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Stuck by a Drummer- The Adventure Continues
I hurled myself off the bed and crouched, peering over the top of the mattress. Tony bolted for his clothes, which he seized in one large ball and held over his, well, BALLS. Only Steve didn't seem concerned over being naked: he was standing up straight and ready for action.
Pete, carrying a bag in each manicured hand and kicking another one in front of him, bustled into the room.
"Lynne's coming as soon as she drops the cats off at Dean's," he was whining. "Goddamn it, Steve, why the hell do you have to-"
He stopped when he took in everyone's state of undress. Even underneath the layers of Clinique you could see him pale. He blinked his glittered lashes and shook his head as if to clear it. Tony the porter took advantage of the diversion to leap into his pants in record time, haul his jacket over his head, and run past Pete into the halls, hopping into his shoes as he went.
Pete watched him go, then turned to us with an expression of amusement and accusation.
"That looks like the best fucking definition of room service that I have ever seen. Hope you tipped him well."
"I'm sure he left fulfilled." Steve bent over, grabbed his trousers, and pulled them on. I don't know why I didn't do the same: Pete had seen me naked and up close and personal before. Of course, that was when Steve had flung him at me to teach him a lesson. It can give you a complex when your pussy is used to punish someone.
"Don't try to make me jealous," Pete pouted. "Here, put my clothes away, will you?" He dropped his bags in front of Steve without waiting for a response and sat on the bed, where he regarded me with amusement. "Well, Lady Godiva? Too worried that your cellulite will be more obvious in broad daylight?"
What a bitch. "No," I retorted as I stood up, "I'm just worried that you might go after me with those claws and use what little body fat I have to plump up your lips even further. Not that you need it: you look like you suffer from cocksucker's disease badly enough as it is."
Steve laughed heartily as he picked up Pete's bags, opened one, and began arranging its contents in the chest of drawers. "Told you Pete. Remember how our mums used to say that if you cross your eyes too much they'll freeze in that position? Well, you know what your lips have been doing."
"If you had your way I'd do it more," Pete said airily, sounding far from insulted. He watched as I walked around the bed, found my clothes, and started dressing. "So, KC," he said, losing the queeny tone, "Steve says you've got a stalker...sort of."
"I've got someone out to make my life miserable," I agreed. "Paul at home and someone I don't even know here."
"I know. Steve told me." Pete shook his head. "Shit, that's scary. I've had a few of 'em in my day. I hope you don't get anything as bad as I got."
The nightstand phone rang. Steve paused in his valet duties to pick it up. "Hello?" he asked. While Pete and I watched in consternation, his expression turned scared. "What the hell? How did you get this number?"
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