Hold On (The 'Burg Series Book 6)

by Kristen Ashley

  He’d clearly done something to piss her off. He had no clue what it was, but he reckoned she’d make it up if it didn’t exist.

  This told him the walls were going back up.

  And this didn’t make him happy.

  More, he couldn’t do the work he needed to do to knock them back down in a fancy-ass restaurant where he was gonna blow at least two hundred dollars not enjoying it and not being able to fully enjoy Cher in that fucking dress.

  He started the truck and was just edging it from the curb, about to make the effort to clear the air on a drive that was not long but also wasn’t short, in order that he might be able to salvage dinner and definitely be able to salvage the plans he had after dinner with her and her shoes.

  She got there before him.

  “Okay, I’m just gonna say this straight out, right now, so if you wanna turn around and drop my ass back at my house, you can do that without wastin’ too much gas,” she decreed into the cab. “It wasn’t me who texted you that apology. It was, but I typed it in and didn’t send it. Ethan got in my phone, not bein’ a little shit, he just does that ’cause he doesn’t have his own phone and anyway, I let him do it. He did it this time because he saw a text from his gramma. My guess is, he saw my unsent text to you and he likes you. He thinks you’re gonna make me happy. He worries about me bein’ alone, especially with him growin’ up, so that’s gonna happen more, and he wants to look out for me. So he sent that text. He also wrote the one tellin’ you to come see me. So there.” The last came out on a gush of breath. “There it is. I didn’t have the balls to apologize. My ten-year-old kid had to have the balls for me.”

  Garrett concentrated on guiding his truck down her street.

  He thinks you’re gonna make me happy.

  When he didn’t reply immediately, she kept babbling.

  “I typed it in, but I figure I don’t get any points for that. When you came over, I thought I’d fucked up and sent it myself. I was gonna say somethin’ about that, but then you got pissed as shit at Walter Jones and ended that with your hand down my pants. My attention got diverted. But I’m tellin’ you now, straight away, so you know.”

  My attention got diverted.

  He stopped at the stop sign at the end of her street, flicking on his blinker.

  But even though the way was clear, he didn’t turn.

  “Garrett?” she called.

  My ten-year-old kid had to have the balls for me.

  “Merry,” she whispered, the brusque out of her tone. She sounded scared.

  At that sound, he shoved the truck in park and was just able to get that done before he burst out laughing.

  He turned to her while doing it, hit the button on her seatbelt, and heard through his laughter her low, surprised cry as it zipped back right before she let out another one when he hauled her ass in his lap.

  He managed to fight back the laughter just enough to lay one on her. He made it deep, he made it wet, and because she tasted good and she’d wound her arms tight around his shoulders, pressing her tits deep, he made it long.

  When he finally released her mouth, he moved away only an inch and asked, “Is it too soon for me to put aside money for your kid’s college education in order to thank him for helpin’ me drag his mother’s head outta her ass?”

  He watched through the shadows as her face, soft from his kiss, screwed up with irritation.

  He liked the soft.

  But Cher irritated was cute and he liked that too.

  “Yes,” she snapped.

  “Then I’ll just have to give him a handshake and slip him a hundred dollar bill next time I see him.”

  “He got into trouble for that, Merry. You cannot give him money,” she returned.

  “Then when he suddenly has the cake to buy a couple new video games, just sayin’ now, he didn’t get it from me.”

  “This isn’t funny,” she retorted. “The ends don’t justify his means.”

  “Cherie, sweetheart, your time was up. I was givin’ you a week. It was Wednesday. It was a week. I’m pleased as fuck you apologized, you meant to send it or you didn’t. But it wouldn’t matter. You’d be in that fucking amazing dress in my truck on the way to dinner with me, Ethan sent that text or not.”

  Her brow furrowed. “You were givin’ me a week?”

  “You told me, you got somethin’ worth fightin’ for, you fight for it. You don’t sit on your ass and wait for it to come to you.”

