“He’s fine. Promise. I’ve been keeping an eye on him myself. Looking as if he’s having a good time with some woman. They’ve been out on the dance floor since you called. No trouble and no more drinks. On my honor as a pervert.”
Good to know. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”
“Want me to take you to him?”
“I’d rather you take me to a place I can watch.”
“Voyeurism? I dig it. Besides, that woman he’s been grinding up on is a hot piece of—”
I can tell he blanches under my glare, even through the spinning club lights. Travis is a good guy, he really is, and he genuinely likes women, but sometimes shit comes out of his mouth that obviously hasn’t been cleared by his brain first.
“Attractive woman who I shouldn’t objectify like a slab of meat.”
“Better.”
He leads me up the stairs he came from and through a heavy velvet drape. On the other side is an area even more exclusive than the VIP lounge we already walked through. He shows me to a table at the edge of the balcony and points to a place in the surging crowd. I follow to where his finger is pointing.
“Lavender shirt, dark jeans. Girl’s in a fuchsia halter top. Wasn’t hard to find with your description.”
That’s when I see him. His shirtsleeves are rolled up, bearing those gorgeous forearms, and his shaved head is gleaming in the light. When he raises his arms, I can see he’s sweat right through his shirt. Hopefully he’s boiled off some of the alcohol.
Travis excuses himself after a few minutes, and I sit there, watching Allie. He’s got a damn fine physique, and it’s a pleasure to watch him roll through some pretty sick dance moves with his partner. He must’ve switched rooms, because this music isn’t the heavy trance beat that had come through the phone earlier. It’s stuff that’s been getting radio play, mixed by Travis’s DJ.
I shouldn’t watch for long because he’s expecting me, but I can’t tear my eyes away and as Travis said, he’s fine. Just dancing with that girl and clearing space around themselves because they’re that good.
After a while, he looks up from his partner and his gaze finds me on the balcony. I raise a hand in a lazy, two-fingered salute, and he smiles at me. I’m about to hoist myself out of the chair to go and collect my charge and deliver him home—wherever that is—but his expression transforms into a wicked grin that makes me grip the arms of the chair harder.
Then he starts to move. It’s different this time, not just showing off his body’s capabilities and having fun. This is dancing with intent. While Flo Rida is inviting everyone to bust it open and get loose, Allie and his girl are moving slickly along with the sexy-as-fuck horn line. If I thought his dancing had been provocative before, I was wrong. The way he’s moving now is basically public sex. Except his focus isn’t on his partner, but on me.
He hasn’t broken eye contact, and I can almost feel him pressing up on me as he’s working against her. His pelvis—and hopefully his hardness—pushing into my ass while his big hands grab my hips and move us together. It’s so vivid it’s as though I’m experiencing it now. It’s the strangest sensation, and it makes me thirst for him. Maybe get a little hard. For the first time in a long time, I feel the tingle of possessiveness. Mine.
Yes, numerous people belong to me to some extent, but this is different and the degree to which I want him is disturbing. I want to control that body. I want mine to be the voice that echoes in his head. He can flirt and dance with whomever he likes, but I want to know the second I snap my fingers, he’d be at my feet and willing to give me anything I asked for.
That’s insane for so many reasons, not limited to the fact I know next to nothing about Allie Hart. Since this is apparently not going to be a one-off blowjob in a back alley, I should probably do my due diligence and find out more about him before I get too attached.
Who am I kidding? He already belongs to me. He’s my responsibility. As such, I should probably get him home, hydrated, and into bed. Without me, unfortunately.
So I lever myself out of the chair and gesture with my head to the stairway, hoping he’ll take my meaning and meet me. I half-expect him to shake his head and turn his attention back to the woman he’s still glued to, their hips moving in seductive circles, but he doesn’t. Instead, he leans down and says something in her ear. She nods, and they walk off the dance floor together, holding hands.
I head toward the staircase to meet them, curious if Hart will introduce me, but by the time I’ve made it to the top of the stairs, I see him giving her a consuming hug before she kisses his cheek and walks away.
