Man Juice Read online

  “Okay,” she grins. “I don’t mind a compliment.”

  “So, I’m going to ask the million-dollar question,” I begin.

  “What?”

  Molly places her fork gently on her plate and wraps the blankets tighter around her waist. I know she’s about to let herself be vulnerable.

  “Why the fuck are you still single?”

  Molly doesn’t answer right away. She looks up at the ceiling, then back at me.

  “I ask myself the very same question all the time,” she chuckles. “Not all men can handle me. I guess that’s part of the problem.”

  “What do you mean?” I shake my head.

  “You know…because of the fact that I’m a business-oriented woman and all…” She trails off and cuts into her steak again.

  “You’re all business in the bed, that’s for sure.” I wink at her.

  “Is everything all sex all the time with you?” She teases with a grin on her face.

  “Yeah, pretty much.” I opt for honesty here.

  “It was pretty great,” she says and gazes dreamily into space as if she’s recounting it in her head.

  “So, am I worth the risk?” I toss her a playful yet mischievous smile.

  “So far, so good,” she responds and bites her bottom lip.

  We lock eyes, and my heart flips. Fuck, she’s a show stopper for sure.

  11

  Molly

  Owen stands up and grabs another bottle of wine from the rack in his kitchen as we are finishing up dinner together.

  “Want some more?” He holds up the bottle.

  I really shouldn’t, but for some strange reason I can’t say no to him, no matter how hard my brain screams at me to stop what I’m doing and call a fucking cab to go home.

  “Yes,” I respond, and my brain forces me to nod, completely ignoring the rest of my mental breakdown asking me to do the opposite.

  “I have a question for you now,” I say as he pours more pinot noir into my wine glass. It makes a glugging sound as it hits the round inside.

  “Okay, what is it?” He grins at me with a sparkle in his eyes.

  “Why did you come to my office to meet with me this morning? I mean up until then, we were total fucking strangers.”

  I can’t help but allow my curiosity to get the better of me in this situation, but I want answers dammit.

  “Honestly?” He places the wine bottle on the counter and grins.

  “Yeah, duh,” I tease.

  “Well,” he crosses one leg over the other and bends his knee as he sits at the barstool across from me, “I saw you in that magazine. Do you know which one I’m talking about? You know…the one with the article on the ten most successful women under thirty years of age?”

  I nod, understanding now. “Yes, right I forgot I did that feature,” I shake my head and face palm myself.

  “You’re incredible,” he admits.

  “I’m glad you can know everything about me by reading a single article,” I joke.

  “Hey now, we are getting to know each other, aren’t we?” Owen grins and holds his arms up defensively.

  “I guess.” I shrug and smile, looking at the floor. “I like your hardwoods.”

  “Did you just say you like my hard wood?” He laughs.

  “I mean the floors, asshole!” I roar with laughter and point to the beautiful Brazilian wood in Owen’s kitchen.

  “So, is that a no on my other hard wood?” he asks, laughing at his own stupid sexual innuendo quips.

  I feel myself blush. “That wood is pretty fucking fantastic, too.”

  “Just what I want to hear.” Owen winks, clicking his tongue and pointing at me.

  “You sure know how to reel them in, don’t you?” I drone sarcastically, but I’m playful, meaning it all in good fun.

  “Absolutely,” he says, full of cocky arrogance.

  “Well, I’m glad somebody respects my success as a younger female in the business world,” I say, and sigh dramatically, feeling sorry for myself.

  “Why is that?” His features soften.

  “My father thinks I’m a fucking joke.” I roll my eyes and cross my legs, taking a huge gulp of my wine.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” he says. “Parents are the fucking worst sometimes.”

  “Thank you!” I shout and slap my knee. “Finally, someone else understands the struggle.”

  ‘It’s real.” He winks at me.

  I rub my arms, keeping the blanket wrapped around my naked body underneath.

  Owen notices and apparently decides to continue his chivalric streak. “Would you like to borrow one of my sweatshirts? It’s oversized, so it will probably cover you all the way up.”

  I smile at him. “Thank you, yes, that would be great.”

  Owen retrieves it and brings it back for me, and I pull it over my head.

  “It’s warm and snug,” I confess.

  “Great,” he says and gestures to the couch. “Would you like to come sit with me?” His eyes are full of mischief.

  “That depends,” I say with a teasing grin. “Is the wine invited?”

  “Of course.” He picks it up and pats the bottom.

  “Then okay, sure,” I say.

  “So, what is this business with your dad?” Owen questions me.

  “He’s a fucking jerk face.” I snort as if I’m in the fourth grade.

  “Why?” Owen’s face etches concern.

  I blow out a puff of air and look at the ceiling, watching the fan blades spin around and around.

  “He doesn’t take me seriously. It’s like he ignores me completely and gives everything to my fucking loser older brother.”

  I’m bitter, and I know that Owen’s getting a first taste at how sour I can be about this sensitive situation.

  “Is your dad the owner of a business?” he asks.

  “Yep,” I nod. “He’s in the ‘entertainment’ industry,” I say with air quotes. “Ever heard of Quinn Industries?”

