July (Calendar Girl #7)(3)
“Maybe he’ll take you for a ride.”
That got my attention. “A ride.” She nodded, her smile so pretty it could be on advertisements selling products across the globe. “Fuck that. I don’t ride bitch, honey; I drive.”
***
Heather gave me all of fifteen minutes to freshen up before she was going to take me down to meet Anton. I jumped in the shower, washed off the day’s travel grime, and spotted the outfit she’d laid out. Outfit was too strong a description. What was sitting on the bed for me was a scrap of fabric, a pair of booty shorts and stilettos that crisscrossed up the entire length of my calf to the knee. I slid on the shorts and checked the hemline in the mirror. A swath of ass cheek was clearly visible to any discerning eye. Fuck me. Turning to the front, the shorts were cut so high the lining of the pocket stuck out the bottom. The tank was cute. It was blousy, tied together by two thin ribbons at each shoulder. Closing my eyes I counted to ten and gave myself a pep talk.
You can do this Mia.
Just over a month ago you were traipsing around in a bikini with Tai and the modeling team. This is actually more clothing than that. Plus, you’re not here for your stellar morals in decency, you’re here to look hot and be a love interest in a rock video. Er, a hip-hop video. A groan slipped out of my mouth as I pulled my hair up into a ponytail. It felt like a million degrees, or maybe my own internal temperature had hit a hundred.
Breathing slowly through my nose and out my mouth I stood and walked out to the living space. Heather was there taking a call. Her eyes took in my outfit from the tip of my toes to my hair. When she got to my head an ugly frown marred her face. Never taking her ear off the phone she moved to me, tugged on the hair tie and let the thick strands tumble around my shoulders. “Better,” she whispered while fluffing it this way and that. Then she snapped her fingers and walked to the door.
“Did you just f*cking snap at me?” The easy comradery that we’d had in the car ride from the airport was blown to bits.
Heather had the good grace to look chagrinned. “Sorry,” she mouthed. “Yes Anton, I’ve got her now.” The words held irritation as if it was a physical thing you could toss up in the air and catch on a whim. “We’ll meet you in the dance room. Yes, five minutes.”
“Mia, I’m sorry. He gets me all twisted in a knot. Unfortunately, he’s on a bit of a tear. Didn’t mean to be rude. Apparently the backup dancers sucked, couldn’t move if they had bees in their underpants.”
I tried to chuckle with her but couldn’t really pull it off. Dread ricocheted down each rib to land heavily in my gut. He would most certainly not be happy when he found out this white girl could not dance. At least I was safe in the knowledge that there were no take-backs. He paid the fee regardless of whether or not I could dance. That was not part of my portfolio, and I’d never claimed it to be.
The elevator opened to a hallway where glass walls spanned the entire length from wall to wall. The regular lights were off in the room, black lights were flickering, and spotlights shone down on several figures, bodies writhing to the obscenely loud beat. A man in jogging shorts and a t-shirt clapped out beats and called numbers to the dancers in what I thought were placements for their feet or hands, but I couldn’t be sure.
Heather brought me in to stand to the side. That’s when I got my first good look at Anton Santiago. Taking in his sleek, muscled form, my mouth went dry; the room around me seemed to throb like a heartbeat as he slowly walked forward. Each beat of the music accentuated the movement of his shoulders, one in front of the other, and twisted his hips along to each hit. His body was covered in slick sweat, from the protruding collar bone, over square pecks and down the highway that was one helluva toned abdomen. Not only was he cut, his body just screamed, “Hold me, touch me, put your naked form all over me.”
He spun around, the back-up dancers mimicking the move, and then he hit the floor…with his body. He did a series of pushups to the beat, then one-handed, the muscles in his forearms bulging delectably. He did another but with an added roll of his hips as if he was humping the ground. Sweet mother…I wanted to shimmy over there and lay down so he could practice that move on a living, breathing, hot-blooded woman. And I was hot. So f*cking hot. I fanned myself as I watched his body twist, turn, and catapult into the air onto his feet where he repeated the hip rolling pelvic thrust to the sexiest lyrics.
“Ride it baby, ride… **body roll**
“With me, I’ll go all night…” **thrust**
“Let me do you right…” **body roll**
“And ride it baby, ride…” **thrust**
His large hand cupped his package, tugging up while his body arched into the air. He looked like a golden-brown god who’d just finished pounding his dream girl and was checking the status of his weapon before going back into a sex-driven battle.
The music came to an abrupt halt. “Okay guys, that’s enough for the day. Anton, we good,” the guy in shorts called out.
Anton didn’t say a word, just offered one cool as a cucumber chin lift. A gaggle of girls clamored up to him with water and a towel. “Oh Anton, you were amazing. So sexy.”
He stopped a few feet in front of me, eyes never leaving mine. Green to green. His blazing, mine turned way the f*ck on. “Leave me.”
“But, I thought after rehearsal we were going to have fun?” The two girls clamored for his attention.