My Rules (Kingston Lane Book 2)
My Rules: Chapter 10

“What?” Herman says. “You don’t believe me?”

“I never said that.” Blake sits back in his chair. “Why wouldn’t I believe you?”

“You just . . .” He shrugs. “I don’t know what that look is on your face.”

“What look?” Blake smirks over at Herman, as if issuing a silent dare.

What is he doing?

I tread on Blake’s foot so hard, I swear his toes must break in ten places.

They stare at each other in a silent standoff.

“These drinks are good.” I hold mine up to Ruby. She gives a weak smile and gulps hers down.

Awkward.

“Looking out for your own. I respect that. You’re all right. Give me five, brother,” Herman says as he holds his hand up for a high five.

Blake fakes a smile and slaps his hand.

“You know,” Herman continues as he sips his beer, “I’ve always had a thing for your sister.”

“My sister?” Blake frowns.

Oh no . . . I forgot to tell Blake that Herman thinks we are siblings.

Ahhhhhh . . . abort mission.

“How the hell do you know my sister?” Blake asks.

“We met at school,” I stammer. “Remember, Blake?” I widen my eyes. “I taught his son.”

“Oh . . .” Blake nods as he catches on. “That’s right.” He runs his hands through his hair as if flustered.

“What was it like growing up with her?” Herman asks.

“Surprising.” Blake’s unimpressed eyes flick to me.

Shit.

“I do love surprises.” Herman smiles broadly. “How so?”

“Well, I guess it’s expected if you live with a champion pole vaulter.”

What?

“You’re a pole vaulter?” Herman gasps.

“Best in the land.” Blake smirks as his equilibrium returns. “She nearly made the Olympic team, but then . . . she didn’t.” He shrugs.

I tip my head back and drain my margarita glass as I try to think on my feet.

“Ruby, did you know that Blake’s first job was in a piercing parlor?” I ask.

“It was?” Ruby gasps as she looks between me and Blake.

“Yes, he did his training in Vegas,” I reply.

“Vegas?” She frowns.

“Yes, they practice on all the drunk men.”

“What did you pierce?” Ruby asks.

“Penises,” I blurt out. “Shriveled-up, drunk penises.”

A swift kick connects with my shin, and I drop my head to hide my smile.

“That’s where I got the idea of being a doctor,” Blake says.

“Because putting holes in things that shouldn’t have holes in them is so similar to being a doctor.” I nod seriously. “Your thought process is truly fascinating.”

Blake glares at me across the table, and I smirk.

“Let’s go to the bar and get a round of drinks, Rebecca.” Blake pushes his chair out.

“Now?” I frown.

“Now,” he snaps as he pulls me up by the hand. “Back in a minute.” He smiles to our dates. He drags me around the corner to the bar. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“What the fuck am I doing? What the fuck are you doing?” I whisper angrily. “Pole vaulter? You couldn’t think of anything better than a fucking pole vaulter?”

“Two cosmos and a margarita and a draft beer, please,” he tells the waiter.

“Sure thing.”

“It would have been nice to know that I’m your brother.”

“I forgot to tell you.”

“And if that dweeb tries to high-five me one more time, I’m breaking his hand.”

“Oh please,” I scoff with a roll of my eyes. “You’re always so dramatic.”

“He is not ex-army. He’s ex–fucking weirdo, that’s what he is.”

My mouth falls open in horror. “What a horrible thing to say. What the hell is with your date, anyway?”

“What about my date?” he scoffs.

“A brain surgeon who looks like Barbie.” I narrow my eyes. “You don’t think that’s a little bit over the top . . . even for you?”

“Are you jealous?”

“Ha,” I spit. “Jealous of her?” I put my hands on my hips in outrage and wobble my head around. “No.”

“Well, you should be,” he whispers angrily. “She’s perfect for me.”

“Good. Go marry her, then.”

“Maybe I will.”

“Ha.” I turn toward the bar. “Wait until she sees your pig-on-a-spit cock. She’s going to run for the hills.”

“What?” His eyes nearly pop from his head.

I throw my head back and laugh. “That’s the best comeback of all time.”

Unable to help it, he bursts out laughing too. “Agreed.”

“Listen, I’m eating dinner, and then I’m getting the hell out of here because I do not like Herman.”

“Good idea.” He nods. “Neither do I.”

“You liked him until he was ex-army.” I put my hands on my hips. “Maybe it’s you who’s jealous.”

“Jealous,” he scoffs. “Of him?”