At the bottom of the stairs, Hart’s waiting for me. His shirt is stuck to him in various places, and there’s a sheen of sweat all over him. He looks damn fine. I nod toward the exit, and he falls into step beside me.
“Quite the performance you two put on. Does your partner mind that you were eye-fucking me while you were dancing with her?”
There’s that bright smile again. “No. We go clubbing together a lot. She likes to dance but doesn’t like strange guys getting all up on her.”
“You keep the creepers away?”
He curls an arm in a muscle pose, showing off his ridiculously thick biceps. “Would you fuck with this?”
He’s still a bit slurry, so I bite back my response: I’d much rather fuck you than fuck with you.
We’ve reached the street, and we make our way through the line of people still waiting to get into the club and then we’ve reached my car. I slide into the driver’s seat as he climbs, a bit clumsily, into the passenger side. “Well, now that you’ve done your good deed for the day, let’s get you home.”
His cocky grin disappears, and there’s a momentary uncertainty etched on his face before that slightly arrogant air is back. “I’d rather go back to your place.”
I know Hart doesn’t have a lot of money. It’s in the way he dresses and the fact he was working his sister’s shift at the bar. If he had the money to make her life easier, I have no doubt he’d give it to her. He’s clearly a generous guy and cares for his family very much. I’m guessing he doesn’t want me to see his place because he’s worried it won’t be as nice as mine. Which is almost guaranteed. That doesn’t mean I don’t want to see it. I want every piece of Allie he’s willing to give me, and that involves seeing where he calls home. It likely won’t be fancy, but it doesn’t need to be. I’ll like it because it’s his. Besides, I’m not quite ready to bring him back to my place.
“Not tonight, cowboy. What part of town do you live in?”
He looks away and seems to be thinking. About what to say? It’s not a difficult question.
“How about you bring me back to my truck?”
He’s still not meeting my eyes, and my mind starts churning, trying to put together the pieces of the puzzles. There’s no way in hell I’m letting him drive when he’s in this condition. Also, he was all gung-ho about getting his just deserts not long ago, so for him to change his tune, something serious must be up. Is he married? I don’t think so, because Kendra doesn’t seem like the kind of woman who would aid and abet adultery. Is his place that bad? Why is his truck not parked at his house? Parking around here is a bitch. No one in their right mind would drive. The plot thickens.
I could say no, demand he tell me his address. I could give in and take him home, but that’s not a good precedent to set. So I decide to give him more rope and see what kind of knot he’ll tie himself into.
“Sure. Where’s your ride?”
He mumbles an address that’s in a dicey part of Oakland, someplace I probably wouldn’t leave my car. Dealers and sex workers on the more desperate end of the spectrum aren’t unusual sights around there. He’ll be safer if I take him than if he tries to get there some other way and I can stop him from driving away. So I ease the Tesla through the streets and try not to be offended by Hart’s silence. He’s gazing out the window, his eyes glazed. Is the alcohol finally having the soporific effect it should? He looks tired now that
he’s stopped moving.
When we get closer to the cross streets he gave me, I slow down and ask for the make of his truck.
“Black F-150.”
I see it ahead and pull in behind it, looking around for any immediate threats and not finding any.
“Thanks for the ride.” He reaches for the door handle, and before I can stop myself, I reach for him, hand circling his wrist.
“There’s no way I’m letting you drive. Let me call my assistant and he’ll take care of getting your truck back to your place.”
I don’t know exactly how that would work, but those are the kinds of logistics Matthew excels at. Peter probably won’t be thrilled, but that’s not my problem.
“Do you think I’m fucking stupid? I wasn’t going to drive. The last thing I need in my life is a DUI.”
“Then what were you going to—”
He scowls at me from under his brows and his jaw clenches. My brain’s taking longer than I’d like to do the math on this, and frustration is building inside me.
“I’m not letting you sleep in your car, Hart.”
