“Are we having a pow-wow I should know about?” Taggart complains, approaching us.
“Nope, sergeant. Just a friendly chat. Have a great day.” Tristan’s taunting smirk is enough to make me take another step, but Hayes frowns. Oddly, it’s more sympathetic than defending Tristan. What the hell is their partnership like?
Shaking, I go to the driver’s side and pace back and forth a few times. I’ll tear his head off. Pulling out my phone, I text Grant, eating crow, asking for his, Grayson, and Grady’s help to get me the fuck out of the apartment tonight. I can find a new apartment in a week, but I must stick it out with Grant until then.
I sigh and go to the driver’s door, and as I look up, I see Talia watching me. She then turns away. I need to deal with her, but I need to move before I commit Tristan’s murder.
Chapter 10
Natalia
I ran out of Dylan’s apartment fast. I don’t remember driving home or it raining. Shutting off my car, I remove my hands from the steering wheel to cover my wet face. “Damn it!” I yell a muffled cry. How can life do this shit to me? I suffer nothing but heartbreak. I wanted this to be the new leaf to flip, my chapter thirty, the corner to turn, a fresh-smelling start, all leading to my renaissance. Dylan felt different. Although we were a twisted combination, I wanted us to fit so much. But briefly dating four police officers who lied, cheated, and assaulted, along with my father’s past sins of bribing public officials, including other officers, and soliciting prostitutes, I should’ve known Dylan was only another cop to fuck up my life. The badge should be a huge red flag, but I’m lost in a storm without my mother.
But damn it. I want Dylan. So far, he’s been the antithesis of everything I’ve grown to know about officers of the law. Why twenty-two-years old? He’s practically a teenager—a very deliciously built teen.
Besides his age, Lynn would be furious with me if I got involved with her recruit. She hasn’t trained a male recruit since my dad. I think she feels like it was her fault he committed crimes while wearing a badge. Even after my father went to prison, Lynn was always in my life. When I was a teenager, she took me to see my dad in prison every other month since my mother wouldn’t do it. Lynn and my father never saw each other or spoke. However, when I was seventeen, the visits took a weird turn when my dad arranged for me to date some of his friends, who were at the minimum ten years older than me, to repay or gain favors. The older men pursued me, never the other way around since I only went out with them in the first place to please my father. And for what? So, I wouldn’t be alone after my mother died? I had Lynn and Gerald. I wasn’t alone.
But I was. And after a while, my dates filled the loneliness. At first, I refused to have sex with any of them, and many would leave in a huff, probably giving my dad an earful about wasting their time. I was a kid, though. My dad only wanted me to play nice to secure covert business deals from inside prison. After one forty-year-old pinned me in his back seat and felt me up before I escaped, I told my father I wouldn’t date his associates anymore. He tried to coax me into changing my mind, and I realized he only saw me as a pawn to further his dealings, so I stopped visiting him and moved to New York for college at Lynn’s urging. That is where, at twenty-two, I met thirty-five-year-old Omar in a Starbucks. Another huge mistake.
Staring at the wet windshield through my tears, my world is a blur, but I still see the house my mother worked her ass off to save up for, but my father railroaded her into accepting it as a gift for her raising their child alone. Along with his other misdeeds, she hated him for dismissing her ambition.
Getting out of the car, I trudge through the rain and go in through the kitchen door, needing a shower, a drink, and a year-long sleep. Or maybe to find a time machine. Whichever comes first.
Rushing into the diner, I almost run into Marilou at one of her tables. “I need a huge favor.”
She smiles, and I don’t have time for her assumptions, innuendoes, or jokes, but she offers them anyway. “How huge? Did he rock your boat or rock your world?”
“I need to switch sections. No questions. Just please.”
She puts a judgmental hand on her hip with a narrowed glare. “Why?”
“Because.”
“That’s not a good answer.” She rolls her eyes and turns back to wiping the table.
“It’s the only one you’ll get for now.”
Marilou sighs. “I’ll do it for today, but if you don’t give me a good reason, back to Officer Hot Stuff you go.”
I shove her arm but head to the storage room before she retaliates or asks more questions. That one is unavoidable.
