My Rules (Kingston Lane Book 2)
My Rules: Chapter 9

I drag my heavy eyelids open and inhale deeply. I glance around my hotel room.

Ahh, a morning without a hangover.

Nice . . .

I lie for a moment in the silence, and then I remember something from last night. I reach over and grab my phone and log in to Foot Finder.

STICKY SITUATION IMAGE

IMAGES SOLD: 32 $22.00

VIDEO REQUESTS: 16 $250.00

I blink and try to focus my eyes. Huh?

What does that mean?

I rub my eyes. Wait a minute—am I seeing this right?

I sit up and really focus.

STICKY SITUATION IMAGE

IMAGES SOLD: 32 $22.00

VIDEO REQUESTS: 16 $250.00

Wait, what?

I’m reading this right, aren’t I? I open the calculator on my phone. Seven hundred and four dollars. My eyes widen. What the fuck? And if I edit the video to make sure no faces are in it and let those sick fucks buy it, that’s . . . I do the math again. Four thousand dollars.

I spring out of bed. What the . . .

I immediately dial Rebecca’s number.

The number you have called is unavailable.

Damn it. Why doesn’t she ever charge her stupid phone? I glance at my suit pants. I still have her key in my pocket from yesterday, when she had nowhere to carry it. I’m going to surprise her.

I grab my phone and both keys and walk out into the corridor. I swipe the key on her door and walk in. The room is freezing cold, and she’s sleeping like a baby.

Why is it so cold in here?

I sit on the side of the bed and watch her for a moment. Her long dark hair is splayed across her pillow, and her angelic face is clear of makeup.

So beautiful.

“Bec,” I whisper.

She keeps sleeping.

“Bec,” I say a little louder.

She jumps awake with a start and screws up her face at me. “What?” she snaps.

“I have good news.”

She rolls over and puts her back to me as she pulls the blankets up around her face. “Go back to sleep, Blake.”

“It’s fucking freezing in here.”

“I don’t know how to work the air conditioning,” she grumbles.

“Well, I’m freezing.”

“Get under the blankets,” she snaps. “You big baby.”

I get into bed beside her, and she continues to sleep with her back to me while I scroll through my phone.

I didn’t imagine this, did I?

I log back in to Foot Finder and do the math again.

Nope, I was right.

“You made forty-seven hundred dollars yesterday,” I say out loud.

She’s quiet for a moment as she registers what I said. “What?”

“On Foot Finder. Our icing pic went off.”

“What?” she scoffs as she rolls over in a rush. “What do you mean?”

I show her the dashboard screen, and she squints to read it.

“Do you need glasses?” I ask.

“One hundred percent.” She keeps squinting.

“Are you fucking blind or something?”

“Oh my god.” She sits up in a rush as she stares at my phone, and it’s then that I see she’s wearing a see-through nightdress.

It’s pale pink and sheer, and I can see the coloring of her nipples on her full breasts. My eyes drop down to linger on her cleavage and then lower to her breasts.

Thump . . . thump . . . thump . . . goes my cock.

Pain radiates through me.

“Ahh.” I wince.

This fucking piercing has got to go. I can’t even get an erection without having a near-death experience.

The pain begins to spiral up to my balls . . . Oh, fuck me dead.

“Wait a minute, is this for real?” she gasps.

“Yep.” I wince as I try to will my cock to go down. “Ahhh.” I lie back in pain. Sweat covers my brow.

“What’s wrong with you?” She frowns as her eyes stay fixed on the screen.

“Ahh, this piercing.” I lean back on the bed as my cock nearly tears in half.

“What?” She stops what she’s doing. “Is it really that bad?”

I nod.

“Can I see?”

“You don’t want to.” I shake my head. “I can’t even look at it.”

“Show me.”

I pull the tip of my cock up and over the waistband of my boxer shorts.

Her eyes widen in horror. “You pierced through the entire head?”

I nod as my face screws up.

“Oh my god, Blake.” She jumps out of bed. “You need to take that out. What the fuck were you thinking?”

“It’s supposed to be incredible during sex.” I screw up my face in pain. “Once you get through this healing part.”

It’s then that I look up, and I can see her entire body through her nightdress.

Curves and voluptuous breasts and a small patch of dark pubic hair. My loins begin to tingle.

Thump, thump, thump goes my cock.

Arousal screams through my blood, and this time, it does nearly tear the tip of my dick clean off.

“Ahhh.” I lie back.

“Why is it hurting so bad?” she cries.

“Because your nightdress is making me fucking hard.”

She glances down at herself and then sees what I see. She screams and runs into the bathroom.

