by T Gephart
“Fine, be that way. We could have been sisters, Rae. So it’s totally your loss.” I sighed, pretending to be disappointed. “Oh, well. Guess we’ll have to go back to the original reason I called you in here.”
“Hey, if this is about Leighton, we can skip that too. I wasn’t flirting, and he couldn’t have been less interested if he tried. So let’s go back to me pretending like I didn’t notice the two of you leave together last night and that his hands were waaaaaay too close to your ass. Besides, you know he’s not my type. Anyone who walks through those doors and hands over cash or a credit card is automatically out of the running. And as much as I hate to admit it, cute firefighters with smoking hot bodies aren’t exempt.”
It shouldn’t have made me happy to hear that, but it did. Because I had issues, and it gave me a warped sense of satisfaction to know he hadn’t even tried. Which was stupid because clearly what we’d done had been a one-time deal.
Looked like neither of us were going to be getting laid.
“Actually, it wasn’t about Leighton, but thanks.” And since I wasn’t exactly sure what my feelings were, there was no need to talk about them. Nor did I have the patience of the pretense. The one where I acted like I didn’t give a shit, and Raelle had mis-seen what she had.
Please, she was too smart for that.
“It’s about Scott Collins.”
Rae shook her head, grinning. “Don’t even bother, boo. I hear he’s a terrible lay. Such a shame because he looks like that.” She waved her hands animatedly like she was conjuring up his spirit. “But I heard it’s all just window dressing. Two pump, chump. No stamina, and doesn’t even go down on a girl. Says he doesn’t like the taste.” She rolled her eyes. “And yes, I saw him and his friends slide on past to the VIP room. But trust me, not worth your time or your birth control.”
Raelle wasn’t only the best bartender in my crew, but also one of my best friends. We weren’t looking to join a book club, or share lipstick as we giggled in the bathroom, but when shit went down, Rae was the one woman I could count on. There was no bullshit with her, and even if she hadn’t proven again and again how awesome she was, it was a flat-out tie between her and Bennett as to who was my most invaluable employee. Only reason she didn’t know about the expansion yet, was because she—like most bartenders—liked to talk. And I didn’t need information shared before the time was right. But she didn’t just have a big mouth, her ability to listen an even bigger commodity. Hell, I was positive Rae had heard more confessionals than a Catholic Cardinal, and unlike the Padre, she wasn’t bound by the constraints of the cloth.
“The warning is unnecessary. I don’t sleep with guests or movie stars. And I’ve made enough bad decisions for a while.” She probably assumed I was talking about Lewis and I wasn’t going to correct her. “But apparently he has business to discuss, and as much as I think it could be a line, I don’t think he’s smart enough.”
Rae laughed, tipping her head back and letting her mess of red curls go wild. “Business? Presley, I’ve had vibrators with higher IQs, only business he’s capable of is screwing up an orgasm.”
“Still, I’ve invited him to set up a meeting, and I don’t want to go in blind. Do your thing and let me know what you find out. A man like that isn’t able to keep his mouth shut. I’m sure it won’t be too hard to find out what he wants.”
The smirk on Rae’s lips was instantaneous, her excitement for my random assignments almost more than the love of her job. And she’d never let me down. Because if you needed to know something, a bartender could usually find out. Hell, I was sure they had some secret society or something. A skull-and-bones underground establishment with better networking than the Freemasons. And when they gathered, Boston shakers and jiggers in hand, they traded the secrets no one else knew.
“I’ll call my guy in L.A. at Tight and see if he knows anything. Scott likes to hang out there.”
I leaned forward, no doubt the information would be landing in my lap faster than any P.I. I could hire. “Good. Do your thing and let me know if you need anything. I’m not expecting a freebie.”
“Girrrrrl, you know I’ve got this.” She waved her hand, shrugging like it was all good. “Besides, Blaze has a crush on Scott, so will be only too happy to spill. I keep telling him the man is pretty but incredibly straight, not that Blaze will listen. Who do you think told me about his inability to give a woman an O? He’s freaking tickled about it, convinced since Scott needs an orienteering map to find the G-Spot he is probably better suited to the D.”
