Take the Edge Off

by TA Moore

  Joe wanted to ask, but under the circumstances, it seemed hypocritical. Before he could work out a way around it, Cal forged on and he lost his chance. “Whatever rattles around your head and what you need to do with it, that’s your business. Not mine. I meant like a private detective or something. Whoever did your background check on me.”

  “The one who makes 75 percent of his income from my father?” Joe asked. “Besides, I didn’t think I’d need it. I thought it would be easy to find out what happened. Part of my job is to find out things that people don’t want me to, and the dead don’t get up too much.”

  “Whereas the living…”

  “Disappear,” Joe said. “She’s not online. Her parents died when she was a teenager, and the aunt who raised her died before I was born. I don’t know who her friends were…. I don’t know where to start digging.”

  Cal reached over the table and put his hand on Joe’s shoulder.

  “You’ll find her,” he said. “But I don’t want this nutjob to find you first, Joe.”

  He squeezed down around Joe’s upper arm and ran his thumb across the wing of his collarbone as though he weren’t sure if they were mates or lovers right then. Joe made that call on his own as he turned his head and pressed a kiss against Cal’s bony, scarred knuckles. The press of his lips, the damp swipe of his tongue, made Cal suck in a quick breath that trembled in the back of his throat.

  It felt… strange. Heady as whiskey. He’d fucked plenty of men, but simple affection was—

  The front door to the suite beeped its usual interruption, and his thought derailed as he heard two familiar voices speak over it.

  “I don’t know if he’s back—”

  “I don’t mind. I can wait.”

  The slow drunk of infatuation fizzled into nothing as old habits shouldered their way to the front of Joe’s mind. He took a smart step back, out from under Cal’s hand, and gave his jacket a quick tug as though a careless fit would betray more than he wanted. For a moment Cal’s hand hung in the air, and then he curled his fingers to his palm and let it drop to his side. He looked amused as much as anything, his mouth tucked up wryly at the corner, but it was the detached smirk of someone who wasn’t surprised.

  “Get rid of that.” Joe nodded at the bear as he straightened his tie, the lavender silk cool under his fingers. “Keep your mouth shut.”

  Cal snorted as he bent down to get the bear. He shoved it roughly back into the envelope and then stuffed the package into the back of his jeans.

  “Don’t worry,” he said as he backed up to lean against the sink. “I know my place.”

  Joe gave him a frustrated look. It wasn’t like that. Still bad enough on its own, but not that. The urge to apologize, explain, or order caught in Joe’s throat at the same time and stuck there. He didn’t know which would win, because Kristen swept into the kitchen before he could get anything said.

  “What the hell, Joseph?” she demanded as she threw her handbag at him. The heavy, purple leather pouch bounced off his forearms as he raised them to guard his face. “You don’t get to dump me and leave the country. What was I supposed to tell people? Why was I supposed to tell them?”

  Because he was a coward, Joe thought viciously. He tried not to look toward Cal, reluctant to see the guarded lack of expression on Cal’s face.

  “Kristen,” he said as he put his hands in his pockets and straightened his shoulders. “This is unexpected.”

  “I ran into her downstairs,” Edward said. He never spoke fast, but the measured cadence of his speech sounded more arch than usual. It was the sort of voice that thought it knew something you didn’t. “She came to find you.”

  “I came to kill you,” Kristen corrected sharply as she dragged her coat off.

  It was a bad choice of words, under the circumstances.

  Chapter Nine

  THERE WAS a trick Cal had learned when he was a kid—when you couldn’t have what you wanted, don’t want it. In fact, if you could convince yourself you’d never wanted it, even better. Then it didn’t hurt and no one could use it against you.

  Cal had never wanted, not even for a wistful fucking moment, more than the occasional sweaty hookup with Joe. Never even entertained the thought.

  “You are such a bastard.” Kristen flung the words at Joe. “You can’t ghost your fiancée, Joe. It’s not what happens. You owe me better than that. I deserve better than that.”

