We walked into the ballroom amid whispers and darting glances. The place was packed, young professionals decked out in their finest junior partner/corporate raider/banking magnate’s kid check-me-out clothes. And the guys were impressive too.
High schools were the same across the country. This one happened to be set down in one of the wealthiest towns in America, but there are still universal truths. Every single one of the Breakfast Club archetypes was represented here, and a few hybrids as well. And they all had their eyes on Simon.
Who was oddly relaxed. Once we hit the room, his shoulders went back, his stride lengthened, and he cruised. Along the walls were blown-up pictures from yearbooks: cheerleaders, football players, someone in a wig from a play, and someone in a wig streaking the soccer field. And there was Simon, up on the wall with a crown on his head and a hottie on his arm. Homecoming king.
“I just got it,” I said, looking up at him a little starry-eyed.
“You just got what?”
“You were the shit in high school!”
His eyes crinkled, and he blushed the tiniest bit.
“Well, I’ll be goddamned. I wondered if you’d show,” I heard behind us, and as we turned, a strange look appeared on Simon’s face. Johnny Wall Street stood there, backed by the Billionaire Boys Club. All of them great looking. All of them bigger than life.
Simon looked at them all, narrowing down on the guy in the middle. “Henderson.”
“Parker.”
I watched the testosterone spark. If it had been a Western, tumbleweeds would have blown through. But since it was Wall Street . . .
Cue cocaine.
The tension only lasted as long as a chorus of Usher’s “Yeah” before—
“What the fuck, dude! I can’t believe you’re really here! Fucking A, man— Parker’s back in town!”
Wall Street backslapped a now-grinning Simon and pulled him into a giant, swarming man hug amid calls of, “Now, that’s what I’m talking about” and “So fucking stoked that you’re here, man” and “Dude, Tammy Watkins got new tits and they’re fucking huge, you gotta see ’em!”
I stood back and watched as he was swallowed whole by this group of guys. I’d never met them, never heard him mention any of them before, but they knew Simon in a way that I never could.
These guys were there when Simon was growing up, when his entire world was midterms and Jackass and getting some girl to take her sweater off. My money was on Tammy Watkins.
And into this privileged enclave of white-bread preppies came the death of Simon’s family. And Simon retreated, taking the first opportunity he had to remove himself entirely, moving as far across the country as one can for college, short of Hawaii. He went into a profession that took him all over the world, and chose to live in his adopted city of San Francisco. The only tie that he had to anyone in this world was Benjamin, for whom I was more grateful than ever.
But he’d come home, and this family was ready to make sure he knew he’d been missed.
Simon grinned big, shaking hands and high-fiving with his crew, and then he spotted me out of the corner of his eye. “Caroline, c’mere—you gotta meet these guys.”
The penis sea parted, and I walked to the center, where he stood. “This is Caroline,” he started, and I heard at least one wolf whistle. Glad I wore the boots. “And this is Trevor Henderson.” Wall Street stuck his hand out and I shook it, looking up into his handsome face. Warm brown eyes twinkled down at me, not letting go when I was also introduced to Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John.
I’m not kidding. The apostles were all around us. Was it blasphemous that they were all hot? No matter, Trevor was still holding my hand.
“Seriously, dude, she’s smoking,” he said.
Simon removed my hand from his, laughing. “Cut it out, dick.” This guy was harmless. And had good taste.
“Come on, they’re serving dinner soon. You can sit at our table. You remember Megan Littlefield?” Trevor asked as the group moved together into the dining room.
“Um, maybe. Littlefield sounds familiar,” Simon puzzled as we walked.
“It’s Henderson now; she’s my wife.”
“You’re married? Wow,” Simon exclaimed, shaking his head.
“Yep, this past summer,” he said proudly, waggling his ring finger in Simon’s face.
“Wow,” he repeated, and looked at me.
I just laughed and crooked my arm through his. “Come on, Homecoming King.”
We grabbed a drink at the bar, said hello to a few more people, and sat down with his friends. And I say that broadly, because everyone here seemed to have been friends with him at one time or another. As I sipped my cocktail, I watched some of the girls begin to circle. Simon had obviously been a big swinging dick around here, and I wondered how many of them had taken a turn on that swing . . .
I met Trevor’s wife before they started serving dinner, and as Simon left me to go say hello to an old teacher, I chatted with her. Megan had gone to school with them, two years younger.
“Didn’t matter, though; everyone knew Simon. He was the guy every girl wanted.” She sighed, a dreamy look on her face. Then she caught herself, and looked guiltily at me. “Sorry, is that weird?”
