Santori Reloaded, page 13
part #3 of Santori Series
Anthony gave a delighted laugh. “I know, right? I told Jamie they’re sexy as fuck. He did an amazing job.”
I scowled. “They’re tastefully done. Artsy.”
Steve cocked a brow. “Whatever you say.” He leaned in near my phone and made his voice go all deep and sexy. “Anthony, you should come over and celebrate with us before you get too famous.”
Anthony rubbed his belly and smiled. “I’ll be right over. Text me the address.”
“Oh, you’re here in town?” Steve’s excitement was downright embarrassing. “Lucky for you, we’ve got beer in the fridge. And if you’re in the mood for something sweeter, I can make mixed drinks.”
“He’s not old enough to drink,” I said. “And besides, he’s cutting weight for a fight. He needs his rest.”
“Not old enough to drink?” Anthony asked incredulously. “My mom put wine in my bottle when I was a baby.”
Steve laughed, but I wasn’t altogether sure Anthony was joking.
“I’m getting dressed right now,” Anthony said before I could offer any more resistance. “Don’t forget to text me the address.”
After he disconnected the call, I slumped down in my chair. Fuck. As if we weren’t already deep enough in it together, Anthony Rodriguez was coming over. This could not end well. But I couldn’t say anything because it was Steve’s apartment, and he was the one who had invited him.
Steve texted him the address on my phone and then whirled on me. “Why have you not told me about this man? You know how I feel about hot fighters. And this one has just come out of the closet? Oh, God, I have to do something with my hair. He was flirting with me, wasn’t he?”
“Don’t get too carried away. Anthony Rodriguez is the biggest flirt I’ve ever met in my life—next to you, that is. He’s that way with everyone.” After I’d said it, I realized I had no idea if Anthony was that way with everyone. Or anyone besides me, for that matter. But he seemed like the type, so I went with it.
“Oh.” That took a little of the wind out of Steve’s sails. “But he was flirting, right? It wasn’t my imagination.”
“Yes, Steve. If he was breathing, he was flirting.”
Steve leaned a hip on the desk and bit his lip nervously. “Are you okay? I’m getting a strange vibe from you, like I’ve just pissed you off or something. You’d tell me if I pissed you off, wouldn’t you?”
I waved him off. “I’m not pissed. It’s just that maybe having Anthony come over wasn’t the best idea.”
Steve blinked. “Do you not get along with him? Crap, I thought you two seemed friendly enough, and then he was flirting with me. And that ass. It shorted out my brain, Jamie. Should I text him and tell him not to come? He is a little young.”
“No, it’s fine. I was trying to keep this purely professional, but it would be rude to uninvite him now. And he’s probably a little nervous about coming out of the closet. His entire life is about to change overnight. It might do him some good to have some company right now before the interview goes viral.”
“You think it’s going viral?” Steve asked, his eyes twinkling.
“Oh, yeah. And that’s not necessarily a good thing.”
“Why not? You’ll both be famous.”
“Anthony’s next fight is in a week. Against Kage.”
The twinkle left Steve’s eyes, and his lips tightened into an O of understanding. Then he turned and headed off down the hall to his bedroom, waving over his shoulder. “I need to get dressed. I can’t deal with this right now.”
Chapter 15
JAMIE
Anthony arrived at our door an hour later wearing a green T-shirt, tight jeans, and a saucy smirk. His dark hair, which had been in the early stages of bedhead when we’d Skyped earlier, was now slicked back from his handsome face. His regal Spanish features spoke of refinement and good breeding, but there was a hint of barely-restrained wildness beneath his dark stubble and black-fringed brown eyes.
In one hand, he held a bottle of white wine and three plastic champagne cups. When I stepped aside to let him in, he purposely shoulder-checked me. The brat.
“Nice place,” he said, his voice rich and deep. “How long have you lived here?”
I glanced around the tidy apartment that was full of Steve’s things. Bohemian furniture upholstered in a patchwork of bright colors, blond wood furniture, large silk floral arrangements featuring tiger lilies and purple tulips, and clusters of old photos of Steve with family members and friends from days past. There was nothing of mine in the room but a laptop on the desk. Barely a sign that I even existed. “This is Steve’s apartment. I just moved in a couple of weeks ago.”