I lie in pain. “Can you get me some ice, please?”

Silence.

“Bec,” I call. “I’m dying here.”

“Hang on, you idiot,” she calls. She comes out in her bathrobe and begins to riffle through her suitcase. “I cannot believe you came in here when I was practically naked and then started packing heat.” She storms back into the bathroom.

“Don’t take it personal.” I wince as I lie back. “All boobs make me hard.”

“Oh my god,” she calls. “I’m going to reception to get ice. Stay there.”

“Where else am I going to go like this?”

“To the fucking hospital.”

She marches out and slams the door as perspiration wets my skin.

I’ve got to take this out; I can’t hack it. But . . . the deep fucking I could give a woman with this. Surely I’m nearly past the worst of it.

I screw up my face in pain. I’ll give it three more days.

“Good morning, Nigella,” I say as I walk into the nurses’ station.

“Good morning, Dr. Grayson.”

Nigella is the friendliest, loveliest nurse on staff. She’s sixty in the shade and probably knows my job better than I do.

“How’s my favorite nurse today?” I ask her.

“She is well.” She smiles. “How is my favorite doctor today?”

“He is well,” I reply as I drop into a chair. I open the computer and begin to go through the notes sent through from pathology. She sits down at the desk beside me and writes up some notes. Another nurse walks in. “Hey, Aria.”

“Oh my god, Nigella. I’m reading the best book on my Kindle.”

I keep reading my notes as I eavesdrop.

“Honestly, BookTok has shown me a whole new world. I can’t get enough.”

“Like what?” I reply, uninterested.

“I’m currently reading a fae book,” she continues to tell Nigella.

“Oh man, the hottest recs have been coming up in my feed lately.”

“Me too.”

I frown. “Speak English. What’s hot on your feed?”

“She’s a fairy and he’s a werewolf, and she’s just become a part of their pack to be shared among the alphas.”

“Oh, reverse harem. My favorite,” Nigella replies.

“Huh?” I glance up, my interest piqued. “What’s this?”

“A book I’m reading.”

“There are books like this out in the real world?” I frown, fascinated.

“A million. They’re seriously hot too. All men should be reading this stuff. It would make them a million times better in bed.”

“Where do I read these?”

“On Kindle.”

“Hmm.”

They keep talking, and I discreetly text the boys.

I have intel.

We need to buy a Kindle.

Stat!

Aria and Nigella finish up their conversation, and Aria finally wanders off.

“Tell me, Nigella, if you were going to replace your daughter a nice man, where would you look?”

“A fun man or a nice man?” she asks.

“Nice and honorable.” I think for a moment. “And fun.”

“Hmm.” She twists her lips as she thinks. “Maybe church.”

“Apart from church.” I swing on my chair as I hold my pen in my hand. “Like a nice, wholesome . . . good guy.”

“The marrying type?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Hmm.” She thinks again. “Who is this for?”

“A close friend of mine has a nightmare of an ex, and I want to set her up with someone . . . but he has to be good.”

“Hmm, well . . . in my experience, I wouldn’t set her up with a doctor.”

“Absolutely not,” I reply. “That is out of the question.”

“And I wouldn’t set her up with a policeman or a security guard. They always seem to be on the prowl for extra action.”

“This is true.”

“And I wouldn’t set her up with an unavailable man.”

“Well, obviously.” I roll my eyes. “If he’s with someone else . . .”

“I mean emotionally unavailable.”

“Emotionally unavailable?” I frown. “Meaning what?”

“Well, lots of men think they want to settle down, but the reality is that they like playing the field, so they end up sabotaging every relationship they get into so that they can go back to being single.”

I stare at her for a moment as my mind processes this information.

Hmm . . .

“Sound familiar, Dr. Grayson?” She smirks.

“Not in the least,” I lie as I stand. “Anyway, if you know of any good guys, send them my way.”

“Uh-huh.”

“But he has to be financially independent, good looking, tall, and straight as fuck.”

“Straight?” She frowns.

“I mean, like a good guy. No funny business.”

Neil walks into the nurses’ station.

“Here comes a straight guy right now.” Nigella smiles.

“Yeah, right.” Neil smiles. “Dream on, baby.”

“Dr. Grayson is looking for a straight guy,” she tells him.

“Ohhh,” he teases. “I could be straight for you, Doctor.”

I roll my eyes. “You are an incorrigible flirt, Neil.”

“That’s what makes me so loveable.” He winks before picking up a chart and disappearing down the hall.

