Ball Peen Hammer (10 page)

I watch Maddy singing for a long beat, smirking at her unadulterated display of dorkiness. Huh. I didn’t notice this ’til just now, but I think Maddy might be kinda cute. I mean, she’s not
sexy
or
hot
or whatever—she’s a total dork, but, yeah, she’s most definitely
cute
. Really cute, actually. Adorable nose. Cute little freckles on it. Smooth, soft-looking skin. A glow in her cheeks. She looks like one of those girls you’d see on a commercial for facial cleanser. A pretty girl-next-door type. Yep. Definitely cute.

My gaze drifts down the length of Maddy’s long brown hair—which I’m suddenly noticing is actually kinda pretty. I like the way it flutters around her shoulders and down the front of her blouse. Ho-lee shit. Speaking of her blouse, what the
fuck
is up with that billowing yellow monstrosity? How the hell is a guy supposed to assess a girl’s merchandise when she’s wearing a loose-fitting shirt that makes her boobs as hard to find as fucking Waldo? I scrutinize her chest for a beat, trying to make heads or tails of her topography, but that motherfucking shirt is too big a cock-blocker for me to gauge a damned thing. Now, if I were forced to venture a guess, I’d say Maddy’s hiding some pretty nice boobs under there—maybe even spectacular ones—but, as good as I am, I just can’t be sure.

I jerk my gaze away from Maddy and look out the passenger window, my pulse pounding in my ears. What the hell am I doing? I can’t be thinking about Maddy’s tits. She’s my honorary little sister. Sisters don’t have tits. They have
breasts
.

Shit.

Now I’m thinking about Kat breastfeeding Little G.

I cringe.

What the fuck am I doing?

I gotta stop this shit right now.

Maddy’s off-limits. Plus, she’s not even my type.
At all
. I like hot girls and they like me back. I don’t go for sweet girl-next-door types. And I definitely don’t go for smart girls.
Hell no
.

The song ends and Maddy turns down the radio. “So, hey, we’ve been talking about me this whole time. Tell me something about you.”

I clear my throat and look at her. My cheeks feel hot. “Sure,” I say. “Ask me anything.”

“Dax said you’ve been invited to audition for some big talent agency in L.A.?” she says.

“Yep.”

“That’s exciting. Does that mean you’re moving to L.A.?”

“I dunno. Maybe. Depends what opportunities come my way.”

“So you’re an actor? A model?”

One side of my mouth hitches up. Oh my shit. Dax didn’t tell Maddy what I do for a living? Ha! This whole time I thought she knew. “Neither,” I say evenly. “I’m a stripper.”

Maddy’s cheeks burst into flames. “
Oh
,” she says.

“Actually, I’m one of the top male strippers in Seattle,” I add, thoroughly enjoying the sudden bloom in Maddy’s cheeks. “Been doing it for just over a year.”

“Oh,” Maddy says again. “Cool?”

“This agency I’m auditioning for reps models and commercial actors in one of their divisions—they’re a huge agency—so if I could get on their roster for that stuff it’d be amazing. But the reason they contacted me is they also book male strippers for all sorts of high-end stuff—clubs, private events, movies, TV shows. Ever since
Magic Mike
, you wouldn’t believe how much demand there is for male strippers, especially in L.A.”

“Oh. Wow.” Maddy shifts her hands on the steering wheel. “Cool?”

I can’t stop smiling at how flustered Maddy seems all of a sudden.

“Yup,” I say. “I’m a stripper, Maddy. A strip-per. I take my clothes off and shake my ass for a living.” I laugh to myself. I only said that last part to see if I could get that last square inch of Maddy’s face to turn bright red... which I did. “So, hey, you hungry, Mad Dog?” I ask. I clap my hands together and she flinches like I’ve just smacked her ass. “I could eat a horse. Whaddaya say we pull off the highway and grab some grub-a-dub-dub?”

Maddy clears her throat. “Cool?” she says, her voice tight. She clears her throat again. “
Cool
.” She swallows hard. “Yeah. Um.” She clears her throat again. “Cool?” She flashes a very awkward smile that makes me laugh out loud. “I’m pretty hungry, too,” she says. “Cool.”

Chapter 13

Maddy

I can’t stop staring at Keane across the table. He’s not doing anything in particular; he’s just sitting there, quietly looking at his menu, the bicep on his left arm bulging every time he flips the page of his menu. But ever since he told me what he does for a living, I can’t stop imagining him ripping off his clothes in front of a frenzied pack of screaming women. I already know Keane’s got an insanely fit body—all I had to do was look at the guy for a half-second and that was abundantly clear—but now I can’t stop thinking he must have a truly
mind-blowing
body underneath that T-shirt and jeans.

