RIDING DESIRE hits the USA TODAY bestselling list at #100

*falls off chair*


*calls mom*

Huge thank you to the nearly 10,000 people who bought RIDING DESIRE the week it came out. Thank you for supporting our dreams, allowing us to do what we love and cheering us along.

Buy it NOW on Amazon * Barnes & Nobles * iTunes

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Buy it NOW on Amazon * Barnes & Nobles * iTunes

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Buy it NOW on Amazon * Barnes & Nobles * iTunes

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A Long Hard Ride For A Buck!

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What you get for 99 cents in RIDING DESIRE

  • 63 panty melting moments
  • 1,200 pages of hot romance
  • 89 laugh out loud scenes
  • 14 stories
  • 435,000 words that’ll take your breath away
  • 52 orgasms
  • Over a dozen hot alpha bad boy bikers
  • 78 innovative positions
  • 1 motorbike popping a massive wheelie

Items suggested before reading RIDING DESIRE

  • Ice bucket
  • The “Born to be Wild” song by Steppenwolf
  • Fresh change of panties
  • Man Candy pictures of Adam Levine, David Beckham, Joe Manganiello
  • A toy or two…or three
  • Snuggie
  • Box of chocolate
  • The movie Easy Rider on DVD
  • Tequila shot
  • Cell phone, preset to 911. ya never know.
  • Wetnaps

RIDING DESIRE is best read

  • When alone
  • Before a good date
  • After a bad date
  • With a glass of champagne
  • During a football game
  • In the tub

Buy it Bietch! *wink* Love ya!

Riding Desire: Alpha Bad Boy Biker Boxed Set (14 BRAND NEW limited edition contemporary romance books)




Grab the book jacket and box set images

Isn’t the Riding Desire cover amazing? No seriously. It’s total gorgeousness.Flat, 3D, high or low res, black, white or translucent backdrop…we got you, boo. Grab whatever images tickle your fancy. We have Croco Designs to thank for such fierceness. Tweet them some love @CrocoDesigns 

Images become larger when clicked on. To save them to your iPhone, iPad, Droid or computer simply click on the image or touch it with your finger. It’ll blow up nice and big, then right click the image to save it to your computer or hold your finger down to save it to your iPhone or iPad. Bam! It’s saved.

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Grab your Riding Desire Quote Cards

I love using sexy quote cards when talking about my favorite characters. I text them to my friends while at dinner and Tweet them to my peeps while drinking. *wink* We’ve taken the best quotes from each book featured in Riding Desire and brought them to life for your social media pleasures with imagery.

Images become larger when clicked on. To save them to your iPhone, iPad, Droid or computer simply click on the image or touch it with your finger. It’ll blow up nice and big, then right click the image to save it to your computer or hold your finger down to save it to your iPhone or iPad. Bam! It’s saved. We have fellow Riding Desire author Opal Carew to thank for making them. Tweet Opal how much you love them at: @OpalCarew


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Lex Quote

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Grab Your Riding Desire Facebook & Twitter Covers

When was the last time you spruced up your Twitter or Facebook cover with a funny quote or a sexy image? Ah-huh, just as I thought. Like never. Honey! It’s 2014. Let’s change it up–go biker like the cool kids. *smile*

Images become larger when clicked on. They fit perfectly as your Facebook and Twitter cover. To save them to your iPhone, iPad, Droid or computer simply click on the image or touch it with your finger. It’ll blow up nice and big, then right click the image to save it to your computer or hold your finger down to save it to your iPhone or iPad. Bam! It’s saved. Have fun with these hilarious quotes. We have fellow Riding Desire author Sara Fawkes to thank for them. You can tweet her some love @SaraFawkes


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Chapter Three: Oh My Friggin’ Gawd

Chapter Three

Oh My Friggin’ Gawd

Franklin D. Roosevelt East River Drive

“Pull over!”

I could’ve sworn I heard that come from somewhere behind me while riding Vamp north on the FDR Drive. When I looked back, I didn’t see anything except a taupe-colored Mercedes.

My BFF and VBF had helped me load my luggage into the trunk of the limo. We’d made one stop for Vive to pick up some liquor to make her cosmos. Vive’s driver had bought the booze for her. I know!

We were on our way uptown. New location, new life—here I come. No more Kelle, that was for sure. Having my ex call me a fat dumb “c” motivated me to move on in ways I hadn’t anticipated, even more so than him sleeping with Mom. Like uber grossness.

In regards to getting revenge on Kelle, it all seemed overrated. Why put good energy into a bad situation? He wasn’t worth it. I was free to get my adult life started, and I wanted to, right now. Possibly faster than Vamp could even take me. From this moment forward I’d live every day as if it was my birthday. Because this weekend, it was. Hello.

Blue and red lights flashed.

Had the candied dots and spots returned? Or was I hallucinating? I eased my grip on the throttle and glanced in the rearview mirror.

On a Harley Davidson, riding my purple bum, wasn’t the luxury car I saw earlier but a brick-house of a man. I looked closer and realized he was from the New York Police Department.

I checked the odometer.

43 mph.

He changed lanes. The cop wasn’t for me. So I adjusted my Chanel sunglasses over the bridge of my nose, refocused my attention on Vive’s stretch Bentley ahead, and throttled on.

Vive’s rear bumper read: Party with Our Girl Vive! The Farnworth Firewater liquor company, founded by her great grandfather had a logo of two inverted F’s bookending the slogan. It had been Vive’s mantra for as long as I’d known her. She’d been born with glitter and glamour in her veins.

The girls waved at me from the rear window toasting their cocktails. Taddy’s lips moved faster than the wheels on the Bentley.

On my left, the Harley came up beside me. To get a better look at him, I dropped my chin and peered out over my shades.

All I could make out other than his shiny blue helmet and black aviators were his biceps. With python arms wider than my thighs, his body reminded me of The Hulk right before his clothes would shred and he’d turn green.


Smothered in ink he sported a tattoo sleeve up and down his right arm.

So hot!

Staring ahead, he held what must be his radio and talked on it.

He couldn’t see my eyes under these shades. Right? I pushed the frames back toward my sockets and winked flirtatiously.

Taddy had mentioned earlier while we loaded up the limo, “Girlie, the sooner you start thinking about other men, the faster that’ll put Kelle out of your horny mind,”

Taking Taddy’s advice, I tried to imagine this cop naked. I could easily gaze at him for hours. When he didn’t look over, I licked my lips and blew him a kiss.

I’d only closed my eyes for a second, and sure enough, when I opened them he stared at me and frowned.

“Ahem.” I cleared my throat. All I needed to do next was crash Vamp into the dog park over there, shouldering the highway because I was too busy cruising the NYPD. Not! I returned my attention to the road.

Sirens sounded.

Eh? I glanced back to Hulk on the Harley.

Those delicious guns, which could easily pin my body down while he teased my Lady V, punched the summer skies. The cop pointed at me and shouted, “Scooter! Pull over.”

“Me?” I shouted back at him, poking my finger at my chest. Come on, dude. I was only teasing. He couldn’t possibly be giving me a ticket for blowing him an air-kiss could he?

He nodded.

Ugh. I slowed down.

Hulk on a Harley sped up next to the limo, motioning for them to do the same.

The Bentley’s brake lights flashed.

The girls got up on their knees and peered out.

Vive sat on the left. She stuck her head out the window and shouted, “What’s the matter, Officer? We weren’t speeding!” I thought she’d lost her mind to address a cop like that.

Ohhh. Then I realized it was a distraction technique.

As Vive drew attention to herself, Taddy cracked the door on the opposite side and dumped out the liquor. Smart girl.

Today couldn’t get any worse. I knew God had a funny sense of humor. However she wouldn’t give me some bogus ticket on the very day in which my boyfriend had been caught banging Mom. Would she?

Knock, knock. Hello God, are you listening up there?

Once everyone’s wheels came to a complete stop on the side of the highway—by the distance of the Queensborough Bridge to our right, I estimated we were near East Seventieth Street—the cop got off his Harley and approached.

“Stay on your bike,” he ordered in a thick Bronx, maybe Brooklyn, accent. Striding past me, he went straight for the limo.

I got an eye full of him. Woof!

His ass was stacked like a baseball player’s juicy man-booty. He spoke to Vive’s driver for a minute, and then he talked to Vive.

With her diamond Rolex on her wrist and a ring on every finger, Vive’s hand waved in the air as she talked. Then suddenly her hand balled into a fist, and Vive’s thumb pointed back at me.

He looked at me directly and approached.

Why was I getting nervous? I wasn’t the one in a car drinking underage. As he came closer, I sized him up, literally.

No slouch in sight. Standing at about six-four, he gave new meaning to the word swagger. His broad shoulders moved with a confident stride.

“Afternoon,” he said, his voice deep.

“Hi!” A slight chew of my bottom lip, then I licked my upper. I gave him my most innocent smile.

“License and registration.”

“Um, I, okay, Officer…” I handed him the papers, glancing down at his badge, and read out loud, “God.” What an odd last name.

He lifted his aviators, resting them on his forehead.

Wow. Eyes black as onyx. Making me feel dainty, he stared through me and demanded, “Remove your helmet.”

“Promise not to laugh at my static hair?”


“Sorry, I was kidding. This pulling me over thing is, like, making me nervous.”

“Why’s that?”

“It’s been a rough day. Actually I’d say one of the worst days of my life.” I loosened the strap around my chin and realized he didn’t want to hear my pity party. I sure as fudge felt like crying again though. If I allowed my mind to revisit standing in Birdie’s bedroom doorway earlier today, I would sob up a storm. But why bother?

