by L.J. Shen
“A stranger in the house.” Barbie slid her sunglasses down, gasping theatrically, but it was flirtatious. “I’m Pam. And you are?”
Not interested.
“Roman.” I leaned back—boot against the swan-hued wall—my charming smirk on full display. She was of zero interest to me, but I didn’t need her causing trouble with her daughter. Best to be civilized, for now.
Pam shifted closer, offering me the back of her hand for a kiss. I took her palm, lowered it, then shook it. Her blindingly white beam collapsed an inch.
“This is not very chivalrous,” she commented.
“It is also not the seventeenth century,” I informed her, snapping my gum in her face.
“That’s all right. I’m not too fond of gentlemen, anyway.” Her pale eyes scanned my body with hunger I knew too well, because I satisfied those cravings. “I didn’t know Jesse hung out with the tattooed, tall, handsome types.”
I was starting to feel increasingly sorry for Darren. His stepdaughter didn’t care for him much, and his wife actively tried to screw men who weren’t him. All the money in the world and not an ounce of respect. I refrained from answering Pam, lowering myself down to pat Shadow.
“How did you meet Jesse?” Her bare thigh was suddenly thrust in front of my eyes.
“She had a flat tire. I had hands. The rest is history.”
“Classic Jesse. She’s a total mess sometimes.” Pam laughed, but there was no humor in her voice.
I kneaded Shadow’s fur. How long did it take Jesse to grab a goddamn leash? I wanted to get out of there. Preferably before my potential investor found his wife trying to grind her groin all over my face, which was starting to look like a plausible scenario.
“So…are you guys…?” Pam left the question hanging in the air. It was time to smash her little black heart. I straightened my spine, looked her in the eye, and delivered the news.
“Dating? No.”
“Oh.” She licked her lips, staring at me through her extended eyelashes. “That’s good to know.”
“Not for my lack of trying,” I said after a calculated pause, making sure the sentence left the desired impact I was looking for. I stared through her, the way I did when I wanted to dismantle people with egos bigger than their mansions. In my experience, the more insecure you were about holding onto what you had, the bigger your ego was. “She’s not too hot on buying a cow that every farmer in town has already milked, and I can’t blame her. I only attract a certain type of woman. Not the picky ones.” I cocked my head sideways, giving her a thorough scan.
If Pam had balls, they would have shriveled in my fist. But she didn’t, so she simply tilted her chin up in mock defiance, batted her eyelashes when she realized she’d chosen the wrong person to talk shit about her daughter with, and stepped back. Jesse selected the exact same moment to drag her ass back downstairs, skipping two steps at a time with a black leash in her hand. I successfully suppressed the mental image of collaring her with it and taking her on a nice, lengthy stroll inside her fancy bathroom before fucking her in front of what I bet was a Jack and Jill mirror. And by ‘successfully’, I meant not really.
Same. Fucking. Difference.
“Ready?” I asked. Jesse’s eyes darted from her mom to me, her face rippled with concern. I offered her an easy smile that hopefully conveyed she had nothing to worry about. It was the first time I truly felt sorry for Snowflake. Because even after everything she’d been through, she was tough as nails (and just about as friendly). But being betrayed by your own parent…that’s a whole new level of fucked up. I knew because I wanted to be sick in my mouth every time I thought about who I came from.
Pam’s eyes finally flickered to Jesse. “So. Bane Protsenko, huh? Least now we know you’re my kid.” She snort-laughed, shaking her head.
Of course Pam knew who I was. I was an official gigolo, the Lululemon housewives’ favorite toy. I spun around to stare at Jesse’s mom, this time without the coat of indifference and fake politeness, but with my real expression. The one I saved for people who overstepped their boundaries.
“Is there a problem, Pamela?” I didn’t call her Mrs. Morgansen because I didn’t want to show her respect, and ‘Pam’ felt too friendly. Pamela was a nice fuck-you way to address her without using the b word.
“You tell me.” She took a step toward us. “I just want to make sure your intentions for my daughter are nice and pure.” She tongued her lower lip again. “I would like to discuss your relationship with Jesse privately.”
