Page 2 of Tempting Frankie (Lust & Luxury #1)

Francesca

I stumble through the door of our shitty apartment, my feet screaming from hours of running around in these god-awful shoes because we have to look respectable and classy. Fucking rich assholes and their champagne wishes.

Slamming the apartment door so hard, the cheap artwork my sister put on the walls rattles, making me feel just a bit better. Fucking Alexander. Fucking Cameron. Fucking men and their fucking games.

I need a shower. I reek of overpriced and pretentious hors d'oeuvres.

“Jesus, what crawled up your ass and died?” Kat drawls from the couch, not even looking up from her magazine.

I chuck my keys onto the cluttered kitchen counter, missing the little ceramic dish and sending them skittering across the chipped Formica.

“Nothing,” I mutter, kicking off my shoes with more force than necessary.

One smacks into the baseboard with a satisfying thunk.

“Fucking rich fucks. More money than sense and not enough dick between the lot of 'em to make a decent vibrator.”

“Uh huh. And I'm the Virgin Mary,” Kat snorts, finally deigning to meet my eyes. She arches one perfectly plucked eyebrow, a smirk playing at her crimson lips. “Spill it, sis. Who pissed in your lavender latte today?”

Flopping onto the couch next to her, I groan dramatically before picking up the wine bottle she’s got on the coffee table. “You wouldn't fucking believe me if I told you.”

Kat tosses her magazine aside, turning to face me fully. Her eyes gleam with that predatory look she gets when there's juicy gossip to be had. “Try me, bitch. I live for this shit.”

I scrub a hand over my face, debating how much to divulge. Kat means well, but her idea of ‘help’ usually involves tequila and bad decisions. Still, I need to vent to someone before I implode. I take a drink off the bottle before spilling.

“I ran into Alexander Steele today, tonight, whatever you want to call it,” I finally admit, staring resolutely at the ceiling.

Kat freezes for half a beat, then grins like a cat who just caught sight of a canary. “No fucking way. Mr. Tall, Dark, and Loaded? Your ex’s dad?”

I glare at her over the rim of the bottle. “Can you not call him that?”

“What?” she says, feigning innocence. “It’s accurate. He’s tall, dark-haired, loaded, and apparently still living rent-free in your head.”

“He’s not,” I snap, though the heat crawling up my neck betrays me. “It was just a coincidence. He happened to be there, that’s all.”

Kat smirks, perching on the edge of the couch. “Sure. So, what did Daddy Steele say? Did he offer to whisk you away in his Bentley?”

“Stop calling him that!” My voice is sharper than I intend, but Kat just laughs.

“Okay, fine. What did Alexander say?” she amends, dragging his name out like she’s savoring it.

Sighing, I sink into the chair opposite her. “Not much. He complimented my snark after I put some asshole in his place, then…I don’t know. It was weird seeing him again. He hasn’t changed.”

Kat raises a brow. “Weird how? Weird as in awkward? Or weird as in, ‘I want to climb him like a tree’?”

“Katarina!”

“What? You’re the one blushing,” she says with a smug grin. “Come on, Frankie. You can’t tell me you didn’t notice how hot he is.”

I groan, pressing the cool bottle against my burning cheeks. “This isn’t happening.”

“So, you didn’t fuck him, then?” Kat cackles, clapping her hands together in delight.

“Jesus Christ. No!” I smack her with a throw pillow but can't help the traitorous heat that floods my cheeks. “You perv. It was just…unexpected. And weird. Did I mention weird?”

“Only about a dozen times,” Kat quips, leaning in closer. “But come on, Frankie. Spill the tea. Cause I think Daddy Warbucks wants to make you his sugar baby.”

I fidget with the ring on my middle finger, trying to downplay the event in my head. “You’ve been reading too much fanfiction.”

“I absolutely have not,” Kat scoffs, wiggling her eyebrows. “Did he offer you a drink? Maybe a…cream-filled pastry?”

“Oh my god, shut up!” I groan, but I can't help the snort of laughter that escapes. “It wasn't like that. We just talked. For like, five minutes. Tops.”