Officer God flashed his perfectly straight, white teeth, almost as if he was about to curl the edges of his full lips into a smile. He didn’t. Instead he inhaled deeply through his mouth. His broad chest rose up a bit as he held it for a few seconds.

You are one scary, sexy man. I couldn’t help but take in his masculine energy. I smoothed my hair the second I took off my helmet and held it up against my suddenly hard nipples. My headlights were on high. For whatever reason, when aroused they became erect and somewhat pointy.

There was no bra on the market which covered them. Trust me, I’d tried them all.

A while back, Birdie had suggested a flower-shaped silicone adhesive to contour over them. That’s what she’d used for years on photo shoots. When I’d taped them on, they’d flattened my mounds right out. I thought I’d found my pointy nipple solution.

Ohhh, the sheer torture when I’d peeled those buggers off at the end of the day. Take a band-aid and stick it on a sore spot. Then wait a few hours and rip it off. That hellaciousness is what happened to my nipples.

Calculating in my head 365 days a year multiplied by the fifty more years I’d be taping these puppies down till I hit menopause, it was close to eighteen thousand times. For sure my nipples would only stretch and sag with every application and removal of the contour. So I stuck to no tape.

Regardless, in situations such as this one right here, staring at Officer God who’d descended upon me from the Harley Davidson heavens causing an intense stir in my pussy which in return shot arousing tingles all through me. I wished I’d worn them.

Why? Because it was me on my bike, the cop standing next to me, and my nipples between us screaming for attention.

“Sunglasses too?” I asked, hoping he’d look at my face and not my breasts.

He nodded. “Regardless, I can see your eyes. It’s bright out.” He chuckled causing me to lean forward in curiosity.

“What’s so funny?”

“I could’ve sworn you winked at me when I rode up next to you.”

So friggin’ busted.

“That’s hysterical.” I tried to add a giggle of amusement. However, my tone flattened. I was the world’s worst liar. “As you said, it’s bright out. I, uhhh, must’ve squinted.”

Tugging at the front of his pants, Officer God shifted his weight to one foot. I tried not to stare but I had to look down. I cocked my chin up a bit to make it appear like I wasn’t lowering my focus on his jewels.

OMFG! Down there, he was as hard as a rock. I was afraid it was gonna get loose and slap me across my face. I swallowed the lump in my throat.

“What ‘bout when you blew me a kiss?”

Dang. Clearly Officer God had eyes on the side of his head while he talked on the radio. Quick, I had to come up with a good reason. “Earlier today, I chewed some nappy gum. I spit it out in the trash. So my lips have been involuntarily puckering at everything including cops.” I’d become convinced that all of my earlier symptoms experienced at the penthouse—such as the fever, white spots, and anxiety—had been intensified by that darn gum. From here on out, it was Dylan’s Candy Bar and me together forever, no more weight-loss scams.

The longer he stared at me the more I felt the afternoon’s heat magnifying off the highway’s pavement. The sun shined stronger than before.

Why did I feel as if I’d just been placed in some industrial-strength-professional microwave, set on high, ready to defrost and then bake a turkey, all in a mere sixty seconds? If I was ever going to pass out, I hoped it’d be right now. Otherwise I’ll just drop dead of mortification.

“Mmm.” Officer God didn’t buy my winking and air-kissing excuses. “No static.”


“Your hair.”

“Oh, right.” I flipped it to the side, letting blonde strands fall over my shoulder. I reeked of the StrawberryNet’s Ultra Mega Super-duper Hold Extreme Hairspray I’d used. Lord, that stuff smelled cheap because it was.

Over the years, I’d learned the more inexpensive the hair product was the better it worked. That can be said for shampoo and conditioner too, hence no static from my helmet, a biker girl’s beauty tip.

“Alexandra Easton.” He said my name and studied my driver’s license.

“That’s me. Everyone calls me Lex.”

Ever since those “Alexandra the Great” articles had appeared in the papers during my childhood I’d requested to shorten my name.

Hearing Officer God say it almost made my name sound sexy. There was no raised influx in his voice, which usually meant he’d identified me as being the daughter of the world’s most famous couple.

I sorta loved that. I can’t remember the last time someone didn’t know of my folks. Like ever.

“Tomorrow is your birthday.” He smiled. “A big one.”

OMFG! Officer God’s grin was utterly heart-melting.

“Eighteen. Can’t wait. My BFF, VBF, and GBF are going to Paris with me tonight. We’re all on the red-eye.” Note, I didn’t say my BF. That’s because I sure as fudge didn’t have one anymore. And Kelle wasn’t going to Paris with us. He could use the first class ticket I’d bought him for a one-way trip to hell.


“My friends. Two of them are in the limo.”

“Gotcha. I turned twenty-one a few weeks ago. Milestone birthdays spent with close friends are cool.”

“Happy Birthday. Did you do anything fun?”

“Started this new job.” He said proudly and padded his name badge.

“Is your last name really God?”

From the deepest part of him came a chuckle. Baritone, his laughter sent a warm fuzzy to the center of my stomach as if I’d eaten a cinnamon red hot candy.

He scratched his chin for a second then replied, “No. Ford is my first name. Alessandro-Vollero-Gotti is my last. God is short for Gotti. The NYPD didn’t have enough room on my badge. They cut it short.”

It was as if Officer Gotti and I weren’t on the side of the highway. No siree. We were on a date. At least in my head, having a romantic dinner, sharing a plate of spaghetti bolognese and getting to know one another better. Humor me here, people. It’s my birthday weekend, okay?

I studied his uniform. No pins or ribbons decorating him with accomplishment. He was as he said, new to the force. Wrinkled with deep squares as if it had come out of the wrapper, his uniform probably hadn’t even been washed yet, let alone ironed.

Whoever had ordered his uniform should’ve put in for a bigger size. It appeared almost uncomfortable. I wanted to rip it off him. He was gonna get his Hulk on any second now.

I don’t know if was the sun, or the fact that he was the hottest cop I’d ever seen, but for a second as he talked, I couldn’t hear him. It was as if someone had stuffed cotton in my ears. My mind was in another place. I sat back on my bike, letting Vamp’s engine hum between my legs. Nipples hard, the little hairs on the back of my neck saluted.

For a few seconds I fantasized…

Officer Gotti pressed his hard body up against me as I unbuttoned his shirt and ran my fingers over his defined chest.“Lex,” he said to me in a flirtatious voice. “You are one sexy woman.”

“I know.” I replied more confidently than I am in real life because this was my hot-cop daydream. Hello! In my head I’m a drop dead gorgeous diva with the hips of Shakira and the face of Charlize Theron. Besides, regardless of what a woman looks like, if she’s confident in what she has to offer, she’s attractive. At least that’s what Mrs. Pringle, my gym teacher, used to say at Avon Porter.

My right leg came up, sitting sidesaddle on the bike in a Roberto Cavalli leather mini-skirt. I’d had a wardrobe change, fresh application of lip gloss and a spritz of my Diorama perfume too.

He stood in front of me. My knees touched.

“Spread ‘em.” Officer Gotti demanded.

Sweet and innocent, I bit down on my pointer finger and shook my head. “I don’t know what I did wrong to be pulled over.”

Inside I hungered for him to violate me. Take my Lady V.

“Do as you’re told.”

“And if I don’t, Officer?”

“I’ll be forced to restrain you.”

“Restrain away. I’m not spreading.” Glancing down at the bulge swelling in his pants, he seemed turned on by me not giving in so easily.”

Before I knew it, the handcuffs came out. His strapping arms came wide, and he hugged me. Reaching for my hands, Ford cuffed my wrists behind my back.

Clink! Clink! They pinched my skin. He had me under lock and key now.

There I sat on Vamp, facing him. Merciless! I friggin’ loved it.

“You know damn well what you did and why I had to pull you over. Now you must pay for your crime.” Officer Gotti grabbed my knees and exposed my panties. His erection rubbed against my thighs, sending a pulsing urge to jump on top of him. But I didn’t. I played cool as if I’d done this a million times before.

His huge, square hands framed my face as he kissed me. His touch was rough and callous. But he was trying to be easy on me. I could take it. A thick, wet tongue danced in and out of my mouth as he unbuttoned my blouse.

Caressing my breasts, he kissed my neck and complimented me.  

Floating into the summer’s white fluffy clouds, I wanted to hold onto his python arms and balance myself. Simply euphoric, that’s how I’d describe this feeling. With my hands cuffed behind my back, it caused my nipples to distend. I couldn’t take my eyes off of them.

Neither could he.

“Miss Easton, you know what happens to erect nipples, don’tcha?”

“You put tape over ‘em?” I said coyly.


“Then what?” I asked, as he tugged on one.

“I tease. I play. I—” He pinched my nipple.

My spine straightened.

In a unique way Ford exerted control while remaining gentle all the same.

So aroused, I was flying high on the FDR.

“I torture them until you so much as cannot stand even the slightest drag of my tongue over your hot flesh. You’ll whimper for me to stop.”

“Never!” I teased right back.  

“I wanna hear you beg.”

“What else do you do to them Officer?”

“They get eaten.” In a flash, he dropped his head to my left breast and licked. “Birthday girl, you taste—” Nipping at my sensitive flesh, his teeth grazed over them sending arousing chills all through my body. Then gently he clamped down, giving a slight tug.