The laugh bubbled up my throat. “Good, then I’ll see you later on the floor. We can discuss it further on the ride home.”
Rae flipped her hair over her shoulder, eyeing me suspiciously. “You sure you don’t want to ask Leighton for that ride? He’s probably still at the bar. I can send him back here if you want. You know, to make sure things are all good.”
There was no need to clarify the subtext, I was positive I knew what things Rae was referring to. And unlike Scott, Jared did not need a map.
“Thanks, but no thanks. I’ve got a mountain of work to get through.” I motioned to my desk, the papers still in disarray.
“Okay, girlfriend. Enjoy. I’ll see you on the battlefield.” She mock saluted, turning around and then sashaying her lithe body out the door.
My eyes went to the monitors, Jared putting his bottle on the bar, looking toward the back of the club where my office was.
He was considering it.
And then he turned and walked toward the exit.
Damn it.
Jared
AS FAR AS making shit right, I hadn’t.
Nope, instead I was laying in my bed, staring at the ceiling with a hard-on for a woman whose brother was occupying the next room.
But Jesus Christ, that mouth.
It was easier for me to remind myself I was going to be hands-off when she wasn’t standing in front of me. But one look at her, that body and that smartass mouth, and I was making bad decisions all over again.
Hadn’t intended to kiss her, but fuck me, if I could stop myself.
“Fuuuuuuck,” I groaned, squeezing my eyes shut and trying to ignore the pain in my balls. I had to be up in a few hours and wasn’t liking my chances of getting any decent sleep.
Who knew what would’ve happened if that big bastard hadn’t interrupted us, and not sure if I was grateful or pissed.
Probably pissed.
My dick definitely was, the ache reminding me I’d yet to jerk off.
Jesus, Presley, my hand reached down as I gave myself a tug, the need for release crawling up my spine.
Last thing I wanted to do was lay in bed with my cock in my hand and think about a woman who was supposed to be a no-go zone. It was stupid, counterproductive, and solved nothing. What I should have been doing was imagining anyone else, getting off, and then moving on.
Hell, if I was really serious, I’d be finding a pair of willing lips to take over from my hand and put it to bed. Literally. Because there was no way I could keep my mind on one woman if I was with someone else, right? Pity, I couldn’t think of anyone else, nor work up the motivation to even scroll through my contacts.
My mind tried to help me out, flashing an image of the sexy redheaded bartender with a great pair of tits. Raelle was hot. Tattooed and toned, her shirt so tight even in the dark you could see both nipples were pierced. Wonder what they’d feel like in my mouth, flicking those babies with my tongue.
“The fuck?” I glanced down at my cock, noticing I was no longer hard. I was literally thinking about tonguing a beautiful woman’s tits and somehow had lost an erection. That wasn’t how it was supposed to work, staring at my dick in my hand and wondering when was the last time I couldn’t get hard.
It had been years, and I’d been drunk. Tibbs and I had been out, finding women at a bar and bringing them home. He’d gone to his room, I’d gone to mine, and the poor girl whose name I barely remembered, got a cramp in her jaw tryin
g to get some wood.
Nothing.
Completely limp.
So I did what any self-respecting man would do, flipped her on her back and made her come with my mouth.
And then never saw her again.
“Fuck it.” I kicked off my covers, deciding it was a lost cause. Might as well find a better use of my time, and considering I had a twenty-four-hour shift to get through, I needed to get my mind right.
I threw on some sweatpants and a sweatshirt, pulling on my Nike’s and grabbing the keys on the way out. I didn’t usually run on the street, preferring to get my cardio on a treadmill or rower, and then put some reps in at the gym. But desperate times called for desperate measures and I either hit the sidewalk and got in some miles or went into work early and got three million questions. And trust me, there was enough going on in that stationhouse. Between Mack’s new romance, North’s wife about to have a baby, and Tibbs worried about his sister, they didn’t need my surly mood.