“Yeah.” I nod. “I think you are.”

“I think you’re on crack.”

“Listen.” I look around guiltily. “When we get back to the table, go to the bathroom and text Chloe and ask her to call me at the table with a fake excuse to leave.”

“Okay.” He nods. “Good plan.”

An hour and a half and a million high fives later, the plan comes into play.

My phone rings on the table, and Blake snatches it up before I can answer it. “Hello.”

He listens. “Hi, Dad.”

I frown. What’s he doing?

“Oh, really? Shit.” He listens. “Yeah, okay.” He nods, all serious. “No, it’s okay. We can do that. We’re on our way.”

He puts his hand over the phone as he plays along. “It’s Nana.”

“Nana?” I frown.

“She’s fallen down a flight of stairs.”

“Oh no,” Ruby gasps.

“See you soon, Dad. We’re on our way.”

He hangs up the phone. “Well, this is a real downer.” He shrugs sadly. “I’m so disappointed.”

I roll my lips to hide my smile. He is the worst liar in the history of all liars.

How have I never seen this before?

“Herman, do you think you could possibly drop Ruby at home?” he asks.

“Sure thing.”

“You two should go for a drink or something,” I suggest.

“Yeah.” Herman’s eyes light up in excitement. “We should.”

Ruby’s eyes flick between Blake and him. “Ahh.”

“Yes, do that.” Blake nods. “It’s only fair. Don’t let us spoil your fun.”

“Oh.” She shrugs. “I guess so.”

Ha ha, sucked in, Ruby.

You arrive in a Porsche with a hot date, and you go home in a pimped-out Kermit the Frog with a serial high-fiver.

“We should get going,” Blake tells me as he stands. “My apologies, guys. Have a fun night.”

Herman stands, and I give him an awkward hug. Ruby stands, and Blake kisses her quickly on the lips. “I’ll call you.”

“Okay.” She swoons. “I look forward to it.”

Blake grabs my elbow and escorts me out of the restaurant and onto the street. “Are you ever calling her?” I whisper.

“Not on your life.” He scrunches up his nose. “You were right. A neurosurgeon who looks like Barbie is overkill . . . even for me.”

As if running from a crime scene, we rush to his car. He opens the door for me, and I climb in. He dives into the driver’s seat. “Now . . .” He starts the car. “Where are we going for dessert?”

Twenty minutes later, on the other side of the city, Blake pulls into a covered parking lot.

“What is this place?” I frown.

“The best-kept secret in town,” he replies.

“What if we run into them?” I look around guiltily.

“Then we run into them. Who gives a fuck?”

“I do.”

“Look.” He turns the car off. “We both know they’re going to be too busy high-fiving all night to look for us.”

I get the giggles as I imagine the scenario. “Poor Ruby.” I open the car door.

“Yep.” He winces as he gets out of the car. “I do kind of feel bad leaving her with that dweeb.”

“Oh.” Disappointment fills me as I realize how selfish I’ve been. “I’m sorry. I ruined your date, didn’t I?”

“It’s okay.” He shrugs. “The fact that as soon as I had an out, I took it is a good indication of where the date was going anyway.” He picks up my hand and links it through his arm as we walk along. We are on a busy street full of restaurants and bars.

“How come you don’t like her? She’s, like . . .” I try to search for the right analogy. “Perfect.”

He twists his lips as if unimpressed. “I don’t know. On paper, she’s perfect. I just don’t feel it.”

“Feel what?” I stare up at him.

“Anything.” He shrugs again. “Baffles me, too, don’t worry.”

“Oh.” I have an epiphany. “You don’t like her because she’s a woman who you could actually fall for.”

He thinks on it.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” I ask.

“I honestly don’t know.” He pushes through heavy dark wooden doors, and we arrive in the coolest place I have ever been. It’s dark and moody with a mix of big velvet couches and cute little tables for two. It has huge pendant lights and a marble bar. Music is playing, and the crowd is eclectic.

“What is this place?” I gasp in wonder.

“Bruno’s, my favorite dessert bar.”

“This is a dessert bar?” My eyes widen in astonishment as I look around.

“Only the best for my champion pole vaulter.” He throws me a playful wink.

I get the giggles. “Where the hell do you come up with this shit?”

“Can I help you, sir?” the waiter interrupts us.

“Table for two, please.”

“This way, sir.” We follow him through the restaurant, and he holds his hand out to a low table in a bay window that faces the street. “How is this?”