  He actually felt her draw in a huge breath.

  But he wasn’t done.

  “In that circumstance, I had to sit on my ass and wait for what was worth fightin’ for. I had to give her time. I had to make sure she knew I had time to think things through. So I decided on a week. I gave you that week. And here we are.”

  She said nothing, just stared at him seemingly unaware they were stopped at a stop sign, her round ass in his lap in his truck, her arms holding on tight at his shoulders.

  He pulled her closer. “Now, your ass is in my lap and I like that. I like it enough, we’re not even a block away from your house and I’m good to go back so we can move forward on what it’s doin’ to my cock. But you look way too fuckin’ good not to show you off. I’m gonna get to what’s under that dress later. It’d be a damn shame that dress comes off this soon.”

  He brushed her mouth with his before he finished.

  “And I’m hungry.”

  “I’m hungry too,” she said softly.

  “Right,” he muttered, gave her a squeeze, then slid her off his lap and into her seat. “Buckle up.”

  He checked the road, hearing her seatbelt catch. It was still clear, so he made his turn. He accelerated, and as he did, it occurred to him Cher had it right.

  If they dealt with the shit on the way to the restaurant, they could spend their time at Swank’s enjoying it.

  So Garrett took her lead.

  “Okay, Cher, think you had the right idea puttin’ shit out there right away, so I’ll give you what I got so we can get it done and then just have you and me at Swank’s.”

  He felt her eyes on him when she asked, “What do you got?”

  Honest to God, he had no idea what her reaction was going to be to what he had to share. What he thought was that this might be a mistake, since it might be better if he could see her face in case she tried to hide any reaction.

  Or it might be good that reaction was contained in the cab of his truck where she couldn’t try to escape from him.

  “Mia wants me back.”

  He didn’t need to see her face.

  He felt her reaction.

  It was forceful, so he reached out his hand, found hers, and was not surprised when she resisted his hold.

  He held tight, dropping their hands to her thigh.

  “That’s not gonna happen,” he said quietly.

  She didn’t respond, so he quickly glanced her way to see her face was tight, eyes staring fixed out the windshield.

  “That’s not gonna happen, Cher,” he repeated.

  “Right,” she mumbled disbelievingly.

  “Been fuckin’ her since we got divorced.”

  Her hand spasmed in his.

  “She’d come to me,” he went on. “She’d do it not frequent but regular. She says now that was her way of makin’ the first move toward reconciliation. How she thought I’d catch that when she came to get a dose of my dick and most the time was gone before I woke up, I have no fuckin’ clue. But she came again last Wednesday.”

  “Fuck me,” Cher whispered.

  “I turned her away.”

  Cher said nothing.

  “Told her not to come back. She wasn’t hip on that, went away, apparently thought on things, came back, and said she’s been tryin’ to sort our shit for years without doin’ fuck all to sort it. Now she officially wants to give it a go.”

  Cher remained silent.

  “I told her to get home, and when she pushed it, I told her she got anywhere near my condo, I would ar
rest her for harassment.”

  Her hand spasmed again in his.

  He knew he had her eyes when she asked, “Say what?”

  “You heard me,” he answered. “But she’s Mia, so she didn’t back off. Sent me a picture of us before things went bad, sayin’ she’s gonna work on gettin’ that back.” He squeezed her hand. “That’s what you gotta know. So I didn’t go into this with you and fuck it up, I had to know I had my head right about her, and she fortunately gave me all I needed to get my head right about her which meant get her out of my head. In the end, wasn’t hard since all I could think about was you and how it wasn’t my favorite thing, sittin’ on my ass, waitin’ for you to either apologize or for your time to be up. But there it is.”

  “All you could think about was me?” She again sounded disbelieving, but it was deeper this time, not harsh, but still, it almost hurt to hear.

  He pulled her hand to his thigh before he answered, “Yeah.”

  Cher didn’t say more.

