One More Trope (Tropes 2)

Chapter 1

I grip the tray of champagne I’m holding and say a silent prayer that I don’t drop them. I tried to talk the manager out of making me carry tall, breakable objects filled with liquid but he just wouldn’t believe me. How many times can I say I’m clumsy before they believe me?

I take one slow step as another server shoots past me holding a similar tray. She’s super confident as she pushes open the door with her one free hand and turns toward the crowd. Meanwhile I’ve got both trembling hands gripped on either side as I try to control my shaking.

“Cookie, if you don’t get those drinks out there now, I’m going to send you home for the night,” my manager barks.

The sound causes me to wobble the tray, but I take another breath and do as he says.

“It’s okay. I got you,” my friend Butch says as he comes by and snags the tray from my hands. “I’ll deliver the drinks. You take the crab cakes.”

He swaps out our trays and gives me a wink as he pushes through the door. Thank God for him or I might be crying in the corner right now. Hell, I’d be homeless and jobless if it wasn’t for him. He’s my best friend in the world, but unfortunately for me he likes men. He’ll make some lucky guy an incredible Husband one day, but until then he’s all mine.

We bonded together in school, and after we graduated I needed to place to stay. My mom took off with her new boyfriend and I wasn’t part of the deal anymore now that I was eighteen. Butch was already out on his own after his parents kicked him out. They were super religious and when they caught him with the preacher’s son, let’s just say he wasn’t welcome at the dinner table anymore.

Butch has let me crash on his couch for the past few months, and though he says it’s totally fine, I know it has to be wearing him down. I’m ready for my own space, too, and a few more nights of big parties like this and I’ll have the deposit I need. That’s why I can’t lose this job. It’s hard work with long hours, but the tips are always so good. Some of the girls wear low-cut tops and short skirts to pad their pockets, but I haven’t been able to bring myself to do it yet.

I’m what my mother’s boyfriend referred to as “a practice-girl.” He said I’m too chubby to be a girlfriend, but I’d make a good one to use on the side. That was right before he tried to stick his hand down my pants and my Mom, fortunately, walked in. After that they were gone, and I wasn’t sorry to watch them go. But his words still ring in my ears and I feel like nobody wants to see much of my skin. I’ve got rolls and boobs with a big butt and hips. Even as a baby I was kinda round and ample, so the name Cookie stuck right away. It doesn’t help that I’m super short. One would think being close to the ground would make me less clumsy, but you’d be wrong.

I watch as Butch carries the tray like a professional as he approaches a man nearby. He leans in a little and I watch the guy slip some bills into Butch’s back pocket. Even the men serving tonight are going to make bank. I never make even half of what Butch does, but I don’t need all that. I just need enough to make the deposit and first month’s rent on a new apartment. I don’t have plans after that. I just know I want to work and save money. I grew up poor and I’ve never known what it’s like to pay bills on time and have money in the bank. That’s what I’m working for, and though it might be a dumb dream, it’s all I’ve ever wanted.

“I’ll take one of those,” a man says, reaching for my tray as I’m about to pass him by. I look at the woman he’s with, who clearly hasn’t eaten since the eighties, and offer the tray to her. She shakes her head and sips her wine, but I see the way she looks at the food. There’s longing in her eyes.

I’ll never understand women who don’t eat. As a kid we didn’t have much for toys or trips, but we always had food. I guess that’s why I’m chubby. But I’d rather live happy than miserable and always looking at food like it’s a long-lost lover.

Butch told me there’s an auction going on tonight. They’re offering people up for money and all of the cash earned is going to charity. All I could think about was how to become a charity and get my name on the list. But then, seeing some of these rich snobs makes me roll my eyes. The eyes they give me make me feel like dirt on their expensive shoes. But I remind myself that I’m here to lighten their pockets just a smidge, and put on my best fake smile.

I’m extra careful as I go back to grab fresh trays of food, avoiding the drink trays like the plague. I move through the crowd cautiously, trying to steer clear of a few men who’ve given me some creepy vibes. I’m not in this to find a sugar daddy, although Butch tells me that’s the ultimate goal. I think he’s after a silver fox to make him a kept man. I can’t say I blame him, but I’m not ready for that kind of commitment.

“How you holding up?” Butch says as he slips over next to me. “This place is packed tonight. I heard backstage they are auctioning off a billionaire. Can you imagine?” He puts his hands on his forehead and pretends to faint.

“I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you,” I say, and elbow his side.

