Naughty or Nice Read Online Free PDF Page B

bat-cave. A larger crowd was back there lounging and flirting. I circled the bar twice, began feeling kind of stupid for being stood up. Stupid for running into Nick and tripping like that. In my headI was rewriting that last friggin’ moment, not switching into PMS mode and letting any of that old animosity out. Damn, on top of that, I’d been stood up, and didn’t want to do an about-face and go back out there right now, didn’t want to pass by him.
    Then there was a tap on my shoulder.
    A smooth, baritone voice said, “Frankie?”
    This gap-toothed, nappy headed, Buddha-belly brother in a fire-red suit and polka-dot bow tie was standing in my face holding a dozen yellow roses.
    All I could say was, “Uh, yeah?”
    â€œI was getting worried.” He chuckled with glee. “I was wondering if you got lost.”
    â€œI . . . well . . . I was up front.” Everything inside my head started rocking like I was on the Riverboat Queen during a monsoon, no Dramamine in sight. Next thing I knew he had kissed my cheek and flowers were in my hand. “Wow. Thanks for the flowers.”
    He said, “Just in time. Let’s head upstairs before we lose our reservations.”
    â€œUpstairs?” Shit . That meant I had to walk by everybody and be scrutinized by both the gold-diggers and the wankstas. Everybody including Mr. A-List. “Oh, yeah. Dinner. Right.”
    â€œFollow me. My, my, you are looking lovely.”
    Yellow roses in hand, I ghost walked through the main area, past all the glam. Nick and André were at the bar; too busy talking to see me. Irritation was in Nick’s face, enough for that smile to be turned upside down, so I knew he was telling his homie what had happened between us. I had done that with my bitterness. Felt bad, but that was what I was feeling. I pretended that I didn’t see them.
    â€œHoly shit,” somebody mumbled, then chuckled. I looked over and it was André looking in my direction, his mouth wide open, laughter creeping up from his chest to his throat.
    Nick saw me. Just as much surprise in his eyes. I couldn’t look at him. Felt so damn foolish.
    My date led me to the hostess; she took us upstairs to the area with dim lights and candles. All eyes were on us. I would’ve been more comfortable walking with a naked white man.
    He pulled my chair out first, then squeezed into his seat and said, “You look stunning.”
    No, I’m just stunned.
    He said, “You can put the flowers down.”
    â€œOh. Yeah.”
    â€œAfter all of our late-night conversations and e-mails, I’ve looked forward to meeting you face-to-face. Nice to see the face that goes with all of those provocative conversations.”
    I looked at him and remembered what I wanted to forget, thought, oh God, oh God. We had cybersex. And I had actually thought about him—well that picture he had sent me—last night while I was lying in my bed, my hand between my legs, double-clicking my mouse, moaning and squirming and letting out sweet curses, and imagining that me and the man in my mind were going at it like rabbits.
    â€œWell, how was your day, Frankie?”
    â€œWhat?” I cleared my throat. “Oh. Pretty good.”
    â€œOutside of property, any good investments?”
    We talked about technology stocks, then some blue chip names that weren’t doing too bad, mentioned a few old-fashioned stocks, conversation about hot IPOs that were up four hundred percent.
    I shook my head. “Keep away from old-fashioned stocks. I’d gamble on Tyco or Bank One.”
    â€œEspecially Bank One. Very cheap stock.”
    That’s one thing my choices of men and stock have always had in common. Their potential looked great—guess I’ve been buying low—but their value has always plummeted overnight.
    The waiter came back with salads. That broke our discussion. We ate, sipped our wine,