“He creeps me out,” she whined.
“Sorry,” I replied.
“He wants you to take me there so he can stare at my tits and make suggestive comments about sex,” she complained. “He’s nasty.”
Her boobs were clearly intended to be the focal point of her sparse wardrobe. I had no idea how she expected someone to look elsewhere.
“Nasty or not,” I replied. “He’s the one who hired us.”
“He. Tries. To. Fuck. Me,” she interjected snidely. “He always rubbing his dick when he talks to me. If I go in there wearing this, he’ll probably try to rape me. Do you want that to happen?” She glared at me through the rearview mirror. “Are you into that kind of crap?”
Despite his instructions to do so, taking her to Crenshaw’s office now seemed like a terrible idea. Being creepy in a twenty-year-old’s eyes was one thing. Forcing oneself upon them sexually was another. While I mulled over my options, Mica continued.
“Take me to your house,” she said, appearing perturbed that I’d consider anything else. “Or just take me to my dad’s.”
Pratt rolled down the window and tossed the pillowcase and its contents onto the side of the road. “You can drop her off at my house,” he said, fighting not to laugh. “I’ll look after her.”
I adjusted the rearview mirror and shot Pratt a glare. If she went with him, he’d be fucking her before I backed out of the driveway.
In my opinion, I had only one option. “I’ll take you home with me,” I said. “You’ll be safe there.”
“Safe?” She smirked. “Too bad I can’t say the same about you.”
Anna
Giselle Rinke worked for one of LA’s most prestigious realtors. Beyond her naturally pouty lips and oversized breasts, she was tall, blonde, and irresistibly sultry. She may have been a real estate agent by trade, but she could easily pass for a movie star.
While she and I walked through my parents’ home, I told the tale of the parking lot fling with a silver-haired hunk who earned a living rubbing elbows with Hollywood’s upper crust. Although I hadn’t mentioned Braxton specifically, I’d thrown out a few names of people he’d met and described his line of work in detail.
Having seen all there was to see, we walked back to the starting point, the living room. She lowered herself into the loveseat and crossed her legs.
“His name isn’t Braxton Rourke, is it?” she asked.
I was halfway to the couch. I stopped in my tracks. “This just got awkward.” I looked at her. “You know him?”
“Everyone knows Braxton.” She flattened her skirt against her thighs before looking up. “He’s a local legend, of sorts.”
Hoping to seem disinterested in discussing the matter further, I took a seat and scanned the living room. “I guess you can use that as a selling point for this home.”
She laughed. “You want me to tell potential buyers that the homeowner had sex with Braxton Rourke?”
“No.” I tilted my head toward the front door. “You can tell them that he lives next door. If he’s a local legend, that could be enough to get them to make an offer.”
“He lives next door?” she asked, obviously surprised by my announcement.
“He does.”
Her eyes shot wide. She fidgeted in her seat. “Seriously?”
She was far too excited. My stomach flip-flopped at the thought of her and Braxton doing the dirty.
“You two haven’t—” I wagged my finger toward the inside of her tanned thighs. “You didn’t—”
“Oh. No. I’m just—” She cleared her throat. “A few years ago, I saw him on TV escorting Selena Gomez at the music awards. I couldn’t help but notice that he had a very confident presence. I’ve been intrigued by him ever since. That’s all.”
Despite what she said, her face was flush with excitement. I wasn’t convinced she was completely disinterested in Braxton.
“Intrigued,” I said under my breath. “Yeah. He’s intriguing, that’s for sure.”
“It’s quite a little bonus that he’s your neighbor,” she said. “Did he come over and introduce himself? Is that how you met?”
“No. I was backing out of the driveway and a guy tried to steal my car. Braxton was driving by when it happened. He grabbed the guy and called the cops. While the police were processing the paperwork, we went to breakfast. I’ve already told you the rest of the story.”
“Someone tried to steal your car?” Her face contorted. “Here?”
Having Braxton Rourke for a neighbor may have been good selling feature. The potential of having a car stolen out of the driveway wasn’t.
“Yeah,” I said dismissively. “It was some guy just passing through. I was backing out of the driveway with my window down. I must have looked like easy prey.”
“Oh my God!” she exclaimed. “That wasn’t a theft. It was a carjacking.”
“Is one worse than the other?” I asked. “I guess I didn’t realize there was a difference.”
“He tried to take the car while you were in it, right?”
“That was his plan.”
“It’s a good thing you weren’t hurt.” She plucked a few pieces of fuzz from her skirt and then looked up. “At what point did Braxton show up?”
I envisioned her slinking her way to Braxton’s house after I went back to Oklahoma. Following each showing of the home, she’d take her ample cleavage and full lips with her and sashay next door. Given her level of expressed interest, it was bound to happen.
Considering Braxton’s promiscuity, he’d grant her sexual wish, but only once.
With slight reservation, I gave a few more details regarding the day in question. Elaborating enough to satisfy her wasn’t going to hurt matters. There was nothing I could say to make her any more interested in Braxton than she already was.
“I was backing out of the driveway, and this tattooed guy leaned inside my car window. He was yelling at me to get out of the car,” I explained. “The next thing I knew, someone yanked him away. Then, Braxton came into view and asked me to open my trunk—”
“Open your trunk?” She seemed perplexed. “Why?”
“He wanted to throw the guy in there to contain him.”
She shook her head in disbelief. “That’s got to be the craziest thing I’ve ever heard.”
I laughed at the thought of it all. “It all happened pretty fast. It didn’t seem odd at the time. Not really. He smacked the guy, choked him until he was passed out, and then zip-tied his hands and feet.” I paused and considered what I’d said. “Now that I’m talking about it? Yeah, it seems kind of weird.”
“He locked the guy in your trunk, and then the police showed up?” she asked.
“Yeah. The cops quickly recognized the guy. He’d just been released from prison. The officer in charge talked like the three-strikes law was going to make sure he was locked up for a long time.”
“Hopefully he’ll make a plea deal and you won’t have to testify in court.”