“Nope, I totally get it.” I smiled, maybe smirking a little bit. He was shaking hands with an older gentleman, the teacher, I assumed. “So you just got married, huh? Congratulations.”
“Thanks! It was great. We had it here, even though we live in New York now. It was just easier with the families being here.”
“New York? State or city?”
“City. So both, right?” She laughed.
“And what do you do there?” I asked.
“I’m not working anymore. I worked until we got engaged, for the Food Network? I was a food stylist. Anyway, once we started planning the wedding, it was just too hard, commuting here to organize everything, so I quit. We got married at—”
I was seeing stars.
“Sorry, I can’t even pretend to have heard anything you said after Food Network. You worked there! And you quit there! Why, woman—why in God’s name?” I cried, my jaw hanging open so wide it was a good thing we were sitting down. Otherwise I’d trip.
She laughed and raised her eyebrows. “Let me guess. Barefoot Contessa?”
“Yes!” I screamed. Everyone stopped to look at us, and I turned red. Simon looked over from the bar, and I gave him the all clear.
I regrouped. “I mean, yes, I am a fan,” I said coolly.
“Me too. She’s super nice.”
“You’ve met her?”
This time Simon excused himself from who he was talking to and started toward me, Trevor and the apostles in tow.
I know it’s not logical; I know it’s not even physically possible—but I swear on all that is holy, they walked in slow motion. Like in some kind of action movie. Simon took point, Trevor just off to his left, and the rest slightly behind, like geese in a V. Everyone stopped to watch. It was like the sexiest train wreck ever; no one could look away.
I’d say it was quiet enough to hear a pin drop, but music from the early 2000s was on heavy rotation, and 50 Cent’s “In Da Club” gave the boys their own soundtrack. All I saw were the sapphires, and they were laser locked and speaking volumes. I was familiar with this Simon.
Strong Simon. Authoritative Simon. Big Swinging Dick Simon. And on this, I could confirm.
Wallbanger Simon.
He reached our table, sat down next to me with an amused look on his face, and slid his arm around my shoulder.
Oh. My. God. Simon Parker put his arm around me! Like, in front of everyone!
Wait, this wasn’t high school. This wasn’t even my high school. But that didn’t stop girls from throwing eye daggers at me from all corners of the room. I smirked a little, preening with my shoulder candy.
“You want to tell me why you’re over here screaming?” he whispered into my ear, and I melted. But before I melted totally, I got control.
“Your girl Megan here has met Ina Garten, in person!” I announced, looking fondly at her. “You’re my new best friend!”
“I bet I could get you a signed cookbook,” she offered.
“Trevor, your wife is the coolest person ever,” I gushed. “I’m buying you a drink—what’re you drinking?”
“Just club soda,” she said, casting a shy smile at Trevor, who beamed.
I looked between them, then arched my eyebrow at Megan, who nodded. “Congratulations! Wow, that’s great! You must not be far along, you’re so tiny!” I gushed.
“Wait, what’d I miss?” Simon asked.
“She’s only about eight weeks—we just found out.” Trevor grinned, taking her hand across the table.
“Wait, what’d I miss?”
“That’s so great,” I said. “And so soon after the wedding. What a year for you— What, Simon?” He was tapping me on the shoulder.
“I don’t get it. What’s eight weeks?” he asked, looking bewildered.
“She’s pregnant,” I said, rolling my eyes at Megan, who responded in kind.
Simon looked at Trevor in shock. “Dude?”
Trevor nodded. “Dude.”
Simon digested, then grinned wide. “Dude!”
Take a lesson, girls: That’s how you communicate with someone you haven’t seen in ten years.
• • •
Dinner was fantastic, his friends were fantastic, the entire evening was fantastic. Once dinner had been served, everyone mingled again and people were truly happy to see Simon. From what I could glean from tidbits here and there, most of his classmates knew he was a photographer, and some even knew how successful he was in his field. But hearing him tell his story, telling people what he’d been up to over the last ten years, was really fantastic.
And you should have seen his face when the apostles started whipping out their wallets to show him pictures of their kids! All of them, married; all of them, kids; all of them, settled into the good life. The good life that was preordained for apostles from Moneyville, USA. I had to bite down on my lip to keep from laughing when Luke copped to having triplets. Simon looked like he was going to pass out. I just made circles on his back with my hand and sent him back into the fray when another wave of old friends made their way by the table.
