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Author's Chapter Notes:

 

 

*A term made notorious by the Figure Skater vs. Hockey Player training session in the movie “The Cutting Edge” starring Moira Kelly and D.B. Sweeney.* By urban definition it means: “Slow Your Roll” and “Ya Besta Pump Yo’ Brakes”

 

 

CHAPTER 17: TOE PICK


MICHAEL:


This has Justin’s petty ass written all over it! I begin to pace and cuss fiercely, even as the door opened the first time on a floor. I didn’t even realize which direction I had travelled, be it up or down. FUCK! I press the stop button in the cab before resolving to search the entire floor anyway. 


“BRIAN! BRIIIIIIIAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!!!!!! STOP FUCKING THAT BRAT LONG ENOUGH TO ANSWER ME!” 


I stop long enough to try to see if I can hear any sounds other than my own echo. There’s nothing. Absolutely fucking NOTHING! So once again, I get back on the elevator to go to the next floor. Okay, so I’m going down. 


It stops on the next floor, and I repeat the same exercise that I had on the floor before. As I continue on my way down, I’m getting angrier and angrier. No doubt by now they are fucking hard, but… Well, I’ve interrupted them hundreds of times when they have been in the past. So maybe killing their runaway libidos will cause Boy fucking Wonder to mess up badly enough and HE will embarrass himself so much that he’ll take his ass back to New York where he fucking belongs. 


With that thought in mind, my mood sort of lightens even though I’m still pissed that I can’t find them on any floor that I’ve been searching. I don’t even know how many floors are in this fucking place anyway, since today was my first time inside the building. The final time the elevator opens, I find myself in the parking garage. This is something, at least! I mean, Brian and Justin have always loved public sex, and from the moans I hear in the distance, it’s possible that Brian decided that his slut deserved to be fucked out in the open. God knows how many times and people had seen Brian pumping into Justin’s ass against some wall or in an alley, which if you ask me, is very fitting for the whore Boy Wonder is.


If it were me, I would ALWAYS demand a bed. Brian owes me that, at the very least! It would distinguish ME from all his many tricks, especially that fucking blond. I could just imagine us making love slowly, and then finishing entwined in each other’s arms with sweet kisses. I would tell him I love him, even as I fall asleep with his cock still inside me. 


I never could do that with Ben, and not even with David, even though he would hold me, all wet and sticky. But I didn’t want those kinds of moments with either of them really; only Brian. And the fact that Justin allows Brian to fuck him whenever and wherever, instead of the way it would be in my fantasy, just proves to me that the little fucker has no self-worth and no shame. Brian deserves better than that little whore. I AM THE BETTER MAN; THE ONLY ONE WHO DESERVES BRIAN! 


Fuck, I really need to find them! NOW! This really can’t be allowed to continue, so I follow the increasing noises coming from the otherside of the parking garage. Um, it’s interesting that Boy Wonder has finally gotten over his aversion to them. Perhaps that’s something that needs to be thought about a little more. 


I shake myself from that line of thought since it’s too evil, even for me. But what other way would be more efficient in getting rid of Justin Taylor permanently? NO! No, I won’t go down that road, considering Brian nearly punched my head off just for me mentioning that incident a few years ago. And even though thinking about it isn’t necessarily a crime, it’s only a matter of time before it comes spilling out of my mouth... again.

 

And some secrets are better kept by never thinking about them.

 

Bottom line is I did what I thought was best at the time, just like I’m doing now in trying to get Boy fucking Wonder out of Brian’s life for good! I smile as I round the corner, thinking that I have finally caught up with my prey. But the smile quickly turns into a frown as I realize that it’s not Brian and Justin who I’ve caught in the act, but… OH MY GOD! HIM!

 

I head back in the other direction, nearly running for the elevator in my haste to get back to Lindsay to let her know that I’ve just seen Craig Taylor being fucked hard by one of the other artists in the competition. But when I reach the elevator, and press the button for reentry… Nothing happens. I keep pressing, but still nothing! It’s then that I notice a slit in the panel, reminiscent of where a key card to a hotel room would fit. 


Shit, I don’t have one of those, but maybe any kind of flat card would do? 


I start to feel around in each of my pockets, but… Fuck! Where the hell is my wallet?! I reach for my inside jacket pocket and feel my stomach drop down to my feet, because not only is my wallet missing, but so is my fucking phone. I close my eyes, realizing that in my haste to do Lindsay’s bidding in an effort to shut her the fuck up, I placed both items on the workstation that we were setting up. 


