Broken

by Enders, KC

  “Did you?” I ask, trailing my fingertips down the center of Miles’s strong back, mapping the deep groove of his spine between ridges of tight muscle. “You did good work with your imagination. Pretty sure I wasn’t wearing stockings that night, and I know for a fact I don’t have any with seams.”

  He groans against my neck as my hands push beneath his shorts, pulling him in closer to me. Miles rocks his hips against me, rubbing against my aching clit, the friction delectable.

  “Definitely need to remedy that. Get you some garters, too.” His tongue darts out, trailing down my throat to dip into my collarbone.

  In a blur of motion, I’m in his arms, and once again, Miles takes the stairs, silently stealing down the hallway and into my room.

  * * *

  “So, you really don’t mind if I take her for a spa appointment?” It’s not a lie, not really.

  Puss ’n’ Pits provides spa services, just not for Miles’s truck. But after he shared his spank material with me, I found the business card Jasmine had slipped into my hand and called Jenson to see if he would take my picture.

  Miles shoots me a look. “Why would I mind? I told you last week, I like the idea of you behind Maggie’s wheel.” He tosses me the keys and adds, “Jake and I have some errands to run today, so take your time.”

  I check my tote bag to make sure that I have everything I need. When I called Jasmine to tell her what Jenson and I had planned, she said not to worry about anything. But my makeup bag has all my favorites products.

  “Okay, I guess I’ll see you boys later, then. Have fun and make good choices,” I say as I squeeze out the door.

  I hook my hangers over my finger, the thin plastic film from the dry cleaner billowing out behind me as I slide into Miles’s beloved truck before hurrying to Puss ’n’ Pits.

  “You’re here,” Jasmine screeches when I walk through the door. “Flip the sign and roll the lock closed, would you, darlin’? We are on a tight schedule.” Her hips sway as she leads me back to her office.

  Curling irons of various sizes line one side of the makeshift vanity counter. Makeup palettes, brushes, hair spray, and an array of other beauty products fill the other. I hang my clothes on the edge of the door and pull my makeup bag from my tote.

  “This seems woefully inadequate,” I say, placing the orange-fuchsia-and-white swirled bag next to Jasmine’s assembled tools.

  “I told you, you didn’t need to bring anything. Have a seat here, sweetie. Let’s get this party started.” She spins the desk chair and pats it.

  The minute my tush hits the chair, Jasmine works efficiently and furiously. Working my glossy raven hair, meticulously straightening it, only to set it in fat rollers. While those set, she gets to work on my face. Layers upon layers of foundation, concealer, contouring and highlighting. My eyes, dark and sultry, with mile-long lashes and perfectly winged lines. My lips stained blood red, a layer of matte lipstick over top for the finishing touch.

  “Dear Jesus, you’re gonna rev that man’s engine. All right, let’s get this hair going, and then we’ll get you dressed.” She gently pulls the curlers from my hair, brushing it into perfectly beachy waves, twisting the front back and pinning fat, round rolls back on each side. Blast after blast of hair spray fills the air and fixes my hair into 1940s vogue.

  “Wow.”

  Jasmine rests her hands on my shoulders and gives me a little shake.

  “Fucking wow is right,” Jenson says, filling the doorway. His blond hair is buzzed close on the sides today, his Viking heritage showing strong. “You got the keys to that badass truck out there? I’ll move it into the shade while you finish getting ready, so you don’t burn your ass when you hop up on the hood.”

  “In my tote. Hand it to me and—”

  “Got ’em.” He dips his hand in and pulls the keys from the depths, dragging my ruby-red bra with it. Jenson smirks, his brow raised high as he carefully separates the delicate lace from the edge of the wire key ring. “He’s a lucky man. I’ll be outside when you’re ready.” He flips the keys around his finger and stalks out the door.

  “My God, that man makes my blood burn through my veins.” Jasmine leans back, gaze pinned to him until the locks auto-click shut. “Okay then. So, we’re going with classy pinup? Did you just bring the one outfit, or are we doing a wardrobe change?”

