Broken Course

by Aly Martinez

  She starts with Emma, who asks for some over-the-top specialty martini, and Caleb, who orders a simple scotch neat. Leo motions for me to go next, and I very uncomfortably ask for a water with lemon. Leo doesn’t seem to give my beverage of choice too much thought and orders a beer right behind me.

  "So, what do you do?" Caleb asks Leo while dropping his hand under the table and into Emma’s lap.

  Those two are the horniest people I have ever met in my life. I wouldn’t put it past Caleb to throw her down on the table in front of us all. Just knowing that his hand is within a twelve-inch radius of Emma’s pants makes me question his motives. I roll my eyes, and Emma starts laughing when she catches my reaction. Both guys pause to look at her, but she ignores them and takes a sip of her drink while still smiling at me.

  "I own a security company," Leo answers, draping his arm around the back of my chair. He doesn’t exactly touch me, but it’s still a flirty gesture that makes my eyes go wide, once again sending my loud-mouth sister into a fit of laughter.

  "Really?" Caleb asks, surprised.

  "Yep. Guardian Protection. I opened about seven months ago."

  "No. Shit," Caleb says impressed. "It was your men who took down Lucas Wilkes."

  Leo swallows hard and his relaxed posture from just seconds ago goes stiff. "I didn’t know that was public knowledge," Leo says with a harsh edge to his voice.

  "Well, it’s not a secret." Caleb winks, and I’m afraid Leo’s sudden attitude has flipped Caleb’s asshole switch.

  "Caleb is a detective with the CPD," I rush out, trying to keep the peace.

  "Gotcha," Leo responds and his shoulders relax. "In that case, yes. We took down Wilkes. It’s also a topic that hits close to home, so if we could drop it and not discuss work tonight, I’d really appreciate it." Leo grins, but there’s something dark behind it.

  "Fair enough." Caleb smirks and takes a sip from his scotch.

  We sit in uncomfortable silence for a minute before Emma breaks the tension.

  "Isn’t that Tom Cole over there?" she asks, looking across the restaurant.

  "Who?" Caleb follows her gaze.

  "It is! We should go say hi," she announces before jumping to her feet.

  "Who the hell are you talking about, Emmy?"

  "Would you shut up and come on?" she snaps, dragging him toward the bar.

  I immediately let out a relieved sigh that makes Leo chuckle beside me.

  "I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought them." I look up to find his chocolate-brown eyes staring down at me.

  Leo is a ridiculously good-looking guy. He’s not the clean-cut type I usually go for; he’s more edgy. His light-brown skin and dark hair make for an exotic look. He has a thin layer of scruff covering his strong jaw, but it’s not because he forgot to shave—it’s trimmed to perfection. His no doubt designer jeans are purposefully tattered, and the stylish, white button-down stretches across his hard chest. He must catch my eyes drifting, because his already wide smile grows before falling flat.

  "Yeah, bringing the family with you on a first date is a little unusual. At least it wasn’t the parents though." He moves his arm off the back of my chair and takes a pull off his beer. I can immediately feel the distance he just put between us.

  "My parents are dead. This is pretty much the same thing," I blurt out, because clearly, somewhere over the last few years, I’ve lost all social awareness.

  "Wow. This just got even more awkward." He drains the rest of his beer in one long sip.

  "Shit. I’m sorry. I warned you this was a bad idea."

  Ignoring my apology, he points down at my water. "You don’t drink at all or just not tonight?"

  "Not at all."

  "Good. Let’s get out of here." He pulls cash from his wallet and drops it on the table.

  "Um, we just got here," I answer, surprised, and glance up to where Emma and Caleb are standing nose to nose at the bar, ignoring everyone around them.

  "Right. But this isn’t a date with them here. It’s an interview. They seem like good people, but the only person I want to get to know tonight is you. There’s a little dive Mexican restaurant a few blocks from here. Since you don’t drink, there’s no point staying at a martini bar."

  "They have food here too," I state, trying to figure out his real motives behind leaving.

  "And it’s really good, but we’re starting over. New restaurant, new date. Just me and you. We’re doing it right this time. "

  "Oh. Um…"

  "Say goodnight. I’ll meet you outside." He turns and heads out the door without another word spoken.