I nudge my thick-framed glasses back up my nose and try not to trip as I make my way over to one of the tables with dirty dishes all over it. I hear the auction announcer say something and the crowd cheers, but I ignore it. It’s not like it’s any of my business. Right now my focus is to get these dishes to the kitchen and then clock out. I’m only allowed to have so many hours and my manager won’t pay overtime. Since I picked up a double shift yesterday I’m only allowed short hours until tomorrow. I guess I’ve got time to grab a sneaky plate of leftover food from the back and go home for some Netflix.

My life might be a tad boring, maybe even unexciting from the outside. But I don’t let it get me down. I’m sure one day it will all change.

Chapter 2

Jericho

“What have I done?” I clench my fists and try to remember why I’m doing this in the first place. What man in their right mind would agree to auctioning h

imself off for charity? Even though Sick Kids with Sick Pets is an admirable charity, the thought of selling myself makes me feel cheap.

All my life I’ve been too busy making money to find someone to love. Seeing my brother Romeo with his wife and baby has sparked something inside me. I want what they have and I’m willing to do whatever it takes to find that. Even if it means putting myself up for sale.

“Tonight we have none other than Jericho Trope!” the announcer says over the microphone and the crowd goes wild. It’s like a sporting event and I’m the ball that’s being tossed around. Hopefully the person that finally helps me score is someone I can spend my life with. What better way to find your soulmate than to let someone prove it with their wallet. Right?

Maybe I should have told my brother about the auction just in case. But this will probably all work out fantastically if my family history has anything to say for it. Sure, it’s filled with ridiculous drama, but that’s the spice of life.

The drumroll begins and I push through the curtains and walk out onto the stage. The lights are bright and I blink a few times, letting them adjust. I walk to the end of the stage and adjust my tuxedo. It’s perfectly fitted because it’s custom made, like all my clothes. It’s hard to be a billionaire and not have these things. They’re kind of expected.

“Welcome, Jericho,” the announcer says. “Tonight we are going to start the bidding at three hundred thousand dollars. And remember, it’s all for a good cause.”

She strikes her gavel and the shouting of bids begins. There are even a few women who throw bills on the stage. I try not to look at them. I stand still and stare straight ahead waiting for the moment to be over. If all the romance stories I’ve heard are correct, this will end with me finding the love of my life. My face is impassive as I imagine who will win me and give me my happily ever after.

While I try to ignore some of the filthy remarks being made about my body and what my abilities consist of, my eye catches something in the distance.

I spot a woman clearing dishes off a table at the back of the room. She’s got dark hair knotted up on the top of her head, and dark-framed glasses. From this distance, I can only make out her shape, but dear god, I want those curves pressed against me. Never before have I looked at a woman and wanted her. Every cell in my body is firing and I’m being pulled in her direction. I want to jump down off the stage and part the crowd like the sea so I can get to her faster. But the auctioneer is shouting into the microphone, reminding me that I’m stuck here.

My pulse races as I watch her trip over her feet a few times before she turns her back on me. Fuck, what if she leaves and I can’t find her? My heart is pounding as I scan the crowd and spot my brother Romeo off to the side.

“One billion dollars!” he shouts as we lock eyes. For a moment we have a silent exchange and he nods at me. He knows exactly what I’m feeling and he’s giving me the go-ahead. He’s going to take care of all of this.

“Sold!” I hear shouted, and instantly I jump down off the stage. I push my way through the crowd and from somewhere behind me I hear people groan and clap.

I don’t have time to give them a second thought because as the crowd swarms me, I catch a glimpse of my woman leaving.

“No!” I try to shout over the crowd, but it’s too late. She disappears out a side door and I’m too far away from her. “Damn it.”

“Mr. Trope, if we could just have a moment of your time,” a paparazzo asks, shoving a microphone in my face.

I elbow the guy out of the way and try to break through the mob of people. I turn around looking for Romeo, but I see he’s already left with Arabella. Good for him. This place has suddenly become a madhouse.

“This way, Mr. Trope,” a voice says, and I feel someone pull my arm. It’s in the wrong direction, but I see a break in the crowd.

When we get through, I see a side door and I make my way through it with the person who saved me. The door slams closed behind me and I turn around to see a young man holding it closed.

“Thank you.” I glance down at his name tag and nod to it. “Butch.”

“You’re welcome. Your brother slipped me some cash on his way out to make sure you got where you needed to go.”

I run my fingers through my hair in frustration. “Where I need to be is on the other side of that room.”

“I’m afraid that’s impossible at the moment.” Just then more people beat on the door wanting to talk to me.

“Is there a back way out of here?” I growl as I look around the room. “I’ve got to get to her.”

