Down to Ash (#Dirtysexygeeks Book 2)

by Melissa Blue

  She was silent for a long second before she sighed. “Anyway, I figured you could use the work so I offered your name. Still don't know why you just don't go with a place like Goo—”

  “I'd rather work on my own.”

  Needed to be more specific. Large crowds still put him on edge. Much worse when he didn't get a full eight hours of rest. Sometimes he needed to work from home and set his own hours until the storm passed.

  “That doesn't make any sense,” she argued. Liquor had probably made Ash's brain swim, and still she looked at him with a sharp intensity. “You're smart, focused. You're a veteran. It makes you a hero. People love vets.”

  Victor didn't feel like one on his best days. He kept his mouth shut and fixed his gaze on the road until he pulled into her apartment complex.

  She lurched out of the truck after he had parked before he could offer to help her down. She bent and her head disappeared from the window's view. Cautious at what he might find, he climbed out of the car. By the time he rounded the vehicle, she had her heels in one hand.

  Ash blinked up at him when she'd straightened. “You move quietly. Are you sure you weren't a SEAL?”

  “Come on.” He gestured to her apartment when she didn't move. “I'm not leaving until I know you're safe.”

  She braced her hands on her hips. “You're scowling at me again. Is it because I asked about Iraq?”

  “I don't talk about it.” With you he added in the quiet.

  The way her face softened in understanding made him wonder if she had heard those two unspoken words. Maybe, because the heat, the light died out in her eyes. Victor almost stepped forward to cup her face, to caress her bottom lip until that light damn near burned him from the inside out.

  Her voice was soft, a little hurt when she said, “If it wasn't the question I asked, then that leaves being around me, in general, puts you in a shitty mood. Why did you pick me up if you hate me so much?”

  “I don't hate you and Porter asked me to.”

  “Right, Porter.” Her voice was still soft, vulnerable.

  Gut punch.

  He balled his hands, refusing for the millionth fucking time to give in and touch her. He deserved a medal. Facing down bombs that could end his life or rip off his limbs—piece of cake. Not cupping Ash's chin as she lifted it in defiance at his reticence—yeah, that was fortitude, bravery.

  He sighed, took her arm, and helped her to the door. Or maybe he was actually half-dragging Ash, given her muttering about being manhandled, and men, and brothers, and hot, sexy, guarded Korean men.

  His step only faltered once, at the last part, but since he figured it was a one-sided conversation, he didn't bother to reply. Didn't even let himself revel over the fact she thought he was sexy.

  “Where are your keys?” His voice was a little too rough, and from the way her gaze narrowed, the change in it hadn't escaped her.

  Raising a brow, almost in challenge after his brush-off, she reached down the front of her dress. Her cleavage flashed, along with black lace that pushed her breasts up and together in a tantalizing buffet for his eyes.

  As always, he'd ignored her, she’d retaliated. She was baiting him to prove he saw every inch of her and that he couldn't look away even if he tried.

  She was right, because he looked every fucking time. He got a little dizzy at the sudden loss of blood in his head.

  Ash chuckled, likely catching his blanched expression—a sure sign she'd won their silent battle of wills, again.

  “What?” Her voice was pure innocence. “God gave me a built-in purse and it’s called my boobs.”

  Victor clamped his jaw and glared at the sky.

  She was drunk. He wasn't going to make a dirty joke. He wasn't going to make a pass at her. He sure as shit wasn't going to let her bait him any more than she already had. Forty more years to hold out, then he could donate his body to science, because he would have likely died from his perpetual erection.

  Porter's sister.

  One of his best friend's sister. Hell, damn near a sister to all his friends in the Goon Squad. She was playful and honest with all of them. Easy to love. Too easy. And because of that Victor could say they probably all did love her in their own way.

  Thinking like that won't get me out of this shit show.

  After her third failed attempt to unlock it, he grabbed her keys and did it himself. He would have pushed her inside, but that would have forced him to touch her again.