“It’s not really fucking up to you, now is it?”
Oh, he’s pissed at me now. He’s not the only one who’s irritated. “It is actually. So give me your address and I’ll take you there. I won’t come in if you don’t want me to, but I need to make sure you get home safe.”
“You did, all right? Now drive your prissy ass home in your goddamn fancy car. Calling you was a mistake.”
Realization hits me like a bucket of ice water to the face. I close my eyes to give myself time to steady my expression and my voice so I won’t betray the shock I’m feeling. I knew he wasn’t well-off, but homeless is pretty far from well-off. Although, sometimes it isn’t. Sometimes it’s a paycheck—or lack thereof—away. He hasn’t said homeless, though from what I’ve gathered from the staff at the shelter for queer teens I’ve donated to in the past, a lot of times people refuse to identify themselves that way. Who would want to? Between places, couch-surfing, roughing it, all of those sound better—and more temporary—than homeless. If he hasn’t said the word, I’m sure as fuck not going to.
“Hey, Hart. I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t know.”
He crosses his burly arms across his chest and looks out the window again. “There’s a reason for that. I know you won’t be calling me again. Slumming it’s one thing, but this is worse than slumming. If it matters, it’s temporary. Just, you know, couldn’t make rent last month. I’ll get another place soon.”
“I don’t care.” He turns to me, and his dark eyes could cut me in half. He’s fuming and embarrassed, and my heart goes out to him. I need to fix this. “That’s not what I meant. I do care. I care about your safety. But where you sleep at night has no bearing on whether you’re a good person, and it sure as hell doesn’t have any bearing on whether I want to sleep with you.”
That’s probably fucked up. I wouldn’t want someone to fuck me because they needed a bed. Not that people haven’t had sex for worse reasons than that, but…shit. Is that what he thinks I mean? Hell, Walter, pry your foot out of your mouth and try not to let it swing around and kick you in the ass on the way out.
“Why don’t you come back to my place? I have a guest bedroom. You won’t have to see me if you don’t want to. You can leave in the morning, and if you don’t want to talk to me again, you don’t have to. But you can’t tell me you’d be more comfortable sleeping in the back of your cab than you would be in a bed. Do you even fit in there? You’re fucking huge, man.”
I’m trying to make light, and it’s either going to work or it’s going to blow up in my face. Silence is not what I’m banking on, but that’s what I get. Allie sits there, his fingers knit together in his hands, staring straight ahead.
“How about this? I’m going to start driving in sixty seconds. If you’re still in the car when I pull away, great, and if not…” If not, I’ll worry about him every second of every day, fret about whether some desperate tweaker stoned out of his mind is going to break into his truck while he’s there and hurt him. Or he could get arrested. Or…or…or… Please don’t get out of the car. Please.
He does. I feel almost faint when he pushes out the door and jogs to his truck, the taillights blinking when he unlocks it and climbs inside. Don’t start it. Don’t drive off. At least give me that. He doesn’t start it, just reaches into the back of the cab, and I force my breath in and out. It’ll be okay. He’ll be okay. He’s not so drunk anymore, and who knows how long he’s been doing this? He doesn’t need someone who knows nothing about how he lives his life telling him what to do.
Would he have been more comfortable at my house? Maybe physically. But I of all people should know psychological pain can run just as deep, mess with you as much. I put the car in reverse, ready to leave, but then the door to Allie’s truck is opening again and he’s hopping out, trotting back to my car, and wrenching the passenger-side door open.
“Dude. You said I had sixty seconds. It’s only been fifty-three.”
He counted. Under the circumstances that shouldn’t make me feel anything but relieved, but the mind works in mysterious ways and I picture some other circumstances under which I might make him count for me. Out loud. How hot that would be.
He clicks the remote, and the taillights blink again as he slides in with a small bag and buckles up. I should drive away before he changes his mind, but I’m surprised and for once I can’t hide it.
“Are we gonna go? Because I have to say, I’m tired and a bed sounded good.”
