let this Rodeo Drive ho get the upper hand over me.
Heavenly decides to up her game. Her smile returns. In a throaty purr, she says to A.J., “Vy byli pravy. Ya lyublyu yeye.”
As if she’s kicked me in the stomach, all the wind is knocked from my lungs.
This is no ordinary hooker. This hooker speaks Russian.
Instantly, I’ve conjured dozens of imaginary scenes of the two of them post-screw, sweaty and beautiful, murmuring sweet nothings to one another in their native language. I assume it must be her native language, too, because what prostitute has the time or energy for Russian lessons? And she has that Euro Bond Girl look about her, all slink and sophistication.
I’ve never felt jealousy like this before. Not ever. It’s like I swallowed a bowl of razors.
I know my face is beet red, just as I know the smile I’ve got plastered on my face has turned sickly. For some bizarre reason, my mouth is watering. Probably because I’d like to spit a big loogie in her perfect, stupid face.
