by Haley Jenner
He blinks once, twice, three times before grabbing his coffee. “Huh. I did not know that.”
I shrug, following him out of the kitchen to the living area. “Not common knowledge,” I admit, dropping my ass onto his couch.
He does the same. “Anyone know?”
“Janie. Mick.”
“Fair enough. Is that a prerequisite for you, keeping your ownership status of the bar on the down low?”
I’ve never really considered what he’s asking. Initially, I kept it quiet because I didn’t know anyone aside from Jake and it was no one’s business but my own. From then on, it felt weird to just throw out in general conversation. Now it’s been so long, I don’t want everyone thinking I held back for any reason.
I shrug.
“Only reason I say it, if we do this, you meet local jurisdictions and gain the right approvals, you know that best person to complete the build, right?”
I clear my throat awkwardly. “You don’t know anyone else?”
He laughs quietly. “’Course I do. Do I trust them like I trust Archer? Fuck no. You’re family now, whether you want to admit it or not, means I’m not gonna let anyone less than the best build your loft, man.”
Tipping my head down, I scratch the top of my head. “He was my next visit.”
Ain’t that gonna be a fucking hoot. Asking Asshole Dean a favor.
Bennett smiles triumphantly for a moment before the gesture twists, and his expression turns into one of complete seriousness. “Luca, I like you, but before I agree to work with you, I need to know what your deal with Annabelle is. Not gonna involve myself in a cockfight.”
Ice runs along my spine, anger and disappointment filtering through my veins.
Never in my life would I imagine regretting doing a solid for a person I care about. I can still see the devastation painted along Annabelle’s face in a heartbreak open to the world. Big, brown eyes staring up at me; there was no pretense, no attempt to hide the panic swirling within them. She’d come back to the place she’d run so desperately from, building up her defenses in preparation to come face-to-face with the nightmare that had forced her to flee.
I recognized a parallel between us; broken down in a world we were fighting to find purpose in. Annabelle wasn’t lost, but she was adrift, roaming aimlessly in search of the one person who was right where she left him.
Then Bartie happened. And that beat of miscommunication between two separated lovers stirred to life an Armageddon in Annabelle’s world.
Her heart, the cause of her agony had moved on.
Or so she thought.
Fuck, my broken soul hurt for her, and I did what any decent human being would do. I stepped in, offered her a way to forget. I didn’t fuck her, I didn’t put my lips on her. I offered her a hiccup in time where she could forget what her heart dreaded most.
That single moment has caused me more drama than I ever could’ve anticipated. Even years later. The violent anger in Archer hasn’t dissipated when he looks at me, recalling mine and his wife’s body flush together, working in vain to dance away her misery. Maybe I was in the wrong. Maybe it’s him. I don’t fucking know anymore. All I know is that enough time has passed that this still shouldn’t be haunting me.
Nodding my head, I stand abruptly, placing my half-drunk coffee on the table. “Thanks for the coffee.”
Bennett jumps up, following me to the door. “Luca.”
Pausing with my hand on the door handle, I swallow down the fired words I wanna throw at the guy. Fuck. How is this still a fucking issue? I thought these people were my friends. That they were pulling me into their family as Bennett put it. But, this will always be a tender point. A sore spot that I won’t be able to shake off.
“Apologies for interrupting your day. Can see we’re on different waves here. Thought we were friends, obviously, I was wrong.”
His palm pushes against the door as I move to open it and I sigh heavily in irritation.
“You weren’t wrong. We’re friends.”
Stepping back from the door, my arms cross over my chest. He notes the defensive gesture and he looks rightfully regretful, apologetic almost.
“I have no interest in Annabelle Dean. Is she hot? Fuck yeah. Same way that Darci and Aubrey are. Does that mean I wanna fuck them? No.”
He accepts that easily enough, the questions in his eyes dying away.
“Look, Archer fucked up. Frankly, I’m sick and fuckin’ tired of payin’ for his insecurities.”
He looks stunned by my words but waits quietly for me to finish. I sigh, shaking my head at how an act of kindness could be so misinterpreted.