What she wanted was for me to dick her down until she was buried in orgasms. I smiled tightly. I was going to play her little game. I needed to make it perfectly clear to her that I’d never touch her. It would also put Jesse’s mind at ease.
“Tomorrow afternoon,” I said dryly.
“Perfect. I’ll meet you at your café.”
Bitch knew everything worth knowing about me, apparently. It was perfectly possible she’d tried to hire me sometime the last couple years, and I’d just never noticed, because I didn’t take any unknown calls since I’d closed my list of clients.
“Perfect,” I echoed, my tone implying it was anything but.
Jesse and I were out the door a minute later. She helped Shadow climb up the back seat of the Rover, then rounded her vehicle and slipped in. I started walking over to my Harley across the street.
“Where to?” I asked over my shoulder. She rolled her window down, her brow worried and her eyes inquisitorial.
“What was all that about with Pam?” With Pam? What the fuck kind of family was that? My mom would club me with a jar of pickled cabbage if I referred to her as Sonya and not Mamul.
“Guess she’s worried about you.” I shrugged, turning to face her. I wasn’t going to add that she’d hit on me. I was in the business of saving Jesse, not hurting her. And she was a smart girl. She didn’t need me to spell it out for her.
“She is worried about getting laid.” A flame kindled in Jesse’s eyes. “If you take her on as a client, I won’t hang out with you anymore. It’s not an ultimatum. I know you have a business to run. I’m just letting you know.” Her voice was firm and resolute. It was the only time I could recall that the idea of punching a woman—Pam, in this case—felt somewhat appealing.
“There you are.” I grinned. She cocked one eyebrow, waiting for an explanation. “The old Jesse. I was waiting for her to make a cameo.”
Snowflake shook her head, pretending to be exasperated, but I knew she secretly liked that I saw her as more than just her reputation.
“So. Where to?” I repeated my question. I wasn’t going to address her question seriously. We were friends. We hung out. She was supposed to trust me not to bang her mom.
Snowflake gave me the address, but she still looked hesitant, tapping her fingers over the edge of her opened window.
I flipped my keys in my hand. “Meet you there.”
“So. About my mom…?” She trailed off. I stared at her like she’d tried to rub a hedgehog on my cock.
“Of course I’m not going to fuck your mom, Jesse. What kind of asshole would do that?”
“Nolan would,” she muttered, then amended. “Did.”
I stopped on my tracks. Nolan had been in high school when he and Jesse were still on speaking terms. Was he a senior or a junior when he’d sampled Mrs. Morgansen? I turned around to the girl with the Pushkin tattoo.
“Is that a figure of speech all the cool kids are using nowadays?”
“Nope, it’s the figure zero in loyalty when it comes to Pam Carter. My mom likes them young. So please excuse my suspicion.”
“You’re shitting me.”
She gave me a pointed look then sighed. “I really hate men.”
“As a species or as a concept? And does that include me?”
“As everything. And unless you have a secret vagina, yes, you’re included.”
“Pretty sure I’d know if I had one. It’d make a great place to stash pot.” I groomed t
he tip of my beard with my fingers, something I did more and more when Jesse was around. Normally I didn’t care what people thought of me. With her, I didn’t not care.
“Too bad. That would mean eighty percent of the women of Todos Santos were lesbians, and that would explain why all the guys here are such angry douchebags.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. It was the lightest thing she’d ever said to me. In fact, I nearly toppled over laughing. Jesse Carter had been burned, but that only made her hotter than hell. She wasn’t emo about what had happened to her. She was angry. And rightly-fucking-so. A weird, stupid regret slammed into me—for never properly meeting the girl she’d been before the attack.
She was good, and funny, and broken. But it was only the last part that defined her. In her eyes, anyway.
“Know what, Snowflake? I think you officially graduated from creeper to a mild weirdo. You’re ready to give me a ride. Least you can do for dragging my ass through a fucking maze.”
“Did I win you over with my lesbian talk?” She batted her eyelashes, plastering a hand to her cheek.
“Yes. I want to hear all about lesbians the entire ride to the vet, please. And make it graphic.”
“Not happening, and no thank you.”