  Well, I guess I’m going on a legit date with Leo after all.

  Fuck.

  "GET YOUR ass up," I hear Slate say as he walks into my room.

  I’m sprawled out on my bed, naked, with an empty bottle of Jack on the nightstand.

  "Nice. Really fucking nice," he bites out, snatching open the curtains.

  "Jesus Christ, Andrews!" I toss an arm over my face to shield my eyes from the unwelcome light.

  "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

  "Oh, I don’t know. I wasn’t aware sleeping was a crime," I snark back at him.

  I knew he would come eventually. I just hoped I’d be gone by the time he showed up. But I haven’t had the balls to leave yet.

  "She’s called you twenty-seven times. Twenty-seven fucking times she has dialed your number. Twenty-seven!" he roars, rushing the bed, kicking it at the last second. "We both thought you were fucking dead. I dropped everything and rushed over here two God damn days before my wedding only to find you passed out in bed. Drunk. What the fucking hell is wrong with you?!" he screams, throwing the empty bottle of Jack across the room.

  I have never seen Slate lose it like this before. It’s alarming and—confusing.

  "Chill the fuck out." I grab my head, trying to slow the pounding inside.

  "Right. Of course." He pulls his phone out of his back pocket and throws it at me. "Call her," he demands.

  "Can I have a fucking second to take a piss and maybe put on some clothes?" I snap, dragging myself to my feet only to fall back against the bed when my dizzy head can’t catch up.

  Slate strides forward, forcing me to take another clumsy step back. He stops only inches from my face. "You fucking call her. She’s a wreck. She fought me tooth and nail to come here today, but I was fucking terrified about what she would find. So pick up that phone and call her. Make sure you tell her goodbye because there is a good chance I’m going to fucking kill you when you hang up," he growls, but the only words that register are those when he said that Erica is a wreck.

  The last thing in this world I want is for her to hurt anymore, so I drag a blanket off the bed and quickly dial her number. The shattered voice on the other end of the phone knocks me completely on my ass.

  "Is he alive?" she cries into the phone.

  "Babe," I whisper as the realization of her fear levels me. Tears spring to my eyes, and I turn to the wall to conceal them.

  "Are you okay?" she asks, but I know it’s not just a surface-level inquiry.

  I take a minute to really consider the question. "No," I answer honestly. This is Erica, after all. I owe her the truth at the very least.

  "Where are you?"

  "At the apartment." I sweep the emasculating tears from my eyes.

  "Stay there. Let me talk to Slate," she breathes across the line.

  It pains me to hear her concern. I’ve spent almost four years protecting this woman, but over the course of five days without her, I’ve forgotten what it feels like be needed.

  "Erica—"

  "Forget it. I’ll call him later. I’m on the way." She hangs up.

  I toss his phone on the bed, heading into my closet for a moment alone and to grab some clothes. I pull on a pair of jeans and a white T-shirt while readying myself for the shitstorm I know is approaching.

  Slate is staring out the window when I emerge from the closet. He’s pissed, but this is
Slate. We are going to butt heads no matter what.

  "Sit down and start talking," he says in a surprisingly patient tone, which he usually reserves only for Erica.

  I decide to start with a lie. After all, I’ve spent years telling them—it should be easy.

  "I’m just making up for lost time. That’s all. Went out, got a little drunk. I must not have heard my phone when she called."

  "Bullshit," he snaps. "She’s been calling you for three days."

  "Look, thanks for coming, but I’m not doing this with you."

  "You need serious help, Leo. Erica and I have started counseling—"

  "I’m glad to see that Erica is getting help, but beyond that, I don’t give two fucks how awesome counseling is working out for you!" I shout.

  No therapist in the world is going to change the decisions I’ve made in the past. I’m not dealing with something that happened to me; I’m crippled by the guilt of something I did. There’s a big difference—one that can’t just be overcome.

  "I don’t get this sudden change in you. You are probably the most levelheaded person I know. You’re finally free to live whatever life you want, but you’re spending your days drinking and ignoring the people who love you. You’re having some issues, so let’s figure it out so we can all move the fuck on."

