‘Um … wow.’
‘I know.’
I stared at the enormous blown-up photo plastered to the wall over Ricky’s king plus, plus, plus sized bed. ‘Well?’ he asked, crossing his arms over his chest and rocking on his feet.
I squinted. ‘It’s me.’
‘It is.’
‘A giant me … in a bikini.’
‘Yes.’
‘Above your bed.’
‘Indeed.’
And here I was, once again faced with yet another Bremy, from all the Bremy St. James-es past. I recognised the shot. It was from my modelling days. Two days in total. That’s all it took for me to realise that modelling was actually hard work—and for me to remember that I was really rich. But it was a nice shot. I was lying on my stomach in a gold bikini with my head thrown back in laughter. Ricky had changed the photo to sepia, giving it a sort of timeless quality. I was definitely channelling Ms Brinkley that day. I backhanded Ricky on the stomach—a stomach that I couldn’t help but notice was covered with ridges. ‘What the hell is the matter with you?’
‘You don’t like it?’
‘No! It’s creepy. And weird,’ I answered, wrinkling my nose. ‘What are you going to do next? Watch me sleep?’
‘It’s a symbol.’
‘Of what? Your stalker tendencies?’
‘Success.’
I spun to look at him.
‘You, Bremy St. James, have always represented everything I’ve ever wanted to be.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, dropping my chin and looking up at him from under my brows. ‘What now?’
‘You have no idea how remarkable you are, do you?’ He shoved his hands into his pockets. ‘It was never your physical attributes that had me so …’ He sucked air in through his teeth. ‘Tied up in knots. It was your attitude.’
‘You like spoiled rich girls?’
He shook his head. ‘No. That’s not you. It was the way you looked at life … like it was some juicy, ripe peach that you wanted to sink your teeth into.’ He leaned towards me and brushed one finger down from my lips to my chin then to my throat. I gulped.
‘That sounds messy.’ I couldn’t deny Ricky’s words were having an effect on me. Lately, it felt like everyone I knew, and some people I didn’t, were taking my inventory, and I had been trying to convince them all that I was a good person, or at least not a bad one, and then here was Ricky—Ricky with his weird bedroom shrine—who seemed to think I was awesome just the way I was … or used to be. His finger traced a path further down to the dip at my throat, then lower, almost … almost to the little pager-type device hidden in my boobs!
I slapped his hand away.
‘Anyway, that’s the way I wanted to look at the world,’ he said, spreading his arms wide. ‘And now I am.’
‘Oh Ricky.’ I shook my head. ‘You’ve got the fever. But I promise you, there is more to life than Cristal baths and the backseat of a Maybach.’ In fact, Cristal baths could be quite painful if you had any nicks from shaving.
‘I know,’ he said, once again coming in close. ‘There’s Bremy St. James on the beach.’
I gulped again, and mumbled, ‘I don’t know what it is … but right now you sound a lot like Dracula.’ A Dracula that I found kind of hot. I stepped away from him, hitting the back of my legs on the mattress. And then I was sitting on the bed. Oh my. Ricky took that as an invitation to sit beside me.
I kept my eyes straight ahead, but the heat from his body rolled down my side, doing unspeakable things to my unspeakable places.
‘I just realised something,’ Ricky whispered in my ear.
‘Wh—’ I started to say, but my voice cracked. ‘What’s that?’
‘These past couple of weeks have been crazy. I’ve gotten into every club that used to keep me out. I’ve spent more money than I knew existed. I’ve scared the crap out of every one of those blue blood snobs who used to treat me like garbage.’
I slowly looked up to meet his gaze.
‘But you know what?’ he said, thickly. ‘All I really wanted was this.’
‘Oh boy,’ I whispered, as Ricky’s mouth moved towards mine. His lips gently brushed my own, before pressing in for more, and as I leaned back against the bed and felt Ricky’s weight settle on top of me, my thoughts devolved into a mushy string of intangible phrases like, Hmm, good. Warm. That’s different. Oh yes. But somewhere deeper, there was a sense of something bigger, weightier going on. Ricky wanted me—really, really wanted me—every last bit of me.
Yup, Ricky thought Bremy St. James was A-okay. It was just so unlike …
Pierce. Pierce who was always questioning my choices. Pierce who was always trying to break up with me. Pierce who had something going on with my sister … something that he had kept hidden from me.
Waves of chills ran over my body as my lips moved with Ricky’s. No, I wasn’t feeling guilty about this. Not one bit. And yet …
‘Bremy?’ Ricky suddenly whispered, in the place where time had no meaning.
‘Yes, Count? I mean, Ricky?’
‘You’re vibrating.’