I knew getting through the door was going to be the hardest part of all of this. His name might have been Playboy, and he may have been good with the ladies, but did that mean he let just anyone into his room? Obviously not. “It’s about Billie Jean.”
He tipped his head to the side. “How do you know Billie Jean?”
It was a valid question. Anyone who knew Billie Jean and then met me would wonder how the hell we even knew each other. Billie Jean had a blunt chin-length haircut that was ever changing colors. She loved wearing anything leather, and she had a panache for piercings. It didn’t matter where they were, she loved them. The only holes that were man-made on me were in my ears. My hair was mousey brown, and I favored wearing jeans and sweatshirts. Exact opposites.
“I’ve known her for a while.”
That was a slight understatement. We were twins. I had known her every second of my life. That was awhile, right?
“You didn’t answer my question.”
I folded my arms over my chest. “I’ll tell you if you let me in.”
Whether being her sister was going to be in my favor or not was still to be seen. She talked about Playboy helping her out, but I half wondered if she exaggerated everything she had told me. Billie Jean had a knack of spinning an interesting story that always made you wonder the validity of what she said. The bones of the story were true, but she always put on flair to make it exciting.
“You’re not her girlfriend.”
I wrinkled my nose. “No, I’m not,” I stated plainly.
Billie Jean had a few girlfriends she rotated through, but I obviously wasn’t one of them. Hello, twins. I hoped for the day that she would find the girl she wanted to actually stay with, but now I was worried about whether she would ever get that chance or if she was dead somewhere.
Playboy mumbled and stepped to the side. “I might regret this.”
He wasn’t going to. I slipped into the room and tried to ignore the fact that my breasts brushed against his arm. Focus, Raelyn. “I promise you won’t.”
“You’re not the first woman to tell me that.” He closed the door and turned to me.
I stood next to his bed and tried to not cower like a lost little girl. It wasn’t working.
My hands fidgeted at my sides with the seam of my jeans, and I bit my lip. Not exactly confident and sure looking.
“So, how do you know Billie Jean?”
I cleared my throat. “Uh, how do you know Billie Jean?” Yeah, I was an idiot. Answer a question with a question. Facepalm.
Playboy shook his head and chuckled. He pulled the pack cigarettes out of his sleeve and tapped one out. He stuck it in the corner of his mouth and tossed the pack on the dresser next to the bed. “Can’t believe I left Bray at the club for this.”
Hmph. I clamped my mouth shut to not ask who Bray was. Not my business. “Billie Jean is my sister. We’re twins. And you can’t smoke in here.” Yeah, I had gone from being meek and mild to telling Playboy he couldn’t smoke in his own room. I needed to get a damn grasp on what the heck I was doing.
Play pulled a lighter out of his pocket and rolled his thumb over the wheelie thing to spark it. He held it to the cigarette and inhaled deep. He tossed the lighter in the direction of the pack of cigarettes and blew out a plume of smoke. “You really think I’m going to believe that you and Billie Jean are related?”
I waved my hand in front of my face to diffuse the smoke and pulled my phone out of my pocket. I had expected this. It really was hard to believe that Billie Jean and I shared blood. I pulled up my first piece of photographic evidence. “This was us, senior year.”
I held the phone up in his direction. The photo was from almost eight years ago, but you could see the resemblance between Billie Jean and me. We obviously weren’t identical twins. Billie Jean was slender and had a dancer’s build. I, on the other hand, looked more like a plump couch potato.
Playboy stepped toward me and squinted at the picture. “That doesn’t even look like Billie Jean.”
I rolled my eyes and turned the phone back to me. “That’s because Billie Jean hadn’t found her love for tattoos and piercings yet,” I grumbled. I was going to have to pull out some more recent ones if I really wanted to convince him. “Last Halloween.”
It was a great picture of Billie Jean, but it wasn’t exactly very flattering of me. We had gone as a group for Halloween as the Village People. I was the only one out of the group who took it very literally and dressed up with mustache and authentic manly police uniform. Billie Jean and her four friends from the club had dressed up as a sexy construction worker, sailor, cowboy, biker, and Indian. Can you guess which one of us went home alone that night?
Playboy squinted hard at the photo. “Is that a mustache?”
I snatched the phone away and scowled. “I didn’t connect the Village People as being sexy, okay?” I shoved my phone back in my pocket and realized Playboy was standing right in front of me. “Now, can we move on from the fact that Billie Jean and I are related?”
Playboy again just stared at me. He inhaled on his cigarette. “So you’re related to one of the girls from the club. Still don’t understand what you want from me.”
“I can’t find Billie Jean.”
“She works tonight?”
I shook my head. “I haven’t been able to talk to her for the past four days.”
Playboy moved to the long dresser and tapped his cigarette in the ashtray. “I haven’t seen her.”
“I’m not asking if you’ve seen her. I know something happened to her, and I need your help to find her.” Might as well get straight to the point. I was a duck out of water in Billie Jean’s world. We may have been sisters, but that didn’t mean I traveled in the same circles that she did.
“How do you know something happened to her?”
“Because I just know.”
Call it twin intuition or whatever. Billie Jean and I talked every day. Everyday. Even if she was running out the door to work and I was tucking myself into bed, Billie Jean and I talked all of the time.
“And why am I supposed to help you?”
The next hurdle I knew I was going to face. I got in the door, and now, I needed to convince Playboy to help me. There really wasn’t much I had to offer besides two things.
I reached into my back pocket and pulled out a wad of cash. “I’ve got four thousand dollars.”
Playboy laughed. “So do I, darlin'.” He nodded to the bedside table. “Three in there and five in the dresser. You’re offering something I already have.”
I thought that might be a snag in my plan. Granted, I had hoped like hell I wouldn’t have to offer the next thing. “Four thousand dollars…and I’ll do anything you want.”
Playboy quirked his eyebrow, and a smirk spread across his lips. “Now we’re talking.”
I had awoken something inside of Playboy, and I prayed to God I was woman enough to follow through with my proposition.
*
Chapter Three
Playboy
A deal with a Bastard...
She was different.
So fucking different.
The thing that got me and I couldn’t take my mind off of were her fucking eyes.