But even as I say it, my mind races back to the way Alexander's green eyes had locked onto mine, how his deep voice had sent shivers down my spine. Okay fuck, I am so not going there.

Kat, always wanting the juicy details, leans in closer. “He's gotta be what, late forties? Early fifties? Prime silver fox territory. Bet he's got stamina for days. He just looks like he fucccccccks.”

“I hate you,” I groan, but the image of Alexander flashes through my mind. “It was just normal, polite bullshit.”

“Uh-huh,” Kat drawls, clearly not buying it. “And that's why you came in here looking like you'd seen a ghost or fucked with no orgasm.”

I throw another pillow at her face. “You're impossible, you know that?”

Kat catches the pillow, laughing, but her eyes narrow. She's like a fucking shark that's caught the scent of blood. “Okay, but seriously, Frankie. What's really going on? I haven't seen you this worked up since...” She trails off, and I feel my stomach clench.

“Since Cameron,” I finish, my voice tight. The sarcasm drains out of me like someone pulled a plug. I fidget with my rings, twisting them around my fingers again. “It's just seeing his dad brought it all back, you know?”

Kat's playful expression fades. “What do you mean?”

I take a deep breath, hating how shaky it sounds. “Cameron's words. The shit he said about my body. How I wasn't...” I swallow hard, forcing the words out. “How I wasn't 'fit' enough for him. Too fat. Not the trophy girlfriend he wanted.”

“He’s such a fucking asshole,” Kat hisses, her hazel eyes flashing with anger, and I remind her about how much of an ass my ex was to me. “I swear to God, if I ever see him again?—”

“It's fine,” I cut her off, but we both know it's not. “It just...it all floods back. And I hate that it still affects me, you know? Like, who gives a shit what that trust fund dickwad thinks?”

Kat scoots closer, her voice softening. “Hey, listen to me. Cameron's words were grade-A bullshit, okay? That douchebag wouldn't know real beauty if it sat on his face and left a snail trail.”

I can't help but snort at that, even as I feel tears prickling at the corners of my eyes.

“I'm serious,” Kat continues, grabbing my hand. “You're fucking gorgeous, Frankie. Inside and out. And any guy or girl, or whoever, would be lucky to have you. Curves and all.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter, but I squeeze her hand back. “When did you get so sappy?”

“Must be all those romcoms you force me to watch,” Kat grins, but I can see the fierce protectiveness in her eyes.

“Now, let's talk about how we're gonna get revenge on Cameron.

I'm thinking we set him up with a plenty of catfish profile, maybe arrange a few top-tier interesting matches to run into him?”

I laugh, grateful for the distraction. “You're diabolical. I love it.”

“I’m serious, Francesca. Fuck Cameron and his pencil thin dick. He wasn’t hitting any walls, and he couldn’t even eat ice cream without blowing up the bathroom. He was an ice cream hater.”

I roll my eyes, trying to brush off Kat's comments with my usual sarcasm. “It was for the best, because every guy's dream is a girl who stress-eats an entire pint of Ben & Jerry's in one sitting.”

“Fuck yeah it is,” Kat fires back, not missing a beat. “Shows you're committed.”

I can't help but snort at that, even as I fidget and pluck the threads coming out of the seams of the cushion. “You are so ridiculous.”

“And you're deflecting,” she says, her tone suddenly serious. “Look, I know Cameron fucked with your head. But maybe fucking his dad would be a good thing for you. A final fuck you, you know?”

The mention of the relationship sends a jolt through me. I jump up from the couch, pacing our cramped living room. “Are you kidding me? I don't need some rich asshole to fuck me and put me back together, Kat. I'm not some damsel in distress.”

“That's not what I meant, and you know it,” my sister argues, her eyes following me as I move. “I'm just saying, maybe it's time to do something you want to do and double points if you can get Cam’s daddy to eat your ass before he sees his son next. But what do I know? I’m just a girl looking out for her sister’s crotch before it becomes covered in cobwebs.”

I scoff, but there's a flicker of…something in my chest. Fuck if I know what it is. “Yeah, because fucking my ex's dad is totally the healthy choice here.”

I'm trying to glare at Kat, but my traitor face won't cooperate. My lips keep twitching upward no matter how hard I fight it.

