Edge (Gentry Boys #7)

by Cora Brent

  The tweakers trembled and held on to each other. I couldn’t tell whether they were girls or boys.

  “But it’s important,” one of them squeaked.

  “Sniffing my fucking couch is fucking important?”

  The other tweaker piped up. “We weren’t sniffing it. We were counting the stitches in each cushion to see if the number is identical.”

  Kilt shook his head and gave them a weary look. “Get lost,” he said and then turned to me. “Eli was just looking for you. Says he needs to know now if you’re in for the race tonight.”

  I knew which race he was talking about. This pair of obnoxious brothers with the last name Carpetti owned an Italian restaurant in Las Vegas. They sauntered into town every few months trying to crack the Phoenix street scene with whatever ride they’ve recently pimped out. They were soft though; soft guts and soft spines. I could have told them what their problem was if they’d asked. Their problem wasn’t what they drove but who was driving. Didn’t matter which one of them took the wheel. They were too tentative and no one ever won any race by attacking the gas pedal with a light touch. It would be easy money for a few minutes of straight driving that I could yawn my way through and still win.

  Eli was slow about answering my text when I told him I was in for tonight so I headed to my room. My imagination might have been working overtime but it seemed like the flowery scent of Roslyn’s perfume was everywhere. My dick hardened in response as a flood of images teased me; long auburn curls, epic tits, sleek thighs.

  I groaned and got my hand down my pants. Usually I couldn’t get through a whole day without jacking off at least once and I might as well steal this moment while I waited for freaking Eli to tell me if the race was on or off tonight. I stroked my dick and closed my eyes, thinking about fiery brown eyes issuing a dare never spoken aloud by soft red lips. It had been quick and crazy but I’d be hard pressed to remember a time when I’d wanted anyone so much or come so hard I almost couldn’t stand.

  Shit.

  I bolted upright, my dick falling right out of my hand.

  Of course I hadn’t forgotten in the last two hours that for the first time in my irresponsible life I’d fucked without a condom but I’d managed to avoid dealing with it. Even back in ancient times - before I fell for Erin and learned sex wasn’t everything - when I was nothing but a set of adolescent hormones on the hunt I’d always (fucking always!) kept the little troublemaker wrapped up no matter what. It was probably the only thing I’d ever been vigilant about.

  I was sitting on the edge of the bed with my pants open when Eli decided to bust into my room without knocking.

  “Get out!” I growled.

  He laughed, then shrugged and headed back the way he came. “Flag goes down at nine o’clock, Con.”

  “Fine.”

  Eli looked over his shoulder, his shaggy black hair hiding his eyes. “So you’re in?”

  “Already said so, didn’t I?”

  “Good, I’ll make the call. You need to give me a thousand though.”

  “I’ll give you a fucking concussion.”

  Eli pushed his hair out of his face and looked me over. “What are you, on the rag? Kilt said you seemed all bent out of shape over that piece of cherry pie you were dry humping on the couch last night.”

  I crossed my arms and gave him my deadliest glare. Nothing was sacred to these assholes. Then again, I couldn’t blame them. They’d seen me at my worst and in a lot of ways they knew exactly what I was like.

  “I’ll just let you be,” Eli said quickly and closed the door, which was really the healthiest option for him right now.

  Some more time passed while I brooded alone over memories and worries. Roslyn didn’t seem like the type to be all fast and loose but that was part of the problem. She might have no reason to be on a steady birth control regimen.

  “You fucking idiot,” I muttered to myself, echoing my earlier thoughts.

  There was nothing so terrifying at the moment as some red-faced little human shooting into the world and trying to call me daddy. A lot of the guys I knew spread their seed around like it was no big deal. Hell, Eli had two kids with two different women. I loved the guy but he was a damn fool. That was not a responsibility I would ever take lightly. It probably wouldn’t be one I’d ever deserve.

  I zipped up and forced the idea out of my head. There was almost definitely nothing to worry about. Not every sperm met every egg. There’d be a lot more people running around the planet otherwise.