No one said a word about his family, and I’d been paying attention, ready to swoop in with my no-panties alternative. They were just all glad he’d finally popped back up on the radar, and to know he was doing well, that he was happy.
After dinner we walked around the room and I saw more yearbook pictures on the wall, including Senior Superlatives: Class Clown, Cutest Couple, that sort of thing. After what I’d seen tonight, I knew he was on here somewhere; it was just a question of where. Best Hair? Best Smile? Best Looking? I could see all three, but it turned out to be the one on the end: Most Likely to Succeed.
“Well, look at you. Everyone knew you were going places way back then,” I joked, pulling him in front of the picture and comparing what ten years did. In the picture he was tall and handsome, eyes bright and hopeful, an easy grin on his face. A little leaner than he was now, of course; just the tiniest hint of a laugh line here or there.
He looked at the picture and smiled ruefully. “I can’t believe they put those pictures up. How embarrassing.”
“No, it’s nice. I like seeing you back then.”
“It’s funny, seeing this now. You know why I got this one?”
“As opposed to Most Fuckable? Because you have my vote for that one.”
“Because I was going into business with my dad,” he answered, his eyes darkening a bit.
“I’m sorry, Simon,” I breathed as he pulled me closer by the hand that’d been on my back all night.
He was silent for a moment, looking at the picture. He took a deep breath. I wondered whether I should tell him about what I wasn’t wearing under my dress; there was a dark corner not too far away—
“No, it’s okay,” he said. “It’s actually been nice to think about these things again. Makes it seem not so far away.”
“Far away, my ass. Far away is Istanbul,” a female voice said behind us. We turned and saw a petite girl with closely cropped jet-black hair, a nose ring, several eyebrow piercings, and the most piercing green eyes I’d ever seen. The tiny black dress, fishnet stockings, and Dr. Martens took your eyes to her body right away, and when you put it all together, the girl was a fucking knockout. With killer arm ink.
“Istanbul, where you left my ass,” she finished.
“Viv Franklin,” Simon breathed, his eyes lighting up.
Uh-oh.
“Left your ass? Like hell! My job was over, you knew I was leaving. You were just too involved with that tour guide to notice.”
“You never could hold your liquor.”
“Hold this.”
“Ha! In your dreams, Parker.” She grinned and launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around him in the biggest bear hug I’d ever seen. He swung her around and actually patted her on the ass. I wasn’t wearing underwear, but I could still kick some butt. Although to be fair, she looked tough.
Setting her down but keeping his arm snugly around her waist, he turned back to me. “Caroline, this is Viv Franklin. Viv, this is my girlfriend—”
“Girlfriend? You?”
“—Caroline Reynolds,” he finished, releasing her to tug me over.
“No shit—Parker’s got a girlfriend. What a night,” she cackled, smacking him on the shoulder and reaching for my hand. I shook it, not sure what else to do.
“Nice to meet you,” I offered, but those two were off and running.
“What are you doing now? Working for your old man?” he asked.
“Nah, I went out on my own. Data mining.”
Oh, she was a miner?
“Wow, good for you. You still writing?”
“Yeah, I just sold a new app to one of the big guys. Niiiiice paycheck, know what I’m saying?”
Oh, she wrote an app for, wait. What the hell did she do?
“I bet,” Simon said. “You know, I ran into one of your brothers when I was in Cairo last year. He was there working on some new system, seemed like a pretty big deal.”
“Oh, you know my family. They’re always on to the latest and greatest.”
“Yeah, your brother was not on to the latest and greatest when he snuck some porn into my backpack when I wasn’t looking. You wouldn’t believe the trouble I got into when I—”
“What the hell is going on? What do you do? Where did you two go together? And who the hell was putting porn in your backpack?” I yelled, for the third time tonight. I needed to get out more; my party manners were out of practice.
“Sorry, babe. Viv and I went to high school together—”
“Obviously,” I said, in a quieter tone. Viv just looked at Simon like he had just lassoed the moon and stuffed it in her bra. Which was already pretty full; for a tiny person, she had a great rack.
“—but I hadn’t seen her for years, until I literally ran into her in a bar in Instanbul.”
“And spent the next week trying to weasel into my tour group. I was on a grand tour, backpacking my way across Europe until I ran into this guy,” Viv chimed in, patting him firmly on that sweet ass. Okay, that was going to stop.
“Yes, and the night I allegedly ‘left her’ she was making out with her tour guide like the world was about to end.” He grinned, rumpling her hair like a kid sister.
Kid sister—I can handle that.