“But it’s your place, too,” Steve said, breezing out of the hallway in a pair of white leather pants and a form-fitting lavender shirt. He’d forgone the glitter and eyeliner tonight, but there was a slight sheen of gloss on his full lips. He pushed a lock of blond hair back from his face and approached Anthony with an outstretched hand, his fingers long and perfectly manicured. He looked youthful and fresh. “Welcome to our home, Anthony.”
Rodriguez shook his hand and graced him with one of his drop-dead-gorgeous smiles. “Thanks for inviting me. I brought wine.” He held up the bottle.
“I won’t ask how you got that,” Steve said. “Come on in and make yourself at home.”
We all piled onto the sofa with me in the middle, and Steve twisted the cap off of the wine bottle and poured us each a glass.
“It’s just drug store wine,” Anthony said sheepishly. “I didn’t have time to go to the liquor store.”
From our earlier conversations about Anthony’s money problems, I thought maybe there was more to it than that, but of course I kept that to myself. Who needed expensive wine, anyway? I wouldn’t have known the difference between a ten-dollar bottle and one that cost hundreds, or even thousands if there was such a thing.
“To success and fame,” Anthony said, raising his glass.
“Success and fame,” Steve and I both chanted, and we all clacked our cups together before taking a sip. The bubbles tickled my nose.
“Fizzy,” Steve said with a laugh. “It’s good.”
“It was cheap,” Anthony said before downing his entire cup and pouring another. “My parents would be very disappointed in me if they knew I’d brought this. They consider it an insult for a guest to show up with cheap wine.”
I should have just let the comment go, but righteous indignation got the best of me. “Your parents also disinherited their only son for being gay. They’re hardly the best role models.”
Anthony frowned but said nothing.
“Well, I’m an equal opportunity drunk.” Steve drained his own cup before leaning back and propping his bare feet on the coffee table beside the wine bottle. He ran a hand slowly down his leather-covered thigh and laughed. “Cheap, expensive, it’s all the same to me.” He ran that hand back up his thigh and sighed.
Anthony’s eyes tracked Steve’s wandering hand, which I knew was a poorly-disguised attempt at seduction. Bless Steve’s adorable little heart, he was really going for it. I hoped Anthony would take the bait. My roomie deserved to have a gorgeous fighter in his bed, and I got the feeling that Anthony was pent-up and ready to let loose on someone. Maybe they’d be good for each other.
I took another small sip of wine, not wanting to get tipsy. Anthony being here at all was bad enough. The last thing I needed was to get drunk and tell him something I shouldn’t. I only half trusted the guy, and I had far too many secrets rattling around in my brain. Hell, Steve had become my best friend, and even he didn’t know there was another, darker side to me.
The Kage side. The side that was now utterly alone.
“Drink up, Jamie.” Anthony squeezed my shoulder and gave it a playful shake. “This is all because of you.”
I shrugged, feeling uncomfortable with the praise and even more with the way Anthony was looking at me. Like he actually admired me or something. “You give me too much credit.”
“No. I don’t,” he said. “There’s a reason I blew off an exclusive with the biggest MMA blog out there and chose you to do my interview instead.”
“Yeah, because of Kage. Because you knew it would be drama central.”
He downed his second cup of wine and poured another. “That’s not the only reason, but I wouldn’t expect you to understand. You see what you want to see. To you, I’m just some sleazy opportunist trying to get a front-page story. And yeah, I know I came off that way to start with, but I’m not quite as shallow as you think.” He grinned. “Close, but not quite.”
“We don’t think you’re shallow at all,” Steve said. As if he hadn’t just met the guy an hour ago. As if he had any clue who Anthony Rodriguez was or what made him tick.
Still, I couldn’t fault him for trying to put Anthony at ease. It was sweet. I found myself wishing even harder that maybe the two of them would hook up. I knew Steve would jump at the chance, and who could blame him? Shallow or not, there was a reason they called him Anthony “Pretty Boy” Rodriguez, and it had nothing to do with his personality.