I shake myself out of it because I can hear the strain in his voice, how hard this is for him, and fuck all if I’m going to make it any harder. So I put the car in drive and accelerate, leaving Allie’s truck in no-man’s land.
*
About halfway home, I can’t help but ask. “What did you get?”
He sneaks a glance at me and then looks down at the bag on the floor, as though he’s making sure it’s still there. “Clothes. Phone charger. Toothbrush. Dental hygiene is important.”
A toothbrush. This man is killing me.
I look over at him when I pull up to a stoplight. “Do you mind if I ask you a question?”
“Do you mind if I tell you to fuck off if I don’t want to answer?”
“No need to be rude, Hart. But no, I don’t mind. I’ve heard far worse.”
The light turns green, and I accelerate through the intersection back toward San Francisco.
“How do you have a truck but not an apartment?”
I can’t tell exactly what emotions make up the expression on his face, but I don’t think it’s ever been so clear someone thinks I’m a fucking idiot.
“I didn’t have enough to pay all my bills. Gotta pay my phone so I can keep in touch with my family, especially Kendra. Apartment’s not cheap, and if I have to choose between making my rent and my car payment, I’m going with the truck because you can sleep in a truck but you can’t drive an apartment.”
“What about public transit?”
“You think it’s easy to find a job?”
I keep my face shut on that one because I’ve been doing the same thing since I was in college. I’ve never had to even try to find employment. Mine’s lucrative and my clients come to me. Even if things hadn’t worked out as they have, I’d have had a pretty sweet trust fund to fall back on should anything have gone to shit. It never has.
“It’s even harder when you have to limit yourself to places you can get on BART or the bus. I don’t have time to be spending two hours commuting every morning. Besides, if Kendra or the kids need me, I can be there quicker this way.”
“Why don’t you stay with your sister?”
His brow wrinkles, and his mouth tightens. “I do sometimes. If she knew I was sleeping in my truck, she wouldn’t let me out of her house. Her place is pretty tight already, though, and it’s not fair to the kids. They shouldn’t have to double up in a twin bed because I fucked up. I tell Kendra
I’m staying with friends, and she doesn’t ask a lot of questions.”
At least that’ll be true tonight.
“Do you have a job?” I venture. Again, not that I care, but I’m trying to put the pieces together.
“I got let go a few months ago. Construction’s not what it used to be. Trying to find something that’ll still let me help Kendra out if she needs me to watch the kids is rough.”
He says it so matter-of-factly, but I don’t know what I’d do if I were in his position. Most likely panic. But it’s such a remote possibility I’ve never had to seriously consider it. Even if I lost everything tomorrow, I have dozens of people who owe me favors, and India would come up here and drag me down to San Diego herself to stay with her until I could find my bearings again. Hart doesn’t have that kind of backstop. If anything, it sounds like he is the backstop.
It makes me like him even better, that he would be so loyal and self-sacrificing for his family. It also makes me want to stand between him and the world and make this not be an issue anymore. I highly doubt he’d let me do that, though, and I’ll be respectful of his wishes. Honor’s important to a man like Allie, and I bet he’d do without anything else before he’d do without that.
We pull up near my house, and I show him to the door. He stands by while I unlock the place and then follows me inside. In the foyer, he looks around. I know what he’s seeing: a long hallway that goes back to a kitchen, a stairway in the middle that goes both up and down, and doorways that line the hall.
“You live here by yourself?”
It’s the first time I’ve ever been embarrassed by my home. “Mostly. My assistant has a bedroom he makes use of on occasion. He works late a lot.” Allie nods, and I’m thankful he doesn’t ask me exactly how many bedrooms I have. “Here, let me show you where you’ll stay.”
He follows me wordlessly down the hall, up the stairs, and down another hall. The bedroom I show him to is the one next to mine. It’s usually the last one I put guests in, but I want him close to me, even if there’s a wall between us. I stand on the threshold and gesture him in.
The Cartographer (The Compass series Book 6) Page 5