“Look at us, bantering like old friends.” I opened my arms wide. Shadow barked from the back, a gentle reminder that he was feeling like crap. “See? Even your dog agrees.”
She redenned, and that was my cue. I circled her Rover, getting into her car, into her realm, and under her skin. She stared ahead as she reversed and slid back from the roundabout parking area. Shadow whimpered, and Jesse twisted slightly, reaching back and patting him. Her scent hit my nostrils and sent my head tipping back against the seat. Ever been punched in the face? I had. Plenty of times. The first few seconds, you’re disoriented. Not really sure what time of the day it is. Where you are. That’s what Jesse smelled like. Like a punch in the fucking face. And, honestly, women should find a way to bottle it as perfume. Very powerful stuff.
“What are you so happy about?” she asked, suspicious of my smirk.
I shook my head. “Green apples and fresh rain.”
Experience had taught me that there were a few types of silence.
Embarrassed silence. Intense silence. Sexy silence. Mysterious silence. Sorry-I-fucked-your-wife-she-said-you-were-cool-with-it silence. Jesse and I had settled into a new type—companionable silence. It felt like her variation of small talk, and sat between us like your favorite uncle who always made great fart jokes.
I got it. She was slowly getting used to hanging out with someone new. Not just someone new, but an actual man, who smelled and looked and acted like a guy. It couldn’t have been easy. Her life story was like a bitter winter, one that covers everything in a thick layer of ice you need to crash your way through. It was in the air, crackling between us. I was working my way to the flame that danced inside the old Jesse.
After the ride, I carried Shadow out of the back seat, because Old Sport, as she’d called him, was damn heavy and didn’t seem to be getting around very well. The forty-something receptionist at the vet looked between us, obviously half-worried that I’d kidnapped Jesse, before buzzing the intercom on her desk. Two minutes later, Snowflake walked into the examination room with Shadow. There was a glass window overlooking the reception area, so I could see them both, along with the vet, Dr. Wiese.
Dr. Wiese was a man.
A man who didn’t know Snowflake.
A man who therefore tried to shake her hand, and watched how she very awkwardly pretended not to notice, talking in fast spurts of words and turning fifty shades of red. She took desperate steps away from him as she helped Shadow hop onto the metal examination table, all while Dr. Wiese—oblivious to her condition—kept on getting closer to her to show her a batch of Shadow’s fur that he plucked out, or something in his ear. I paced the reception like a wild animal in captivity, trying not to think about how her discomfort resulted in me feeling like a pile of shit.
Not your problem.
Not your issue.
Step away from the crazy train, Bane. That shit is moving way too fast and doesn’t have a return ticket.
Sometimes, when you know you’re in too deep, you try to give yourself excuses. Mine was that it wasn’t about Jesse. I wouldn’t have wanted any girl to feel sexually harassed, even if by a handshake. I braced my arms over the back of a chair in the waiting room, shaking my head. The receptionist wrinkled her nose, her eyes still on her monitor.
“Sir, can I help you with anything?” She cleared her throat. The bright glows flicking against her face told me she was playing Candy Crush, and that she really didn’t give a damn about Jesse, Shadow, or even her job.
“I need to get in there.” I raked my fingers through my hair.
“Why?”
“Because he doesn’t know.”
“Doesn’t know what?”
That Jesse isn’t like the rest. Dr. Wiese was going to touch her, and she was going to freak out, and everything was going to go down the shitter. That was my only angle, really. Dude was going to ruin my progress with Snowflake. I would be back to square one trying to lure her out to the land of the free and independent. Right? Right?
Whatever. Fuck. Yes. Of course that was it.
“I need to get in there.” I slapped my palms over her desk, and she finally looked up from her screen, her fingers hovering over the mouse, her jaw slack.
“I’m not sure…”
“She doesn’t let anyone touch her,” I said, fast. “And he’s trying to. He doesn’t know, but she’s freaking out.” I was hoping I could communicate it to her with my gaze alone that Jesse could cock-punch Dr. Wiese if she felt too threatened.