“I was doing a solid to a girl in a bar. Nothing more. Nothing less. She was about to cry, and I tried to make her feel better. Simple as that.”
He turns from the door, tipping his head, indicating I should follow. “Wouldn’t be his best friend if I didn’t make sure you weren’t looking to dip your wick. You’re not, so all is good.”
He stops when he doesn’t hear me following, glancing over his shoulder. “Do the same for you, you know.”
I think on that for only a second before following after him. I definitely don’t consider telling him to talk to Archer to back off the flirtation with Frankie. No. I definitely don’t think about how much their easy comradery niggles at my very last nerve, forcing violent visions of connecting my fist to his face.
Nah. I don’t think about anything like that.
We spend the next hour lost in discussions about my loft. He’s professional in his approach, treating me as he would any other client. He provides detailed instruction on who we’ll need to broker approval from before we can begin. He tells me once I’ve spoken to Archer, the two of them will come check the space out together. The love he has for his career is evident in the passion and excitement spiking his tone as he speaks. It’s contagious.
The dark line of his brow rises when I tell him cost isn’t an issue. “Who are you, Luca St. Kelly?”
I cough out a laugh. “Simple guy working to put down roots in the first place that’s ever felt like home.”
He smiles at that. A warm affection sent my way as his hand grasps my shoulder tightly on a squeeze. “Glad you’re finding your home in amongst ours. Like my family around me.”
“’Preciate it, man.”
He stands, checking his watch. “Archer’ll be home now. Annabelle won’t be. Probably the best time to drop by. He’ll likely be a dick. Don’t take it personally, it’s his nature.” A dark smirk touches his face and I can’t help but laugh as I follow him to the front door.
“You’re gonna enjoy this.”
“Viking, you have no idea. Front row seat couldn’t pay for the type of entertainment this is gonna bring me.”
Shaking my head, I step through the door. “You’re sick.”
Leaning against the doorjamb, he shrugs. “I’m the sensible one. Now excuse me while I run inside and call Toby like the gossip I am, and fill him in on the soap opera you and Archer offer.”
Flipping him off, I jog down his front steps, toward my bike.
“Welcome to the joy of family, big guy.”
Sappy as it is, I don’t even attempt to hide the easy grin that forms on my face, my heart beating heavily in my chest in gratitude.
My bike helps keep that easy mood alive as it rumbles underneath me. Freeing me from the anxiety itching along my skin. At least until I turn into his street.
His Jeep is parked out front, hood up, tools scattered along the asphalt of his driveway. He looks up as my bike approaches, standing upright to clean grease off his hands, hip leaning casually against the side as he waits for the engine of my bike to cut out.
A thick line of impatience creases his forehead and I swallow my want to climb straight back on my bike and forget this stupid idea in its entirety.
“St. Kelly,” he grits through in way of greeting and I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “Help you with something?”
His eyes
flick to his watch and I smile that he’s concerned with the fact that Annabelle might come home at any minute and he’d have to watch us interact.
“Dean,” I match his welcome. “Not looking for your wife if that’s what you’re asking. Though she is much prettier than you.”
That causes him to stand to full height, nostrils flaring, and chest inflating with irritation.
I resist the urge to smile. Fuck, he’s just too much fun.
This time I roll my eyes. “You know one of these days you’re gonna have to stop beating your chest every time your wife and I breathe the same air. We’re friends. Accept it.”
That pisses him off, his shoulders inching back without his knowledge or consent to release the tension coiling in his muscles.
“Friends. Funny, can’t say I’ve ever rubbed my dick into the ass of any of my friends. Maybe I could ask Frankie if that’s how she’d like me to say ‘hey’ going forward.”
That pulls the grin right off my face. The ice in my stare now mirroring his.
“Fuck this,” I mumble, turning without another word.
I knew this was a bad idea. The guy and I can’t be in the same space without wanting to rip at one another’s jugulars. Of course us working together was a fucking joke.
“Hold up,” he sighs irritably. I stop, turning to see what the fuck he’s gonna throw at me this time, but the irritation that washed along his face when I first arrived is gone. Replaced only with shame and self-loathing.