  “I would have done it,” Ash said. “Eventually.”

  She stepped inside all loose-limbed and carefree and didn't close the door.

  Victor leaned against the doorjamb and called out, “You forgot your keys.”

  She kept walking as though she hadn't heard him, headed toward the kitchen. He should close the door and walk away, but she probably wouldn't lock up once she realized he'd gone. Whenever she realized he'd gone.

  Porter had entrusted him to take care of his sister. If anything happened to her, the fault would be on Victor's head. In her current condition, she could pass out and choke on her own vomit. Hit her head in the shower and bleed out. Death. Death. And more death. Of course, death was the only scenario his mind could offer up, and now that he’d thought about anything happening to her, he couldn't leave.

  He could recite every reason why he should walk away. He could remind himself of every time Porter had saved him, and that the only thing his friend ever asked for in return was for Victor to not cross a line with Ash. Hell, Ash would be pissed if she knew Victor considered her vulnerable and fragile in her current state, or ever.

  With a defeated sigh, he palmed the keys and stepped inside her apartment.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ~Gamer Truth: Walkthroughs are for pussies...except when you've been stuck on the same quest for two hours. Then use the damn cheats.~

  By the time Victor caught up to her in the kitchen, she was munching on an apple. She'd already thrown her shoes underneath the wooden table.

  Her kitchen was neat, spacious, and girly. A glass vase in the middle of the table held pink roses, and somehow they perfectly matched the black-and-white checkered chairs and frilly pink chandelier hanging over the table. That checkered theme ran throughout the kitchen, except for the oven mitts. Hearts decorated those.

  Everything in the kitchen fit Ash…except Victor.

  He didn't belong there, not even for a moment. He was standing in her very feminine space, his hands curling into fists to keep from sullying anything with his touch, and still wishing he could be a part of her world. Fuck—even just wishing he could be a man who didn't only thrive in the shadows.

  “What are you doing?” He sounded more annoyed than he'd meant to.

  “I'm starving.” Ash opened the cabinet, but was standing much too close and ended up smacking herself in the forehead with the door. She pursed her lips and glared at the cabinet as though it was the one in the wrong.

  He could only stare impotently at her before the rest of his frustration spilled out. “Sit down before you kill yourself.”

  “My depth perception might be off. I'm going to do more than regret those drinks, but I'm only tipsy.”

  “Go sit down,” he grated out.

  Although she sighed, she didn't argue as she passed him. That and only that told him how much she’d had to drink. She sprawled into a kitchen chair and then grinned at him.

  Air whooshed out of his lungs. Could she not be...adorable? Shaking his head, he checked her fridge. The shelves were lined with decorative plastic wrap for easy cleanup. Also pink and checkered. He needed to leave and quick.

  But he couldn’t. He spotted pork chops thawing on the bottom shelf. That he could handle. “Sides?”

  “Cabinet.” She frowned then rubbed at her temples. “Why I almost TKO'd myself. I stock up on microwavable stuff. I keep lots of them in there because I'm a single lady,” she said the last part in a singsong tone.

  Ash, singing. No fucking way she was just tipsy, yet she
'd called Porter the lightweight.

  “How much did you drink?” he asked again, amusement edging in on his disgruntlement.

  “No. No. I found the bar in the restaurant after being stood up.” As though that was an unshakable defense.

  “And then what?”

  Her eyes widened with faux innocence, a smile tugging at her mouth again. “I drank it.”

  Victor almost choked on a laugh. “I see.”

  How did she always manage to draw him in even when he was being a dick?

  He chose a garlic and butter rice that he could pop into the microwave with minimal fuss. She had about twenty of them. And she would probably need to eat all twenty of them to level out the alcohol in her system.

  Right in his line of sight sat a bottle of whiskey. A fifteen-minute favor had turned into an hour, at least. An hour alone with her. They'd never been unchaperoned for that long before.