Rebecca

The bus pulls out into the traffic, and I turn toward the next line. I’m on bus duty, and afternoons are hectic. “Rebecca,” a voice calls from behind me.

I turn to see the father of one of my students from last year. He was always cute and quiet.

“Hi.” I smile.

Shit, what is his name?

“Long time, no see.” He smiles broadly.

“Yes. I know.” The next bus pulls up, and I gesture for the line to start getting on. “How is Greg doing?” I ask.

“He’s great.” His eyes hold mine as if he has something to say. “Listen . . . I . . .” He puts his weight onto his back foot. “I couldn’t ask you last year because it wasn’t really appropriate.”

I raise my eyebrow in question.

“Would you like to go out sometime?”

“Oh . . .” I’m taken aback. I was not expecting this. “What happened to your wife?”

“We haven’t been together for years.” He gives me a lopsided smile.

“Right.” Shit, I should have known that. “You want to go out on a . . . date?”

“If I’m overstepping, I apologize.”

“No, no. I’m just . . .” Actually . . . this could be perfect. “This is going to sound weird, but would you be opposed to going on a double date?”

“Oh . . .”

“It’s just, I haven’t dated since my marriage broke up, and . . .”

“You’re feeling nervous?”

“Apprehensive, and my brother is in the same boat. So we decided for our first few dates, we would try and go out together, if possible.”

“Oh.” He nods as he thinks it through. “Your brother?”

“He’s a nice guy, and it’s just a thought . . . it doesn’t matter if . . .”

“No, sure. Why not?”

“Really?” I smile.

“Saturday night?”

“Sounds great.”

He gets out his phone. “What’s your number?” I tell him my number, and he types it into his phone. “I’ll call you Thursday, and we’ll make the arrangements,” he says.

“Sounds . . . perfect.”

We stare at each other for a beat, and he gives me a broad smile. “Speak to you on Thursday?”

“Okay.”

He turns and walks off, and I watch him disappear into the distance.

Oh my god, I have a date.

Ahhh. I have to call Blake and let him know all about . . . I frown as a new thought flashes through my mind. A horrifying thought at that.

What is his name?

Ring, ring . . . ring, ring . . . ring, ring. I sit in my car in the parking lot, and I smile goofily as I wait for him to answer.

“Blake Grayson.”

“Guess who has a date for Saturday night?” I beam.

“Really?”

“Uh-huh.”

“With who?”

“He’s a dad of a student I used to teach.”

“The old single-dad trick, huh?”

I giggle. “Yep. So Saturday night for our double date, is that okay?”

“Sure is.”

“But how do you know if you’ll be able to get a date for this weekend at such short notice?” I ask.

“Trust me, I know.”

“Oh.” I frown. Ugh, what must it be like to have every woman in the world fall at your feet? “So, he’s going to call me on Thursday night, and we will tee something up.”

“Right.”

“Who are you going to ask out?” I ask him.

“I’ll replace someone.”

“No time-wasters; girlfriend material, right?” I remind him.

“Bec.” I can almost hear his eyes roll. “I’ll have a date. That’s all you need to worry about.”

“Okay.” I smile as I hang on the phone. “So, what do we do now?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do we strategize or make a plan or something?”

“Oh my god, no.”

“No?”

“We let it happen.”

I frown, confused. “But how do we know what’s going to happen if we don’t plan it?”

“That’s the point—we just go with it and see what happens. I can’t observe you if I don’t see you in your natural dating habitat.”

“Oh.” I nod, feeling stupid. “Right.”

“All right.” He tries to wind up the conversation.

I hang on the line. “Are you coming over tonight to take pictures?”

“I can’t tonight. I have something going on.”

“Oh.” I bite my lip as I listen. “A date?”

“Yes, a date.”

With who?

“Like a . . . just-fucking date?”

“Rebecca.”

“Right.” I shake my head. Why did I say that? “Sorry.”

“Goodbye.”

“Have a good night.”

“I intend to.” The phone goes dead as he hangs up.

I look out over the parking lot as I think . . . hmm, turning him into boyfriend material is going to be a lot harder than it seems.

I pace back and forth in my bedroom. It’s official: I am an idiot.

This is the stupidest idea of all time.

It’s bad enough that I’m going on a date, but to have Blake there judging me for the entire night?

What was I thinking?

And to top it all off, I don’t even know my date’s name. I’ve tried to replace it out. I looked in the files in the office and everything, and all I got was his surname, which I already knew.

Oh god, this is a disaster waiting to happen.

I call Blake. Ring, ring . . .

“Hi,” he answers.

“Hi, everything still okay for tonight?”

“Yeah, why?”