  I’m not sure why his words send fire through my veins. Maybe it’s because the very idea of moving on seems impossible and the words of hope are like dangling a steak in front of a starving man.

  I just need someone to hate me as much as I hate myself. I know Erica won’t do it, so Slate’s on deck.

  "That night while your beautiful bride was tied to a bed, naked—"

  His face morphs and he immediately stops me. "Don’t fucking do this. You’re not provoking me."

  I spit out the venomous words anyway. "You know…when I sent all those men in to rape her."

  "Shut your fucking mouth, Leo. Goddamn it, we are not talking about this."

  "It must be nice—to be able to just turn it off." I roll my eyes and head to the kitchen.

  "I know you’re struggling, and it’s okay. We’re going to get you help," Slate announces, following me from the room.

  "I don’t need help. I need a goddamn escape."

  "Don’t spew bullshit like that. What the hell is going through your head right now?" he asks.

  The truth explodes from my throat. "Her screams! That’s what is always going through my head. The sounds of her screaming while I stood helpless on the other side of that door play in a never-ending loop. All day. All night. No matter what I do. I can’t block it out!"

  "SARAH! WOW. You look beautiful tonight." I lean in and give her a hug when she walks out of the restaurant. Fuck that stupid handshake shit she tried to pull earlier.

  I take a step away, and she watches me blankly, but the smallest smile plays on her lips.

  "All right. I’ve officially ditched the parents. Where are you taking me for my celebratory dinner? It better be good. It’s not every day I get a big, fancy receptionist position," she says playfully.

  "Come on. I’ll show you." I offer her an elbow, and she doesn’t hesitate in sliding her arm through mine.

  "So tell me about yourself," she inquires as we stroll arm in arm the two blocks to the restaurant.

  "Well, hmmm… What do you want to know?" I smile down at the very moment she looks up through her lashes. Jesus, she is gorgeous. No one could possibly describe her as anything else, but I know there’s more to her than just her angelic looks. There’s a depth in her eyes that interests me the most. "Well I’m thirty-three, originally from Nebraska but grew up in El Paso, Texas. However, I’ve lived all over the place for the last few years."

  "Where’d you learn Spanish?" she asks, seeming to be genuinely interested and not just making small talk.

  "I worked on my grandparents ranch in Texas as soon as I was old enough to muck the stalls. Most of the other workers were Mexican, so they taught me a good bit in order to communicate. From there, I made some of the best friends I’ve ever had. Spanish was kind of a necessity."

  "Wow. That’s really cool that you picked it up all on your own. I figured you were Hispanic, but with a last name like James, I wasn’t really sure."

  "Nah. The dark complexion fools them every time though," I tease. "You ready for the best authentic Mexican food you’ve ever tasted?" I ask, reluctantly releasing her arm only long enough to guide her into the restaurant.

  But it’s the way she arches her back to press against my hand that has my mind spinning in a million different directions—almost all of which end with her naked.

  This is just a first date.

  First date.

  First date.

  Fucking hell!

  "I HAVE to admit. That place was delicious. I was looking forward to Shades, but I always give credit where credit is due," I say with an exaggerated bow as we leave the restaurant.

  Jesus Christ, Leo James is intriguing. If there were ever a man who knew how to say all the right things at the right times, that would be Leo. There wasn’t a single moment of awkwardness at dinner—even at the points where there was supposed to be the normal ‘getting to know you’ awkwardness. Leo filled every minute with entertaining conversation I couldn’t help but feel comfortable with.

  I was worried that we would have nothing to talk about. I wanted to stay as far away from my past as possible. A first date is not exactly the best time to air all of your dirty laundry—or, in my case, the entire Laundromat. Though, until tonight, I didn’t realize that I don’t have a ton of other stuff to talk about.

  However, Leo did.

  We talked about everything from stupid everyday stuff at work—his difficulty finding trustworthy employees and my switching careers so drastically. I brushed off his questions about why I no longer wanted to be a writer, and I think he actually bought it. But then we got serious. He told me all about his upbringing as an only child and his parents, who sadly passed away about the same time I lost mine. He was a gentleman in every sense of the word. He never pried, but he definitely asked questions as if he were actually interested in me. He’s distractingly handsome, but his sex appeal is amplified with his every word spoken.