“Nice bike.” His form of an apology. The best I’m gonna get anyway.
I could storm off, act as childish as he does when we’re in the same space. Or I could take this olive branch, as reluctant as it was handed to me, and work to move past this shit storm that’s been brewing between the two of us.
“Ben texted me, said you have a job you want us on.”
I nod, but his attention is trained on my bike. His feet moving him closer.
“Bought it a few months back. Best decision I ever made.”
He smiles, hand reaching out to brush his fingers along the smooth cylinder of the tank. “Low rider?”
I move closer, offering him the key and he takes it with an appreciative nod.
“2017. High torque. High power. Two cylinder. 1801 cc engine capacity. Rides like a dream. Thunders like a fuckin’ beast.”
Throwing his leg over, he settles into the seat with a smile only a Harley can command. The thick rumble of my bike stirs beneath him and his smile cracks wide open. He feels it, the freedom the machine offers. He’s ridden before, it’s obvious in the easy nature he exudes playing with the throttle, listening to it rev. Rookies are tense, uncertain, afraid the bike will lurch out from underneath them. It’s comical to watch.
Reluctantly he switches the bike off, listening to the engine die down and sighing contentedly.
“You should buy a bike.” I take the key he hands back, following him back to the Jeep.
“Belle’d have a fuckin’ conniption.”
“Or not.” I smirk, and he reads my meaning well enough, a small laugh coughing from his mouth as he leans back over the Jeep.
“What’s the job?” Removing the dip stick, his gaze moves around the space in search of a clean rag. Passing him one, he thanks me with a nod, cleaning it off before inserting it back into the car.
“The Shallow, I own it.”
Pulling the stick back out, he checks to see how high the oil film reaches. “Figured as much.”
Fitting my hands into the back pockets of my jeans, I don’t disguise the look of surprise sliding onto my face.
He shrugs, replacing the dipstick before his attention turns back on me. “Janie was in contact with you a fair bit when you were outta town. You’re always in the office, not behind the bar. You’re there more than anyone else in this town, which is sayin’ a lot. Gathered you weren’t hanging around just for kicks.”
He drops the hood, the loud clatter of metal sounding between us. He doesn’t feel the need to offer me his full attention, instead moving around, cleaning up the driveway as I lean against the car.
“The space above the bar, it’s unused. I wanna remodel it, a loft. Wanna live there.”
That pulls his attention and he stands, rubbing at the grease stains on his hands with a rag.
“Ben’s directed me to the right people for approval. Said he’s keen to work on this with me. Know we have history but hoping you’d sign on too.”
Tucking the rag into the back pocket of his jeans, he watches me for a loaded second, his expression indistinguishable.
“I’ll do it.”
That’s all he gives me. No warning to stop talking to Annabelle. No long-winded speech about how he doesn’t like me, but he’ll do it for the family. But, this is business. Personal feelings don’t need to be mixed up in that.
“Appreciate it.” I extend my hand and he glances at it for a brief second before grasping it in his.
You can tell a lot by the way someone shakes your hand. The strength in their character, a sign of mutual respect. The weight behind it, their ability to meet your eyes. Archer squeezes harder than necessary, but he meets my eyes and I return the intensity of his grasp.
Bennett’s right. The pissing contest working between us is almost embarrassing, but as my lips twitch into the hint of a smile, I watch his do the same. This might be ridiculous. But it’s also a shit ton of fucking fun.
Chapter Seven
Frankie
I bend at the waist, throwing my head down and running the towel roughly along the back of my scalp to dry my hair.
Standing, I ball my towel up, shooting it into my laundry hamper. “She shoots. She scores!” I pirouette, bowing as I come full circle, much to Frenchie’s bored indifference.
“Come on,” I push. “That was a great shot. Not even a grunt?”
He turns his head and I roll my eyes. “You’ve changed. Ever since Luca came into our lives, you give me no love. What does he have that I don’t?”
His little ears poke up at the mention of Luca’s name and I cough my annoyance. “Calm down. He’s not here. He’s working.”