Our eyes met and she nodded, swallowing. “I…uh…”
I didn’t bother to hear the rest. I stormed inside. The first thing I noticed was Jesse’s posture when her head whipped to look at who it was. It relaxed at my presence, and that wasn’t a stroke to my ego, but a full-blown hand job. Dr. Wiese was a couple feet away from her, explaining something about Shadow’s teeth that she probably couldn’t decipher because she was too busy having the mother of all internal meltdowns. I walked over to them, placing myself between her and the vet, leaning my entire body against a wall. A human shield.
“And you are…?” Dr. Wiese scratched his meaty cheek.
“Jesse’s bodyguard,” I said, reaching out to shake his hand. Dr. Wiese remained professional and got back to examining Shadow. I buried my hands in my pockets, and when Snowflake shot me a look, I answered back with a smirk. The old vet frowned, then said that he wanted to do blood work for Shadow, already washing his hands and putting his blue gloves on.
“Whatever for?” Jesse’s back straightened, her eyes widening. Wiese shook his head, patting an apathetic Shadow, still on the steel table.
“It’s just…here.” He took her hand and directed it to Shadow’s throat. Jesse’s hand jolted violently, but I stepped in, removing Dr. Wiese’s hand, placing mine on hers instead. Her palm was on Shadow’s fur now, and mine was covering hers. My heart pounded so fast I thought it was going to jump out of my throat, and I didn’t even know why. Her skin was hot and silky.
Perfectly gorgeous.
Perfectly damaged.
Perfectly ruined.
Did I mention perfectly forbidden? Because that shit should be at the top of the list. And since when did I care about how people’s skin felt like? Seriously, what the hell was happening to me?
I knew I needed to remove my hand from hers, now that I’d saved her from Dr. Wiese and mostly from herself, but decided to wait for her to give me a cue. The cue that never came. I felt her fingers trembling with excitement and fear under mine. No one talked. No one moved. No one breathed.
The Untouchable had been touched. And she’d survived.
Dr. Wiese swallowed loudly beside us. He was finally picking up on the context clues. “That’s it. Now, move her hand around,
so she can feel the lump. It might be nothing, but we don’t want to take any chances. Shadow is not a pup anymore.”
Her hand froze on Shadow’s fur. I began to move it in circles under my palm. It felt…weird. Intimate. More intimate than fucking a girl to a near-death experience, somehow. I began to realize that maybe I wasn’t as immune as I thought I was to illicit pussy. Because all I could think about was directing her hand into the inside of the waistband of her jeans and have her fingering herself with my hand on top of hers.
“Blood work,” she echoed, as we both found the lump Dr. Wiese was talking about. Her eyes fluttered shut, and I squeezed my fingers between hers, lacing them together, tightening my hold on her.
My mouth was nearly pressed to Jesse’s ear. I was behind her, enveloping her, almost.
“Is he going to be okay?” I asked.
Asshole pled the fifth. I wanted to leap on Dr. Wiese and strangle the words out of his throat, but I wanted to keep my hand on Jesse’s more. Shadow began to move around, sniffing and whimpering, asking to be taken down. Jesse’s hand went rigid under my own. She turned around and looked at Dr. Wiese.
“I can’t lose him.”
“He’s in good shape, Jesse. We just need to run some tests.” He tried soothing her, rubbing Shadow’s cheek again. Must have been a nervous tick.
“No, no. I can’t lose him,” she repeated, her eyes filling with unshed tears.
“Jess…”
“He’s my only true friend.”
“Come on, sweetheart,” he murmured nervously. “I’m sure that’s not true.”
But it was. There was Old Sport, Mrs. Belfort, and then there was me. And I didn’t count because she was nothing but a business transaction to me. Sup-fucking-posedly.
Shadow was aimlessly pacing back and forth on the table, his nails making a click-click-click sound that matched the tick behind Jesse’s left eyelid. Dr. Wiese gave me a look, and I pulled Jesse away from her dog, again, surprised at how she had let me touch her, even though I kept shit as PG as possible, my fingers fluttering over her arm. Dr. Wiese took Shadow’s blood—a few tubes of it, at that—while Jesse looked the other way and cried silently.
