Read April (Calendar Girl #4) for Free Online Page A

night.”
    “True. So we invite a coupla the guys and their chicks to the suite, order up some pies and some beers. Fun night in? You in?”
    Beers, boys, pizza…um yeah. “Hell yeah!” I said. “Come on Rach, you gotta celebrate, let your hair down.”
    Mason’s eyes went to Rachel’s golden hair. “Now that’s something I’ve never seen.” His hand came up to her ponytail and spun it around his hand into a fist and let it go. “Would love to see this fuckin’ gold down, curled around your face. So pretty,” he leaned close to her ear and this time my eyes went wide. She looked positively ready to drop to the floor either in surprise or fear. Could be a little of both. Mason sniffed against the space near her ear. “Christ, you smell good. That’s the fuckin’ almond smell I can’t place. It’s you. It’s always been you. Smells so good I could eat it.” He growled into her neck and inhaled loudly before pulling away. He looked at Rachel like a hungry lion before a juicy steak. 
    Then the doors of the elevator dinged and the spell was broken. Rachel moved as fast as her stilettos would take her out the doors and into the New York evening. “Time to head back, get those pizzas and beer. You want to make some calls to your friends, Mason?” She pulled out her phone and ignored the forlorn look on his face. He closed his eyes, took a breath, and climbed into the limo.
    “Yeah Rach, I’ll make the calls.” I slid in next to him and placed a comforting hand on his knee. “See, told you so,” he said then put his phone to his ear.
    ***
    Our suite was filled with Red Sox and oddly enough some Yankees ball players. We’d ordered in a couple kegs of beer and at least two-dozen pizzas that were getting demolished at lightning speed. Women outnumbered the men in attendance, which I found downright strange. It made sense if there was a one to one ratio but apparently, some of the single men offered up the pizza party to some of the groupies and they told other groupies and so on. Now we had women who were dressed normally in jeans and cute tops, and then there were the ho’s looking to get a piece of pro ball player dick in ‘em to mark their bedpost.
    Eventually, the party got a bit wild. So much so that I ended up in my room sitting on the bed getting snockered with Rachel, passing a bottle of Jamison back and forth. 
    “You know, if you wanted Mason you could have him,” I told her blatantly, the liquor loosening my tongue.
    She made a face and a noise with her mouth that sounded like air escaping out of a tire. Rachel pointed to her disheveled outfit. “You think he wants a piece of this?” She still wore her smart grey pencil skirt, but her pink blouse had been unbuttoned and was now wrinkled and half tucked in her skirt. Her hair was cocked to the side and her mascara smudged. I didn’t even want to know what I looked like. I’d since lost the expensive blouse and replaced it with a tank top, though I kept the leather skirt on because I thought it was “tits” as my girl Ginelle back home would say. We’d made it up back in the day. If we liked something a lot we’d say “tits” because very few things were as desired or coveted as a nice pair of boobs.
    Getting up on my knees, I got behind her and pulled out her ponytail. Her long golden locks framed around her face perfectly, adding to her beauty. “Wow. You’re fucking hot!” I said, then leaned over took a sip of the whiskey and passed it back to her. Then I got a tissue, licked it, and rubbed the smudged mascara off her face. “There, now you’re super hot! But you need to loosen up a bit. You’re so worried about everything,” I slurred and flopped back to the pillows.
    Rachel pursed her lips in a way I’ve gotten used to seeing with her. It said she was really giving what you said some thought before commenting. I liked that about her. “Yeah, you’re right. I need to be more like you. Free, young, and ready to take on