“So you’re meeting us at the restaurant at seven o’clock, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Okay.” I nod. “Are you ready?”

“Just getting in the shower now.”

I glance at my watch. “You’re going to be late.”

“No, I’m not.”

I put my hand over my stomach. “I’m so nervous, I feel sick.”

“Relax, it’s fine.”

“Is it? Because it really doesn’t feel fine.”

“I’ll see you there.”

“Okay.” Then I remember. “Oh, Blake.”

“Yes, Rebecca.” He sighs in exasperation.

“When you get there, can you introduce yourself before I have to?”

“Why is that?”

I screw up my face because I know how lame this sounds. “I don’t remember his first name.”

“Ha ha, classic rookie error. Look at you. You’re nailing this player thing already.”

“Not funny.” I roll my eyes. “Goodbye.”

I see the headlights swing into my driveway, and I take one last look in the mirror.

I’m wearing a cream fitted dress, and my hair is down and curled. I’m rocking a fake tan and high heels, and I haven’t made this much effort in years.

I feel utterly ridiculous.

Knock, knock, knock echoes from downstairs, and I close my eyes in horror.

I’ve changed my mind; I don’t want to go anymore.

You have to.

I slowly make my way downstairs and open the door.

“Hi.” His friendly face smiles.

“Hello.”

“Are you ready to be wined and dined?” He’s wearing jeans and a shirt, and he looks nice.

“Uh-huh.”

He holds his hand up in the air.

Huh?

I frown, and he holds his hand up higher. “High-five it, baby. Hit me.”

I fake a laugh as I give him a high five.

“Touchdown.” He smiles broadly.

What?

Well, if that isn’t the most awkward thing I’ve ever done.

“Let’s go paint the town red.” He wiggles his eyebrows.

Or not.

As we walk out the front door, I catch sight of myself in the mirror. I look like I’m about to throw up . . . that’s probably because I feel like I am. We walk to the driveway, and the blood drains from my face.

All of it.

Every last drop.

His car is florescent green and has a big wing on the back, as if it’s a race car, and it has a huge antenna, as if he’s intending to talk to space.

Only it isn’t a race car or a spaceship—it’s a family car pimped out to look like a race car.

Fuck me . . .

“Isn’t she great?”

“Yes.” I smile awkwardly. “Great.”

“I love my cars like I like my women. Fast and hot.” He laughs out loud, and I’m so embarrassed for him that I laugh too. He holds up his hand for another high five.

I awkwardly slap it.

Help.

I glance up to see Blake walk out his front door. He’s in dress pants and a sport coat and looks like he just stepped out of a magazine.

This can’t be happening.

I practically run and dive into the Kermit the Frog car and slam the door behind me.

Mr. No Name gets in behind the wheel, and Blake casually drives past in his brand-new silver Porsche.

Vroom, vroom, vroom. Mr. No Name revs the engine.

I look over at him. “What are you doing?”

“Showing you what she’s capable of.”

“Wow,” I whisper. “Powerful.”

“You know it, baby.”

Beads of sweat begin to drip down my back. This cannot be happening.

He revs the engine a few more times for added effect as I stare out the window, feeling like I’m in a bad episode of Pimp My Ride. I consider jumping out of the car and lying on the road so that he can run over me. I’ll do anything I can to get out of this date.

Mr. No Name happily chats all the way to the restaurant while I continue to sweat like a pig. We park the car and get out, and then it dawns on me: I want to be in there first, before Blake arrives, so he and his date don’t have to watch us walk in.

This is awkward enough.

“Come on, we can’t be late.” I begin to power walk in front.

“Hold up, old girl.”

My eyes flicker red. Old girl isn’t something I want to hear on a date, you dickhead.

We push through the doors, and I march straight up to reception. “Hi, we have a booking under the name Dalton, for four.”

She looks through her booking sheet. “Ah, yes, this way.” She walks through the restaurant, and we follow her to a nice table in the back. Kind of hidden—good. At least something is going right.

“Can I get you a drink while you wait?” the waitress asks.

“Yes,” I fire back without hesitation. “I’ll have a margarita, please.”

“Oh,” Mr. No Name gushes, “onto the hard stuff, huh?” He holds his hand up for a high five, and I awkwardly slap it.

“Make it a double.” I fake a smile.

The waitress smirks as she writes down my order. She knows exactly what’s going on here.

“I’ll have . . .” He looks through the drinks menu and begins to read every single line of every single page. He keeps reading and reading.

We wait.

We wait some more.

The waitress and I make eye contact, and I try to send her a telepathic message. Poison my drink so I can get the hell out of here, bitch.