  “Okay, baby,” he started carefully, “you got that because you need it, for us startin’ out and just because you need to know that went down. But also, you need to know that puttin’ things into perspective with Mia meant I had to think on history. Bottom line, I fucked her over. I damaged what was us in order to end it because I had shit fuckin’ with my head I didn’t know how to sort. But I hurt her. Things got more out of hand after that and she participated in that, but it started with me burnin’ her and our marriage. She’s bent on attempting reconciliation. I need to make certain she knows that isn’t in the cards so she can finally move on. I also need to apologize to her for fuckin’ up what we had that’s now lost in a way we can’t go back.”

  “So you need to talk to her,” she surmised.

  “I need to talk to her,” he confirmed.

  “Mia and Merry talking,” she muttered.

  “Please don’t go back there,” he whispered.

  He felt her eyes again on him, but she didn’t say anything.

  “You’re here, and honest to fuck, it would pain me deeply, Cher, if you didn’t think I was where I needed to be with you to ask you to find that dress, put it on, and haul your ass into my truck to take a shot with me. I do not wanna go back to havin’ to prove it to you. What I do know with fuckin’ up another relationship is that you gotta lay yourself out from the start. Right now, that’s happening with Mia. You cannot hear it from someone else. And honestly?” It was a question, but he didn’t wait for her answer. “I want you with me when I do it. Not with me, sittin’ across from her. But with me so I can go to you after and lay on you what comes of that so I can let it go.”

  Again, Cher didn’t speak.

  He gave her time.

  She said nothing.

  “Am I back to provin’ shit to you?” he pushed.

  “No.” Her voice was strange in a way he’d never heard from Cher. It was almost timid. “I’m here for you to lay it on me what comes of that, Merry.”

  Thank fuck.

  That took a lot for her. He knew it.

  And he was glad for it.

  So as he drove, he lifted her hand and brushed her knuckles with his lips, feeling her fingers curl around his almost too tight as he did it.

  He dropped their hands back to his thigh, glanced at her, and said, “Thanks, brown eyes.”

  “Don’t mention it,” she muttered.

  He looked back to the road.

  “Am I gonna have to take this bitch down?” she asked.

  A Cher and Mia catfight.

  Mia didn’t stand a chance.

  He grinned at the road.

  “No.”

  “Things could get dicey in the dressing room of the strip club, gorgeous. All those bitches stealin’ eye shadow and boyfriends and shit. It got ugly. So if she keeps sendin’ you pictures and givin’ you crap and you need me to take her out, you just call. I’m there for you.”

  “Good to know you got my back.”

  She’d been teasing.

  She was absolutely not teasing when she stated, “You got mine, you get that back. Always, Merry.”

  He lifted her hand and kissed it again.

  Her fingers didn’t curl too tight that time, but they still held on.

  When he had her hand to his thigh, she asked, “Is that it?”

  “That’s it.”

  “No high school girlfriend gonna come outta the woodwork that’s gotta be dealt with?”

  “I didn’t have a high school girlfriend,” he told her.

  “Oh,” she mumbled.

  “I had seven.”

  He heard her sigh before she kept mumbling, “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

  He smiled at the road.

  “Just to note,” she began, “you already know my boy is excited enough about us to send you text messages pretending to be me. But when I told Mom we were goin’ out, she did a grab-and-hold stupid girlie hop.”

  Garrett started chuckling.

  Cher kept talking.

  “She called you the last good one standing.” She let that hang, then finished, “No pressure, though.”

  He burst out laughing.

  She squeezed his hand, then he smelled her perfume stronger before he sensed her closer, which was right before she touched her lips to the hinge of his jaw.

  “Since we’re layin’ it out,” she whispered in his ear, “you should know, I love it when I make you laugh.”

  He tightened his hand on the wheel as he felt a tightening in his crotch and the same in his chest.

  “We’re too far from home now, honey,” he muttered. “Stop bein’ sweet and sit in your seat like a good girl.”