I hang up my jacket, and when I go to the kitchen, I limply wave to Ollie, who now watches me like I’m always on the edge of throwing up. I guess I could use that to my advantage, so I’ll stuff that one into my back pocket for now.
When I leave the kitchen, our morning manager, Hilda, curtly smiles. Hilda is a rail-thin stick in the mud who talks through her nose. As funny as she sounds, she’s all business, and the woman possesses no sense of humor, similar to Doris. However, Doris attempts jokes, lame as they are. Even Ollie will toss a knock-knock joke every so often. Hilda says, “Natalia, the new trainee will be here at three o’clock. Her name is Verna Roy.” Great. Just what I’m in the mood to do. I smile at Hilda but grumble loud enough for Marilou to hear.
Marilou whispers, “Jazz at the Dollar Store is friends with Terrie Gibbons at the gas station on Reynolds, whose cousin Sheldon Vance knows Landy Buford, and boy does she have some stories to tell.” She swiftly nods like this is all common knowledge. “Mm-hmm.”
I nod with her but hiss, “Who in the fuck is Landy Buford?”
“Oh. She’s Verna’s roommate.”
“Okay. Who in the hell are the rest of those people?”
Marilou pushes my arm. “Hush. Anyway. Her roommate said that Verna’s hellbent on snagging a mister to make her a missus.”
I blink several times as I try to decipher what she said, as if it’s in code. “Why do you speak in riddles?”
“I didn’t know it was a brain teaser. I’m saying that Verna is hot to trot for a husband. Is that better?”
“Oh. So? How does that affect me?”
Marilou shrugs. “Just saying.”
“Just gossiping.”
Marilou smacks the counter. “How does that affect me?” she mocks, and I roll my eyes, nodding toward my section, which she teases me again by rolling her eyes. Forgetting my apron, I go into the kitchen before she sticks her tongue out at me like we’re grade-schoolers. Through the service window, I see Lynn and Dylan at Doris’s podium. Oh, my God. That body—not Doris’s. Those eyes—again, not hers. This is harder than I thought it’d be. A white cop shouldn’t be an option, and now he absolutely can’t be at fucking twenty-two. I refuse to be the flip side as the dirty older woman, taking advantage of a younger man who barely has any life experience. The older men I dated enjoyed the reverse scenario, but it’s a double standard for women, as are many things in life. And I can’t embarrass myself or Dylan when his friends and family see him with an older Black-and-brown woman. There’d be no margin of error for me. I can’t live up to that or through that.
It’s difficult not looking his way when I know he’s watching me. The overwhelming feelings of last night, alone with him, rush back. Even through our clothes, we went way further than I intended. But more than anything, I wanted to fuck his stiff cock, tempting me through his jeans, and for that, I should be ashamed of my lack of self-control.
At the counter, as I fight the urge to stare at Dylan, I notice Officers Prescott and Dellinger enter the front door. I immediately catch Hayes’s eye and smile. I know his wife, Shawnee, well since we’ve been friends since high school.
Following is Tristan Prescott, a handsome man who knows it and wants everyone else to remind him of it. I admit he has movie-star looks and a sexy voice, but his self-absorbed bravado is a turn-off. I’m familiar with him because we went to high sc
hool together. He dated many of our classmates, but he never looked my way since I wasn’t white enough, most likely.
But this is the second time he and Hayes have come here for lunch in all the years he’s been a police officer. The last time they were in here this week, Tristan flirted with me like I was a bitch in heat, and he was a horn dog that escaped from the pound. He had never given me attention, so it’s odd that he’s shooting for it now.
And today is no different, it seems. Tristan only has eyes for me because they don’t leave my body as Doris escorts them to a table in my new section.
Clearing my throat, I feel Dylan’s eyes burning into my soul as I throw on a smile and meet Tristan and Hayes with a smile. “Hello, Officer Dellinger.”
“Natalia, how are you doing?”
“I’m okay. Same as any other day.” I then turn to Tristan. “Hello, Officer Prescott. It’s good to see you too.”