“Are we ready to order?” our waitress asks, sliding up to our table. She looks pointedly at me. “What can I get you, honey?”

“Hi. Um, yes.” I clear my throat. “A turkey club and fries, please?”

“Sure thing. And what about you, honey?” the waitress asks Keane.

Keane smiles at the waitress, flashing his dimples, and she leans toward him like a sunflower straining toward the sun. I’d guess she’s in her mid-forties or so, but the smile she’s flashing Keane has instantly taken ten years off her face.

“Hi, Amy,” Keane says, looking at the waitress’s nametag. “Pleasure to meet you. How are you this fine day?”

“I’m great. And how are you, sweetie?”

“Handsome and happy all the livelong day.”

The waitress laughs. “Great to hear. Love the hair, by the way.”

Keane runs his hand through is tousled blue hair. “Thanks. I did it at the request of my better half.”

My cheeks instantly burn with heat. Oh my God. Keane’s got a
girlfriend
? Oh jeez, I feel like an idiot. For the past hour or so, I was actually thinking Keane was
flirting
with me—not that I wanted him to do that, mind you, not even a little bit—but,
still
. Is my radar that defective?

“Sounds like an excellent reason to do it,” the waitress says, shooting me a smile that tells me she thinks I’m the “better half” Keane just referenced.

“I’m just a natural-born giver, Amy,” Keane says. “It’s a blessing and a curse.”

The waitress chuckles and smiles at me again, this time sending me a nonverbal message that clearly says, “You lucky bitch!”

Keane looks down at his menu again, pursing his lips. “Let’s see. Decisions, decisions. I think I’ll have a double cheeseburger with extra bacon, extra pickles, hold the onions.” He looks at the waitress again, his blue eyes twinkling. “Never know when a spontaneous make-out sesh might suddenly break out—gotta be prepared for all eventualities.”

The waitress
guffaws
at that, but I scowl like I’ve just bitten into a lemon. What the fuckity? Why is Keane talking about having a spontaneous “make-out sesh” when he’s got a frickin’ girlfriend back home? And, by the way, who does he presume his spontaneous “make-out sesh” partner would be in that scenario? Because if he thinks it would be me, he’s sorely mistaken. Even if he didn’t have a girlfriend, which it turns out he does (despite all the flirty signals I thought he was sending me in the car), Keane’s soooo not my type. I’m not trying to be mean about it, but Keane’s IQ would need a fifty-point boost before he’d even be within
spitting
distance of the type of guy I’d even
think
of going for.

“French fries with your burger?” the waitress asks Keane.

“Yeah, and a chocolate milkshake,” he replies. “Extra whipped cream. Oh, and a side salad, too. Gotta get my veggies. You got any soup?”

“Beef chili or chicken noodle?”

“Chili. Thanks.” He closes his menu and looks up at me. “I’m a growing boy, sweetheart.” He pats his flat stomach. “It takes a village to keep this body looking like manna from heaven.”

The waitress laughs for the millionth time, but I can’t join her. I’m too distracted with a thousand thoughts, not the least of which is: “What kind of girl says ‘hell yes’ when asked to be the girlfriend of a baby-dolling stripper-man like Keane Morgan?” I’m betting Keane’s girlfriend is gorgeous as hell but stupid as dirt. Whoever she is, I hope she’s at least nice to Keane because, as quirky as he is, he doesn’t seem like he has a mean bone in his body.

“Coming right up,” the waitress says, drawing me out of my rambling thoughts. She stuffs her notepad into her black apron and grabs our menus off the table. “I’ll be right back with a couple waters for you.”

“Thank you,” Keane and I say in unison as she departs.

“So...?” I say the minute the waitress is gone. “You’ve got a girlfriend, huh?” I’m trying my best to sound nonchalant, but I’m not sure I’m succeeding.

“Aw, hell no,” Keane says, waving his hand. “I’m single and ready to mingle, baby.”

I make a face of confusion. “So who’s your better half, then?”

“Oh. My best friend and roommate, Zander.”

Relief floods me, though I don’t know why.

“Actually, I believe you’re acquainted with my beloved Zander,” Keane says. “Or, at least, with his dick and fuzzy balls.”

“Ah, yes,” I say, matching Keane’s polite tone. “I do believe I am.”