Ohhh my gummy bears. 

He released and said, “Your nipple tastes like sugar.”

“That feels…good. Don’t stop. Please, Officer. I’m begging just as you wanted. Go on. Keep licking my sugar.”

“Very good birthday, girl.”

“I can follow directions well.”

“I’m going to make you come over and over.” He suckled my right breast while caressing the left with one hand and tugging at my panties with another. Pulling on the elastic trim, he let it snap. “I’m gonna tear those panties off you in a few seconds.”

A part of me was on the edge almost wanting to drive Vamp off into the far distance. I’d say that was my good-girl side struggling not to give in to temptation.

“Yes. Yes. Tear my panties off!”

Yet another part of me, maybe the real person who I’d always wanted to become, gave in to him with reckless abandon. I, Lex Easton, soon to be an adult, felt as if I was water in his hands. He controlled my temperature. I was hot about to boil over.

“Get ready.” Humming to himself, his attention returned to my breasts. He swirled his tongue over one, then flicked, tugged, and sucked the other.

“Ford, you’re…amazing.” Exhilaration ran from my scalp to my toes. Slow and deliberate, his touch on my breasts created a synergistic energy. A dense heat surrounded us. My peripheral vision blurred. I was getting drunk on this erotic exchange.

Insides blazing, the Victoria Secret’s I’d put on earlier that day were soaked, more than I’d ever thought possible. If Ford kept this up, I’d come buckets right on the bench of my scooter.

He gazed at me. “Keep your eyes on me. Watch. Don’t close them. Understand?” His mouth returned to my nipples.

“Ah-hmm.” I purred and did as instructed. I stared at Ford. “I don’t know how much more nipple play I can take.” Let’s get real here, a lick and a tug and I nearly flew to planet Mars. A ten-minute breast feast and I had skyrocketed to another universe.

In my clique, Vive was the only one of us to have gone all the way. She loved sex. And Vive went out of her way to get it. For her graduation present, earlier this summer, her parents had sent her to India with the assignment of touring a new Farnworth Firewater distributor. Little did her folks know Vive had signed up for an intensive tantric workshop taught by a young prince claiming to be the long-lost son to the Kingdom of Mysore.

When she’d returned, Vive had told Taddy and me, “Honey, Tantra is not the act of gymnastic sex but the devotion of selflessly giving yourself to pleasure another person. Prince Baji Rao spent nearly a whole day nibbling on my titties. My hormones reacted in ways I didn’t know existed.  I was reborn and transformed.”

She didn’t exactly tell us where or what she’d been transformed into. Regardless, it sure felt as though this, right here, whatever Officer Gotti was doing, came close to being what Vive had described with Prince Baji Rao. His attention to my breasts was insane. If I didn’t know any better, I would say Ford had the tantric touch.

“Lex, I must have you.” He unzipped my skirt from the side and tore my panties off with one swift yank. They flew back onto the highway, landing on a car’s windshield as it passed by.

The car cheered us on with a honk of their horn as they shouted, “We love you, Lex Easton.”

Oh yes, in my daydream fantasy, I was going to give up Lady V out in the open, for all the public to watch. The tabloids which had torn me down my entire life could suck it! I was a beautiful creature who was being adored by the hottest man I’d ever flippin’ met.

“I’ve never…”

“Had a guy go down on you?” he asked.

“No. But I want you to.”

“Beg for it, birthday girl.”

“Officer, make my wishes come true and bury your face between my legs. Please. Right now. You must. It’s what I want.”

“Are you sure?” He asked as licking his lips, appearing ready.

“Yes…please Officer, eat me as if I’m the only thing you’ll have today.”

He did.

I squealed with how easily he got me wet.

“Birthday girl, the creamy center of your pussy is winkin’ at me. It’s pink and—” He licked then said, “—hot. You’re burning up. Allow me to blow on this.”

“Put my fire out!” I begged.

Ford kissed an inner-tender spot on my thigh. Unexpectedly one long stroke of his tongue ran straight to my core then back to my mid-thigh. He bit playfully at my flesh. His gorgeous face and those black eyes looked up at me intently as he then blew a steady stream of pressured breath from his tight lips onto my Lady V.

“Ohhh.” Stifling a scream I held my breath.

“Damn woman, you taste good.” He fingered my wetness. Pulling some of my juice out, he sucked it off dramatically.

“Yes. That’s it.” I moaned watching him get off on getting me off.

“Beg, baby. Beg for it.”

“Eat my pussy. Get every last drop till I’m dry.”

Hulk on a Harley scared the crapola out of me. I’d never seen anyone love the taste of women like he did. Come to think of, it this was my first time I’d ever had a guy go down on me. Like ever. So there was nothing to compare it to…but seriously, he was off the charts.

His hands were smothered in my essence as he nestled his face between my legs and bit gently on my clit.

My entire body trembled.

“That feel good, birthday girl?” Ford lapped his tongue deep into the well of my cunt. His fingers followed his tongue, taking turns, jetting in and out of my heat, firing me up.

“Ahhh-huh.” If my hands were free, I’d tug at his scalp.

“This pussy—” he grunted, fingers going in deeper “—is going to surrender itself to me. It has the right to remain silent.” And like that his mouth hunkered down on the hardness of my clit. “Love sucking this cream outta you, birthday girl.”

Seat shaking, toes curling, Vamp and I were so close to shooting off across the Hudson River. We’d for sure land somewhere in Astoria, Queens.

“Come on my tongue.” He snarled from the side of his mouth.

“Now?”I quivered.

“Damn Lex, now, yes. Come for me!”

In total ecstasy, my moans turned to screams. I couldn’t hold it in any longer. He was the biggest, hottest dude I’d ever seen, and he had strapped me to my bike and ate me out.

“Miss Easton!” I heard him say from somewhere other than between my legs.


“Miss Easton.” He tapped my shoulder.

“Huh?” I blinked, snapping out of my fantasy. “What?”

“You okay?”

“Oh.” It wasn’t real. My daydreams were always just that—a dream.

“I was talking to you.” Officer Gotti glanced back at his bike, then asked, “Did you hear me?”

“No. Sorry the heat’s getting to me on this bike.”

“Turn your engine off.”

I did as he suggested. “Why did you pull us over?”

“On my radio, there was an APB issued for a purple scooter and limo leaving the scene of a crime.”

“Say what?”

“I patrol this highway. I’ve spoken to the detective who’s looking for you. His team should be here shortly. I was asked to detain you for a bit.”

“For what?”

“Can’t say. This it out of my jurisdiction. Won’t be long.”

His radio made a noise.

“Stay on the bike. I’ll be right back”

Just as he got to his Harley, two black and white sedans pulled up. Their lights flashed.

Up above, a helicopter came out of nowhere. Dang, it was The Manhattanite Times TV station.

One, two, three, four policeman huddled around Officer Gotti. They talked about something which had happened in Soho. I couldn’t hear much else with the chopper swarming over us.

Officer Gotti waved them away but they didn’t budge.

I looked up at the reporters with their cameras. WTF!

Taddy and Vive’s eyes widened as they mouthed to me through the window, “What’s going on?” Ignoring the cop’s demand to stay in the car, they got out.

Vive had her purse in one arm and her dog in the other. Thank heavens her hands were occupied because she’d probably give the chopper the finger.

A second cop approached. Officer Gotti stood behind him and crossed his arms. “Miss Easton?”

I nodded.

“What’s your relation to a Birdie Easton residing at 245 Spring Street?”

My stomach dropped. “She’s my mom. Why?” I didn’t like the sound of this.

“Over here.” Another cop stood at the limo, the trunk opened. One by one, he pulled out my luggage onto the side of the road.

Officer Gotti stayed with me as the others went over. He lowered his opaque shades and covered his eyes. I couldn’t get any read off him. But he was staring at me suspiciously. Unable to tell what he was thinking from his body language, the way he’d rubbed the back of his neck had told me he couldn’t figure out what was going on either.

Vive marched up and asked loudly, “Excuse me, police person. Just what do you think you’re doing?”

“My job lady. Now step back,” the cop shouted.

She didn’t. “Do you have any clue who I am? I have a right to know why you’re searching my car!” When they ignored her, she pulled out her cell phone from her purse. “I’m calling my father’s attorney.”

Hedda Hopper, who never barked started, to yap and yap.

“Turn around. Place your hands above your head.” One cop said to Vive and another to Taddy.

I gasped and covered my mouth in shock. That threat to call her lawyer didn’t go over well. Officer Gotti stalked over and took Hedda from Vive’s hands. She started screaming.

“What for?” Taddy asked. She was much calmer than Vive. “Why are you arresting us?”

My heart sank. Was this over the drinking?

A policeman cuffed Taddy, then Vive, and lastly their limo driver. He filed them up against the white line on the road.

Another cop approached me, pointed at my bags, and asked, “Miss Easton, are those your things?”

“Yes. Someone please tell me what this is about.”

The cop’s face wrinkled, perhaps out of confusion about my question. Ford walked up and stood beside him as he asked, “Why don’t you tell us where you were coming from and where you’re headed to?”

So I did. Well sorta. I told them Birdie and I had a disagreement and I’d packed up my stuff and left.

“Did you start a fire on your way out?”

“A fire?” Oh no-no-no. “In the bathtub, I burned a dress with some photos. It was nothing.”

“Hands up. We’re arresting you for arson. You have the right to remain silent.” His Miranda warning continued.