Tristan’s smile is quick and slick as his eyes scour my chest. “I can say the same and more about you. Why haven’t I noticed that before?” I don’t know what to do with that. His attention is flattering, but it feels theatrical.
Hayes rolls his eyes and looks to the table, which I’m unsure how to perceive that. “Um, what can I get for you, Officer Prescott?”
Tristan grins, but he looks past me, and when his eyes are on me again, his smile turns up fifty notches. “How about your phone number?”
“I’m sorry?”
“You know. Your digits to your cellular device?” he repeats slower, and I’m already annoyed.
“Oh. I mean, why?”
He sighs but keeps the smile. “So, we can talk? But I’d much rather us talk in person. What are you doing Saturday night?” Fuck. What the hell just happened?
With Dylan behind me at his usual table with Lynn, I hear Marilou giggling, making me fully aware of who she’s talking to and whose eyes are still gripping me. Tristan crooks his finger for me to come closer, and I glance at Hayes, who narrows his eyes at me with a wavering smile.
Reluctantly, I lean closer, and Tristan’s cologne reminds me he isn’t my type. His hand strokes my arm as he whispers, “We could have a lot of fun, don’t you think?” The way his tongue drags out each word, I’m aware of what kind of fun he wants to have. “Unless…” I follow his gaze over my shoulder to see Dylan talking to Marilou. God. What is she telling him?
I quickly return my attention to Tristan. “Unless what?”
He shrugs. “Unless you and Rook are hot and heavy.”
I shake my head too fast, and I nearly fall over. “Nope. Just…friends.”
“Yeah. It’s not like he has much to offer women.” Tristan laughs, and I want to dump hot coffee over his lap.
I frown but shove it into a smile. I don’t want to date Tristan. I don’t want to fuck him, either. Unfortunately, a realization swirls into my head. I won’t shake or deter Dylan until I prove I’m not for him, no matter how fucking much I want to be in every way.
Smiling at Hayes as I resign to the unwanted road I must travel, I turn back to Tristan. “Tristan, I’d love to go out with you.” Not in a million years.
Hayes sighs. “Rethink that, Natalia. He’s nothing but trouble.” Hayes laughs, but the subtle twitch of his mouth with his phony laugh alerts me. This is a road filled with deep potholes.
Tristan argues, “I’ll make sure you have a good time.”
I smile, and it’s more challenging to do with Hayes’s warning. “That sounds great. I need some fun.”
Tristan’s gaze openly undresses me as he licks his lips. “Why don’t you accompany me to the police officer awards banquet with me next Saturday? It’s a bunch of congratulatory and boring bullshit, but our fun can commence afterward.”
I nod, regardless of Hayes’s increasing dismay. “Sure.” Fuck.
Hayes clears his throat. “I won’t be there. It’s my third wedding anniversary, and we already made plans.”
Tristan scoffs, “The wife really has you by the balls, doesn’t she?”
Hayes frowns, as do I. Shawnee is a sweetheart and has every right to want to spend their anniversary alone together. They don’t have kids yet, so they shouldn’t waste this chance.
Hayes jokes, but his annoyance is practically a billboard. “Hey. It gets me out of the banquet.” But I know he wants to spend his anniversary with his wife. He wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. If Shawnee hadn’t snagged Hayes, I would’ve tried.
I ask, “Is it formal attire?”
Hayes teases, “Yep, so be happy you walked into that one.”
When I grab the edge of the table to steady myself, Tristan’s hand covers mine as his melted-chocolate voice drizzles over the rest of me. “I’ll be the envy of every man there.”
I stiffly smile, hating him, but myself more. “What can I get you two for lunch?”
Tristan pulls out a small notepad from his shirt pocket and a pen, shoving it toward me on the table. “Your phone number. Remember?”
“Oh, right.” I scribble my number, powering through Hayes, judging my insanity.
When I have their orders, I head to the counter, not giving myself a chance to linger more than I have already. However, when I go behind the counter to put the order into Ollie, I hear a clicking noise behind me. When I turn around, Marilou continues clicking her tongue with her arms crossed. More judgment. Awesome.
“What?”
She purses her lips and nods her head toward the dining room. “What are you doing?”