Which means she has access to whatever money I have left in my fucking Superman wallet. Oh shit! Oh, shit! The sweat is beginning to drip down the back of my neck as nausea roils through my stomach at the thought of Lindsay having access to… Hopefully, my all time hero- other than Captain Astro- will keep her from using her fucking x-ray vision, which undoubtedly is always zeroed in on MY money!


LINDSAY:


Oh, where the fuck is Michael? I swear, sending that idiot to do what only I could, continues to prove being one huge mistake after another. I can’t afford to keep making them. As it is, I’m handicapped by having to be saddled with that penny-pinching fool for this first competition. I don’t delude myself into thinking that whatever this first round is will go smoothly, because of having to use Michael as my model.   


He has no experience; he’s totally inept even at walking and chewing gum at the same time! There’s no way he’ll be able to do what I ask and hold his position for more than fifteen seconds at a time. But what other alternative do I have at this point? It’s not like I really thought all of this through before I allowed Miranda and Justin to goad me into accepting their terms. Besides, if I didn’t, I would have been disqualified even before today for sneaking into the closed press conference. 


Michael really needs to get his ass back here… and I mean NOW! With my luck, he’s probably whining them to death instead of getting their asses back here where I could distract Justin from doing a halfway decent job in the competition. I take a peek over to see what the others are doing, especially that fucking bitch who had her lips on my future husband. Hmm… maybe it’s time to make that little fact known. After all, she needs to understand that her place will NEVER be atop Brian Kinney!


With that thought in mind, I march over to the workstation being set up on the opposite side of the room. Admittedly, I can see that she’s an attractive woman… Well, in a Mel fixing the plumbing kind of way. The aviator jumpsuit and tee she’s wearing is in direct contrast to the… I gasp inwardly.


No, she did NOT pair that cheap outfit with a pair of Louboutin Grafiti high heeled boots! So not only is this chick going to be working with my nemesis, but she’s wearing a pair of boots that I’ve been coveting for more than a year?!?! OH HELL NO! Seeing her- a lowly assistant- in those shoes just makes me even more determined to remove Justin from Brian’s pockets; no doubt he used Brian’s money to get them for her!


Justin’s art isn’t, and will never be good enough to be able to afford those fucking shoes on his own! Even after he gets his ass back to New York, and I’ll see to it that he does, he'll still just be a starving artist. Under my watchful eyes, sabotaging him for awhile will teach him that he should never think beyond what I tell him to; just as what I planned for Brian will teach him the same long-overdue lesson. But right now, I have to get rid of the woman who thinks she can put her funky lips on MY MAN!

 


Watching her strut within the workspace, it’s not hard to see the undue arrogance in every stride. I see that I’m going to have to put her in her place in more ways than one. Reaching out, and tapping her on the shoulder, “Ah, excuse me,” I say, as she stands there with a notepad and pen. Apparently, she must be an inventory assistant or something.


“May I help you?” she asks, even as she continues to do whatever the hell it is she’s doing. Rude!


“Yes, I was wondering if I could have a few moments of your time. I think you and I need to have a chat.”


“About?” This bitch still has yet to look at me as she pulls out yet another drawer of supplies. Oh, it’s time to teach THIS guttersnipe a lesson in manners!


I reach over and snatch the pad out of her hands before she could jot down another thing. At first she freezes, as if she can’t believe that I’d done it. But then she finally turns to look at me from over her shoulder. That’s right! I will NOT be ignored one second longer! “Now that I have your attention, I think it’s time we get something straight.”


She turns fully to me, removing her earrings as she does. I can’t help but follow the movement, noting how expensive they are. She narrows her eyes at me, before saying, “I’m going to tell you this ONE time, so you best listen closely. I already know what you are…”


“And just what is it you THINK you know about me, huh?”


She smirks, and I just want to slap it off her smug face. “That you are basically persona non grata around here. You’re obviously a bitch, who was cruising in some warped fantasy and started speeding. All that blonde-in-a-bottle and peroxide probably caused some damage to your one already frayed brain cell. So as my one good deed for the day, I’m going to give you a word of advice: Pump your motherfucking brakes before you accidentally-on-purpose run into the business end of my fist breaking that nosy nose of yours."


“Who do you think you are speaking to like that?!” I sputter. I couldn’t help it!


“I thought we already established that I’m talking to a NOBODY. I mean, so what, you were a drunk pity fuck many years ago, Lindsay. Get over it! Your mouth wasn’t a prayerbook then and your ass ain’t no Bible now. That would be like saying you had value and inbred wisdom, which it’s obvious you don’t since you’re over here trying to stake a claim that you’ve never had, and never will. 