  “Yes,” Owen admits, and he looks a little serious for a fleeting second.

  “I don’t usually talk about my problems with my father to anyone,” I confess.

  “Thank you for venting to me,” he says. “I appreciate how you trust me.”

  “You’re surprisingly easy to talk to.” I glance up at him and smile.

  “I’m going to take that as a compliment, but I’m guessing given my track record with women, it probably could be construed either way,” he laughs.

  “You seem like a nice guy,” I admit with a shrug. “So, what about you?”

  I face him on the couch and lean my arm against the back while I hold my wine glass in the other hand.

  “What about me?” Owen fidgets.

  “What’s your family like? On a scale of one to ten. Ten being totally batshit crazy and one being loving and normal,” I say playfully, eager to learn more about him.

  “Maybe somewhere in the middle,” Owen chuckles, and for the first time ever, I can read a slight apprehensive energy expelling from him.

  “So, you can relate to me?” I ask.

  Owen shrugs. “Kind of, I guess. I am considered the black sheep of my family, there’s no denying that.” He looks down at his feet.

  “Join the club,” I say in a joking tone, but he just gives me a half smile.

  “My parents don’t approve of either my lifestyle or my chosen profession,” Owen says bitterly.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” I say in shock. “You’re totally successful, and I’ve seen like…every one of your movies.”

  I feel giddy and comfortable with him, and my playfulness is rising, thanks to the alcohol currently taking the lazy river stroll through my veins right now.

  “Apparently, that’s not good enough for Martha and Joshua Wolfe,” he states sarcastically.

  “Well, what the fuck makes them so special?” I ask.

  “They’re doctors.” Owen rolls his eyes.

  “They wanted you to be a doc
tor, too?” I guess.

  “Ding, ding, ding, we have a winner.” Owen points to me and uses a game show host voice.

  “I’m sorry.” I shake my head. At least we can relate to each other as we drink ourselves to oblivion, thinking about our failures to our parents.

  Owen looks at me with crystal clear genuine affection. “You’re fucking cute,” he says and grins.

  “You aren’t bad to look at either,” I joke.

  “I don’t usually have this much fun,” Owen admits.

  “You mean with another girl or with life in general?” I tease.

  “Maybe a little bit of both.” He smiles.

  “I’ll drink to that,” I say and guzzle down the remainder of the wine in my glass.

  All my reservations and intuition regarding decent life choices are cast to the wind and all but forgotten on this lovely night with Owen.

  I don’t even fucking care right now. I’m embracing my inner wild child and taking risks, just like my sullen father tells me to do.

  12

  Owen

  “Are you ready to blow off some steam, dude?” I grin at Victor as we walk into the gym together.

  “I’m gonna knock you out!” he shouts, getting pumped up.

  “You fucking wish.” I shake my head and look at Victor, my awesome best friend with Latin roots and the flare of one to boot.

  “I’m going to take you down one day,” he laughs.

  We walk over to the boxing ring. We have to pay for an hour spot to use it in advance, which I did yesterday.

  Victor and I like to come to the boxing ring to unwind after a stressful day at work. You may say it’s just two guys trying to be tough and macho to prove which of us is the stronger man….and you’re probably right to some extent.

  I’m not afraid to fight for what I want, whether physically or emotionally, and the sooner everyone in my life realizes that fact, the easier it will be for all involved.

  “So, when I went to your meeting yesterday, everything went well,” Victor says as he straps on his gloves.

  “Oh, yeah?” I ask and gear up by jumping up and down.

  “I think you should consider making the story from the pitch,” Victor says. “The company is receiving it well.”

  “I’ll explore that option. Thanks, brother,” I say to him and take a few practice swings at the air before Victor joins me and we begin the punches.

  Boxing is a great form of exercise, and it cuts into the monotony of the boring, average workouts.

  Victor changes the subject. “So how did it go with the prick?”

  I chuckle. “The prick?”

  “You know, that health inspector guy you jizzed all over at Expose?” Victor teases.

  “Right.” I roll my eyes. “It didn’t go…exactly as I planned.”

  Victor throws a punch. “Are you telling me that Mr. Wolfe isn’t getting his way for once?”

  “Let’s not go that far.” I punch back. “I’m still brainstorming ideas to get back into the club.”

  “What did the jerk tell you?”

  “He says that it’s not up to him to reinstate my membership, among other bullshit. I don’t know if I believe him or not, but apparently, according to him, his hands are tied.”

  I take a break to grab my water bottle. “My day wasn’t entirely a total loss, though,” I grin.

  “Yeah?” Victor raises an eyebrow and jogs in place.

  “Do you know who Molly Quinn is?”

  Victor shakes his head. “That name doesn’t sound familiar.”

  “She’s this gorgeous girl. I’m talking super sexy, the hottest woman I’ve seen in a long time.”

  I talk animatedly with my hands and gesture that her tits are huge.

  “What does she have to do with getting you back in the club?” Victor asks as if he doesn’t follow.

  “Her father is Richmore Quinn, the owner of Quinn Industries. They’re the ones that hire the talent for the club,” I explain, and we go back to boxing.

  “So, are you trying to use her to your advantage?” Victor asks.