I’m woman enough to admit I stick my tongue out at my dog, unimpressed by his easy betrayal. We were pals. The best of. Inseparable. Until Luca crashed our happy little lives. Now I barely get a look in. I mean, I get it. If I could snuggle on his ridiculously toned abdominal muscles without it being weird, I would. If I could lick his far-too-delicious-for-his-own-good face without him turning me out on my ass, again, I would. But we all can’t be adorable little puppy dogs. If I did that shit, I’d be one step beyond certifiable. Talk about double fucking standards.
“Traitor,” I snipe, but he ignores me, snuggling along Luca’s space on the couch, working to find his scent. Not gonna admit to the little defector that I’ve been him. Sniffing cushions for even a hint of that delectable Luca smell. What? We’ve had this discussion, he smells good. It’s only natural for me to take the opportunity to smell him when it’s presented.
It’s. Not. Creepy. It’s common knowledge. When a man’s smell is involved, all rational thought disappears. We’re defenseless. Mere mortals against the spell of their scent. We’re allowed a little loss of mind.
A loud bang from next door startles me from my thoughts and I stare at the connecting wall. “The fuck?”
Jake’s soft groan echoes through the thin wall, words of love, of missing his wife vibrating through to my apartment. It’d be sweet if his rough growls and filthy demands for Aubrey to take his cock didn’t echo the sentiment.
“They’re out of control, and quite frankly, assholes. It’s not fair of them to flaunt how often they fuck to those of us starved of it.”
Again, my dog ignores me, burying his head farther into the couch to block out the sound of our enthusiastic neighbors.
Moving to my bedside table, I grab my headphones, covering my ears and muting Jake and Aubrey’s sexy time shenanigans. Flicking through my phone, I press play on
a random playlist. Liking a few pics on Instagram, I post one of Frenchie and I. The world doesn’t need to know we’re on the outs now he’s let a man come between us.
Macklemore’s “These Days” drifts through my headphones and I close my eyes, letting myself get lost to the music.
Jake was dead-on, when I gave over to the music; my hate, my heartache, my despair channeled into my voice and I can’t ever remember loving singing more. I’ve started dipping my toes in singing publicly again, but mostly, I still keep it to myself. Like now, dancing around my apartment, pretending I’m on stage. It’s enough for now. Jake keeps pushing me to sing with him at The Shallow. I’m just not sure if I’m there yet. All those feelings that bleed into my voice are still mine. I’m not ready to share my heartbreak. I’m not ready to open myself, not yet anyway.
Macklemore fades out as Ariana’s soft vocal pounds steadily in my eardrums and I don’t stop the wicked grin that crawls onto my face.
The sex that drips from this song is hot as fuck and my body moves in time with the thick beat. I spin. I drop, only to move my body slowly upward again. The tips of my fingers drag along the soft skin of my thighs, dragging Luca's oversized sweatshirt up mid torso before sliding my palms back down. The beat picks up and fisting my hands into my hair, my head thrusts side to side. The lyrics tumble from my mouth and I can't help but associate the words with my feelings toward Luca. But that's no surprise. My mind is constantly working to tie anything to the one person I want but can't have.
Eyelashes resting softly against my cheeks, I let the music overtake me. I imagine what it would feel like if it were his hands fisting in my hair, rubbing along the bareness of my skin. If his solid frame was lined firmly against the suppleness of mine.
I know he moves well. I can still feel him pressed up against me at Will and Adam's wedding. His large hands teasing the dangerous split of my dress. I was so wet. Knowing I was completely bare. Knowing that if he trailed his fingers only slightly higher, he would have been touching me where I craved him most.
The night is cool but dampness clings to my skin with the heat coursing through my veins. I envision his scent chaining me as I dance. I let my imagination run wild; fantasizing about being able to touch him the way I crave to. I’d take my time. Let myself relish in every hard stretch of his magnificence. It’s devastating that I haven’t had that. Sure, I’ve had him quick. I’ve had him dirty. But with a masterpiece like Luca, it’s downright criminal not to spend time enjoying a man like that.