“And now you’re here—I can’t believe it! I bet you surprised the shit out of everyone here. No one thought you’d come back, after your parents died and all.”
I winced, waiting for Simon to tense up and shut down.
“I figured now was as good a time as any, right? It’s been good to be back, you know?” Then he went right on to ask her more about the app she just sold.
Unbelievable.
Ten minutes later, the three of us were at the bar. With shots. They continued to talk, fast and furious, and I began to piece it together. Viv and Simon were friends back in high school, her parents were friends with his parents, blah blah blah. Her father owned a computer software company, and all five, yes, count them, five of her older brothers had gone into the same field. Trying to break out of that mold, she’d gone a different route, studying a general liberal arts curriculum and spending semesters and summers abroad. But the numbers game eventually bit her as well, and she wound up in the family business.
“I hated math in high school. Hated it! But I’m good at it; that stuff just makes sense to me,” she explained to me between shots. “Eventually I went out on my own, small-time initially, but then I got lucky a few times with the right programs at just the right time, you know?”
I didn’t, but I nodded along.
When she and Simon were in Istanbul together, no hankypanky happened. She was real clear on that. They were always just friends, friends who were thrown back together in an unreal setting and bonded quickly.
“Simon’s just that guy, you know? The guy that I might only see once every five years, but if I needed something, he’d be there in a second,” she told me, and I bought her another shot. “He’s a great fucking guy.”
Simon stepped away to say good-bye to someone who was leaving.
“You two seem serious. You’re not gonna break his heart are you?” Viv asked.
“What?” I sputtered, taken off guard.
“Are you?” she asked, her green eyes narrowing on me.
“Is this where you tell me if I break his heart, you’ll break my face?”
“Shit, no— I’ll kill you.” She grinned. I really shouldn’t like this girl, but I did.
“Well, I have no intention of dying anytime soon. Good enough?”
“Good enough for me. Seriously, though, he was messed up for a long time. He tries to be all playboy suave, that whole girl-in-every-town bullshit—thank God that’s over. He seems happy with you, so I’m happy.”
“I’m . . . glad.”
“He and I come from a similar background, same upbringing. If his parents hadn’t been killed, he likely never would’ve left this life. Which is a great life, don’t get me wrong. But Simon always seemed like a guy who needed more. Shitty way for it to happen, but after his parents were gone he went out and explored a bit, did something else with his life,” she mused thoughtfully, swirling her drink in her glass.
“He’s an adventurer, no mistaking that,” I agreed. “You must be too.”
“Me? Maybe once, but now I’m pretty settled. I’ve got my business; it’s doing well—what do I need adventure for?”
I looked at this girl, who looked so different from everyone else in this place. She was almost vibrating with energy; she looked like she could handle anything. And her eyes sparkled at the idea of an adventure. Yet she worked with computers all day?
“Yeah, you look like you’re really settled,” I replied, arching an eyebrow.
She swung her gaze back to me, challenging. “You just met me—how in the world do you think you’re entitled to make an observation like that?”
“You had your hands on my boyfriend’s ass—that pretty much entitles me to call it as I see it.”
“Marry this girl, Simon,” she said without taking her eyes off me. He’d just appeared behind her, something she knew without having to look. “Marry this girl and make globe-trotting babies with her. Like tomorrow.”
She clinked my glass, drained her own, kissed Simon soundly on the mouth, and sauntered off into the crowd of trust funds, her fishnets clashing with the twinsets in the most delightful way.
“Oh, I love her,” I said, laughing even harder when I saw Simon’s face. “Relax, Wallbanger. No one’s getting married tomorrow.”
He studied me for a moment, then grinned. “You about ready to go?”
“Really? Already? You don’t want to stay?”
“I’ve seen the people I wanted to see, and it’s been great. But there’s something I’ve been thinking about all night,” he said, resting his hand in the small of my back and bringing me into his dance space.
“What’s that?”
“You’re not wearing anything under that dress, are you?” he murmured, dipping his nose along my jawbone, making me shiver.
“Busted,” I admitted. His hand moved just south of the small of my back, but not so low as to be indecent.
“Wicked girl,” he breathed.
“Let’s go say good-bye to the apostles,” I replied, making his brow furrow in confusion. “I feel like fucking the Homecoming King.”
• • •
We said our good-byes to everyone, offering congratulations again to Trevor and Megan. Simon seemed to be truly happy for them, and a little sad to say good-bye. Amid promises to keep in touch and last-minute retellings of past glory, he laughed until he damn near cried. The apostles gathered, they wished him well, and made him swear he wouldn’t stay away so long. He promised to return.