  “Sort of…” I say because I don’t want to sound like a total dick. I think I might actually like this girl, although I’m not ready to admit that much to Victor yet.

  “Did you sleep with her yet?” Victor laughs.

  “Yes,” I state and throw a punch, but Victor steps back and stops for a moment to take in my response.

  “Holy shit, dude, what the fuck are you thinking?”

  “Nothing, really.” I shrug defensively. “My plan is to ask Molly to re-instate my membership just in time for my date with Crystal,” I say, as if it’s no big deal.

  “I don’t know, man.” Victor shakes his head.

  “What?” I throw a punch at him, a little harder this time.

  “I just don’t want to see this plan backfire and explode in your face,” he says.

  I scoff. “I know what I’m doing.”

  “Chicks have a way of fucking things up, though,” Victor argues.

  “That may be true, but Molly seems pretty cool,” I admit. “Not to mention, my motivation is stronger than ever to make this plan work.”

  Victor laughs. “How is that?”

  “I still have my eye on the prize,” I remind him. “Crystal is the trophy at the end of the finish line.”

  “What about Molly?” Victor addresses the hurdle.

  “Even with her around, I’m gonna hook line and sinker this one,” I say, and pretend I’m reeling in a fishing line.

  “Are you going to throw a party for Lone Wolfe’s second year in business?” Victor asks and chugs his water, changing the subject again.

  “I haven’t really thought about it,” I say honestly. “It makes sense, though,” I admit. “The production house is entering its third year with the Academy.”

  “I know, brother, that’s huge,” Victor agrees.

  “Also, my team just told me that we’re getting four nominations this year,” I gloat.

  “Congratulations, dude,” Victor says.

  “Yep, and we have over ten billion in profits so far,” I mention.

  “You really hit the ground running when you decided to build this empire,” Victor praises me as we take another break, leaning against the sides of the ring while we try to catch our breath.

  “Should we go for another round?” I say after a few seconds.

  Victor chuckles and leans over. We both have sweat visibly covering every surface inch of our bodies. “I probably need to head home soon.”

  I playfully slap his back. “Whatever, you pussy-whipped little bitch,” I tease him.

  “Don’t knock it till you try it,” Victor winks.

  “No thanks, man, your life is like my worst fucking nightmare.” I glance at him and sip my water. “No offense.”

  “None taken.” Victor’s voice drips with sarcasm as he shakes his head. “You’re one blunt and abrasive motherfucker.”

  “You still love me, though, right?” I ask with a smirk.

  “I guess I have to.” He rolls his eyes and we pat ourselves dry with a pair of ring towels.

  “Let me know how it goes with Molly,” Victor says as we head to the locker room to shower and get dressed.

  “I will,” I say. “I have a lot on my plate. Sorry if I seem distracted lately.”

  “Are you sure it’s not just because I placed too many poundings into your head just now and maybe you have a concussion?” Victor teases.

  “No way, man.” I shake my head and laugh.

  But I do have a fuck ton of things to balance in my work and personal life, that’s for fucking sure.

  13

  Molly

  I stretch, open my eyes and yawn. It’s daylight outside.

  First, let me start off by stating that it’s never, ever fucking daylight in my room when I wake up.

  We went over this before, remember?

  Molly Quinn wakes up at five a.m.

  That’s the way
I do things.

  Today is different, and it begins with the sunlight shining in my room, announcing for me to wake the fuck up already.

  I stretch again and tug the covers up closer to my neck while glancing at the alarm clock on my night stand.

  Holy shit! It’s already nine o’clock in the fucking morning.

  Well…I guess we both know what that means: I’m not going into work today.

  I grab my cell phone off the night stand and proudly yawn as I dial Katrina’s direct line.

  I imagine her sitting in her cubicle, spanning the office wondering where the hell I am and if I’m going to show up.

  She’ll have her answer in a few seconds. I’m turning over a new fucking leaf and apparently taking my father’s advice to heart by literally lightening the fuck up.

  Oh, yeah, this new me swears a great deal, too, because I don’t fucking care anymore. Not after that shit show at lunch with my dad.

  Katrina picks up the line immediately, most likely recognizing my number, but also because it’s part of her job to answer the phone.

  “Molly?” Her voice is quizzical on the other end.

  “Hey, Katrina,” I chime, so cheerily she probably wonders if I’m surrounded by fucking Disney animals while they braid my hair and magically make my bed.

  “Are you coming into work today? It’s nine already.” Her voice reveals her concern.

  “Nope.” I shake my head, even though she can’t see me.

  “I’m sorry, is everything alright?” Katrina asks.

  “Everything is perfect,” I state.

  I don’t owe Katrina that much of an explanation; I’m her boss after all.

  “I’ll be working from home today,” I announce. “If you need me, you can text, call or email.”

  “Okay,” Katrina says, and I can tell she’s confused.

  “You can report anything important or pressing if it comes up,” I add.

  “Sure thing,” she responds, and we say goodbye.

  I hang up and stretch again, savoring in the fact that I don’t have to even get out of bed if I don’t want to, but who the fuck am I kidding here? I live on coffee in the morning.