Fast & Hard (The Fast 1)

Which maybe she does, given that I just flew six hours to see her.

I’ve changed into my tux on the plane, the lame bow tie is tucked into my pocket waiting to be put on at the last possible second, and Sandra has a black limo waiting as I step off the jet at the airport.

“What’s the address, love? I’m on my way,” I call Mallory and she answers on the fifth ring, sounding panicked.

“Already? Oh my god, Lennox, this is a nightmare.”

“I think you’ll find I clean up pretty well,” I tease her, climbing into the back of the limo and giving the driver the universal sign for ‘one minute’ so I can get the address out of Mallory.

“I’m at my parent’s house but you don’t understand. They’re awful,” she whispers the last statement.

“It’ll be fine, I’m quite good with Mums. They find me charming. Give me the address.” It’s true, never met a Mum who didn’t like me.

Mallory gives me the address and we take off into the Manhattan traffic. Twenty-five minutes later we’ve picked up two flower bouquets at the first florist shop we passed, and have rolled up to a pretentious little neighborhood, the kind where people think buildings that are 100 years old are historic. When a building is 1,000 years old, like half of them in Europe, then it might be historic.

I knock on the door and can hear a little dog yipping at me from inside. It opens and a tall blond with a huge nest of hair piled on top of her head drops her jaw and stares at me like I’ve just parted the Red Sea. “Jesus Christ,” she mumbles and looks me up and down.

“Am I in the right place,” I lean back to find a house number on the building exterior, “Mitchell residence?”

“Forget her,” the blond grabs my arm and pulls me in the door, “I want to have your babies. All of them.”

“Thank you?” I smirk at the quirky blond and look around the foyer we’re inside. It looks like a Girl Scout Thin Mint threw up all over. There’s antique gold mirrors everywhere and a huge, hideous orange steel circle sculpture against a wall. I know less than nothing about interior design but this place makes my head hurt just looking at it.

“Aria, is that him?” I hear Mallory yell from somewhere in the annals of this funhouse.

“Nope, just the UPS man!” Aria yells back and takes the bouquets from my arm.

“Ah, you’re Aria,” I smile at her. The one who’s been asking Mallory for nudes of me. Well, this should be fun. “I’m here to pick up a special package,” I wink at her.

“Speaking of packages,” her eyes drop to my pants.

I laugh and put my hands in my front pockets. I can see why Mallory likes this girl, she’s bold and hilarious.

“Aria, do not attack him!” Mallory calls from another room and then she rushes into the foyer.

Holy god, she’s the most stunning creature I’ve ever seen. Underneath a slinky champaign-pink velvet gown is every tight curve on display, her porcelain shoulders bare, some sort of ruffle wrapping around her chest and arms, and a slit in the floor-length dress up to her mid thigh. My mind is already imagining sliding my hands up that slit and licking her long neck, totally exposed with her hair up in a fancy bun at the base of her head.

“Tha thu brèagha,” I breathe and take a step closer to her.

“Wait, what did you say? What was that?” Aria snaps her head back and forth between Mallory and me, but I can’t look away from the vision in front of me, her eyes sparkling with matching eyeshadow and her lips glossy with tint.

“It means you’re beautiful,” I explain but keep my eyes locked on Mallory and I can see blush creeping up her smooth chest.

“In, like, Scottish?” Aria fans her chest.

“Aye, Gaelic.”

“Oh my god, he says ‘aye’? Aria gushes.

“Stop it!” Mallory swats her.

“Mallory, aren’t you going to introduce us?” An older woman appears in the entryway. As soon as she enters the room, Mallory stiffens and she seems uncomfortable all of a sudden. There’s a physical resemblance to Mallory, sort of, but the woman I assume is her Mum is different altogether. Her face is cold and stiff, her pursed lips are overfilled and caked in dark red lipstick. She looks like she’s been nipped and tucked within an inch of her life.

“Mom, this is Lennox Gibbes. Lennox, this is my mother, Lydia Mitchell.”

“Mrs. Mitchell, a pleasure to meet you. You lo

ok radiant this evening,” I lie and take her fingers she has outreached to me like I should kiss her ring. She’s wearing a much more conservative blood-red gown. “Are you attending the gala this evening, as well?”