Be My December (2 page)

“Let’s go out for a drink. You, me, the new sports bar, strippers, and pussy?”

I shot him a look of pure outrage. “Strippers and pussy should never be mentioned in the same sentence.”

He moved around the kitchen island and pulled out a stool, taking a seat opposite me as a knowing look swept over his smug face. “Are you saying you’ve never fucked a stripper?” His question dripped with amusement, and I knew he had me by the balls.

“Fuck off! She was a dancer. Big fucking difference.”

A muffled groan poured out from deep within my chest and I knew I wasn’t going to win this battle. Of course he would suggest going out. It was Friday night and for the past three weeks I had made every excuse under the sun not to go out for a drink. He had accepted it, but I knew it was only a matter of time before he wore me down. The thing with Josh and me was that we had a relationship that couldn’t be matched. Yes, he was my younger brother, but he was also my best friend. We have been through thick and thin together, seen the best and worst of what life could offer, and we have come through the other side—with a few hiccups along the way. There had been plenty of times when he annoyed the shit out of me to the point of wanting to punch his face in, but I would take a bullet for him without question, or a couple of broken bones from bar fights when he tried to pick up the wrong woman. He was my blood. It was as simple as that.

“So are you and your little guy going to come out tonight or what?” Josh cocked a brow in my direction.

I was tired. I was beyond exhausted, and letting off some steam seemed like an enticing prospect when I thought about it. Honestly, a strip club would just equal trouble, but it could also mean an easy lay. It was catch twenty-two.

“Just come out.  A couple of drinks and a few titties. What’s the worst that can happen?” he continued to harass.

“You are a persistent little prick. Pick me up at nine.”

••••

The stabbing aggression of my headache that had been annoying me for a couple of days sprung back to life the moment Josh and I stepped into Delights. Low lights, soft pulsating music, and an atmosphere thick with sex and greed hit me with full force. Everything about this place exuded excess, temptation, and the whispered promise of sex. Within seconds, two scantily clad women made a beeline for us, and now my date for the night seemed to be a tight little blonde named Lyndsey who was hanging off my every word and looking at me with expectation.

Now don’t get me wrong, I was a man and I fucking loved women. But I certainly didn’t have any plans on securing anything long term, much to the disgust of my mom. In her eyes, I should have a house in the ‘burbs with at least two kids running around by now. I certainly shouldn’t have a thirteenth floor bachelor pad and work fifteen hour days. Of course I had sexual needs, and I fed those needs when required, but my needs didn’t include a relationship. And it certainly didn’t include a happily-fucking-ever after. That kind of happiness was foreign to me and the reasons why have
continued to squeeze and taunt me, eating away at my total being in an attempt to destroy me.

It was something that I had to live with. It was something I kept so tightly strapped to my chest that only a few knew. As long as she was still hurting and as long as I still hated everything I was, I would never give myself the chance of happiness or contentment. I didn’t deserve it; it was as simple as that.

“You do realize that I’m a sure bet.” Lindsey grabbed my attention and licked her lips before rubbing herself aggressively against me. Any urge to take this woman to a motel room faded the moment she said those words. I liked the thrill of the chase, the game, the anticipation. This woman in front of me would have allowed me to fuck her in the middle of the room if I’d asked her. I groaned inwardly and shook that thought out of my head. 

I was content with doing what I wanted, when I wanted, with whomever I wanted and that included women. I wasn’t a male slut, I didn’t jump from bed to bed, from pussy to pussy, from woman to woman, but I knew where to go when I wanted it, and I knew what to do or say to guarantee I wasn’t left unsatisfied.  I left the slut tag for my brother who was now standing beside me.

“So who is the unlucky girl who is as you put it wetting your dick tonight?” I asked and then tilted back my head to allow the beer to cascade down my throat, blatantly ignoring the advances of Lindsey, much to her annoyance.

“Ky and Joshua Crawford, about damn time you showed your handsome little faces.”

Josh didn’t get a chance to answer as the sound of my best friend’s sultry voice filled the space behind me. Ashlyn Hart’s amused eyes found mine the moment I spun around to face her.

“Who’s this?” Ashlyn nodded at Lindsey, who still stood close beside me and had attached herself to my arm.

“Lindsey,” I said. “And she was just leaving.”

“I can’t believe you got him to leave the office.” Ashlyn fired a wink in Josh’s direction, something I chose to ignore, and turned back to me. “It’s good to see you out and about even if you do have
something
hanging off you.”

“Are we getting out of here or what?” Lindsey shot me one last pleading look, clearly ignoring my earlier statement and Ashlyn’s insult and thrust her tits harder into my side.

I shook my head dismissively. I ran my hands through my thick dark hair and groaned as tightness flooded my pants. It was almost like my dick was telling me what an idiot I was to say no to an easy lay. With a huff, Lindsey spun away from me and stormed through the crowd and out of my sight. I felt like a prick because I was thankful for the peace her leaving offered.

“What the fuck was that?” Ashlyn shot in amusement, her eyes bounced back to mine. “I know it’s been a while between fucks but shit that was desperation if I’d ever seen it. I am proud of you for keeping your dick in your pants.”

“Can we at least have one drink in our systems before we start discussing the lack of action my dick has had lately.” I laughed as I turned to the bar to give the bartender our order.

As I waited for the drinks, I tapped the bar with my fingers and hummed along to some random top forty song that was thumping through the place.

My patience wavered. Just as I was ready to cancel the order and head home,
a flash of red gripped tight hold of my attention. Through the sea of men and lingerie clad women, my eyes followed the stunning brunette’s every step. Instant recognition flashed within me, and I took in a sharp unsteady breath the moment she turned around and I saw her face.

It couldn’t be
.

