September: Calendar Girl Book 9 Read Online Free PDF

She held up an issue of Street Bike Magazine and made it dance in front of my face.
    There was a smokin’ hot Playboy Bunny on the cover, dangling over the side of the brand new Yamaha YZF-R1 super bike. The street bike was as slick as the desert highway after a first rain. It had bright royal blue trim and plenty of shiny chrome to blind the eyes of the dudes scoping it out when they should be driving. The bike’s 4-cylinder, 16-valve engine was a technical marvel with its cross-plane crank, titanium connecting rods, and compact combustion chambers. The sexy beast tipped the scales at around four hundred and forty pounds. I’d give my left breast to own something that beautiful. Eh, not really. Well, maybe.
    My eyes started to fill. Damn, I had the most amazing best friend. “Thanks, Gin,” I said, my voice clouded with emotion.
    She crossed her petite and toned-as-fuck legs over one another, leaned back, and laid her arms out wide. “So update me. Where’s Surfer Boy? Why isn’t he here?”
    With that one question, the emotional weight of the world was back on my shoulders. I’d contacted Judi, his house attendant, and even reached out to his sister, Jeananna, and his mother, Claire. Neither had heard anything, and everyone was starting to worry. They didn’t think it was that unusual for Weston to be out of pocket since they’d go a month sometimes not hearing from him, but that fact that I hadn’t heard had made their hackles rise. Me? Not so much. Especially not since we’d committed our lives to one another and I’d moved into his house. We were looking forward to spending time together. He was supposed to be home when I was done in Texas, and then I’d hoped to be able to meet him before moving on to client number nine. I’d heard nothing.
    Finally, I called Jennifer, the director’s wife. She was in her last month of pregnancy so her husband hadn’t left with Wes, which was also why Wes had to go and for much longer than expected. Turned out he was taking on the primary director’s role. Last thing the director heard was from an assistant who’d said things were going smoothly, but they didn’t have any service to make calls or hit the Internet. They were deep in the Southeast Asian islands with a small filming crew, only about fifteen people—one of whom was Gina DeLuca. It made sense, even though it made my teeth hurt and my heart squeeze to hear it. I knew her character was in the middle of a love triangle in the storyline and since one of them passed away, she had to reshoot all the scenes, but that didn’t answer when they were due back or why he couldn’t find a way to make a call.
    “All I know is that he’s deep in Asia on a re-shoot but no additional information has come out.”
    “He should be here, Mia. This is not scoring him any BFF points. Every day he’s not here, he gets higher and higher up on my shit list.”
    I sighed and rubbed at the back of my neck, trying to work some knots out. “Believe me, he’d be here if he knew what was going on. His voicemail on his phone is completely full. It doesn’t even ring anymore, just goes right to the message telling me that the box is full and to try back later.”
    “Do you think something’s really wrong?” Her eyes turned soft and her pretty lips were compressed in a flat line.
    I looked out the window and then to my dad. As much as it pained me to say, I admitted to her how bad I thought it was. “Yeah, Gin. I think something really bad has happened and nobody knows.”
    “Should we call the police or something?”
    “It’s too soon to tell. I asked his family, and they don’t want anything hitting the media if a cop leaks the information, but frankly, I don’t give a flying fuck. The more people who know the better, in my opinion, but maybe that’s self-serving. I don’t know enough about the business to know if this is unusual. I’m totally over-reacting. I’m sure everything is fine. Just fine.” I said it