The crisp morning air hit my lungs like a ton of bricks. February wasn’t as brutal as January but was still on the frosty side of the temperature gauge, my breath coming out like a huff of smoke. It was tempting to turn around and go back inside, get a warm shower and kill some time doing something that wouldn’t freeze my balls off. But as I looked down the street, the streetlights still on because the sun hadn’t come up, the cold turned into calm and I decided I’d come this far.
Living in Hell’s Kitchen had its advantages, but it also made it difficult to get away from the noise. Didn’t matter what time of the day or night you ventured out, there was always some action happening on the streets. It was one of the things I loved—losing myself in the bustle, being a part of the mayhem—and in a weird kind of way drowning out my own thoughts until all I could hear was my breathing as I ran.
It felt good, the muscles in my legs warming as I crisscrossed with no real plan, picking up speed as I jogged through the familiar streets. I cruised past the stationhouse, giving the closed bay doors a nod as I continued. Then I found myself in front of Diablo, the distance covered faster than usual since I wasn’t dodging foot traffic and had kept a decent pace.
Without realizing I’d stopped, my feet kept moving while staying in the same place. My eyes surveyed the big black doors to the club, the queen to the empire not currently in residence. And to think I’d gone on the run to get her off my mind and that was where I ended up.
Should have tried harder to jerk off.
And how did a woman I’ve known for nine years have my head so messed up? It wasn’t like I’d just met her, or suddenly realized she was fucking hot. My eyes almost popped out of my head when Tibbs had introduced me to his sixteen-year-old sister. But even without his repeated warnings, I wouldn’t have been stupid enough to try something. She was so young.
Or so I thought.
Nope, and given what I knew now, not sure my eighteen-year-old self would’ve stayed away.
Because Tibbs’ little sister was not only crazy beautiful, smart, and funny.
She was insane between the sheets.
In. Sane.
Shaking off the memory, I got my feet moving again and headed back to my apartment. The run hadn’t been as successful as I’d hoped—my head not any clearer—but it had killed some time.
I tried not to think, concentrating on my breathing and the sounds of the city as I sprinted back home.
“You went for a run?” Tibbs yawned, a cup of coffee in one hand, his phone in the other. It seemed I wasn’t the only one who had issues sleeping.
My head nodded, trying to catch my breath. “Yeah, thought I’d get a workout in before we needed to head in. What are you doing up?”
“Actually, I’m glad we are both awake. Something we need to discuss.” He gave me a pointed look.
Hmmmm, that didn’t sound good.
In fact, it sounded the opposite of good.
Trying to not get ahead of myself, I tried to act cool, calm and collected, willing to hear my buddy out. It probably had nothing to do with Presley, and I was rocking way too much paranoia.
“Oh? What about?” I asked, genuinely concerned and selfishly hoping whatever his crisis was, it had nothing to do with me.
“C’mon, man, what do you think?” His eyes didn’t drop. “Presley.”
FUCK.
Although my concern for my own ass only lasted a second, the phone in his hand giving me a whole other set of possibilities—none of which I liked—to fixate on. “She okay? Please tell me the bastard didn’t try anything.”
I knew I should’ve driven her home.
Should’ve stopped thinking with my goddamn dick.
Waited outside and insisted I see her safely to her apartment. Could’ve kept my hands to myself like I’d done a million times before, not touched or kissed her no matter how much I wanted to, and made fucking sure she was okay.
Jesus, I was a coward.
And was so pissed at myself I couldn’t see straight.
“Tibbs, is Presley okay?” I asked again, every muscle in my body so tight, shit was starting to hurt.
Tibbs swore, shaking his head. “Shit, sorry, I’m a dick. Yeah, yeah, she’s fine. I keep forgetting you care about her as much as I do.” He laughed, tossing his phone onto the coffee table. “I know she’s like a sister to you too.”
Yeah . . . not so much.
My body relaxed a little knowing she wasn’t in danger. “So what’s up then?”
The hesitation was unavoidable because I literally had no idea what he was going to say. It wasn’t a good thing either, usually able to read my best friend like a book.
“Did you happen to go past Diablo last night? After you left here?”
Annnnnnd there we were.
Fuck.