She smirks again, as if reading my mind.

He keeps reading and reading, and this is just unbelievable.

Just order something, fucker!

“I’ll have a draft beer,” he finally says.

I stare at him deadpan. Ten minutes of reading, and all you came up with was a tap beer?

Dear lord . . . hurry up, Blake.

“Your drinks will be out soon,” the waitress says before disappearing into the back.

“I’ve been looking forward to seeing you all week,” he tells me.

Oh no . . .

Now I’m a bitch. He’s trying to be nice, and I’m just being a bitch.

“Me too,” I reply. It’s not a lie. I was looking forward to it before he showed up.

Now, not so much.

“Here you go.” The waitress puts our drinks down in front of us and gives me a wink.

Fast.

“Thank you.”

“Thanks, love,” he says.

I glance up to see Blake standing at the reception desk with his date. She’s a beautiful blonde with a figure to die for. He’s holding her hand, and they are laughing at something as they talk.

They look like Barbie and Ken on crack.

Oh hell, just when I thought this night couldn’t get any worse.

I pick up my margarita and take a huge gulp as I glance around for the nearest exit.

He leads her through the restaurant and over to the table by her hand. “Hello,” he says. “I’m Blake, and this is Ruby.”

Mr. No Name stands up and shakes their hands. “Hello. Nice to meet you both.”

He doesn’t say his name.

Fuck. Me. Dead.

“Hi.” I stand, and Blake kisses my cheek. I shake hands with his date. “I’m Rebecca. Lovely to meet you.”

Blake pulls out Ruby’s chair, and she sits down. Her long blond hair is so shiny, thick, and healthy. I don’t remember the last time I saw a natural blonde.

Blake sits down opposite me while my eyes linger on Ruby.

She looks like Grace Kelly, absolutely stunning; this is the date he scrambles to get days before.

“Isn’t this fun.” Mr. No Name smiles. He holds his hand up to me for another high five. “Hit me, baby.”

I want to die.

I weakly slap his hand.

“Wow, you guys are on high-fiving terms. I’m jealous,” Blake says. He holds his hand up to Ruby. “Hit me, baby.”

Ruby goes to give him a high five, but then he grabs her hand and kisses it. “Only joking. Just wanted an excuse to touch you.”

Ruby giggles on cue. “Oh, Blake,” she gushes. “You’re so funny.”

I glare at Blake across the table as mischief dances in his eyes.

Fucker.

I give him a swift kick under the table, and he rolls his lips to hide his smile.

The waitress walks over. “Can I get you two a drink?”

Blake gestures to Ruby. “Ladies first.”

“I’ll have a cosmopolitan, please.” She smiles.

“Hmm, that sounds good. Make that two,” Blake replies. He casually picks up Ruby’s hand and puts it on his thigh.

She swoons into her chair while I want to vomit in my own mouth.

I try to make conversation. “So, how did you two meet?” I ask.

Blake smiles. He’s so self-assured, and he gestures to Ruby to answer. “You go.”

Ruby giggles on cue.

I take another huge gulp of my drink.

“I’m a neurosurgeon.” Ruby smiles. “We met in the children’s ward about two years ago when we shared a patient. We’ve been friends ever since.”

A neurosurgeon?

What the fuck?

How do you get those looks and brains?

“Oh. How great.” I fake another smile and tip my head back and drain my glass.

“How did you two meet?” Ruby asks.

“Well, Rebecca was my son’s teacher last year,” Mr. No Name replies. “And she’s the most perfect teacher of all time. The children all adore her.” He smiles proudly over at me.

I smile in surprise. Oh . . . that was nice.

“What do you do?” Blake replies flatly. “I didn’t catch your name, sorry.”

“Herman. My name is Herman.”

Amusement flashes in Blake’s eyes.

Don’t do the Pee-wee Herman joke, or I will end you.

I squish Blake’s foot into the ground, and he kicks me back. I jump as his kick connects harder than he meant, and he drops his head to hide his smile.

“So, Ruby,” I say. “Wow, a neurosurgeon, so impressive. I’ve never met a neurosurgeon before.”

“Oh, thanks,” she replies. “What grade do you teach?”

“Kindergarten.”

She’s not so bad, actually pretty nice.

“What do you do?” Blake asks again as their drinks arrive. “Thank you,” he replies to the waitress.

“I’m a firefighter,” Herman says. “I was special ops but retired from the army three years ago.”

Oh . . .

Ruby and I smile like giddy schoolgirls over at Herman while Blake raises an unimpressed eyebrow.

Oh, the night just got interesting.