“I’m really sorry about that, bee tee dubs. I had absolutely nothing to do with Z sending you that photo, I swear, but Zander’s my best friend and the whole fiasco happened ’cause I’m such a fuck-up when it comes to checking my phone, so it’s on me.”

“Apology accepted. And you can tell Zander I apologize for calling his dick ‘little.’ It really isn’t all that little—well, at least, as far as I know from my limited experience.”

Keane leans sharply forward, his face aglow. “Oh, now
this
is an interesting topic of conversation. Exactly how ‘limited’ is your ‘limited experience,’ Maddy Milliken?”

I make a face. “It’s none of your business, Keane Morgan. It was a figure of speech.”

Keane smirks. “Is ‘limited’ less than five?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“I’m guessing four or five guys, tops. How old are you?”

“Twenty-two next month.”

“You gonna be a senior at UCLA?”

I’ve suddenly got a lump in my throat. I clear it. “No, a junior. I, uh, took a little time off.” I hold my breath, hoping Keane doesn’t ask me
why
I took time off—because talking about the year I took off from school after the car accident isn’t something I’m even remotely willing to do. But, thankfully, Keane forges right ahead like a dog digging up a bone.

“Okay, then, my guess is five,” Keane says. “That’s my final answer.”

“It’s none of your business what my number is.”

“Fine.” He leans back in his chair. “I’ll be sure to tell Zander he’s not suffering from Little Dick Syndrome. He’ll be relieved to hear it.” He smirks. “Although, honestly, Z doesn’t need anyone to tell him that. He’s already well aware he’s swinging a hefty bat.”

I can’t help but giggle. “Have you known Zander a long time?”

“Since eighth grade, which makes him the longest and most successful relationship of my life, other than my family. I always tell Z he’s the great love of my life.”

“
Oh
. Are you two friends or... ?”

Keane waits a beat, and when I don’t finish my sentence, he grins. “Are we a couple? No. We’re both straight. There ain’t no hanky panky going on in the Morgan-Shaw household—well, I mean, not with each other, that is. There’s
plenty
of hanky panky going on in the Morgan-Shaw household, if you know what I mean.” He winks.

“Yeah, pretty sure I know what you mean.”

“Now, if I were gay, believe me I’d put a ring on that motherfucker’s finger so fast, it’d make his head spin. Which is why I’m totally in favor of gay rights, bee tee dubs. If there’s a gay guy out there who’s been lucky enough to find a boyfriend like Zander, then by all means, that dude should be able to lock that shit down. If I were lookin’ to settle down, I couldn’t do any better than Zander. Only glitch with that particular matrimonial plan is the fact that we’re both totally and completely addicted to pussy.”

“Here we go,” the waitress says out of nowhere, appearing with two glasses of ice water and saving me from my complete speechlessness. “Your food should be up pretty quick. You want your chili and salad first, hon?”

“That’d be great,” Keane says. “Thanks.”

“So, um,” I say after the waitress is gone, but then I stop, still trying to process everything Keane just said. “So. Um,” I begin again. “Uh. Zander doesn’t have a girlfriend?”

“Not at the moment, although Z tends to fall hard and fast. He’s a ‘love at first sight’ kinda guy, big-time, unlike me. I’m sure by the time I get back to Seattle, Z will be married to this chick named Daphne he just met, with triplets on the way.” He chuckles. “Actually, helping Z get laid by Daphne is the reason I dyed my hair.”

“Huh?”

Keane leans his elbows on the table and his biceps bulge under the sleeves of his T-shirt. “So check it out. Z and I were at this bar by our house and this bombshell Daphne was telling us about how she’s been thinking about dyeing her hair blue. So Z pulls me aside and he’s like, ‘You gotta help me with this goddess of a woman, Peenie. I think I’m in lurve.’ So I’m like—”

“
Peenie
?” I ask, interrupting him.

“Yeah, that’s my nickname: Peen, Peenie, Peenie Weenie. My stripper name is Ball Peen Hammer.”

I burst out laughing. “Oh my God, Keane.”

Keane flashes me a truly adorable smile.

“You named your stripper persona after a teeny tiny hammer?”

“
Hey
. It’s
ironic
.” He winks.

I’m laughing my ass off uncontrollably.

Keane flashes me an over-the-top smolder. “Ball. Peen. Hammer.
Baby
. Ka-bam, son!”

I laugh. “Oh my God.”

“So, anyway, back to my hair,” Keane continues, his eyes sparkling. “Zander was like, ‘Peenie, you gotta help me get laid by this gorgeous, once-in-a-lifetime goddess. I gotta answer the call of my primordial destiny!’”