  As for Roslyn, I was wishing pretty hard I hadn’t acted like a cocky piece of shit and let her drive away. Sure, it was true that I’d punched my number into her phone in the hopes she’d call but Roslyn was probably the kind of girl who expected that the guy would call her. And I should. It should be me who made the move, who offered to take her out to dinner or something. We’d gone about this thing a little backwards so far but that didn’t mean we couldn’t go back to the starting line. I could open doors, pull out her chair, order a fancy bottle of wine. Kind of like couples did in television shows and movies. Strangely enough, I wanted to do all that. It’s not that I had delusions we were going to fall madly in love and buy a house next to Stone and Evie. Honestly, I doubted I had the ability to fall in love ever again.

  But I still wanted Roslyn to look at me with something other than suspicion. I wanted her to at least like me. I also wouldn’t mind taking her back to bed and going at things a lot slower than we had this morning.

  Yeah, I’d be calling her and if the guys wanted to harass me about it then I didn’t care. I couldn’t call just yet though. Not today, and probably not tomorrow either. That would seem weird and overeager.

  I checked my phone. There were a lot of hours left before the race tonight and I had no plans. Even though I’d told Jackson the abbreviated version of my history with Roslyn, there was only one person I could think of who would understand without me having to lay it all out on the table. There was one man who would never bust my chops about being confused over finding a girl who might turn out to mean something to me.

  Stone answered on the first ring. “Con-man!”

  I smiled. “What are you up to today?”

  “Not a damn thing. Evie is dress shopping with her gal pals and I wasn’t invited.”

  “Did you want to be? They probably don’t carry your size.”

  “Funny.”

  “Yeah, I’m a riot.”

  He paused. “Come over.”

  “You sure?”

  “Hell yeah I’m sure. Why would you even ask that? We’ll order pizzas and wings and I can spend all afternoon wiping the floor with your ass in Blood Combat.”

  “I can’t believe you play that stupid game.”

  “I can’t believe you don’t.”

  “Sounds great. I’ll be there in half an hour.”

  As I grabbed my keys I started to feel a little sorry that I’d agreed to race tonight. I’d have to avoid mentioning it to Stone because he thought I didn’t race anymore. If he knew otherwise he’d get all sad and worried and probably prowl the streets of Phoenix later to hunt me down and talk me out of it.

  “Be back later,” I called to Kilt, who strangely enough was now avidly watching the tweakers as they counted the sofa stitching and called out numbers. He ignored me.

  Fingers was gone and the lobby was empty. My mind was distracted but I jumped and ran to the door when I thought I saw a long-legged redhead pass by. Even before I made it over there though I saw the girl on the other side of the glass was dark-haired and fuller figured. The street view was just distorted by the dirty, broken glass. That girl wasn’t Roslyn. I wouldn’t be running into another girl like Roslyn anytime soon.

  CHAPTER TEN

  ROSLYN

  Why didn’t I just delete it? Why did I keep scrolling through my phone’s contact list to make sure it was still there? And why, for the love of intercourse did an unwitting shiver roll right through me every time I saw the name Gentry?
/>   That was how he’d entered his name: Gentry.

  Not Conway. Not Con Gentry. Just Gentry.

  He hadn’t been lying about snapping a selfie on my phone but it wasn’t the dick pic he’d been teasing about before we went our separate ways in the parking garage. He was smiling in the close up headshot. Surprisingly, there was nothing of the arrogant leer I’ve seen from him a few times. It was just a plain, honest smile that hurt my heart a little every time I looked at it.

  And I looked at it a lot.

  We’ll talk. That’s what he’d said. Two weeks ago.

  Emily was perplexed, telling me to just cave and call him but pride was a fickle asset and I had my fair share of it. In fact with each day that passed the whole night had seemed more like a bizarre dream than a real memory.