“That’s great.” Blake smiles. He pulls out my chair, and I sit down. There are colorful pansy flowers in window boxes on the outside of the bay window, and two long white candles are in silver candlesticks in the center of the table. The waiter hands us two menus. “Can I get you any drinks to start?”

“I’ll have an Irish coffee,” Blake says.

My eyes flick up to him. “What’s that?”

“Coffee with a nip of alcohol. Trust me, it’s good.”

“Make that two, please.” I smile. The waiter leaves us alone, and I open the menu to see rows and rows of dessert. I begin to read down the list.

Chocolate fondant

Raspberry cheesecake

Caramel ganache

Hummingbird cake

Tiramisu

“Oh my god.” I begin to salivate at the choices. “This place is so cool.”

“A personal favorite.”

I glance up at him. “How many times have you been here?”

“A lot.”

“Is this where you bring your dates at the end of the night to seal the deal?”

He gives me a slow, sexy smile but doesn’t answer.

“So that’s a yes?”

“That’s a”—he gestures to the menu—“make a choice.”

The waiter arrives with our drinks. They are in huge glass steins and have froth on the top, and the coffee is layered in colors in the glass. “Oh wow,” I gush. “Thank you.”

“Would you like some dessert tonight?” the waiter asks.

“Um . . .” I quickly peruse the choices. “There’s just so much to choose from. I’ll have the white chocolate cheesecake, please.”

Blake smiles as he watches me.

“And for you, sir?”

“I’ll have the chocolate fondue and strawberries for two.”

The waiter smiles. “Excellent choice, sir.” He disappears out the back.

“I still can’t believe tonight happened.” I sip my hot drink. “Oh, yum, this is delicious.”

“Told you.” He sips his too. “I don’t trust that Herman.”

“Why?”

“Don’t you think it’s odd that he said Don’t you believe me?”

“What do you mean?” I blow on my drink to try and cool it down.

“Think about it. If you’re telling someone a story about where you work, the last thing you would ask is if they believe you. It wouldn’t even cross your mind to say that unless you were lying about it.”

I frown as I think back. “Come to think of it, that is odd.”

“I think he makes up the ex-army story to get chicks.”

“Surely not?” I scoff. “Nobody would outright lie about a job.”

He raises an eyebrow as his eyes hold mine.

My heart sinks. “I’m so gullible, aren’t I?”

“No.” He smiles over at me. “You are trusting. Trusting and gullible are two different things.”

I sit back, dejected. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get the hang of this dating thing.”

“Well . . .” He sips his drink. “You won’t be dating long.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because the first man who gets a chance with you is going to snap you up and keep you forever.”

I smile as I go over his words. “What about you?”

He snorts and chokes on his coffee. “What?” He coughs. “I mean . . .”

“Oh . . . crap.” I cringe in embarrassment. “I didn’t mean you snap me up. As if you would ever snap me up,” I stammer. “I mean . . . a girlfriend for you. I mean Ruby.”

He rolls his eyes as if knowing what I’m going to say next.

“What are you actually looking for in a woman?”

He rolls his lips, as if contemplating his answer before saying it out loud. “I don’t actually know.” He gives a subtle shrug. “Someone kind and honest. A fun best friend to do life with.”

“You’ve never met a woman like that before?”

“Well, I know I haven’t spent a night with her yet.” His sandy-brown hair hangs in curls over his forehead.

“What does that mean, exactly?”

“Well . . . I think I like them, and then I spend the night with them, and I want to chew my arm off to get out of there and run for the hills.”

I smile over at him. “How many women have you slept with?”

“Too many to answer that question.”

We stare at each other as the air changes between us. I can’t put my finger on what the change is. All I know is that it’s there.

“You look beautiful tonight,” he says softly.

I feel my face blush as his eyes linger on me. “Thanks.”

“And now that you’re a famous foot model . . .” He gives me a slow, sexy smile.

“Ha ha,” I laugh. “What about that? Can you believe it?”

“Absolutely.”

“I cannot believe I made fifty-two hundred dollars in one week.” I get the giggles. “I just can’t . . . my mind is blown.”

He chuckles and leans his face onto his hand; his pointer finger steeples up to his temple. His eyes are dark, and his lips are big, and it suddenly dawns on me that Blake Grayson is probably the most handsome man I have ever met.

“How can I ever pay you back for this Foot Finder thing?” I say to curb my wayward thoughts.

“Well . . . there is something.”

“Name it.”