  After the conversation with El on the bridge, Cal couldn’t resist a quick look at Edward. He didn’t know what he expected to see. Whatever Edward’s relations with Cal’s mum had been, it had been a long time ago, and Cal couldn’t imagine his mother as the love of anyone’s life. Either way, Edward’s face was as harsh and unreadable as ever.

  “Why don’t we do this in private, Kristen,” Joe said. He waved a hand to the door. “The study is—”

  “I remember. We stayed here before. And I have nothing to be ashamed about. If Mr.…” She paused expectantly and glanced past Joe at Cal. “Sorry, who are you?” she asked.

  “Mr. Tate,” Joe said before Cal could open his mouth. “He’s my driver, and this isn’t anything to do with him.”

  Kristen shrugged. “Fine.” She turned on her heel and stalked out of the kitchen. Joe lifted his chin, his neck stiff all the way down into his shoulders, and didn’t look around at Cal as he stepped over the purse on the floor and stalked out after her—not that Cal expected him to. This was a familiar enough ride.

  “Awkward, isn’t it,” Edward said as he stooped down to pick up the bag. “When you have to face reality. Joe and Kristen come from the same world. They share the same friends. They have the same bank. What do you have, Mr. Tate?”

  Cal hoped the slow grin he gave Edward was as filthy as it felt. It must have come close, because Edward gave him a disgusted look as he put the bag on the table. To Cal’s surprise, Edward popped the clasp and stretched the mouth of the bag open. He peered inside as though there might be a trap in there and then dipped a hand in.

  Cal crossed his arms. “Pro tip, Ed, petty theft works better if you don’t have witnesses.”

  A humorless smile skimmed over Edward’s thin lips. “Who’d believe you?”

  It was a good point. Cal watched Edward search the bright purple Birkin bag for a moment and stack neat piles of half-wrapped candies, filched sugar packets, and loose vape cylinders on the table.

  “Didn’t you look into her already?” he said. “Isn’t it always the ex?”

  “She wasn’t the ex then.” Edward tched in disapproval as he came up with a scratched bottle of pills and then tucked the bag under the table so he could sweep everything back into it. “I only found out recently that she had… other reasons to be angry with Joe.”

  “Like?”

  Edward fastened the bag and hung it over the back of a chair. He gave Cal a sour, almost eager look. “I hate to disabuse you, but you weren’t Joe’s first dalliance.”

  Cal snorted as he pushed himself off the counter. “And thank fuck for that.”

  Was he supposed to care? No offense to virgins, but Cal had never had the patience. He’d rather have someone who knew what they wanted and what they didn’t at the start of the night.

  “I do not understand you,” Edward said as Cal walked past him. “This… thing… isn’t going to go anywhere. Even if he’s… not straight, Joe can do better than you. You aren’t his type. You’re a distraction.”

  The jibe didn’t draw blood, but it hit the target. Probably, Cal thought sourly, because it was true.

  “I never expected to be anything else,” Cal tossed back over his shoulder as he walked away. “Guys like us, Ed, we don’t end up at the altar.”

  For a second, Edward didn’t say anything, and then a quiet, bitter “Go to hell” followed Cal to his room. It didn’t make Cal feel any better. Well, not much better.

  He shoved the bear in a drawer and flopped down on the bed, arms folded over his head. It was harder to hang on to the
“don’t give a damn” lie when you were alone. The tangled sheets and flattened pillows still smelled of sex and Joe’s cologne, and that didn’t help either.

  Was this progress, Cal wondered, that he wasn’t only a feral idiot with his cock but with his heart too?

  It didn’t feel like it.

  He lay there and listened to the sound of Kristen and Joe arguing as it drifted through the walls. When it got too much, he rolled off the bed, grabbed his phone, and headed down to the bar.

  TWO DAYS of Kristen had worn the sheen off Cal’s brief infatuation. It was hard to pretend there was anything real happening when the evidence that there wasn’t stamped around in expensive shoes and demanded answers. The relationship showed no sign it was about to be resurrected, but that wasn’t the point. Kristen didn’t know why Joe had broken up with her when all Joe wanted a bit of rough in his bed before he went back to his real life. Fair enough. It wasn’t as though he’d promised anything else.