  It had been real though. Dreams weren’t in the habit of sending you to the local drugstore to casually purchase the morning after pill. I didn’t take birth control pills regularly since they just weren’t worth the frequent migraines I suffered as a side effect. And since I hadn’t had sex in over a year there wasn’t any good reason to carry condoms around in my purse.

  But even if I had kept my wallet crammed full of Trojans I wouldn’t have had the presence of mind to go scrambling for one when Conway touched me. There was a dangerous level of electricity between us and I was just a quivering goner in its wake. It had been a mistake, a thoughtless sexual exploit with a man I barely knew and couldn’t possibly have a future with.

  No matter how much I might end up liking him.

  Yes, that was the problem.

  In spite of the fact that we might not have a thing in common other than mutual tragedy and some serious physical chemistry, I liked Conway. So many days had passed and I still couldn’t forget the strength of his arms around me or how well I slept in his embrace. I couldn’t forget the pleading note in his voice when he whispered “Stay” or the way he tucked the bed covers around me. Those things were on my mind and I couldn’t make them disappear. Plus visions of our epic upright screw fest were an extra distraction.

  “Crimson suits you, doll,” called Gustavo when he walked past my desk.

  “What?” I’d been staring at my cubicle wall and remembering dirty fun things, like the sound of Conway’s groan when he came.

  Gurstavo paused and did an about face, primly settling his lanky body into one of the thin metallic chairs on the other side of my desk. He propped his elbows up and tented his fingers, studying me. Gustavo Hernandez was the contemporary art curator at the museum on Central Avenue. He’d been a volunteer at Homestead for years, having designed an innovative mixed media art program for the kids. We were friends. You couldn’t not be friends with Gustavo. He was a charismatic force of nature.

  He stared at me for a moment and then nodded. “You are out of focus.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “I’m focused.”

  “I think not. You walked right past me yesterday morning and didn’t even blink when I greeted you with delight. But now, as I observe you up close in all your glassy-eyed idiocy, I understand. Somewhere there’s a boy to thank for that blush.”

  I cleared my throat. “So how are Albert and Delia? She must be getting big and you haven’t brought her by in ages.”

  He tilted his head slightly and smiled. “Albert is always a dream and by the way, I’ll be sending you a save the date card for our wedding on August fifteenth. Delia is trying to crawl and gain some independence from her overly doting fathers. Stop trying to change the conversation though when we were discussing something important.”

  “We were? What was it?

  “Your love life.”

  “I don’t have one.”

  “No?” He reached over and flattened his palm to my forehead like he was checking my temperature. His touch felt cool, which probably meant my face was hot. It felt hot.

  He withdrew and sat back in his chair with a nod of satisfaction. “Roslyn, did I ever mention to you how I worked my way through college?”

  “No, but now I’m afraid to ask.”

  “I was a fortune teller.”

  I laughed. “You’re making that up.”

  His eyes widened and he shook his head. “No, no. I called myself Master G, acquired a Jamaican accent and operated out of my studio apartment, which I decorated in a medieval brothel theme.”

  I nodded as if there was nothing even slightly unusual about this. “Medieval brothel, huh? Popular choice. I’ve seen countless examples on HGTV.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Don’t be glib and that’s not the end of the story. The point I was trying to make is that all my dabbling in the mystic arts honed my less tactile senses. And the sense I’m getting from you is that there is a boy and I’m betting he’s a hell of a specimen to cause you to spend your days alternately brooding and mentally undressing him.”

  “Well, it’s a good thing you chose a backup career because your conclusion is not even close,” I said airily.

  I picked up a pen and pretended to be fascinated with some paperwork I’d completed three hours earlier and hadn’t done anything with for no good reason other than I was as distracted as Gustavo accused me of being.

  Gustavo watched me for a few seconds, then shrugged, rising from his chair with a cynical grin.

  “My mistake,” he said. “Phyllis and I are going to order Thai food for lunch if you’re interested.”

  “Thanks, but I brought a ham sandwich. By the way, if you want to see the latest projects from the teen center they’re on display in the cafeteria.”