  I pull the rest of my lingerie from my bag and look around for a bathroom. “I just brought the one. Do you have a restroom?”

  “Next door down. I’m going to run upstairs to my apartment and just grab a couple things.”

  I pop into the restroom and change. The red lace bra lifts my boobs and pushes them together, creating cleavage I never knew I could have. The panties and matching garter are next. The stockings though are a challenge.

  When I purchased them, the saleslady made it look so easy to roll them on, getting the seam perfectly straight up the back of the leg. It takes me several tries and some minor adjustments before I give up. Close enough is close enough.

  Navy pencil skirt, short-sleeved white blouse, and bright red pumps that perfectly match the lace of my bra. I step out of the restroom and tuck my tote back into Jasmine’s office.

  “You ready?” she asks.

  “As ready as I’ll ever be.” My gaze washes over the pictures lining the hall outside Jasmine’s treatment rooms. “I can’t wait to see what mine look like.”

  “Jen’s got a good eye. They’re going to be unreal.” Jasmine leads me outside to where Maggie sits at an angle in front of Jenson’s shop.

  “You mind if we get a few in front of the shop?” he asks. “The lighting is on point, and—fuck me …” His words trail off as he turns to fully take me in. “Hot damn, honey. Just … damn.”

  Jenson offers me his hand and helps me up onto the hood of the truck. Nerves skitter through my belly, and as he starts taking test shots and making adjustments, I realize it must show.

  “Chloe, relax. You’ve got to stop grittin’ your teeth, doll. You look angry.”

  I paste on a smile, and after a couple of clicks, he sets the camera in the bed of the truck and leans against the bumper, arms over his chest, legs crossed at his ankles. “Jaz said you’re from New York.”

  I adjust the hand I’m leaning on and tilt my head, relaxing ever so slightly. “I am.”

  “And what brought you down here?”

  So, the conversation starts. We talk about me and Jake, about being closer to my family. We talk about my job and then how he made the switch from professional photographer to tattoo artist to owning his own shop.

  As I relax, he picks up the camera and starts shooting again. Softly cueing me on small adjustments. Where to look. Where to place my hand. Saying something goofy when he wants me to laugh, the click of the camera coming like rapid-fire as he moves around the truck, looking for just the right angle.

  “You doin’ okay? Need a drink of water or somethin’?” he asks, standing straight.

  “I’m good. Are we done already?”

  We haven’t been out here very long, but Jenson and Jasmine have businesses to run. I’m sure I’ve already taken up way too much of their time.

  “Not at all. But do you think you’re ready for something a little more …” Jenson hesitates.

  “Provocative,” Jasmine finishes for him. “Still classy but just a little bit … more, you know? You’ll be blown away, I promise.”

  I think about it for a minute, biting at my lower lip, and the camera clicks. Jenson approaches and turns the camera, so I can see what he captured. I look good. Sultry. Sexier than I ever dreamed possible.

  “Okay.” I nod. “Let’s do it.”

  And over the next couple of hours, Jasmine poses me, and Jenson takes pictures. When we break, it’s only for a quick drink of water and for Jasmine to push me back into her shop to change. The high-waisted navy shorts and white halter top somehow leave me feeling more exposed than a bathing suit, but when we go back out, we fall back into the same ea
sy conversation.

  Finally, Jenson lowers the camera, a broad smile stretching his bearded face wide. “Yeah,” he says, nodding. “Let me dump these on my laptop, and we can do a little preview, let you see what I got.”

  I slide off the hood of the truck, suddenly exhausted. “Is it cool if I change back into real clothes?”

  “Absolutely,” he calls over his shoulder as he stalks into the shop, camera in hand, pulling the memory card from the slot.

  Jasmine leads me inside her shop and up the stairs to her apartment. “Help yourself to the shower. Figure since this is a surprise for your guy, you don’t want to show up back home, looking like nose art. Towels, shampoo, everything you need is right there. I’ll grab the rest of your stuff from my office for you and then meet you next door at Jen’s,” she says, already heading back down the stairs.