“You can’t be serious. Nothing happened.” I figured Kelle had probably called the police making this a bigger deal than it really was.

“Your little fire caused a rather large explosion.”

“What in the heck are you talking about?” Taddy shouted.

“Nothing has blown up except for your career. Just wait till my daddy’s lawyer hears about this.” Vive screamed.

“Miss Easton, we have you and your friends on video at the parking garage loading up that limo and leaving the building.”

“When did transporting good fashion become a crime? She’s moving in with me. And we’re going to Paris tonight. Now, give me my fucking dog back,” Vive spewed, as she wrestled with the handcuffs.

The cop ignored Vive and spoke directly to my face. “Shortly after you drove away, most of your mother’s penthouse exploded.”

“No.” My legs felt weak and my head heavy. I dropped to the ground and sobbed. “Where’s my mom? Is she okay?”

“She’s being treated at Manhattan General,” a policeman replied, as another one lifted me to my feet. Before I knew it, I was in the back of their sedan being taken to the police station and charged with what exactly, I didn’t know. Vive, Taddy, and their limo driver were arrested as accomplices and taken in another car.

Like the daydream, hot-cop fantasy I’d had moments ago, my hands were tied behind my back and I was restrained by the law. But unlike my wet imagination, Officer Gotti Alessandro-Vollero-Gotti stood on the side of the road, next to Vamp, and held Hedda Hopper in his arms as I left him behind.

All I could think about, all I had promised myself I’d never think about again not after what had happened earlier was Mom.

Was Birdie alive? What about Kelle? Had I killed them both?

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riding desire

Chapter Two: Mister Softee

riding desire lex easton

Chapter Two

Mister Softee

“Lex-a-licious!” Taddy picked up on the first ring.

“Where are you?” I asked.

“Vive and I are at Bergdorf’s. They have that angora sweater Christina Ricci wore in Teen Vogue. I fricking L-U-V it. There are no dark colors in your size. Want me to ask the sales guy if they can custom order you one? I’m buying it in red, for myself. Oh my Lord & Taylor, we are having a fabu day getting our clothes for school. Before the BG, we shared a Nicoise salad at Le Bernardin. Vive ordered a Cosmo and got her dumb butt carded. Vive woulda been fine too, if she hadn’t acted all Farnworth-liquor-heiress righteous and proceeded to tell the waiter how to train the bartender on the specific way to shake her Cosmo. Can you believe her?”

“Yes,” I muttered, trying to get into this conversation.

“I wanted to crawl under the table and die. Instead we drank Diet Cherry Pepsi. So embarrassing! Let’s be serious, girl. We need to buy fake ID’s for going out to bars and stuff. Yesterday in spin class, Blake told me where he got the driver’s license he uses to get into those gay clubs in Chelsea. I told him to get you and Kelle an ID too. Be warned, if Blake Morgan’s sex life is better than ours I will totally wig the Fendi out on all of you. Whatcha doin’?”


Taddy inhaled deeply and waited for me to yap right back.

I chewed my gum. Salads, shopping, underage drinking, and the idea of sex had put Taddy Brill into serious overdrive. “Mmm.”

There was something comforting about Taddy’s shopping silliness. She’d thought about me.

“Lex love, you want an angora Ricci sweater and a fake ID or not?”

“No. Taddy….” I paused. Errr. A few minutes ago I was doing so good trying to make light of what happened. Never did I imagine I’d get this upset. Or be shaking. Dropping to the floor, I curled up in a ball. The tears fell.

Does anyone ever get used to this crap? There was no shield of protection between me and my parent’s cruddy actions. I wanted to call Carrie Fisher, you know Princess Leia from Star Wars and tell her that I’d relived her semi-autobiographical Postcards from the Edge novel about her childhood with her mother, Debbie Reynolds, but I didn’t have her number.

“Darling, we can skip over to Barney’s and see if they have it in your favorite color, bloody, black, burgundy, whatever the hellaballo you call it. We’ll get ya one. It’s nothing to get upset over.”

I felt my frown invert. Then I laughed, and knew neither Bergdorf’s nor Barney’s has ever carried my size. That was the funniest thing I’d heard all day. “Try Saks or Bloomies women’s department. And my favorite color is called vamp.”

“Get your gorgeous self on your two-wheeler and come uptown. Let’s hang at Bloomies. Oooh, and order that Forty Carrots yogurt you luuuv so much.” Taddy suggested.

See, again, she thought about me. That was love, right there.

“Not today. I gotta—move.” The idea came out so naturally. I knew moving out was the right thing to do.


Before Taddy could rapid-fire questions, I inquired calmly, “Do you think Vive would let me stay with you girls for a bit. Till school starts?”

Taddy had roomed with Vive at the Sherry Netherland, for free btw. Her parents weren’t helping her with college. They hadn’t paid for her Avon Porter education either. Birdie had covered her tuition for the last few years without Taddy knowing who paid what. Sober Mom wasn’t all bad. Money to her was like vodka, in one hole and out the other. The only thing Mom wanted credit for was her beauty and songs.

“Ummm. Dah!  Of course. Want me to talk to Miss Vive? She’s standin’ right here.”

“No. I merely wanted your thoughts, is all.” I wasn’t comfortable asking for help.

“Ah, huh. You don’t sound too good.”

Yuk. I flung a wad of saliva off on my sleeve, swallowed, and replied, “I’ll live.”

“Is Birdie being her usual self?” Taddy’s voice became serious, “Lex, are you okay? Did something happen?”

“Daddy is in Tokyo. Jack Daniels has been Mom’s only source of nutrition since I’ve moved in. And Kelle came over today and celebrated with her.”

“Nooo.” Taddy screamed so loud that I thought she’d blown-up my phone.

“Yup. They’re on her bed going at it.”

“Holy Mommy Dearest on a wire hanger! That is fugged up.” She muffled the phone for a few seconds and shouted some more.

In the background, I heard Bergdorf’s security team asking her to leave their store if she didn’t calm herself down. Taddy was always getting herself kicked out of there.

The phone sounded as if it had changed hands.

“Lex! Hey girlie, it’s Vive.”


“Taddy went to go pay for her fuzzy sweater.” Vive giggled. “Honey, I’m sorry to hear about your Mom and Kelle.”

“Me too.” I closed my eyes wishing I’d blend into the carpeting.

“Let me call my driver to haul your wardrobe. We’ll be in Soho within an hour.”

“Really?” I sat up from the floor. “You’re serious?”

“Honey, you wear Chanel. I don’t kid about couture.” Vive cackled.

Farnworth Firewater liquor heiress Viveca Farnworth was the only Avon Porter student who’d talked to me and Taddy when we’d started going there. Labeled “tabloid girls” from the start, everyone had avoided us, except for Vive.

A few years later, the school had gone co-ed, admitting Blake on a scholarship. No one had talked to him either. That’s pretty much how the Fab Four had started.

“Pack up your life. We’ll load it into the limo. There’s a street-bike parking space on Fifth Avenue and Fifty-Ninth Street for Vamp. The doorman stands in it all day long, scratching himself. No one uses it.”

“Why not?”

“Honey, who on the Upper East Side rides a friggin’ motorbike?” Vive snorted louder and longer than before. “The spot is all yours. Stay the entire semester. Hedda Hopper will be so happy to have you with us.”

Hedda was a Lhasa Apso that Taddy and I had bought for Vive after our stint in juvie. It was the week her parents had forced her to give up the baby. The pooch didn’t fill the hole in Vive’s heart for the love of her child, but it gave her something to care for. We were like fifteen.

I wiped my eyes. “Thanks, Vive. You and Taddy are the best.”

“Oh and Lex, before I forget—”

“Yes.” I sniveled.

“You’re gonna get through this. Birdie cares for you. She’s just sick. Kelle, on the other hand will be gettin’ a piece of my mind when I see him in my journalism class in a few weeks. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

I hung up and started packing. From YSL to Gucci, I shoved and stuffed anything and everything that would fit. All the while, I chomped on my gum and highlighted in my head the top ten fears and worst moments of my life. In chronological order, they were:

  1. Puberty advice to pad my bra, or not wear one at all. I was nine then.
  2. A locked refrigerator. No parent should starve their child. Birdie had called it food monitoring.
  3. Paparazzi which has tormented and snapped photos of me (usually when I was at my worst) my entire life. Such as…when I’d eaten a chocolate and vanilla twist cone, dipped in a raspberry hard shell and dusted with rainbow sprinkles. Purchased from a Mister Softee truck, parked on Madison Avenue—while standing outside in one hundred degree weather with one hundred percent humidity, in a horizontal-striped-sheer-stretchy poly-blend sun dress—which had ridden itself almost entirely up my bum. How I knew it had ridden up my bum? See number 5.
  4. A Vicodin, given to me by Dad to stop my hysteria, instead of a band-aid or a hug, after I’d fallen and scratched my knee on Madison Avenue while running from the Paparazzi. I was like eleven.
  5. The photos of my backside, at the ice cream truck, appearing on the cover of The Manhattanite Times the very next day. The headline had read, “Alexandra the Great Swallows for Mr. Softee.”
  6. A mother who has and forever will have a hotter body, prettier face, and better hair than I do. Even when I’m seventy years old and she’s like dead.
  7. A father who was never around. Years have passed without him walking through our front door. I’m not sure he even knows Birdie sold the Central Park West mansion and moved to Soho last year. I should probably give him the new address.
  8. The fear I’ll never meet or exceed my parent’s financial or professional success, regardless of what industry I work in. According to the economics class Vive and I took our senior year, I have less than a five percent chance to make it as an adult without riding my folk’s coattails to maintain this lifestyle. Poor Vive, her family is the second richest in North America. She has less than half a percent.
  9. Infamy! I’ll forever be associated with the Easton’s.
  10. Birdie and her full-on, balls-to-the wall sex with my high school sweet-heart. I had loved Kelle Sterling Dolley. Or at least, I thought I had.