  He'd go over to Porter's and she'd be there. They'd both be aware Porter was on his way. Or they'd be sitting alone in Grady's living room, and would find things to talk or argue about. When they were younger, there had been school, parents...a thousand things that had stood in their way of being alone.

  Porter would assume Victor had dropped Ash off and had gone home.

  No one would ever know what I could do with her tonight.

  That thought left him a little breathless.

  He picked up the whiskey bottle in the cabinet, because the Post-it note covering the label told him to. “Break seal in case it's the end of the world.”

  The situation wasn't the end of the world, but sure as shit felt like it. Welcome to the Apocalypse.

  He took a long pull straight from the bottle, and then put it back.

  She laughed. “So dour, always, is that why you need a drink?” Ash mused. “Toss me a water while you're digging around in my refrigerator.”

  He did, still buzzing at her laugh. It was so damn pure.

  Get it together.

  He focused on what he should be doing and reached into another cabinet for seasoning. She chugged half the bottle, and then just sat back, sipping the water as he heated the oven and prepped the meat.

  “Why?” she asked after a while.

  “Why, what?” he asked.

  She spread her hands in a wide arch. “Why do all this if you don't even like me?”

  It was easier to let her think he didn't. So much easier to make her think her light—the flame of her—was distasteful to him. He could have, should have, answered in his usual dickish way, but her expression had turned thoughtful and soft.

  He shrugged and turned the fire down on the stove. “You wrote me when I was deployed. That meant something to me. The least I can do is feed you or take care of you when Porter can't.”

  “That was eons ago.” Her voice pierced through him.

  When he’d been in Iraq, he hadn’t marked time in hours, but in friends he lost and bombs he disassembled that could have ended...him. Most people could count on their hands the number of times they’d faced death. He had a file that detailed the number of times his life should have ended. If he’d fucked up, given the nature of his job, it was a foregone conclusion that he'd have had a closed casket-funeral…if there was enough of him left to put in a box.

  Porter knew. Grady knew. Ash had no clue. Not a one. She didn't need to know, he'd told himself. The stark reality of war and how it had changed him didn't need to touch her even though her letters had been the light that brought him back home.

  “Vic?” Worry threaded through her voice.

  Victor blinked then shook off the memories that threatened to drag him into the undertow. He needed sleep—badly—if that had triggered him.

  Ash shifted to the edge of the kitchen chair like she planned to go to him.

  He pushed out a breath. What had he been doing? Right. He loosened his grip on the frying pan.

  “Yeah, you wrote me a long time ago, but it still matters,” he said.

  Her shoulders lowered and she relaxed into the chair again. “Porter wrote you. Hell, he's the one who encouraged me to reach out, and you know how he is about his sister and his friends mingling.”

  They had all written him but Ash's letters were different. It could have simply been the fact she was a woman. She could and did chatter about inane shit.

  No, that accusation was unfair.

  His mother had written. She’d asked him about what he did, why he did it, why did he feel the need to do it, and when was the first available moment he could leave the Army. He'd felt the weight of his choices when he opened his mother's letters. But with Ash’s, Victor would smile before he’d even read them.

  He couldn't tell her what her letters meant to him. That, too, meant something. Too much.

  “If Porter was drunk enough to run into cabinets while standing still, I'd feed him too.” Victor cut his gaze in her direction to see if she bought the half-lie.

  For a very long second she only pursed her lips. He shifted, uncomfortable under the stare. Ash seemed to be reading the truth through his hardened facade—that she mattered to him, and that sometimes he wanted her more than he needed to breathe.

  Ash held his stare, her own truth reflecting back in an unguarded moment. The alcohol couldn't dim the hungry gleam.

  Shit, and now he couldn't draw in air. He didn't need her to speak the words, because he could see the certainty. Ash wanted the man she glimpsed beneath the lie. He should have known she was too smart to believe the half-truth anyway. It dared her to defy him. It was a taunt she couldn’t ignore.

  Maybe that's why I said the words.