Anthony dismissed Steve’s comment with a wave of his hand and looked toward the kitchen. “Didn’t you say you had some beer? These little shots of wine just aren’t doing it for me. I need to guzzle something.”
“Of course.” Steve jumped up off the sofa, eager to please. He ran off to the kitchen and returned with three opened bottles of beer. Then he turned on some music, setting the volume low enough that we could still talk comfortably. “I realize this isn’t much of a party,” he said. “But on short notice, it’s the best I could do. I’m really excited for you. Jamie says the interview will probably go viral.”
“Yeah, and Jamie’s freaking out,” Anthony said with a chuckle. “Right about now, he’s asking himself what he was thinking letting me talk him into this. Isn’t that right, Jamie?”
I smiled faintly. “Am I that obvious?”
“Yes.” Anthony’s eyes were soft and surprisingly sympathetic for a guy who wasn’t shy about steamrolling right over everything I said that didn’t suit him. “I wish there was something I could do to calm your nerves, but I’m not much better, to be honest. It’s scary wondering if you’ve done the right thing.”
“You’re having second thoughts?” I asked, surprise coloring my words. “This whole time, you haven’t shown a moment’s hesitation.”
“I’m just good at hiding things. Don’t get me wrong. I’m pretty confident about it, but I still don’t know what’s going to happen any more than you do. There’s always a chance it could blow up in our faces.”
“Great.” I took a swallow of beer and silently prayed we wouldn’t wake up to a shit show tomorrow morning. Anthony had been so convincing with his unflappable confidence and sharp-edged charm, and I’d just gone along with his plan. But now…
I sighed and chugged half of my beer, then leaned back on the sofa with a wince.
“What’s wrong?” Anthony asked. At my confused expression, he said, “That face you just made. It looks like you’re in pain.”
“Oh. Yeah, my shoulders and neck are killing me. I spent more time than I thought working on that damn blog post. I should have taken more breaks, I guess. That computer chair is like a torture rack after a few hours.”
Anthony finished his beer and set the empty bottle on the coffee table. “Come here.” He spread his legs and patted the sofa between them. “I’ll give you a massage.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “I’ll just take some ibuprofen and stay in bed tomorrow.”
“That won’t help,” Anthony said. He pried the beer bottle from my fingers and placed it on the coffee table beside his. “Get over here and let me rub you down. It’s because of me that you’re hurting, and I want to help. Let me make you feel good.”
Rub you down. Make you feel good.
The words were fraught with innuendo, and the images they brought to my mind made me tense up even more. The thought of a guy—any guy besides Kage—putting his hands on me made me supremely uncomfortable. But my muscles did hurt, and Anthony was probably good at working muscles loose. He was a fighter, after all, and had dealt with aches and pains that put a little computer strain to shame. Maybe I was just being paranoid. Anthony was flirtatious, but it was just his nature. It wasn’t like he’d ever propositioned me.
“Oh, let him give you a massage,” Steve piped up. “You’ve been snarly for months, and I want my happy-go-lucky Jamie back. Maybe those magic fighter hands can do the trick.” He jumped up and changed the music to some meandering New Age instrumental with chimes layered on top of a rainstorm. Low thunder rolled through the surround-sound speakers every now and then. “This is one of the tracks I got for the spa. Let me know what you think.”
“The spa?” Anthony asked.
Steve grinned, unable to disguise his pride. “I’m managing the new spa over at the Alcazar. I used to be a desk clerk, but Kage gave me a promotion when we started working on the spa. I designed it and everything.”
“Maybe you should be the one giving Jamie a massage,” Anthony said, then quickly added, “Not that I mind. I want to do it.”
Steve laughed. “I don’t know anything at all about the actual act of massaging. I just run the place. Kage gave me complete control over the design, the equipment, the services offered, the hiring…pretty much everything.”
“So you make good money,” Anthony said.
Steve blushed. “Yeah. For the first time in my life, I do.”