We finally saw Tammy Watkins. And they were indeed huge.
Simon and Viv exchanged phone numbers, then she hugged him tightly.
We made the quick drive back to our hotel, his hand tangled with mine on the console in between, his thumb making tiny circles on the inside of my palm. When his eyes met mine, they burned. We didn’t speak much, and when we walked down the hallway to our room, he kept that hand solidly in the small of my back.
Once inside the room however, that hand roamed.
I was pressed up against the inside of the door, his mouth fierce and demanding. My hands went to his shoulders immediately, struggling to remove his coat. “Do you know how intoxicating tonight was for me?” I said, panting. His hands closed briefly around my throat as he turned my face to kiss my neck. Mmm, possessive. I wanted to be possessed by this man, tonight and every night. “To watch all those women, all those girls who probably had their first orgasm back in high school thinking about you.”
He pulled back to look at me, full of crazy lust.
“Half the women there tonight wanted to fuck you, Simon—but they don’t get to.” I undid his buttons, yanking when my fingers wouldn’t work fast enough. “I do.”
He had me out of the dress in seconds, bra off a second after. “Leave the boots,” he instructed, undoing his pants. “And get on the bed.”
I laid back, the cool comforter sliding against my heated skin. He appeared over me, shirt gone, pants unbuckled, hair tousled from my frantic hands. He looked down at me, his eyes raking over my body as I shivered just from his look alone.
“You’re fucking stunning,” he murmured, pulling himself out of his pants and stroking the long length. “You have no idea, do you?”
“Christ, Simon,” I breathed, watching him run his hands up and down his cock, pumping firmly.
“Spread your legs for me,” he instructed, and my knees fell open as though he’d cast a spell. “Touch yourself, Caroline.”
My heart exploded out of my chest, desire pulsing through me at the thought that he wanted to watch me. My hands drifted down to my breasts, circling with my fingers and just barely grazing my nipples. They stiffened instantly, and I closed my eyes. I could see the way Simon looked when he was nuzzling me, torturing me with his tongue and nibbling with those damnable teeth. I pinched my nipples, imagining his mouth, sucking and teasing with pleasure than bordered on pain.
“Lower,” he commanded, and my back bowed off the bed once more. I let my right hand travel farther south, dipping down to discover I was soaked for him, big surprise. At the first pass with my fingers, he took a staggered breath. At the second pass I brushed against my clit, taking my own staggered breath as my knees closed the tiniest bit, the sensations overwhelming.
“Ah-ah-ah, keep those legs open,” he said, and I felt his hands on my knees, just barely on the inside of my thighs. “How else can I see you make yourself come?”
I cried out, my hand now exploring my sex with abandon. Behind closed eyes, I felt Simon’s fingers swirling through and plunging inside, making those perfect circles exactly where I needed him, pressing and slipping and sliding.
I was going to come, and I was going to come hard. I told him so.
I opened my eyes to see Simon staring down at me, his eyes heavy lidded and drunk with lust, his fist moving over his own excitement. I came in a rush, one hand on my breasts, my fingers buried deep inside, and his name falling from my lips. I’d barely recovered when he moved his hands underneath me.
“Turn over—get on your hands and knees for me.” His voice was throaty and full, making me shudder once more. I did as directed and turned back to look at him. One strong hand shot out to grasp my shoulder, the other smoothed over my bottom. Angled just so, he thrust into me in one hard surge, burying his considerable length all at once. I groaned as he pushed me farther down onto the bed before his hands settled on my hips.
He plowed into me, hard and thick, impaling me with every pump of his hips. Unrelenting. Unforgiving. Unbelievable.
He took me hard, sexy, and wild. I cried out as I came all around him, my swollen flesh tender and responsive to his every move, his every plunge. Sparks burst behind my eyes, my entire body caught up as he thrust into me.
“You can’t imagine, how it feels,” he said, his voice low in my ear as he leaned over me, “to have you come on my cock.”
I exploded once more as he drove himself into me a final time, his hands digging into my skin as he rode out his orgasm deep within me.
We fell onto the bed into a heap of sweaty skin and heavy breathing. After I regained use of my limbs, I struggled to roll us both over, pushing the mass of my hair out of my face as I rested my chin on his chest. “If I get a cheerleading uniform, can we play Homecoming King again sometime?”
“As long as you wear the boots, babe,” he replied, kissing me thoroughly.
We didn’t play Homecoming King again that night, but we did play Reverse Cowgirl meets the Student Council President.