“Who?” Butch asks, as he pushes against the door to hold it closed.

“The one,” I say, feeling frustration rise once again. “The dark-haired beauty who was cleaning tables.”

“Cookie?” he asks.

“It’s no time for snacks, you fool! I’m trying to find the woman of my dreams!”

“No, that’s her name. Cookie. She was cleaning tables before she left.”

I run over to him and grip his shirt with both hands, pulling him close. “How do you know her?” I demand, feeling anxious that she might already be taken. I immediately push that thought out of my head, because I would never allow a man to stand in the way of what I want.

“Calm down. She’s my friend.” He looks me up and down. “You’re more my type then she is.”

“I don’t have time for riddles,” I say, stepping back and taking a breath. “I just need to find her. She’s the one. I’m sure of it. Tell me how to find her.”

“She probably just went home. She’s not one for going out, and we live together.” He reaches inside his pants and pulls out a key, tossing it to me. “I’d like to think if a billionaire was after me, she’d give him directions.”

After that he texts me her name and number, with an address to their place.

“You’ve been really helpful. How can I repay you?” I ask, putting all the info into my phone and checking my watch.

“Just make sure you’re good to her,” he says, nodding solemnly. “And if you’ve got a single brother, send him my way.”

“I can’t help you with a date, but I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.” I send a text to my assistant to wire him a few million, and call it even. “Now, how do I get out of here undetected?”

Butch looks around the room. “I think this air vent leads out to the alley in the back. I’ll create a distraction and you can escape that way.”

I reach out, shaking his hand and thanking him again for helping me.

“Just make sure when you find Cookie that you treat her right. She’s…” He pauses, thinking on something. “She’s pretty innocent.”

“I’ll never hurt her,” I vow, and turn to make my way out of the room.

I climb up some crates against the back wall and open the metal vent. I turn back and nod to Butch one last time before I pull myself up and climb through the dark tunnel.

From behind me, I hear him close the grate and then shout. “Fire!”

Chapter 3

I walk in the door and lay the container of food down on the table. I plan on eating it after I take a nice long bath. I need to soak my legs and warm up before I indulge in food, even though I saw a picture on Instagram that told me Styrofoam containers of food float in the tub. I’m not that desperate. Yet.

The one nice thing about living with Butch is that the guest room has an attached bathroom with a gigantic tub. It not something I’ve ever heard of in apartments before, but hey, who's really paying attention to that here?

I strip off my clothes while the water runs and steam fills the room. I take my hair down out of its knot and let it fall down my back. I moan as I rub my scalp and feel the tension leave my shoulders and back. Waiting tables can mean good money, but it’s hard work on the body.

Before I get in the tub I put my glasses on the counter and then grab a towel. I set it on the side of the tub before I put my toes into the hot water. It scalds a little

as I ease down into it, but it feels so good on my muscles. I lie back and grab the body wash and soap up my puff. I close my eyes as I rub it all over my body, washing away the smell of the kitchen and replacing it with the scent of lavender.

A moan escapes my lips as I rub between my legs and feel the ache there, too. It’s been so long since I’ve masturbated. Living with a pervert and then stressing about where to live and how I’m going to eat sort of put a damper on my sex drive. But after a hard night’s work and a pocket full of tips, she’s back and ready to go.

My fingers slide across my clit and I get comfortable. I’m going to take my time and enjoy this one. I want to make it last, so I’ll tease myself for a while before I get out and use my vibrator. I’d love to have a big man with an even bigger dick to satisfy my needs, but virgins aren’t really in demand at the moment. The last guy who was interested in me found out I still had my cherry and ran for the hills. He was a douchebag anyway, and I think he just wanted to smash and dash. I think he thought I’d fall in love with him or something if he was my first. Newsflash, Rico, nobody is falling for a broke pot-peddler that lives out of his car. I just wanted a little comfort for the night, but looking back, I see he saved me from a shitty situation.

Pushing all thoughts of that idiot out of my mind, I think about my man. He’s a fantasy I’ve created in my mind and he’s absolute perfection. He’s a tall man with big hands and a long tongue. My current fantasy with him is him sneaking into my room. I tease myself a little more as the image takes hold. I’m in my tub as he walks in and tells me to get on my knees. The stranger licks my pussy from behind until I cum, and then carries me to bed. The fantasy varies after that. Sometimes he fucks me hard and makes the bed shake. Sometimes it’s nice and slow. But either way, it’s always the same man I envision, with dark hair and dark eyes, and a big ol’ schlong between his thick thighs.

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