  After a quick shower, my face clean, hair twisted back into the mess of black curls on the top of my head, I stuff my things into my tote and wander into the tattoo shop.

  The receptionist smirks at me and throws her thumb over her shoulder. “Jen’s office is the last door on the left. Girl, you looked fuck-hot.”

  “Thanks,” I say, taken aback.

  But when I walk through the door of Jenson’s office, all I see is an image of me looking like I never in my life could have imagined.

  Chapter Twenty

  Miles

  With Chloe finally out of the house, I look at Jake and ask, “You ready to roll?”

  He reaches behind him and pulls his shoes from under the couch, shoving his feet into them. For a kid, he did a damn good job, locking down the nervous jitters and acting cool.

  “Yep. Let’s do this.” He bounces off the floor and struts to the door, Chloe’s keys in his hand.

  “You driving?” I ask, pulling the door shut behind us.

  Jake snorts, laughing way too hard over my comment. “No. Geebus, Miles.”

  He makes a wild toss with the keys, and I have to jump to snag them.

  “I don’t think your mom would be okay with that one either. Cursing doesn’t make you cool, man.” I click open the locks and slide the driver’s seat back as far as it’ll go before climbing in.

  “Is that one of the rules?” The click of a seat belt sounds from the backseat.

  “It is. Being a gentleman is important business, man. No matter what, those rules are ones to live by.” I back Chloe’s vehicle out, and in minutes, we’ve swapped it out for my truck. It’s times like these that I’m glad I have both. Not just because Chloe decided to be sweet and get Maggie detailed, but dirty work and moving things calls for a truck that’s not a classic with a pristine walnut bed.

  “Didn’t you tell Mom it was too dangerous to go get this thing?” Jake asks, checking the lock on his door.

  I chuckle and adjust my aviators. “I did.”

  “But it’s okay for us to be here?” He looks around the slightly run-down neighborhood scrolling past us. “Because we’re men and she’s a girl?”

  Tilting my head back and forth, I search for the right words. Talking to Chloe’s son, teaching him the things he needs to know to be a true gentleman, has become important to me. I don’t want to fuck it up. “We’re going to call it being chivalrous. Taking care of the people we love, being honorable and protective.” I turn down a street to the right and stop in front of a house halfway down the block.

  “And that’s one of the rules, too?”

  “Yep. You’re learning, kiddo,” I tell him. We hop out of the truck and approach the older gentleman standing in the shade of the open garage door. “Stick right with me. I’m going to need your muscles to help move this thing.”

  I thrust my hand forward in greeting, Jake following suit. “This it?” I ask.

  “It is,” the gentleman replies. “Good you brought help; it weighs more’n a bit. Had to have my son come by and bring it up here for you from the backyard.”

  I reach into my pocket and pull out the bills for the price we settled on. I didn’t lowball the guy, but meeting him, seeing that he’s an older man in a neighborhood past its prime, I almost wish I had agreed to the full asking price. “You made this?”

  He accepts the money I hand him, pocketing it right away. “I did. The wife wanted a place to sit in her garden to read. What the wife wants, the wife gets.” He chuckles, but there’s a sadness behind it. “Made this and a little table to match. She’d sit out there for hours, reading her love stories, with a glass of tea. Now, she’s in a home. Can’t use it, so I’m glad your missus’ll give it a good home.”

  That right there is some old-school love and devotion. “You looking to unload that table, too?” I ask.

  “They sure do look pretty together. You think your lady might like it?” He rubs a handkerchief across his brow and stuffs it back in his pocket.

  “I think she’d love it,” he says.

  He names a price, and I hand him the cash without batting an eye. Jake and I get the bench and matching table loaded in the back of the truck and say our good-byes.

  “That was really nice of you, buying that table, too,” Jake says, clicking his belt.

  “I think your mom’ll like it, don’t you?”

  “She’ll love it.” He shifts in his seat, looking at me and then looking back out the windshield. “Thanks, Miles. This is going to be the best Mother’s Day ever.”