Fifty minutes later, my toiletries, shoes, and day-evening-school wear were all thrown into nine Louis Vuitton wardrobe trunks. One garment wasn’t going to see the Upper East Side, my striped-stretchy dress, circa childhood from hell. I found that effer in the back of my closet. Birdie must’ve packed it when we’d moved downtown.

“I cannot believe I didn’t burn you ages ago.” Alone, I shouted out loud to the dress as if I were a mad woman, because I was. I carted that rag of bad memories to the bathroom and threw it in the tub.

“Ah-ha!” In the medicine cabinet, I found an aerosol can of StrawberryNet’s Ultra Mega Super-duper Hold Extreme Hairspray. I doused that dress and lit a match. “Burn, baby, burn!”

On my way out, I dumped a shoebox of photos into the inferno too. “I bid you adieu.” They were of Kelle and me from prom, homecoming dance, and our winter formal. It was all there.

Peaceful and quiet, the penthouse seemed unoccupied. Birdie had probably passed out.

I jammed two more nicotine gum pieces in my mouth. Jaw tensing, teeth snapping, I chewed up one mofo of a wad, I imagine no one had ever chewed before or has since.

The elevator doors opened.

Onto the lift I pushed one case in, then two, and so on. I turned back to get my purse and my helmet when “lover boy” approached.

He acted as if he’d arrived mere moments ago.

“Lex.” Puffy lipped and woman-handled, Kelle’s red eyes didn’t make contact with mine. His attempt to kiss me on the cheek failed when I pushed him away from me.

“Get lost Kelle.”

“Whaa?” He played innocent.

“I saw what you and Mom did. For crying out loud, residents as far away as Staten Island could probably hear you two with all that moaning and groaning.”

“Ugh.” He raked his fingers through his light brown hair. Flipping his part from left to right, Kelle stood there, speechless.

“Say something for yourself!” I so wanted to fight. Growing up Easton had taught me to throw punches and kicks.

“Sweets.” He air-pumped his hands in a “let’s calm down, I’m stoned” kinda way. “I came to get you. You were out. Mrs. Easton gave me blow. I got too high. We smoked to chill. The end.”

“Now you’re doing cocaine?” In two short hours he’d gone from gorgeous to hideous, right before my eyes.

“Just a few lines. One thing led to another. Mrs. Easton’s clothes popped off. Mine did too.”

“Popped off?” I repeated his malarkey. Rolling off my tongue, it tasted as if I’d licked Hedda Hopper’s curvy tail, complete and utter dog-do. On instinct, my right foot jetted out. “Hmmm.” I gauged the distance. Kelle needed a kick in the head. I owed him at least that. Dang, he was too darn tall for me to give him one.

“Whaddya want me to say.” He grimaced annoyingly, and in his mind and in his world, I bet he walked on some kind of mythical water, making him impervious to any repercussions.

The urge to hold him under his own Kool-Aid, till every ounce of air had left his lungs, tore at me with temptations ten times stronger than my usual cravings to go to Dylan’s Candy Bar.

Now I understood why women on the TV show “Oh Snapped” had whacked their hubbies in acts of rage and passionate revenge. Their victims had earned it. Regardless, there wasn’t a swimming pool in this Soho high-rise for me to even try drowning his sorry ass.

“Well?” he asked again.

Where would I start with the inventory of things this moron could say to me?

“How ‘bout, I’m sorry?” I suggested. My eyes finally locked with his.

Not only did we both know that “us dating, him taking my Lady V,” was way over, but he wasn’t sorry.

“Lex, no matter what happened, I came for you. Come. Be with me.” In a thick manipulative tone, he beckoned me.

“Go f—”

“Babe, come to Kelle.” With kahunas bigger than coconuts, Kelle caressed his gym-toned chest. Ever so slightly, he lifted up the front edge of his shirt, a smidge, enough to lower my focus from his soon-to-be-busted face onto his cheating body’s six-pack, navel, and happy trail patch.

The blankety-blank knew right there that what he just did always made my scalp tingle, insides flip-n-spark, eyelashes flutter, and Victoria Secret’s oh so wet.

Well, not anymore, sistah!

Sheepishly I held a breath and flashed my teeth giving him a bit of Geri Halliwell’s sexy persona, Ginger Spice from the Spice Girls.

All fake, of course. Oh there’d be more. I still had to get through Baby, Scary, Sporty, and Posh Spice. Trust me, Sporty was my favorite.

Walking over to him, I got all Baby Spice first. I traced my pointer finger over the horse emblem on his Polo shirt. One of the many gifts I’d bought him, months ago, when he’d turned eighteen.

He flexed his pecs when I glided a thumb over the navy blue cotton. Inhaling Mother’s signature perfume, Dirty Birdie on him, more commonly referred to by the fragrance industry as an instant hit. I gave his nips a teasing pinch. He winked. And in those flat green eyes, I saw something fuglier than I’d ever thought possible, narcissism.

Maybe he thought I’d forgive and forget.

What a pigtard.

Good Lord, I wanted to get all Scary Spice and stab him with my vampy nails. But they weren’t acrylic like Taddy’s or jewel-tipped like Vive’s. They weren’t even buffed like Blake’s to scratch up Kelle’s soon-to-be-f’d-up face. Instead, I’d asked him the dreaded question, the one that would either confirm or dismiss my own foolishness.

“Was today your first time screwing my mother?”

His mouth, which had kissed my neck and whispered in my ears—the one I had dreamt one day would go down on me, nibbling slightly on my clit, saying goodbye to Lady V hung wide open.

A thick, pinkish tongue, the one I had fantasized would flick my nipples while in our hotel room overlooking the Champs-Élysées as he thrust his fat cock deep inside me, twitched.

Nothing came out.


Kelle had already said enough. But I still had to hear the answer. Birdie sure as fudge wouldn’t tell me what’s what in a gazillion years.

I grabbed onto his shoulders. I shook. I demanded. I screamed. “Tell me the truth!”

“No. It’s not.” His forehead wrinkled. Amazed by his admission of guilt, I guess.

“Pathetic. That’s what you are.” Drawing my nicotine lips close to Kelle’s wide, hanging-open mouth, I spit my gum and all the Cujo-ish saliva I had built up all afternoon down his silicone-sucking throat.

“You—fat, dumb cunt!” He yelled, gagging and wiping himself.

Hearing those words was worse than any bullet to my heart. More painful than watching Kelle share himself with Mother, and never once with me.

In a flash, I got all Sporty Spice and kneed him in the balls—once, twice.

Bent over with the wind knocked out of him, Kelle grabbed at his nuts. He shouted more of the same mean ugliness at me.

“I want an apology!” Cupping my hands together into one fist, I used all my might, stood on my tippy toes, and down-punched the back of his head.

He dropped to his knees. And then I had my shot.

Bam! I kicked in his once-beautiful face. The buckles on my knee-high biker boots jingled and then ripped his skin worse than any acrylic, jeweled, or buff nail ever could.

Dang that felt good.

Violence was never the answer. However, when used in moderation, it was nothing shy of total fabulousness.

“Fuck Lex.” Up on his feet, he stood taller than I’d ever seen. He charged me.

Feet planted firmly, I stood my ground and kept my blue eyes on his crazy ones.

He slapped the right side of my face then punched my left.

Shit. I flew a foot or two back but managed not to fall. Jeeeez, I thought I’d see stars. And I’d figured those white snowballs might return perhaps, in blizzard form. Candy dots with vibrant colors too. Or at the least, my cheeks would’ve felt stung by a bumble bee.

I felt nothing. No pain. Not the loss off him. Not the stab in my soul from Mom. Why? I guess because after all of this was said and done, I still had me! Tomorrow I’d be eighteen. Life was so much better than this. It had to be.

“Sorry.” Covering his mouth in regret, he muttered that I had every right to hit him and he had never intended to hurt me.

“Whatever.” It was what it was, and what it was, was ugly. He never loved me.

“You and I didn’t have to be like this, Lex. We’d been together for a while. We weren’t having sex.” He buried his fists into his jean pockets.

Why was it that whenever a boy wasn’t getting laid by his girl, he’d use any excuse to destroy her?

“That was your choice. Not mine.” My back straightened.

I hated this subject. I’d tried too many times to seduce him. In the process, I’d lost myself and the love I once had for who I was.

“Lex, look at you. I’m not. I can’t—”

“Shut up, Kelle. We’re over!” Swallowing a scream, I grabbed my purse, riding gloves, and helmet.

“You promised…you’d lose the weight.” Pathetically he defended his right to treat me less than human.

I stepped into the elevator, pushed the button, and said, “My size isn’t of concern to you anymore.”

His arms came wide blocking the doors from closing. He slammed the hold button.

“Stop, I’m done with you.” Ready to ride Vamp out of here, I put my biker gloves on.

But I had to look at Kelle one last time. Not for who I thought he was, but for what he really was. Could someone you’d grown up with, who you’d loved so much been that blinded by Birdie’s fame? I tried to sense if he had any remorse that I might’ve overlooked.