“Riddle me this Joker- because honestly, that’s who you look like right now- how pathetic and desperate does one really have to be to keep trying? It’s been ten fucking years already! More than that, really. Hell, most people would have gotten the message that they weren’t wanted beyond friendship within six months, but no! Not you and your little Cousin It, who you order about as if he’s a robot. But then again, you both share the same brain cell so… 


“Anyway, since I’m now bored of this, I’m going to impart a reality check that I really think you need to hear from someone other than the people who have been saying the same thing for YEARS. Perhaps it will sound differently coming from me… Brian has steak and potatoes now, he left tuna alone in college. So now that we have established just WHAT you are, do yourself a huge favor, and stay the fuck away from us.”


“Or what?”


“Or I will be more than happy to show you what these shoes can really do. Got it?”


Before I can respond, a security guard approaches from the side. “Is there a problem, Ms. Hargrave?”


WHAT? What the fuck is he addressing this lowly assistant for?!


“Ah, excuse me…” I begin, only to be cut off.


“No, Andy. Miss Peterson was just about to hand me my board back before she ends up hurt in ways she cannot imagine. And then she’s going to go back over to her workstation on the OTHER side of the room. Aren’t you, Lindsay? Well, that is unless you want to get disqualified now for breaking the rules, and then of course, I will have no choice but to file a police report citing harassment, since I know for a fact you were handed papers that forbid you to even breathe in this direction.”


“You can’t threaten me!” I yell at her. Of course, that draws the attention of the people who I would rather not know I was over here.


“Be that as it may, Lindsay, I certainly can,” Daphne says, as she comes to stand by the bitch I intended to put in her place. “Do you want to see just how far I’m willing to go to do my job, while having your ass bounce when it hits the pavement outside? Please, say yes!” she begs me.


I huff, as I shove the clipboard into Andy’s abs, before rolling my eyes. I’m about to say something else, but the tall witch cuts me off. “Save it, Lindsay. I’m sure you don’t have anything to say that anyone would want to hear. But hey, while you’re standing here, you’re also wasting time. After all, it doesn’t look like your model has returned. Shouldn’t you be spending the time trying to track your flunky down, instead of trying to intimidate people who give you about as much importance as chewing gum?”


I want to gouge her eyes out, or at the very least, argue with her more. I wasn’t able to make my point to her! Rest assured, I will have my chance. No way is some lowly fucking wannabe going to get the best of me!  But unfortunately, she’s right about Michael’s continued absence.


Surely, he’s been able to stop Brian and Justin from fucking by now. I mean seriously, how hard could it be? Justin’s ass can’t be that fucking enthralling! When I reach my workspace, I damn near fall trying to avoid the ringing and buzzing phone which is currently vibrating across the floor. It’s not hard to know whose it is, since it’s playing a song just as annoying as its owner.


Not recognizing the number, I silence the fucking thing and put it at the back of the workstation. Hopefully, whomever was calling has gotten the message that Michael is unavailable. He and I really need to speak about that. When he’s here, I expect his full attention, unless of course he sees an opportunity to corner Brian alone without any of his bitches around him. So, because he’s going to have to focus on being my model, and keeping an eye on Justin’s area, his cellphone needs to be off! 


He has to be able to understand just how much I have riding on this… I mean, we. I can’t have Michael failing in any of the tasks I give him. I roll my eyes as I look at the clock, while noting that Brian and Justin have returned to the area, sans a militant midget pain-in-the-ass. WHERE THE FUCK IS MICHAEL?!?!


And as Justin looks in my direction because he’s no doubt being filled in on the confrontation between me and the rude ASS-istants, I’m disconcerted by the smile gracing his kiss-swollen lips. Brian looks in my direction with the same look on his face, and again, my palm itches to smack the smugness from someone. As if Justin can hear my thoughts, he smiles brightly at my obvious discomfort. Something tells me that I will be receiving an addendum to the stack of drivel they sent to the apartment yesterday. The loud laughter from over there reaches my ears, and all I can think is…


I hate every last fucking one of you! It’s going to give me the biggest satisfaction to beat that little fucker in his own field of expertise. And then I’m going to make sure he gets on a fucking plane immediately. Then it will be time for Brian to remember just who holds all the cards to OUR son. And those are the only thoughts keeping me from going over there to destroy everything.


But I don't have time to worry about all of that right now. I can’t reach Michael with his phone here, ringing every fucking three minutes, and… Awww, the poor schmuck has left his SuperCuntMan wallet behind, huh? Well, if Michael doesn’t show up back here within the next few minutes, then I’ll be using some of the money in his wallet to contract a model for the day… and I most certainly will NOT be paying it back! 

 

 

 

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