“Oh, come on, Frankie,” Kat says, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “You can't tell me Mr. Silver Fox wasn't giving you the once-over. I bet he was imagining peeling off that catering uniform real slow.”

“Literally no one was picturing that!” I grab a banana off the counter and chuck it at her head. She ducks, cackling. “That's Cameron's dad you're talking about. It's weird enough without you making it sound like some porno setup.”

Kat waggles her eyebrows. “Maybe that's exactly what it is. 'Naughty server seduces wealthy patron.' I'd watch that, well if it wasn’t you because there are lines I will cross and that is not one of them.”

“I literally am concerned about your mental health,” I groan, but I can't quite keep the smile off my face.

I dodge the pile of laundry I've been meaning to fold for days taking up residence in the middle of our living room.

Alexander's face flashes in my mind—that knowing smirk, the way his eyes lingered. I shake my head, trying to dislodge the image. “It's insane, right? I mean, he's Cameron's dad. That's like…fifty shades of fucked up.”

Kat sprawls on the couch, watching me with that infuriating know-it-all grin. “Mm-hmm. Keep telling yourself that, sis.” She twirls a strand of her dark hair, looking way too pleased with herself. “But I see those wheels turning. You're actually considering it, aren't you?”

I snort, aiming for nonchalant and probably missing by a mile. “In your dreams, maybe.” But even as I say it, I can feel a flush creeping up my neck. Damn my traitorous body.

“Look,” Kat says, her tone softening. “I know Crusty Cam did a number on you.

The guy wouldn't know a good thing if it bit him in his pasty ass.” She sits up, fixing me with an intense stare.

“But you can't let his bullshit keep you from living your life. Or getting spectacularly laid by a hot man who actually sees how amazing you are.”

I pause my pacing, gnawing on my lower lip. “It's not that simple,” I mutter, but the words sound weak even to my own ears.

“It could be,” Kat insists. She leans forward, her eyes blazing with a fierce protectiveness I both love and hate. “Trust yourself, Frankie. You deserve good things. Stop letting that asshole's voice in your head tell you otherwise.”

I collapse back onto the couch, burying my face in my hands. “Fuck,” I groan. “You wise little shit.”

Kat laughs, nudging me with her foot. “I've always been the smart one. You were just too busy being stubborn to notice.”

I peek at her through my fingers, a reluctant smile tugging at my lips. “So, what now, oh wise one? You want me to just...call him up? 'Hey Alexander, wanna grab coffee and maybe bang your son's ex?'”

Kat's grin turns wicked. “Now you're talking. But maybe save the banging proposition for the second date. We're classy bitches, after all.”

“Because nothing screams class like hooking up with your ex’s dad.”

Kat laughs, her hazel eyes alight with mischief. “Hey, it’s not just a hookup,” she argues, still grinning. “It’s…strategic social climbing. Networking through orgasms.”

“God, why do you make everything sound so marketable?”

“Because I’m good at it, duh. I love you but you smell, so please go take a shower. I’ll grab another bottle of wine and when you’re done, we can watch RHONY!” I roll my eyes but she’s right, I do need to shower and reset.

I salute her before getting up and walking toward the small, cramped bathroom we share.

As I peel off my sweaty uniform, I catch a glimpse of myself in the full-length mirror propped against the wall.

My curves spill out of my bra, soft and round in all the places Cameron used to criticize.

Fucking Cameron. That douchebag's voice still echoes in my head sometimes.

“Maybe lay off the pasta, babe. No one wants to fuck a fatty.”

I flip off my reflection. A petty ‘fuck you’ to Cameron and every other asshole who's made me feel less than.

Alexander fucking Steele. What kind of game was he playing, looking at me like that? Like I was something worth savoring.

I shake my head, trying to dislodge thoughts of piercing green eyes and strong hands. He's double my age, for fuck's sake, even if he did look like sex on legs in a tailored tux that probably cost more than my yearly rent.

But as I step into the shower, letting the hot water soothe my aching muscles, I can't help but wonder what those hands would feel like on my skin. What that deep voice would sound like whispering filthy promises in my ear.

I am so fucking screwed.