  Cal sat in the greasy spoon a few streets back from St. Pancras and brooded out the window while he waited for his breakfast to arrive. A homeless man huddled in a sleeping bag in the chained-up doorway of an abandoned travel agent opposite, his hands wrapped around a bottle of gin as though there were any warmth in the drink. On her way past. a woman with her heels in a plastic bag over her shoulder and sensible trainers on her feet tossed a handful of coins into the cup in front of him.

  It would be easy for Cal to end up there. He took a drink of bitter coffee with a film of grease from the kitchen on the liquid and grimaced sourly at either the taste or the thought. There were only so many chances you could expect from life, and El had already gone above and beyond. In the end, though, he ran a business, and if Cal fucked it up for him, he’d have to let him go.

  No one else was going to hire him. He was an ex-con who’d scraped resentfully—on his and the teachers’ parts—through school. He could go back to stealing cars, but…. Cal sat back and rubbed at his ribs. Habit made it easy to find the scar, even though the poke of his fingers didn’t make it ache anymore.

  The waitress yawned her way over to the table with his breakfast, last night’s makeup still smudged in glittered lines around her eyes.

  “Here you go,” she said as she slid the plate in front of him. “Enjoy your breakfast.”

  She didn’t wait for an answer as she headed back to the counter and topped up her massive cup of coffee. Cal rubbed rusty-water spots off his knife and fork and cut into his eggs, the yellow yolk bright against the scraped white plate as it puddled under the bacon and beans.

  Breakfast was free back at the hotel, but it was also muesli and yogurt with the occasional boiled egg. In Cal’s mood, a greasy fry-up sounded a lot better. It meant he didn’t have to see Joe or Kristen either. He broke a corner off his toast and sopped up the mixture of egg and tomato sauce. He took a bite, and then the bell over the door behind him jangled and the tired waitress looked up from her coffee.

  “Sit anywhere,” she said. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”

  Heels clicked on the linoleum, and Kristen sat down opposite Cal. She put her bag on the table in front of her and crossed her hands over the top of it. Probably the best idea—the bag cost more than anything in the shop and the floor was sticky. She didn’t say anything as she studied his face with wide brown eyes that showed, despite skincare and artfully applied makeup, evidence of tears and sleepless nights.

  Cal gave his mouthful of sodden bread a good-faith chew, quickly swallowed it, and washed it down with a gulp of coffee. He wiped his mouth on a napkin and glanced around to see if Joe was behind her.

  “He’s in a meeting,” Kristen said. Her voice sounded measured and thoughtful, different when she wasn’t midrant. She glanced over at the waitress. “I’ll have a cup of tea, please? When you’re ready.”

  The waitress grunted and pushed herself off the counter to grab an old, stained teapot from the shelf behind her. While she filled it, Cal wiped his fingers and waited for something other than an update on Joe’s day. He didn’t get it. They sat there awkwardly as his breakfast congealed until the waitress brought the tea.

  “Do you want anything to eat?” she asked as she put the tea down in front of Kristen. A splash of it tipped over the side and puddled on the scratched Formica. The waitress pointed a chewed fingernail at Cal’s breakfast. “We do an English fry until ten.”

  Kristen glanced down at the plate and wrinkled her nose. “No,” she said. “Just tea.”

  The waitress gave a “no skin off my nose” twitch of her shoulders and left. Cal glanced down at his plate, and his stomach rumbled. He shrugged to himself and dunked the toast back into the egg yolk. If Kristen wasn’t going to say anything, he might as well eat while he could.

  The silent stalemate lasted two sips of Kristen’s tea—her stylishly plum lipstick bright against the china—and most of Cal’s bacon. He stabbed the last bit with his fork and Kristen finally broke the silence.

  “I think you should ask to be relieved,” she said. Her voice was calm and lightly dismissive, but color flushed over her cheekbones and spread out to her ears. It made her discreet diamond earrings look very dramatic. “Another driver can step in. It’s not exactly a skilled job.”

  That was a relief. Animosity Cal could cope with. Tears he wasn’t sure. Reason would have worked, but nasty little jabs rolled off him. He’d had plenty of practice over the years.