“Working. Shouldn’t you be?” I look to my new section to see if I missed anyone else, but I see Dylan with his hand balled into a fist and glaring at Tristan.
“You’re putting that poor man through hell, you know.”
My mouth falls open, and I swing out an arm. “I haven’t gone out with Tristan yet, and you’re already saying I put him through hell? Thanks a lot, friend.”
“You know that’s not who I’m talking about—and date? Oh, you didn’t.”
“I did. He asked me to go to the police banquet on Saturday. I said yes.”
Marilou’s face scrunches in anger, and she waves her hands at me. “You’ve done gone crazy. There’s no rescue. This is a recovery mission.”
“Oh, will you stop? I think Lynn has gotten to you.”
“You’re bitchy. Sounds like you didn’t let Dylan get far enough to rid the bitchiness. I bet he’s good.”
I spin to face her, hissing, “Will you cut it out? There’s nothing with him.”
Marilou suddenly giggles. “Really? You should see your face right now. Do you realize how hot for him you are?” Walking past her, I try to hide my horror of being that obvious, but then she loudly whispers, “He’s just as hot for you.”
I march back to her, angrily whispering, “You know nothing.”
“Girl, he told me. So, you know nothing. How about them lemons?”
“It’s apples.”
“I hate apples, and I wouldn’t call your situation peachy, either.”
I sigh in frustration. “Stay out of it. Quit your fishing expedition. It’s not happening.”
“Why? And don’t give me the two most overused excuses you’ll fling at me. I want something fresh and honest for once.”
“You don’t think I’m telling you the truth? Those are two huge issues.”
“But aren’t you judging him by your past and his skin tone? We live that every day. I don’t want to do it to someone who sees past those. They’re non-issues for him. It’s obvious the way he stares at you and talks about how much he—”
“It’s more than that.”
“Then, what? He’s pretty damn hot for a man his age.”
“That’s exactly the problem. His age.”
Marilou puts her hand on her chest, gasping melodramatically and staggering. “I did not just hear that from you. Oh, Lord.”
“Bite me, Fred Sanford.”
Dropping her act, she steps close to me, pointing her finger in my face. “Get y
our fanny over there and tell him you’ll give him a chance—a fair one.”
“No.” Glancing at Tristan, he grins, and I force one in return.
“That is a filthy display,” Marilou asserts, which I ignore.
Ollie shoves orders onto the pick-up shelf, and looking at the tags, I say, “Your orders are up.”
Marilou shakes her head. “Nope. Not doing it. The Dragon wants to see you.”
“You know I can’t go over there.”
“That’s exactly why you are.”
“Nope.”
“Then, I guess The Dragon will starve, and I’ll tell her you’re pissing around. You know she’ll ask you fifty questions, and she’ll do it in front of Dylan.”
Glaring at her, I irritably grab the plates and go over to their table. With his back to me, Dylan appears restless. I remember how his hands felt on my thighs, so close to fingering me. I’m an idiot for not letting him before everything fell apart. And thinking about shit like that is why I’m filthy, as Marilou said.
But I can’t help it. My hands rattle the plates as I walk, thinking of what it’d be like to have sex with Dylan. The frantic speed, the hands everywhere, the heavy breathing, and the feel of his dick emptying into my pussy. The thought of that slows me to a stop. Holy fuck. I’m in way over my head and past the point of no return. I need earth-moving, skin-slapping, come-inducing, and tits-bouncing sex with Dylan McGrath. My body aches to screw his.
Breathless when I reach their table, Lynn smiles at me, and my hands shake as I set down her sandwich with careful precision.
She unexpectantly glares at Dylan. “Officer McGrath, you haven’t said hello to Natalia.”
Setting down Dylan’s plate with a clatter, I keep my eyes glued to Lynn, frozen in shock, lack of willpower, and fear of what I can’t feel. Dylan mumbles, “Hey.”
“Hello, officer.” Slam us against a wall and fuck me until I scream.
Lynn’s smile turns into a frown, asking, “Why did you switch sections? You don’t like me anymore?”
Rebel Rook: An Everyday Heroes World Novel (The Everyday Heroes World) Page 12