I spun around and leaned my back against the bar allowing myself to get lost in the vision before me. My eyes, full of intrigue and lust, ran the length of her body several times; she was dressed in skinny jeans that hugged her curves like a second skin and caused me to ache in my pants and the red jacket she was wearing opened so subtly allowing a glimpse of her enticing tits. I was completely captivated as I took in everything about the girl in the red jacket.

As she dodged and weaved her way through the crowd, her wide eyes scoped out the room. Loose curls fell over her shoulder and swayed over the middle of her back. She looked so out of place amongst the lingerie covered women surrounding me, yet she was the only one holding my attention.

“Eden Rivers.”

At the sound of Ashlyn’s admission, I tore my gaze from my new obsession for the night and raised an eyebrow in question. “What did you say?”

“The girl you are staring at is Eden Rivers.” The smile gracing Ashlyn’s face was magnificent, and it took me a moment to realize she was holding out my beer. I grabbed the beer and lifted it to my lips desperate for some calm to sweep over me.  

Eden Rivers.

“Fuck.”

I knew exactly who she was.

For the last four years I thought of myself as a walking contradiction. An enigma of society’s belief of what a twenty-four-year-old woman should be like. I am Eden Rivers; daughter, best friend, survivor, and tonight, on a cold November night in New York City, I was putting on my best mask and becoming the party girl everyone should be on their twenty-fourth birthday.

My best friend Tori and I had just spent four days driving cross-country, stopping at all the cliché road stops, taking honorary photos in front of inappropriate signs and landmarks, singing off key to hits of the eighties, and eating way too much junk but the fun had all but dissolved into a smoldering pit of unwanted torment the moment we crossed the New York state line. Now I was back in the city I had promised myself I would never step foot in again.

For the past four years, I had created a safety blanket in San Francisco. My life revolved around taking photos and getting lost in the escapism that it provided me. Most of my conscious hours were spent hidden behind a lens or sitting at my desk overlooking San Francisco Bay editing photos. The thing I loved most about photography was that I could create a different world, a different scene, simply by a few clicks of a button. It was my comfort, and the hundreds of photos I had taken was my therapy. Hiding behind my laptop and a camera allowed me to shut down the fear of being pushed into a situation I had no control over. Control was now everything to me—it was like the breath in my lungs, the beat of my heart—and I needed it to survive. I controlled my life and the people I allowed to get close to me with such a strong shield. I needed that. It was crucial for my ability to function, and it allowed me to create a world that would allow me to find a purpose. It allowed me to be whoever I wanted to be, when I needed to be someone else. The scariest part of my new life was that I had absolutely no clue exactly who I was anymore. Who was Eden Rivers?

Pretending to be someone else was how I survived, and it seemed to be working for now. The best part was that it allowed me to go through life as a blank canvas, transforming into whoever I wanted to be when the need arose and tonight I would have to pull out the big guns—tonight I was back in New York City, I was back in nightmare territory and I had to give the impression that I was having a damn good time.

We stepped through the double doors of Delights, which was described online as a gentlemen’s club with high-class strippers and Victoria’s Secret-dressed girls at your beck and call. It would be the perfect place to escape for a few hours because what man would pay attention to me when there was buxom blonds and sultry brunettes wearing expensive lingerie right at their fingertips.

“Aren’t you glad we came out tonight?” Tori asked excitedly, bumping her hip against mine in the process. “We have so much to celebrate Eden! My girl is twenty-four, and there is every chance you will be surrounded by hot rock stars for the next few weeks. I have a feeling someone is going to get laid.”

Ahh yes, the very reason I had returned and no, it had nothing to do with the promise of getting laid, much to Tori’s frustration. 

It happened three weeks ago when I was on my morning run along Pier 39. The crisp fall air of San Francisco blanketed my body and my mind was busily planning my day ahead which included two fashion shoots for a local designer. As I stopped, hunched over, gasping for air, I received an email. An email with the subject line: Meeting Request. The moment I opened it the bubble that I had created for myself in San Fran quickly started to deflate around me. I had read the email more times than I could possibly count. The words—we want you; amazing talent; rock bands; our magazine—were the words that stuck out, the words that seized my attention. It was an offer that was so unrealistic that I didn’t believe it to be real. This kind of opportunity had the potential to change my life. I still didn’t understand how they had come across my work, but I know that word of mouth was rife in this industry so I assumed it was from someone who had worked with me in the past. So what was the life changing opportunity I was offered, the one reason I had gone against everything I had promised myself and come back to my nightmare? Well it was the chance to shoot the cover and editorial for a leading music magazine that would take my photography global.

Anderson Publications was known everywhere. Fuck, I had been a fan of many of their magazines and spent a lot of time relaxing in the bath with a glass of wine and their latest issue, and the fact that they wanted me was unimaginable.  The magazine they wanted me for was
Bangs and Beats
, which surprise, surprise, was located in New York…the one place I said I’d never return to.

So here I was in the midst of a gentlemen’s club in the belly of New York City with a meeting booked for the following week because I couldn’t fucking say no and I had a best friend who had told me I’d be stupid to reject the offer that was handed to me.

Story of my life.

I stood anxiously beside Tori, enclosed by the safety of women flaunting the bodies they had been blessed with and men whose hungry eyes were locked on every other woman but us. I sighed in relief. The tension in my shoulders escaped. Two things about this place offered the safety I needed. The first, knowing that I was the most overdressed woman in the place and second, that men with this kind of money were only concerned with the women shaking their goods in their faces. Yep, this was my safety net, and this was the reason Tori and I frequented strip clubs and highly exclusive clubs when we wanted a night out on the town. These kinds of establishments offered me the chance to fade into the shadows and not allow myself to get into a situation where I couldn’t control the outcome. Thank fuck I had a best friend who liked to party, no matter where it was.