  She flicked her gaze downward, breaking the moment. “You guys have that brotherhood code. Of course you would take care of Porter.” She’d woven a note of melancholy into the simple statement. “You have taken care of him over the years.”

  Victor opened his mouth to reply, but she dug into her cleavage again, this time pulling out a cell phone and effectively nixing the conversation and any other thoughts he had.

  He could only gape at her. “What all do you have down there?”

  She smirked, but didn't break her attention from her phone. “ID. Credit card... Holy water. Rock salt. A girl's gotta be prepared when going out on a first date.”

  He snorted, more than happy with the change in subject. “Didn't know you were a fan of Supernatural.”

  “I drank the bar? Remember me saying that? It was totally a reference. Come on. Catch up, Vic.” Her tone was playful but she still hadn't looked at up him again.

  His heart started to beat normally. That was for the best, so he went with it. “When did you start watching?”

  “Porter was geeking about it a few months ago. I finally watched the first two seasons. I don't find it surprising you guys love it. It's a bromance and you guys have a bromance.” She muttered, “Drunk text sent. Ha.”

  He stilled. Dammit. Victor had been so focused on taking care of her, keeping himself in check, he hadn't thought to protect her from herself. “Put your phone down.”

  “It's nothing. I just texted Richard. That's his name. I should have known better than to try and date a guy called Richard. As irony would have it, he was a Dick.” She snorted at her own joke.

  He could only imagine how her text read. “What did you just say to him?”

  “Well, I called Dick a piece of shit for standing me up.”

  He closed his eyes for a moment. “Give me your phone.”

  “I've deleted any ex out of my contacts, so I'm safe.” Her phone vibrated.

  He cursed, moving swiftly across the kitchen with the express purpose of taking her phone, but she was faster.

  Ash gasped. “He just called me a crazy bitch. I have to say something.”

  Victor pried the phone away and stuffed it into his pocket. “I'm keeping that until after you eat.”

  Her gaze flashed hot. “How can you be worse than Porter? We're not even related.”

  His friend had only as
ked him to pick her up and drop her off. Being in her house, feeding her and making sure she didn't have real regrets in the morning hadn’t been part of the favor. So why did he feel the need to do all that? Victor knew why, but he refused to stroll through that mental minefield.

  “Because Porter's not here.”

  She narrowed her eyes and pointed at him. “Exactly.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Ash's gaze roved down and then up in a slow crawl. Heat prickled down his spine. His cock stirred. There was the hunger again darkening her eyes, just waiting to eat him up. And fuck, he wanted to be swallowed whole. That thought only made his attention drop to her mouth.

  She was biting her lip, looking like she wanted what he did.

  “My brother's not here.” Her voice had lowered, gone husky. “Neither is Grady or Wade or Oliver. No one from the Goon Squad. Makes me wonder how differently you would treat me since we're alone.”

  An echo of Vic's exact train of thoughts earlier. It proved he wasn't he only one aware of their precarious circumstance.

  His skin pulled tight at the intensity of her stare.

  “Unruly drunk.” He knew his words would piss her off. Her light brown eyes flashed with irritation.

  So, he added, “Why am I not surprised?”

  She stood and pushed past him. This time when she opened the cabinet, she didn't knock herself in the head. She pulled down the whiskey, slammed the bottle into his chest, and then sat again at the kitchen table.

  Swiping angrily in his direction, she said, “Apparently you need some help being nice even if your friends aren't here. Drink.”

  “Listen,” he said, “I'm just trying to look out for you. Come morning, texting this guy wouldn't have done shit for your ego.”

  “You know what's not good for my ego ever? You. So drink, dammit.”

  Her words pinched, but that was good. He'd annoyed her. He was someone she looked at as a pain in her ass, and not like someone she wanted to bite in the best way. “I'm not leaving until you eat. Sit down and pout about it.”

  She pointed to the liquor. “I'll pout less if you could drink away the stick up your ass.”