“And you work for Kage.”
“Yes.”
Anthony shook his head and chuckled. “Kage’s ex-boyfriend, Kage’s employee… Why do I feel like I’m all up in the enemy camp right now?”
I raised my brows. “If I remember correctly, you were the one who instigated all of this. Maybe it was your intention all along to fight from behind enemy lines. Get me to spill my secrets. Tell you Kage’s weaknesses.”
Anthony’s face fell, and I could tell I’d hit a nerve. I felt awful for it. What was I even saying? Anthony may have sought me out to interview him, but he wasn’t some spy. That was my paranoia talking. I was coming to realize that maybe I’d spent too much time in Kage’s world and under Peter Santori’s surveillance, and it had affected my perspective. All of the shit I’d been through since meeting Kage had turned me into a suspicious person, and that was something I’d never been before.
And a murderer, my brain whispered. Let’s not forget that.
Heat rose to my face, and it was as if the two men in the room could hear my thoughts. I looked at Steve, whose biggest concerns were how to run a spa and what color to paint his nails. And Anthony, who had to train for a fight and navigate the choppy waters of a public coming-out. Legitimate concerns to be sure, but theirs were real-world problems. Neither of these men were killers. Neither of them had blood on their hands. Not like me. I suddenly felt very alone in the room.
“I wish you had a better opinion of me,” Anthony said, his crushed expression plucking at my heartstrings. “Here I am trying to win the hearts of millions of strangers, and the people who know me personally don’t even like me. Even my own parents can’t stand to look at me.” He shook his head. “Maybe this was all a stupid idea.”
I wanted to give the guy a hug. I wanted to say I was sorry for being such a paranoid jerk. But neither of those things would work with Anthony. I knew what he responded to, and it wasn’t genuine compliments or pity.
“Oh, boo-hoo,” I said, miraculously summoning a smile. “You fuck with me constantly, and the minute I do it back, you get all serious.” I got up from the sofa and sat on the floor between his legs. “Are you gonna give me that massage or not?”
“I don’t know.” Anthony rested his hands on my shoulders and leaned down to speak near my ear. “Maybe I’ve changed my mind.”
I shot a stern glare over my shoulder. “After all of those grueling hours I spent working on your interview? You said yourself it’s your fault I’m hurting, so get busy.”
“Mmm… Yes, sir.” Anthony leaned back. “I’m warning you, though. You’re about to be putty in my hands.”
I giggled, unsure of whether Anthony understood that particular idiom. “Putty in my hands isn’t supposed to be literal, you know. It means easily controlled or influenced.”
“Silly me. I guess that’s what I get for offering to massage a college graduate.” And with that, he dug his fingers hard into the muscles of my shoulders, eliciting a very undignified squeal from me.
As Anthony massaged and I tried to melt into the floor, Steve curled up on the sofa and shared what was going on with the spa. Then he shifted into gossip mode and talked about a bunch of people from work. Although Anthony didn’t know any of the people, he seemed to enjoy the conversation, and he asked Steve questions to keep him going. As for me, I had indeed become putty in Anthony’s expert hands, and the two voices in the room faded and eventually became indistinguishable from the gentle sounds of the rainstorm track.
Sometime later, I stirred to the unmistakable feeling of someone carrying me. Both my cheek and my palm pressed against hard muscle. Broad shoulder, firm chest. I curled my fingers into fabric that smelled of expensive cologne and man.
“Steve?” It was the first name that came to mind, though I couldn’t imagine Steve ever carrying me. He would have told me to get my lazy ass up and walk.
“I’m right here Jamie,” Steve said from somewhere near my feet. “Oh, watch his head. Don’t bump it on the doorway.”
“I’ve got this,” Anthony growled. Arms tightened around my back and my knees, warm and strong.
“That must’ve been some massage,” I mumbled against the smooth skin of Anthony’s neck.
A low laugh vibrated in his chest. “You were just worn out.” He lowered me to the bed, and my eyes fluttered open to find him staring down at me. “Just go back to sleep,” he said.