He scrunches up his nose as if knowing this is a huge ask. “Can you come to my cousin’s wedding with me? I cannot handle another wedding with my aunts all trying to set me up with every woman in attendance.”

I smile. I can so imagine that. “Sure.”

“But there’s a catch.”

“A catch?”

“It’s in Mexico. So it means a whole weekend away.”

“That’s okay. I have never been, so it will be fun. When is it?”

“Six weeks.”

“Okay.”

“You’ll probably be all in love by then, so . . .”

“You’ll still come first, Blake, no matter who I am dating.”

He reaches over and takes my hand in his. “Promise.”

I stare at him as the air swirls between us. The feeling of his large hand wrapped around mine makes butterflies swirl in my stomach.

“I promise.”

What the hell is going on here?

This is Blake.

Blake Grayson, player extraordinaire and one of your best friends.

Cut it out.

I snatch my hand from his grip. “Here you are.” The waiter puts my cheesecake in front of me and a huge chocolate fountain in front of Blake.

I get the giggles when I see it.

“And your strawberries.” He lays down long, skinny forks and leaves us alone.

I take out my phone and take a photo. “Here, pose.”

Blake smiles, and I snap photos of him and his giant chocolate fountain.

“You get in the shot too. Take a selfie,” he says.

I try to lean over.

“Come over this side.”

I get up and walk around to his side of the table, and he pulls me down onto his lap and holds me close as he wraps his arms around me.

Oh . . .

His large, hard body underneath mine sends a surge of adrenaline screaming through my body.

With a shaky hand, I hold up the camera and take a photo of the two of us.

“What about now?” He pretends to bite my shoulder, and I giggle as I continue to take the photos. He nibbles up my arm as I try to escape him. “That’s enough.” I scramble to get off his lap, and I go back around and sit in my chair.

He winces and leans back.

“What’s wrong?”

“Having you on my lap made my dick hurt.”

I giggle in surprise. “Is that thing ever not hard?”

“Not when I’m around you, it’s not.” He smiles.

Oh . . .

“Can I ask a serious question?”

“Not a fan of serious questions.” He widens his eyes as he picks up a strawberry and dips it into chocolate.

“I know, but . . .” I smirk. “I can’t believe I’m even asking this, but what on earth would make you pierce your dick?”

He chuckles as he puts the whole strawberry into his mouth and chews it. “Well, the truth is, it wasn’t completely spontaneous.”

“It wasn’t?”

“I’ve wanted to do it for a long time, and when the boys and I were in Bali a couple of years ago, I was going to do it then, but when they brought out the needle, I chickened out and got the hell out of there.”

“Why do you want an earring in your dick?”

“It’s not an earring, it’s a bar, and it’s not for me.”

I frown in confusion.

“Sex for a woman is apparently ten times better with an apadravya piercing, and the concept fascinates me.”

I blink in surprise.

“Because”—he pops another strawberry into his mouth and chews it—“why not enhance the pleasure of my favorite pastime?”

“What?” I frown. “You would put yourself through all this pain just so you’re better in bed?”

He smirks as his eyes darken. “Well . . . if you’re going to do something, why not be the best at it?”

I watch as he picks up a strawberry and dips it into the chocolate. In slow motion, he licks it off. His tongue is long and thick, and a throb of arousal pumps through my sex.

The best at it.

I guiltily snap my eyes away. Okay . . . fuck. I need to get laid.

This. Is. Blake.

Just Blake . . . friend Blake, not a best at it fuck buddy.

“Would you ever . . . ?” he whispers.

“Truthfully?” I ask.

He nods.

“I’d be scared that the condom would break and I’d end up pregnant.”

His face falls in horror.

“You hadn’t thought of that?” I laugh. “Oh my god, aren’t you a doctor?”

He chuckles and drags his hand down his face. “Maybe I didn’t thoroughly think this through.”

“Look, if you want a baby, that is none of my business.” I hold my hands up with a laugh. “I’m just saying, I like it rough, so . . . the condom would be breaking.”

His eyes darken and then drop to my lips as if imagining something. I feel it all the way to my bones.

Oh no . . . Did I just say that out loud?

“I mean . . . ,” I murmur, embarrassed.

“I know what you meant,” he cuts me off.

I take a nervous sip of my alcoholic coffee. “This stuff is making me very . . .”

“Hot?” he murmurs.

“Verbose.” I sip my coffee again, feeling awkward; I really need to stop drinking.