  Leo James is smooth. It’s not usually a trait I would want in a man, but there’s an honesty in his smile that really draws me in.

  "How about you let me drive you home? I’m not okay with just calling you a cab," he says suddenly, turning to face me, forcing me to take a step back. "Please."

  "I’ll be fine," I try to assure him, but he doesn’t budge.

  "I live in that building." He points up at the tall tower only a block away. "Just let me get my car and I’ll take you home. It will be way quicker than hailing a cab from here this time of night." He smiles and it stills my breath. It’s the most terrifying sight I have ever seen.

  Shit. He’s smooth and breathtaking. Red flags start flying all over the place. I’m not scared of Leo, but my legs are definitely trembling for a completely different reason.

  Fuckity fuck, fuck, fuck.

  "IT’S ONLY ten," Leo announces when we walk into his apartment.

  His big-ass, expensive, downtown-Chicago apartment. I have a sudden urge to call Emma just to tell her that Leo is apparently, in fact, loaded.

  "Wow. This place is gorgeous," I gasp as we walk inside.

  "Thanks," he replies, tossing his keys into the bowl next to the door. "You want a drink?" he asks before remembering that I don’t drink. "Pop, water, juice…anything?" he corrects.

  "You know, I’ve lived here for almost fifteen years, but I can’t ever get used to y’all calling it ‘pop,’" I laugh.

  He groans, turning toward the fridge. "Y’all," is all he says in reply, as if that is clearly the explanation of his groan.

  "I’ve adapted to most things about living in the Chicago. Y’all is not one of those things. I’m taking that one to the grave." I toss him a smile, but it does nothing to match his br
ight glow.

  Damn it. Leo James is officially blinding too.

  "So. Drink?" he asks, trying to divert my obvious stare.

  "No. I really should get going," I answer while holding his gaze, but my confidence falters when his lips lift in a devilish grin.

  "No. You shouldn’t," he corrects while peeling off his button-down to reveal an even tighter, white undershirt.

  "I…" I stumble. Hard.

  Who the hell is this guy? I’m a smartass. It’s kind of my thing, but he gives me nothing. He doesn’t set himself up for my sarcastic comments. He’s always one step ahead. And in this moment, taking off his shirt is that step.

  He does things to me, but none I’m willing to admit yet.

  Until he touches me.

  He stops in front of me. His smile is gone, but there’s a definite heat in his eyes. Holding a bottle of water in one hand, he reaches forward with the other and brushes the hair off my shoulder, exposing my neck. It’s a gentle touch, but no less sensual. His fingers linger on my collarbone, causing chills to prickle my skin. I hold his eyes, fully expecting him to lean in for a kiss, but Leo doesn’t move an inch.

  "Stay for a little while? I’ll take you home in an hour or so." His tries to whisper but it comes out gravelly—and panty-drenchingly sexy.

  "Okay," I answer immediately. I never even had a fighting chance to decline.

  "Good," he replies with a smirk. He holds my gaze as his hand travels down my arm before moving to my hip. Then he gives me a quick squeeze before releasing me to walk to the couch.

  I stare into space, dazed by what just happened. Suddenly, I feel like I’m in way over my head. I should have gone on a test date with a balding accountant to brush up on my skills before stepping into the ring with this man. Leo is going to eat me for dinner and spit me out when he’s done, but I can’t even bring myself to care right now. He’s barely even touched me, yet I swear I have been hypnotized.

  Leo is that fucking good.

  "Sarah," he calls from the large, leather sofa.

  I snap out of my trance and move to sit on the end farthest away from him, but he pointedly clears his throat just before I sit down. His arm is slung over the back of the couch, and his eyes flash from mine to the cushion beside him, making it clear where I’m supposed to be seated. Though I’m not completely sure I want to give him the opportunity to touch me again, I can’t even lie to myself. I immediately slide over to underneath his arm, thrilled by the idea of touching him again.