  I nod and tousle his hair. My throat clogs, not letting even the simplest response through. That thank-you, this errand, might mean more to me than it does to him. It’s nothing for me to help Jake get his mom something she wants for Mother’s Day but spending time with them like this is huge. Fucking huge.

  We stop to pick up a planter and dirt and a tray of poppies I ordered to set in the garden.

  Our errands done, I look to Jake and say, “How about we stop at the convenience store and get a drink and a snack?”

  His face lights up, and he nods furiously. He’s such a good kid.

  “All right then.” I swing into the same convenience store where we first ran into each other. Where Chloe literally fell into my arms. And thank God for that.

  I’m not at all surprised when Jake grabs the biggest cup and fills it to the brim. I pay and with a hand to his back guide him out to the truck. We climb in, and as I roll the windows down to let the heat out, a kid in his late teens flies out the doors, a purse grasped in his hand—one that looks a hell of a lot like the one the lady behind us in line had.

  Shouts for him to stop and calls for help kick me into motion.

  I jump out and lock the doors behind me. “Stay here, Jake. Don’t leave the truck. I’ll be right back.”

  I take off after the kid and see him just as he rounds the corner at the next block. Legs pounding, I eat up pavement between us, and it’s not long before the kid tires and slows. I push myself harder, closing the gap.

  Sirens wail, the sound getting louder as the police approach. When the kid glances over his shoulder, he stumbles before gaining his footing, but that little stutter-step is all I need. I’m close enough to turn up my speed, wrap him up, and take him to the ground.

  In full panic, he tosses the woman’s purse and tries to push me off. I’ve got easily six inches and fifty pounds on the kid. Training kicks in, and by the time the police car pulls up next to us, he’s given up the fight.

  Running through the details takes time. It should be completely obvious by the fear on the kid’s face and the way he’s practically shitting his pants that he’s the one who grabbed the purse and ran, but the police have a procedure they have to follow. And then I have to get myself back to Jake. I jog it, impressed with just how far I chased the kid down.

  The two police cars parked at the convenience store don’t surprise me in the least as I round the corner. But the cop standing next to my truck, talking to Jake and the woman whose purse was grabbed, kick my pace up a notch.

  “There he is,” Jake yells, pointing toward me. “His code name is Superman.�
� He unlocks his door, triggering the alarm.

  I dig my keys from my pocket and hit the button to silence it as quickly as I can.

  Jake jumps out and meets me at the front of the truck, beaming with pride.

  “You’re the one who took off after him?” the lady asks, stepping forward.

  “I am,” I manage while catching my breath. “The officers took your bag to the station with the kid.” I look from her to the officer standing with her.

  “Thank you so much. I don’t know what I would have done. It was just such a surprise. That boy came out of nowhere. He was just so fast,” she rambles. “I’d like to thank you properly, but my wallet, my cash—”

  “No, ma’am. Not necessary. I was happy to help and glad that it all turned out okay.”

  She lunges forward and surprises me with a quick hug. “Thank you.”

  The officer directs her to the police station to start the process of claiming her purse. “I’ll be there shortly to follow up,” he adds before turning to me. “Not every man would abandon his son to chase down a criminal. Could have ended differently if that kid had a gun on him or if people were waiting for him around the corner.” He rests his hands on his utility belt, his stance wide. There’s a definite hint of lecture or maybe judgment in his tone.

  “Yes, Officer. It was a calculated risk, but I trust this guy to make good decisions.” I wrap my arm around Jake’s back and give his shoulder a squeeze, hoping that he doesn’t pick now to correct the cop, saying that I’m not his dad.

  The cop nods, working his jaw back and forth. “Thanks, but maybe next time, just let us take care of things like this. You concentrate on taking care of your family, all right? Take care, buddy.” He pats Jake on the back and climbs into his vehicle.

  Jake and I get in the truck and take off toward home. Ice rattles in his cup, the sound clearly indicating his beverage is gone.

  “You drink all of that already?” I ask.

  He squirms in his seat and furiously nods his head.