Catching his image in the mirrored interior of the elevator car, he posed and seemed not at all regretful for today, but rather proud of sleeping with her and not me.

While the Queen of Rock must’ve been a huge notch on his belt, he’d given new meaning to her song, “Lucifer’s Mistress.” He truly was the devil in disguise.

Vive had one said, “I wished I had a penis—I’d whip it out and take a leak on him.” She was a little less tactful than Taddy with her words of wisdom.

Anyways, we’d been eating dark chocolate mousse, overhearing some cocky boy trash-talk his girl at The Black Tea Room after she’d asked us what we’d been devouring. The girl had recognized me from before at the women’s department at Saks trying to buy something to wear.

Her face had reddened with humiliation from the way her boyfriend had treated her in front of us. I had been taken aback that she didn’t get up and leave his boney butt. Instead, she’d sat with her guy, had ordered nothing, and watched him eat. All the while he’d lectured her on what she should and should not put in her mouth.

Then and there, I’d promised myself I’d never date a douche bag like him. Little had I realized I’d been desperately dating him all along.

Looking at Kelle in the elevator, loving on himself, I realized even if I were to lose this weight he probably still wouldn’t love me. I finally understood what Vive had meant. Men who use woman do it because it makes them feel better about themselves. They will always treat women as they please but only if we let them. I didn’t get that till now.

“Where are you going?” He noticed my trunks of clothes.

“Some place where I’m loved.” Nudging my helmet against him, I pried his hands off the door.

“Later Easton.” He acted too cool for me and released the hold button.

The panel lights flashed.

“Tell Mom, I said, thank you, for this favor.”

“Huh?” Arms crossed, he stood in the foyer.

“Today, I saw many things go on in that bedroom but protection wasn’t one of them.” My grip on the helmet tightened. I clenched my thighs, ready to unleash the nastiest revenge of all. Yes, worse than anything I’d seen on “Oh Snapped.”

“Mrs. Easton’s eggs are already scrambled and fried.” Kelle laughed.

“Spare me.”

“Rubbers don’t fit right. I hate the way they feel.” Without a care in the world, he walked back into the main room all smug. Goading me, he glanced and pointed at the hallway to Birdie’s room, then back to me and invited, “Join in the fun. Mama’ll show you how it’s done.”

I’d sworn I’d never tell. After today, all bets were off.

“Oh Mister Dolley, it ain’t Mama’s eggs or your lover boy comforts, I’m talking about.” Pushing the ground floor button, I finished, “it’s Birdie’s herpes that’ll get ya.”

The Abercrombie wannabe, Senator’s son, peace of Lhaso Apso crap-on-a-stick, pussy car driving, voluptuous-woman hating, coke-sniffing, MILF’s lover boy, otherwise known as Kelle Sterling Dolley, who’d probably just gotten himself an incurable STD gaped.

“Buh-bye now!” I waved, getting all Posh Spice.

The doors closed and so did this chapter of my life.

Or so I’d hoped….

PS, Don’t wanna talk about the flammability of StrawberryNet’s Ultra Mega Super-duper Hold Extreme Hairspray when burned with a poly-blend fabric and photo paper.

Two words: Ka Boom!

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riding desire

Riding Desire: Alpha Bad Boy Biker Boxed Set (14 BRAND NEW limited edition contemporary romance books)

Hi Asterettes!

I’ve missed our time together since my release of UNSCRUPULOUS. I had so much fun launching that book. Go Taddy Brill!

I’m back and shaking it up 14 times better than before. I’ve got some fun new friends that I’ve made in my journey. I adore these ladies who’ve contributed to Riding Desire. To start things off I’m going to the first book in the novella trilogy Love, Lex. It includes the Prologue, Chapter One, Chapter Two and Chapter Three to my blog.

We have contests, prizes and tours taking place all over the web. To see how the Riding Desire action unfolds please follow me on Twitter, like me on Facebook, pin me on Pinterest, and fan me on Goodreads. Are you ready for the ride of your life? Put your helmet on and let’s go!

riding desire box

Here’s a look at the BlurbPrologue and Chapter One

Cast of Characters: Major Players

Alexandra “Lex” Easton: (17) Motorcycle enthusiast and daughter to famed rockers Eddie & Birdie Easton, Lex intends to party the week away in Paris, France by giving her boyfriend, Kelle Sterling Dolley her virginity.

Tabitha Adelaide “Taddy Brill” Brillford: (18) Emancipated from her parents, Taddy is Lex’s best friend forever and lives with Vive at her apartment on the Upper East Side.

Blake Morgan: (17) Prada fanatic and ‘out’ of the closet since the day puberty struck, Blake is the clique’s gay bestie. He’s also very close to Lex’s mother, Birdie.

Viveca “Vive” Farnworth: (18) Lhaso Apso lover and heiress to Farnworth Firewater Liquor Company, Vive is a party girl who met Lex, Taddy and Blake while in boarding school.

Officer Ford Alessandro-Vollero-Gotti: (21) NYPD motor-cop Ford is inked, jacked like a super hero and eager to make Lex tell the truth about her wrongdoings.

Birdie Easton: (39) Lex’s pill-popping, addicted mother, she suffers from sexual compulsive disorder, is an ‘80’s Playmate and heavy metal icon.

Kelle Sterling Dolley: (18) Lex’s high school sweetheart who’s promised Lex they’d make love just as soon as she lost a little bit of weight.

Part One

Riding a motorbike is just like sex, right?

“Lex rode her Suzuki scooter with a helmet. Her Chanel fashions were always pressed. After graduating from Avon Porter she got into an Ivy League university and was still a virgin. She didn’t do drugs or get drunk. So how could my very best friend (VBF) be the daughter to two of the world’s most infamously eff’d-up partying icons and not be an utter mess? The answer is obvious, you ninny. It’s because of us. We’re her besties.” —Vive Farnworth, wealthiest teenager in New York, socialite and aspiring gossip columnist.


From the Desk of Manhattan School for Girls

October, 14, 1988

Dearest Mr. & Mrs. Easton,

I am a huge fan of your music and films. We are honored to have your only daughter, Alexandra, at our school. However, it has come to our attention, that she eats gummy bears and drinks chocolate soda for breakfast. This may be the cause for her outbursts in class which disturb other students. Enclosed is a high-protein, low sugar nutritional handout for a kindergartener of her age and….size.

Yours fondly,

Principle Rooney Belding


March, 10, 1993

Dear Mr. & Mrs. Easton,

Today your daughter rode a motorcycle to school, all by herself. While we applaud her independence, a 5-speed Yamaha dirt bike is not permitted. Since Alexandra is ten and not sixteen, she broke the law. Authorities have impounded her wheels. Child services will be in touch.

Take Care,

Principle Rooney Belding


June 1, 1996

Mr. & Mrs. Easton,

Alexandra ‘Lex’ is articulate and reading at the college level—outstanding for a thirteen-year-old. Regardless, after the recent physical altercation where she punched another student who admittedly called her fat, coupled by your continued failure to work with Lex on her behavioral issues and the ongoing paparazzi trespassing on our grounds in an attempt to take her picture, she poses a threat to our entire student body. We simply cannot invite her back for the fall term.

I’ve attached a recommendation for Lex to board at the Avon Porter Academy in Connecticut where she’ll be out of the spotlight and protected. Her humor and wittiness in class will be missed.


Principle Rooney Belding


Chapter One

Thanks, Mom, aka Birdie Easton

August, 2002

Soho, New York

“Fuck me!”


Loud, perverse words came from Mom’s bedroom as I stepped off the penthouse elevator into the foyer.

Carrying my Louis Vuitton over my arm, I hooked my motorcycle helmet, a purply fiberglass, biker-chick, must-have accessory, on the wall near the entryway.

“Come to mama, lover boy.” Mom’s words echoed throughout the ten-thousand square-foot floor.

Looking out the window at the sunny, blue skies, I couldn’t believe my mother, Birdie Easton, hooked up again, and so fast. Only gone an hour, I was at the pharmacy stocking up on nicotine gum. Three different Duane Read and two Walgreens later and I’d finally bought some at a bodega. And here I thought I looked over eighteen, so why they’d kept asking me for my ID was infuriating.

Did I, Lex Easton, smoke? Heck no! This gum suppressed my appetite. Only ten or so more pounds to go till my BF and me would be making l’amour in Paris for my eighteenth birthday party with my BFF, VBF, and GBF. Wait let me clarify. Only my BF and I are doing it together. My BFF, VBF and GBF are staying in separate rooms down the hall. Gross.

I sure hope I can shed the weight in twelve-hours before we go. I have to. Losing my virginity, more commonly known amongst my friends as Lady V, depends on it.

While removing my riding gloves, I tried to think back to whether Birdie had a dude stay over last night or not. The piney, ammonia stench of marijuana in the air hinted at her dealer, Don Juan Escobar, as today’s possible “lover boy.”

My father, Eddie Easton, didn’t give a flip who or what Birdie spread for. He was in Asia touring for his new album. Think Elvis Presley meets Gene Simmons, that’s Daddy. Their marriage had been “open” long before they’d had me. But did I have to hear her?

The Prince Street penthouse was more Mom’s place than mine. I’d moved in with her after graduating from the Avon Porter Academy back in June. Although up until a few weeks ago, I’d called boarding school more my home than here. I’m sure Taddy Brill, best friends forever (BFF), Vive Farnworth, very best friend (VBF), and Blake Morgan, gay best friend (GBF), would agree with me.