They might have been questions coming out of his mouth, but his eyes told me he already knew. And while he was still living in the delusion that I thought of Presley as a sister, he probably had fucking questions. Like why the hell I hadn’t told him. To be honest, I was surprised it had taken him that long, and not jacked me up the minute I’d walked in the door when I got home. It had been late, or early depending on how you wanted to look at it, and he was already passed out. Of course, that was what I assumed since his bedroom door was shut and the lights were off. Little did I know he was probably biding his time.
“Yeah I did.”
I’d been tempted to lie, pretend like I had no idea what he was talking about, but it just wasn’t in me. We’d been through some hairy situations at work, and I respected the man too much.
“Thank fuck.” He visibly relaxed. “Mitch said he saw your car around. I hoped you stopped by, maybe gave her a ride home.”
“Tibbs, I stopped by, but I didn’t drive her home. I tried,” and wasn’t that the fucking truth, “but she said she was going to get a ride home with someone else. I waited around hoping she’d change her mind but. . .”
“Yeah, no need to tell me. When Presley gets an idea into her head, no one is going to change it. Goddamn it, she’s stubborn. Thanks for trying, and for looking out for her. I know you have my back, and there isn’t a man out there I trust more than you.”
I was such an asshole.
I’d been ready to come clean and accept the consequences.
Fuck. It.
But then he had to go on and tell me what a good guy I was, and how he trusted me. And yeah . . . I just couldn’t do it.
“How was she?” he asked, making me realize I hadn’t said anything else.
Hot.
Beautiful.
And so fucking edible I could barely stand it.
I shrugged, careful to say the words my mouth wanted to say instead of what I was thinking. “Moody,” I settled on, figuring if nothing else, it had been accurate.
He rolled his eyes, probably imagining a different mood than I’d experienced. “Sounds like her.”
Yeah, yeah it sure fucking does.
“So, what’s with the phon
e?” My head tipped to the phone that had been in his hands, chilling on the coffee table. “And why are you up when I’m usually pulling your ass out of bed five minutes before we have to leave?”
Knowing Tibbs was going against his own M.O., a grin crept across his face. “Spoke to one of our old buddies. Detective Shapiro. You know that guy could never read a fucking watch. Finally got around to returning my message, and to be honest, I wasn’t dumb enough to tell him five a.m. wasn’t a good time to chat.”
Ain’t that the truth. There weren’t a lot of guys I was scared of, but he was definitely in my top five. The chief—when he was angry—still had the number one position, and number two as well.
Assuming Tibbs had more to share, I parked my ass into a La-Z-Boy and watched as he did the same, taking the other. We still had a good hour before things got critical, meant I had time to find out about the early morning phone call and not be at risk of the chief’s wrath.
“Didn’t Shapiro retire last year? And I thought you and Presley already spoke to the NYPD.”
She’d made a report about the cocksucker ex-boyfriend breaking in and rummaging through her place, and even mentioned he’d pulled a gun on her too. Not that they’d be able to do anything yet, the dick still MIA.
Tibbs nodded, confirming what I already knew. “Yes, and yes. But you know as much as I do that the detective had a tendency to do things,” he waved his hand as his brow rose, “less by the book and more result based.”
Shapiro was old school. A hard ass, who drank and smoked, and had at least three ex-wives. But he was a damn good cop and wasn’t afraid to bend the rules if it meant getting criminals off the street. The brass didn’t agree, making him retire before Internal Affairs got involved.
“What did he say?”
“That he was bored, and was happy to have a new hobby. Honestly, if he can’t find Lewis, then he’s skipped town for sure. Shapiro might not be on the force, but he has the city fucking wired. Hell, I didn’t even have to tell him about Presley, he already knew. Asked me why I’d waited so long to call him.”
Knowing Lewis was out on the loose and Presley was unprotected made me angrier than I’d ever felt. Tibbs had tried to talk Presley into staying with their parents, or a friend, or hell, even with us—that would have been interesting—but she’d shot him down. Flat out refused, saying she wasn’t going to live her life afraid. And I got it. All that shit about taking back the power and reclaiming whatever—perfectly fine. But it didn’t mean I had to like it, or think she was being slightly unreasonable considering it had been less than a few days.