  He felt her nose flick his ear before she did as told.

  But she kept hold of his hand.

  This was good since Garrett had no intention of letting her go.

  * * * * *

  Cher

  I sat in Merry’s truck, the best steak I’d ever eaten settled warm in my stomach with the rest of the best food I’d ever eaten, not to mention three glasses of champagne.

  And we were on our way to his place after the best date I’d ever had, bar none.

  With the shit out of the way on the road to the restaurant, the rest was just Merry and me the way we’d always been.

  Except super-charged.

  We talked. We laughed. He teased. I teased.

  But the added element of us being a new kind of us, a different kind of together, a together that involved sex, having had it and going to get it, made the teasing amazing.

  It was like two hours of the best foreplay imaginable, having it over good food, nice champagne, in a crazy-awesome restaurant, wearing fancy clothes with other people around, and yet it was just me with a handsome guy.

  The last good one standing.

  Having it, I felt lucky.

  Not like the lucky I felt when I’d met Dennis Lowe, who was pretending to be Alec Colton, insidiously slithering into my life in order to shake it to its foundations.

  A genuine lucky where the goodness was right there, not just within reach because, most of the meal when we weren’t eating, Merry held my hand.

  So I had a hold on it.

  And it had a hold on me.

  And all I had to do was not fuck things up and not let go.

  “Nicest place I’ve ever been,” I murmured into the cab.

  “What, Cherie?”

  I turned my head and looked at him.

  God.

  Could that be mine?

  “Never been to a place as nice as that,” I told him louder.

  He glanced at me before looking back to the road. “Never?”

  “Nope.”

  In the dashboard light, I saw his jaw weirdly go tight before he released it.

  “Hand, sweetheart,” he ordered, taking his from the wheel and holding it palm up between us.

  I put mine in his.

  His fingers curled around and he rested our hands on his thigh.

&nb
sp; Yeah, I had a hold on it.

  I just had to work not to fuck it up and never let go.

  “Gotta catch up,” he muttered.

  “Catch up?” I asked.

  “Givin’ you the things you deserve that you already shoulda had.”

  Fuck, but I loved that he thought that about me.

  I let that settle deep inside as I looked forward. “Need to take Ethan there. Maybe when he turns thirteen. Show him what life could be like if you’re smart and work for it.”

  I was aiming for thirteen because I’d seen the prices on the menu, though it may take until Ethan was fifteen before I could afford it.

  And I was still having difficulty processing the fact that Merry had blown that kind of cake on me.

  “You’re a good mom.”

  I loved that he thought that about me too.

  “I’m a cool mom,” I contradicted. “If I was a good mom, Ethan would eat broccoli.”

  Merry chuckled.

  I smiled.

  He flipped on his blinker.

  I started paying attention to where we were going and I was surprised as Merry slowed to pull into an apartment complex that I’d driven by hundreds of times since moving to the ’burg but never really noticed simply because it wasn’t the kind of place you noticed.

  It wasn’t a disaster, but it wasn’t very nice either. There were far worse places to live, and I knew this because I’d lived in them.

  It just didn’t seem like a place Merry would live.

  He had a nice truck. He wore nice suits. He had a Harley. I also heard he had a boat. And it wasn’t only when he’d heard his ex-wife was marrying someone else that he ordered a shot of expensive whisky (though, he didn’t normally order several of them).

  So he had good stuff and he liked good stuff.

  Then again, he was a cop and everyone knew they didn’t get paid millions to put their asses on the line to solve crime.

  Maybe to get his suits, his Harley, and his whisky, he needed to sacrifice other things.

  This I could absolutely see.

  He drove through the complex and I noticed his truck was by far the best vehicle of any.

  And as he drove us through the complex, I was thinking that I didn’t like this for Merry. I preferred to think of him in a home with a yard and a deck where he could barbeque, with decent cars in the drives of the houses around him, no one coming close to even thinking they could have a wild party that got loud and stayed loud.