For a moment, we eat our desserts in silence. I’m worrying that I came across flirty, and he’s probably thinking I’m a horny ho.

He could be onto something.

“You know what we should do?” he says to change the subject.

“What?”

“We should drizzle this chocolate all over those money-making feet of yours. Chocolate and feet.” He taps his temple. “Sure to be a winner.”

I laugh out loud and feel my equilibrium return.

“So, when are we going on our next double date?” he asks.

“Really?” I wince. “After tonight’s disaster?”

“Tonight was just a . . .” He shrugs. “Speed bump.”

I lean on my hand as I smile over at him.

“You want to date without strings,” he says.

“You want to settle down but don’t want to admit it,” I add.

“Just . . .” He smirks, and I know that I’m onto something. “Happy to explore my options.”

“Where am I going to replace another date?”

“Ahh . . .” He smiles as he pulls out his phone. “We have two options.”

“Such as.” I keep eating my cake.

“Elite Singles. Or Bumble.”

“Are you on those apps?” I ask in surprise.

“I’m on Elite Singles.”

“Why that one?”

“It’s for professionals over thirty.”

Oh . . .

“What’s that look for?” He frowns.

“I just . . .” I shrug.

“You what?”

“I didn’t realize you were after a professional.”

He frowns. “What do you think a professional is?”

“Someone like Ruby.”

“Not at all. I mean . . .” He breaks into a smile. “Someone like you.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m not a professional, Blake.”

“It’s for people who are looking for intelligence in a partner.” He reaches over and picks up my hand in his. “Or are you looking for a boxer who’s been knocked out two hundred times?”

I snatch my hand out of his, annoyed. “Maybe if he’s got a good dick, I am.”

“I guess,” he chuckles. “That could work.”

“Well, what’s the other one?”

“Bumble.”

“Hmm.”

“It’s a different demographic.”

“Okay.”

“And no more picking you up from your house. From now on, we meet them there. I hate that Herman Munster knows where you live now.”

“Herman Munster?” I giggle.

“That’s right.” He points to my phone. “Choose an app. We’re going through the candidates.”

“What, now?”

“Next weekend.” His eyes dance with mischief. “I’m choosing your date, and you’re choosing mine.”

One date from hell for you coming right up.

I pick up my phone. “Sounds good to me.”

Two hours later

Blake bursts out laughing as he reads my phone.

“What?” I laugh before I even know what he’s going to say. We’ve been in hysterics all night. Who knew going through a dating site for someone else could be so funny?

“Listen to this . . .” He laughs again before he composes himself to read the blurb.

Cuckhold wanted.

He tips his head back and laughs again as he slaps the table.

“What?” I laugh. The thing is, I think we may be delirious by this point and are laughing at literally everything. He tries to straighten his face so that he can spit it out.

Looking for a jockey to ride my friends.

I laugh out loud. “What?” I put my hands over my mouth. “Surely not.”

Blake is laughing so hard, he’s not making any noise.

I have tears streaming down my face from laughing. This has been the funniest night of all time.

If you like being watched enjoying men, by your man.

I’m your guy.

“I don’t understand.” I frown. “He wants someone to bang his friends?”

“I think so.”

“Why would he want that?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “I think he wants to watch his friends get their cocks out, but he can’t let them know he’s into them, so he throws a decoy into the picture.”

I laugh again.

“Excuse me,” the waitress says as she interrupts our hilarity.

“Yes.” I continue to wipe my tears.

“We’re closed, so I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Blake and I look around the restaurant to see that it’s empty. “Oh, sorry.”

We instantly get up and make our way to the reception area, where we pay.

I’m teetering in my heels after a few of those lethal coffees, but Blake’s barely sipped at his drinks all night because he is driving.

We push out of the doors, and I go to walk to the left, and Blake grabs my hand and pulls me to the right. “This way.” He throws his arm around me, and we walk to the car.

“If you make my date with Mr. Cuckhold, I’ll never forgive you.”

“Yeah, well, if you make my date with Miss Instagram Famous, I would rather die.”

We laugh again as we arrive at the car, and Blake turns me toward him.

“You know, sometimes I wish I didn’t live on Kingston Lane,” he says softly.

“You do?” I frown. “How come?”

“Because then . . . we wouldn’t be friends.”

My eyes search his.

“And . . .”

He pulls my spaghetti strap back up onto my shoulder. “And what?” I whisper.

“And . . . we could have just met as strangers.”

Everyone else in the street disappears as we stare at each other.

“And I would have asked for your number.”