I’d only been here a few weeks, and already I’d caught her lighting the cashmere sofa on fire while trying to clean out her pipe. Then she’d entertained the New York Fire Department after they’d put her mess out.

Well, the mess was still here, people. Hello!

One might say I’d forgotten about Birdie’s insatiable appetite for the company of men, sometimes women, and yes, many inanimate objects.

Maybe I was in denial. Alright, I was in complete and utter denial about what a reckless, sexually compulsive, whacked-out celebrity Mom had turned into.

Her last album had dropped when I was like twelve. So she has too much free time on her hands to get into trouble. Come to think of it, there was no “turned into” anything. She’d pretty much always been this way. Uh-huh, I’m growing up, seeing things for how they’ve always been. It’s sad.

Thankfully my Daddy had turned down MTV’s offer last year for a reality show. If a camera crew had filmed what went on in this place, my life would’ve been o-v-e-r. Last I’d heard, the network had asked my Father’s music bud Ozzy to do it with his family, the Osbournes.

Rolling my eyes, I pulled my cell out of my stretchy-jeans pocket and noticed the time.

12:10 pm on Saturday.

My boyfriend, Kelle Sterling Dolley should be here soon. Today we are going back-to-school shopping in his new Ferrari. He lives down in the Financial District and claims since we’re going to be starting college up in Morningside Heights, he needs wheels.

Kelle thinks he is too good for a yellow cab, let alone the subway. Pretentious as white trash winning the lottery or my parents once their albums had struck platinum, I told Kelle I wouldn’t be caught dead in his tacky-ass racer. But he got himself one anyways.

He should’ve invested his father’s money wisely—on a motorcycle. That’s how us Easton’s rolled. I wouldn’t have minded if Kelle’s wheels had been new or an antique. It could’ve been a Harley, Ducati or even a freakin’ Honda, just no pussy sports cars.

Vamp is what I named her, my Suzuki scooter. Mechanically speaking, Vamp is not a motorcycle. She’s a single-cylinder, sporty thing with a seat that fits my bum and painted in my favorite color, think dried blood meets dark purple. She coordinates with my short nails.

Whenever I’d beg Daddy to buy me a motorcycle for my eighteenth birthday, he’d reply, “Baby girl your mother and I will get you a new set of wheels after we see your first semester’s grades at Columbia. ‘B’ or higher on all subjects. We clear?”

Please let my first semester go well.

Pretty cray-cray considering how messed up my folks were to be projecting academic righteousness. I’m not their Pollyanna Voodoo Doll, although I’d grown used to it. Those who can’t do, preach.

After Vamp, my dream bike was the Honda VFR400. Birdie had hers custom made in Japan and nicknamed it after her vibrator, The Pocket Rocket. I rode her as often as I could. I’m talking about the bike, not my mom. Ugh, totally gross!

Oh…that throttled feel, such a heady mix of power and diesel fuel pumping through the engine, between my legs, purring at my innocence. After I’ve lost my virginity, Lady V, I imagine future sex with Kelle will be similar to riding The Pocket Rocket. Hopefully minus the constant stop and go between traffic lights.

Back to Kelle—I admit that, when one looks as yummy as him, he could peddle a pink Huffy bike along the West Side Highway and get away with it. So I’m sure he’ll be fine in his Ferrari.

Vive always jokes, “Lex, your Kelle is total gorgeousness! Give ‘em your Lady V already. Or Blake will snatch Kelle’s juicy booty from behind and I’ll take his ding-a-ling from the front.”

And according to The Manhattanite Times, Kell was the hottest teenager to have hailed from an American political family. Granted, most of the boys I’d met over the years, who’d been born into politics had not…been attractive.

I’ve dreamt of, lusted after, kissed on, and doted over Kelle Sterling Dolley since I was like fourteen.

Wouldn’t it be nice if Kelle felt the same way about me? He didn’t. I was working hard to change that. Take this gum, for example. The more I chew, the more I lose, and then the more I’ll win at l’amour with Kelle.

“That’s it. Right there. Tap it hard. Ah-huh. Harder,” Birdie shouted in her drunk or high voice.

Usually, I could tell the difference. Today? Not so much. That meant she was probably a mix of both.

Unzipping my bag I took out a piece of that gum, popped it in my mouth and rolled the wrapper between my fingers. The directions had clearly stated not to chomp all day. So I’d spit it out in a few.

Aside from the excess salivating, that made me appear to be Cujo, the rabid dog, followed by bloating—which I corrected with Gas-X and a spritz of Diorama perfume—the gum wasn’t half bad. Shhh. I didn’t read the second half of the warning label where it had listed the other flu-like symptoms. Seriously, I can’t freak myself out about chewing this stuff. It’s mind over matter and right now my mind was focused on getting skinny and getting laid.

Plus what I jonesed for wasn’t cigarettes. I wanted sweets.

Clothing designer Ralph Lauren’s daughter, Dylan, had opened up a candy shop on the Upper East Side near Vive’s apartment called Dylan’s Candy Bar.

The world’s largest sugar shop served over 5,000 goodies. You go gurl! I effin’ double-hearted that place. Hungry for gummy bears and Sour Patch Kids, I craved a sugary zing like twenty-four-seven. Probably the same way Mom did her cocaine.

Please universe, make my apple fall far away from Birdie’s tree.

“My, my, my.” Birdie moaned, “Now I know what my daughter sees in you, Kelle.”


Un-frickin’-believable! Did Mom just say his name from her bedroom? I nearly peed. True story, I crossed my legs while standing, to brace myself from the utter horrid shock.

“Such a hot MILF.” He grunted like a pig.

A soon to be dead pig—FYI.

In a huff, I tossed my purse to the foyer table. With a thud, it smacked the white marble floor—echoing a boom.

Crap on a yard stick. I’d missed.

Frozen, I stood still and listened to see if Birdie and Kelle had heard me.

“No hands.” Mother bossed.

“Whatever you say, Mrs. Easton.”

Squeaky noises started. Then skin-smacking sounds. All of it picked up speed, getting louder and faster. Dirty talk too. And then came what must’ve been spanking.


A lump swelled in my throat, and it wasn’t from the gum. I wanted to call 911. What would I say?

“Operator, this is Lex Easton. I live at 245 Spring Street. My famous mother is screwing my hawt boyfriend. Can you send a policeman to make them stop?”


I bet the operator’s first response wouldn’t be to see if I was okay. Oh no. It’d be all, “I love Birdie Easton’s music. Her song “Lucifer’s Mistress” has a special place in my heart.” That’s what she’d probably say.

I hated that song. The lyrics were about doing the nasty with the devil.

Ready to bust it up, I marched across the penthouse, pulling my blonde hair into a ponytail. The gold buckles on my motorcycle boots clanged, bringing to my attention that this was gonna be a smack down. Easton style!

I thought about what I’d say, who I’d tell off first. Birdie was one heck of a fighter. She has the restraining orders to prove it. And Kelle, he stood at six-foot-three and has the body of an NBA Knicks player. Weighing over two hundred pounds, he’d often bragged he could do a thirty-five inch vertical jump and a three-cone drill in 6.5 seconds.

Either way, I’d already lost.

At the end of the brocade wallpapered hall, I spotted the door with its brassy handle wide open, and their ass’s wide out. I stepped closer and watched. I know! Shoot me now.

Magnetic and forceful, their sex pulled me in as some kind of touristy street brawl. One normally witnessed in the Meat Packing District around 3 am on Thursday nights.

You know, with the teens that come in from New Jersey acting all cool-n-craptastic till a Manhattanite bops ‘em on the back of their head with a champagne bottle to remind them to get the heck off our island. Posers!

I must observe this ridiculousness for myself.

Of course Birdie Easton, my Grammy Award-winning, Grey Goose drinking, Oxycodone-popping mother was riding Kelle Sterling Dolley like an Arabian horse charging out of the stables.

Yes, sprawled out on her California King was my boyfriend, the only guy I’d ever given a BJ. Which was the furthest we’d gotten, and that had been his choice, not mine. Clearly, today his body loved banging Mom.

Why wouldn’t he? Identical to Catherine Zeta Jones, Birdie appeared hot-to-trot for her age. I’d always been jelly of Mom’s beauty. It was her substance abuse that was fugly here, people. Not her leather and lace meets diamonds and pearls exterior.

In my almost eighteen years, I’d seen Mom do this, many times before. Totally! Although, not with my boyfriend. That was a new low, even for her.

Normally it was her friend’s husbands. Or sometimes my Daddy’s friend’s wives, my teachers and their spouses, the dentist, our neighbors, the doorman, her limo driver, personal trainer, recording manager, and let’s not forget her fans.

Birdie Easton’s fan club was freakishly ginormous. Sold out years in advance, her annual Madison Square Gardens’ Appreciation Weekend wasn’t coined Gang Bang Birdie for nothing.

But to have Mom screw Kelle, the dude who’d gone to the Connecticut Military Academy down the street from my boarding school—who Taddy, Vive, Blake and me had planned, plotted, and OCD talked about as my first—not to mention the son of Senator Dolley who was on the fast track for the White House, was way worse than crap-flying monkeys.

Uber Devastation….

The stress of this suddenly caused me to see itsy bitsy spots while I stood there. Resembling candy dots on strips of paper, their bright blue and pink tones suddenly faded to yellow and then white. I chewed the gum faster and prayed Mom, Kelle and the spots would all stop.

They didn’t.