  “Are they? Perfect, I’ll go take a look, although you don’t need to try so hard to get rid of me. I promise I won’t ask you again about Mr. Mysterious. You can just keep him all to yourself.“ Gustavo whistled on his way down the hall.

  I flung my pen down, feeling grumpy.

  “Mysterious,” I muttered. “And not mine.”

  That was true. It was also true that I didn’t even know if I wanted him to be mine.

  I stood up. For today at least I was done pathetically mooning over some archetypal bad boy. I flew into a whirlwind of productivity, moving paperwork off my desk, conducting two resident interviews, and checking in on a few current families, including Krista and her girls.

  It was already five o’clock by the time I remembered I hadn’t even paused to eat my own carefully packed ham sandwich. I grabbed my insulated Phoenix Art Museum lunch bag out of the fridge, waved goodbye to whoever was watching and took off, shoving the sandwich into my mouth en route to my car. Boy, I’d overdone it on that spicy mustard.

  I didn’t really feel like going home. Usually I was grateful for quiet evenings and good movies but lately I just felt restless. Emily had mentioned this morning that she had plans with Jackson later. They’d been out five or six times since that fateful night and Emily looked a little more daffy and love struck every time I saw her. Honestly, I’d rather not be hanging out on the couch when Jackson arrived to pick her up. Nothing against him, but it was awkward. I always wondered if the looks he gave me were as pitying as they seemed. And then I had to practically chew my own tongue off to stop myself from asking about Conway.

  It was time to face the truth. If Conway Gentry wanted to see me, he would have made it happen by now. The fact that I could have stopped playing the coquettish fool and reached out to him anytime I wanted was beside the point.

  The red light was taking forever. A woman struggled across the intersection with a double stroller. I watched her as she wrangled the stroller onto the sidewalk and peered down at her babies before straightening up and continuing on her way.

  Just as the light changed my phone buzzed to life. The ring tone was an exceptionally shrill one that I’d assigned to my father. After three rings I finally answered.

  “Hi, Dad.”

  “Hey, princess,” he sighed in a voice that possessed as much cheer as your average cat funeral.

  Jefferson Tory wasn’t a bad father but a succession of wives, girlfriend
s, and other dalliances had occupied his emotions ever since my mother took off shortly after we left Emblem. As I understood it, she simply hadn’t wanted to be a wife anymore. Or a mother. She took half the considerable marital assets, moved to Los Angeles, sang in obscure night clubs and stopped sending cards for my birthday about five years ago.

  As for me and my dad, we managed okay on our own. He doubled down on his commercial real estate ventures and luck rained down on his head. Women came with it and he was remarried within a year. That one didn’t last, nor did the next one, but at least he’d gotten smarter about prenuptial agreements. We’d always gotten along okay even if we weren’t especially close. I knew he only resorted to terms of endearment when things were going badly for him so I softened my voice.

  “What’s wrong, Dad? Are you home? I thought you were going to be in Palm Springs until the end of the month.”

  The lavish California enclave had been his second home ever since my ex-stepmother convinced him to buy a bungalow that had once belonged to an actress who committed suicide in the master bedroom. His affection for the house had outlived his affection for that particular wife and he spent several months a year there, usually towing along something blonde to occupy him.

  “Oh, I’m still here,” he said vaguely and I thought I heard the clink of ice cubes in a glass. He always had a drink in his hand yet he rarely drank. He would roll the glass around in his fingers until the ice melted, then dump the contents and start over. “Seems like I’ll have to come back to the valley sooner than I planned though. Destiny got a call for a modeling job and she flew to New York on Tuesday. And now I’m hearing that my new, very expensive office manager is making a mess of the staff so I’ll need to return and put on my firing hat.”

  He went on for ten more minutes about his various daily challenges while I listened, said appropriate things like, “That sounds terrible,” and inched through rush hour traffic.

  I was nearly home when he got around to asking me a predictable question.

  “Enough about me though. I want to hear what’s new with you, honey. You still at that same job?”