  “I don’t work for you,” he pointed out before he shoved the forkful of bacon into his mouth.

  Kristen tightened her hands on the bag. “If you only worked for him,” she said, precise and calm as her ears flushed redder. “I wouldn’t have a problem. It’s the fact you’re… obviously not up for the job.”

  “Yeah?” Cal said as he leaned back in the narrow chair. He wiped his mouth on the napkin, crumpled it up, and tossed it onto the table. “I’ve never had any complaints before.”

  She looked away from him. Her gaze fell on the homeless man across the street, and she frowned as though he’d ruined her view.

  “You think you’re special, but you’re not. This is cold feet, about the wedding. Until this we were good together. Once he’s had time to think about this, he’ll come back to me.” She looked sharply back at Cal as she finished. “He always does.”

  “That’s your business,” Cal told her. “Nothing to do with me.”

  Kristen popped her bag open and reached inside. She pulled out a fat brown envelope and set it on the table between her bag and Cal’s plate.

  “I’m not naïve,” she said. While she talked, Cal reached for the envelope. “I know that Joe is bisexual. I know that he’s cheated on me. I know that he’s a liar.”

  Cal paused, the flap of the envelope half-lifted as the crack of anger in the last word caught his attention. That had been the first thing the stalker accused Joe of, hadn’t it? That he was a liar. He stared at Kristen as she took a sip of tea to compose herself, and wondered if maybe that old git Edward had been right to suspect her.

  The mug clicked as Kristen set it neatly back down in the ring it had already left on the table.

  “I also know he loves me,” she said as she stubbornly lifted her chin. “People cheat. It doesn’t mean anything. You don’t mean anything. So… make this easier.”

  There was enough cash stuffed in the envelope that Cal flinched at the idea Kristen that had walked down the street with it. King’s Cross was hardly a rough area, but she’d had enough money in her bag to make any commuter think about a quick side job.

  “Not really my style,” Cal said. He ran his thumb over the edges of the crisp, straight-out-of-the-bank notes and wondered how many it would take to hire some angry kid with a flip knife. Two. Maybe one. She’d need someone like Edward to find them, but… there was always someone like Edward when you had money. “Did he ever tell you about his mum?”

  Kristen rolled her eyes and looked impatient as she shifted in her seat. “His mother? Is this some sort
of psychoanalysis? Because I don’t need some two-bit Fast and Furious rip-off for that. I have a therapist. I’m sure she’d be ashamed of him, though.”

  “Because he’s gay?” Cal asked.

  She smacked her hand flat on the table. It made a louder sound than Cal expected, and the waitress jumped and frowned in their direction as she weighed whether to intervene or make herself scarce.

  “Because he hurt me,” Kristen snapped. She flinched back from her own words and pulled back onto her side of the table. Pain lingered on her face for a second, but she tossed her head, took a deep breath, and glared at him as though she dared him to notice. “I’ll forgive him. Once you’re gone.”

  Cal tucked the envelope into his jacket and glanced at his watch to check the date. “Two weeks, then,” he said. “That’s when my contract is up. You should order a cake.”

  She looked annoyed. “Do you think this is funny?” Kristen asked. “This is my life. Three months ago we were going to be married, we were going to be happy. Then I went to see my father, came back, and I can have the apartment. Like I was coming out ahead now?”

  “Lady,” Cal said. “Is he really worth it?”

  The question seemed to stump Kristen for a second. She took one last sip of tea, stood up, smoothed her dress down, and looked at him seriously.

  “You’ve known him a few weeks,” she said. “You’ve driven him around. You’ve… I guess… caught his eye, and you think you can say what he’s worth? He’s my future. He’s all the plans we made. He’s every time I swallowed this sort of thing. If he weren’t worth it, that would all be wasted, and I don’t waste my time. Goodbye, Mr. Tate. If you’re smart, this is the last time we’ll have to see each other.”

  Cal leaned back in his chair, the narrow back sharp where it dug in under his shoulder blades. “And if I’m not?”

  Kristen slowly picked up her bag and hung it over her shoulder. She stroked the strap with absent fingers.