Foaming at the mouth, not from what I’d watched but from what I’d chewed, I wiped my lip, and reached into my pocket for another piece.

I’d been going out with Kelle since the tenth grade. He’d reserved my vagina ages ago, like the first week Blake had told me in gym class to shave it. Blake and I had talked a lot about our pubic hair and whether we should trim it short or grow it out and dye it magenta. Bordering on cliché, pubic hair had been a normal go-to gym topic for us.

Kelle’s commitment to my cherry-popping had come with one uber-cray condition. I had to lose a few pounds. Alright, some might say a lot of weight. Friggin-A, I was so close. And our first time was gonna be in Paris. You know, for my birthday.

Avoir France!

Like Elle Woods in the movie Legally Blonde who’d studied her kitty off and passed the LSAT to get into Harvard Law School in hopes her boyfriend would married her—so had I!

Mind you, it was for a Bachelor of Arts in Women’s Studies at Columbia University and Kelle Sterling Dolley was no Warner Huntington III.

Kelle was flippin’ cuter. Waaay cuter. Think Josh Harnett in the movie Pearl Harbor. Holy Hershey Kisses I loved, luved, loooved, loved that movie.

And I wasn’t hoping to get married like Elle Woods neither. I’d merely wanted to get rid of my Lady V. So yes, I’d stalked Kelle from our private schools in Connecticut and had learned he was moving to Manhattan for college. I’d rallied my BFF, VBF and GBF to come along. I’d bribed. I’d begged. We all got in. Some of us were on academic probation with remedial studies, I might add. That would be moi, for math. Don’t wanna talk about it.

Okay, maybe the Legally Blonde analogy was a slight reach.

“Pull my hair. There you go lover boy. Get rough with mama,” Birdie sassed.

A feverish chill swept through me. I stood. I watched. I checked myself.

Sad? Meh!

Angry? A tad. Trust me I’d been through, oh my Godiva, so much worse.

Hurt? I’m sickened over this. No, like literally.

Knowing Mom would never ever do this to me if she’d been sober made it almost easier to swallow. Almost!

Her reply later, when she’d be all crashing down or buzzing back up, would be something to the effect of, “Kitten, its only sex. Grow up.” That’s what she’d say. I know.

And later, when she’d be sober, dryer than a saltine cracker, Birdie always stuck with her tried-and-true, “I have no idea what you are talking about. I did not raise my Alexandra Easton to be a liar. My heart hurts when you tell tall-tales, young lady.”

Notice how Mom had never referred to herself as “Mom” like ever. I was only allowed to call her the M-word when inside this penthouse. Her reasoning had been that it caused premature aging to hear it when out in public. Clearly Birdie’s rule applied to Kelle calling her ‘Mama’ in bed. WTF!

Birdie was so phobic about aging she’d stocked up the entire penthouse with oxygen tanks. She’d nearly given herself an O2 facial mist every day that I’d been here. When Mom wasn’t applying the oxygen to her skin, she was inhaling it, claiming the vapors made her inner body more beautiful.

I was surprised with all of her bong smoking and nitrous oxide tanks lying around she hadn’t blown the roof off this place yet.

Blake was right. I should have never moved back in with my folks while going to school. We should’ve enrolled at Pepperdine University in California. That’s what Taddy had wanted us to do all along and had suggested, “Sweet sorority Jesus. Forget this East Coast shizzicane. I want easy, breezy, beautiful. Darling, let’s go to Malibu…not Manhattan. No one knows us out west.”

Once my Ivy League training wheels to get laid by Kelle Sterling Dolling were rolling, I’d started to pump the brakes. I didn’t want to face those tabloids, chasing me between classes for dirt on my parents or Kelle and his family, again. At Avon Porter we were behind a huge brick wall which had prevented such harassments.

I’d toyed with the idea of registering under an alias so no one knew I was Easton’s daughter. I’d even met with the head of admissions and given them the name Wanda Maximoff, inspired by my favorite Avengers character, Scarlet Witch.

My Dad had approved of the alias, so did his publicist, the president of his record label, and the head of admissions even bought into Wanda Maximoff.

Leave it to my lovely Mom to veto such geniusness. She’d melodramatically argued, “Coming from someone who was robbed of finishing their GED, let alone never having the luxury to attend college, I pray that my only daughter will be proud to walk on campus and show her face.”

Proud? Never Ever!

And Birdie wasn’t robbed of squat. She’d dropped out of high school with the hopes of working as Bo Derrick’s body double in the movie, Bolero.

“Fuuuck. That’s good. So wet. Deeper,” Birdie squealed.

Was it wrong, that after several minutes of witnessing Kelle’s cock jut in and out of Birdie’s mouth, vagina, and anus…I still stood there in horrid disbelief and watched them?

He’d pretty much plugged every hole. WTF! They didn’t even use a condom.

In my overly active mind, I waited for some imaginary teleprompter to light up from the chandelier hanging above her bed and instruct, “Applause!”

They weren’t worthy of a clap. No siree. Now the clap which medical experts referred to as Gonorrhea was a whole other story. Hands down, they both merited that one.

Rolling over onto his side, Kelle submitted to Mom’s diva ways.

Her perfectly sculpted silicone breasts, the ones which had a lingerie brand named after them called Caged Birdie, sold in discount superstores, nearly hypnotized Kelle into titty-land.

“Mrs. Easton, I’m in love with you,” Kelle professed, and suckled on her rosy nipples as if he hadn’t eaten a breast implant in years.

Say whaa!

I-N L-O-V-E?

Poof! My insides dried up. Right there, in that doorway. Someone had taken a Dyson vacuum cleaner, hooked the tube up to my sex, and flipped the dry-vac carpet button.

Was I supposed to witness this?

Maybe the universe brought these two together to remind me to focus on my grades this fall, and not on the boys.

At Avon Porter, all my energy had gone to helping Taddy, Vive, and Blake get through their cray-cray days. Not on my academics, hence my remedial math studies.

From Blake’s coming out about being a cock sucker, his words not mine, to Taddy’s abandonment and emancipation issues with her folks, I’d been rather busy.

Just when I’d thought we were good to study, Vive had gotten herself knocked-up. And then the accidental death of her boyfriend, Sanderloo Konjik, had happened. I know!

All four of us had been arrested, charged in the murder of Sanderloo, and had stood trial. After spending an entire semester at the Fairfield County Juvenile Detention Center where Vive had given birth to her baby, we’d been found innocent of all wrongdoing.

Point being, my swinging parent’s party drama luckily hadn’t compared to any of the above. Vive had won the sash and tiara in that category. Taddy had reigned in second place, and Blake could have third. I’m so fine with Miss Congeniality.

Hmmm I wonder. Now that I’m here in the city if Birdie’s actions will hold me back from pursuing my Ivy League degree? I guess only if I let them. Right?

PS, don’t wanna talk about juvie. You’ll never see me wear the color orange or eat mashed potatoes.

“Suck it, woman. No, I didn’t say you could come yet.” Kelle got his man-game on when Birdie didn’t say she loved him back. Instead, Mom laughed and came everywhere.

If I was under his fifty-something-inch chest and held on to his twenty-something inch waist, while his foot-long dick penetrated me that way, (and not Mother), I’d probably would’ve orgasmed too.

Humping along, they didn’t even notice me. Typical!

The longer they went at it, the sadder it became to watch—two gorgeous people, past their luster, bang one another.

Kelle had peaked our senior year. The kid still wore Abercrombie for Christ’s sake. I imagine he’ll never take that darn military academy class ring off his finger. Not once this summer, had he talked about our future at Columbia University together. His mouth had jabbered on and on about his past Lacrosse games.

The worst was last week. He’d revealed he’d been stealing Viagra from his father’s medicine cabinet to endure what he’d coined “mega-masturbation-marathons.”

That’s like so seventh grade. Forreals!

Standing there, I talked myself out of loving him. Wasn’t that what I was doing?

Taddy had once profoundly stated all adult-like, “You can talk your mind into making your heart feel something. It’s true, darling. If you want to love, you will. And if you want to hate, you shall. But don’t let either of those two emotions get the best of you.”

That’s how she’d healed from her parents disowning her. Her ability to move on had all been a matter of Taddy’s mind, and not a matter of the facts. We were like fourteen!

When you think about it “facts” flub everything up. Regardless, I still felt nauseous.

Sick with the reality of what was before me, this whole—Mom and my boyfriend naked in bed together, having sex, and him telling her he was in love—thing started to sink-in.

The white spots I’d seen went from snowflakes to snowballs. My head pounded as if my heart had moved into my brain. And my stomach, ohhh, ached with abdominal pains. I felt worse than after eating Chinese food from that place down on Canal Street which has a dry cleaning and gold fish shop inside. All I needed next was for my hair to fall out and my arms and legs to snap off.

I backtracked through the penthouse to my wing and shut the door. The anxiety didn’t quit, even with Mom and Kelle out of sight. My hands went numb. Dang, I started having hiccups. Excuse me.

Shoving two more pieces of nicotine gum in my mouth, I wiped the saliva from my chin. The drool was out of control.

I had to do something drastic…murder Kelle, ask Senator Dolley out on a date, race my Vamp scooter off the Brooklyn Bridge and into the Hudson River while wearing an “Eddie Easton’s #1 Fan” concert t-shirt, or…I could sell my Lady V on eBay. So many choices to pick from, how could I decide?

Withdrawing my cell from my pocket, I called the only girl in town that might help me.

My BFF, Taddy Brill.


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riding desire