by Joanna Wylde
“I don’t know—are we going to pick up where we left off on Friday?”
The question startled me.
“Probably …”
He sighed.
“Loni, I like you a lot and I’ve been a good guy, but I’m tired of this. You’re so caught up in Jessica that you don’t have the energy for me. I’m exhausted, I’m grumpy, and I’m not in the mood. Let’s talk later, okay?”
“Wow, so sorry that my family obligations are getting in your way,” I snapped. “But I actually give a damn about Jessica. She’s my responsibility. That doesn’t just go away because she turned eighteen.”
“I can’t believe we’re still talking about Jess,” he muttered.
Then he hung up on me.
What the hell?
Nate hadn’t been himself the past two days, not even a little bit. He’d always been so concerned and supportive of me, even over the smallest things … and he’d never pressured me for sex. But now that I needed him, he’d checked out. I couldn’t wrap my head around it.
You sure you really know him?
Reese’s nasty little insinuations burrowed through my thoughts. I shouldn’t leap to judgments, though, not while I was this upset—my perspective was all messed up. I wasn’t thinking straight.
Still, I’d expected a little more sympathy from Nate. Isn’t that what boyfriends do?
I sucked down another mouthful of wine, contemplating my unpleasant conversation with Amber. Apparently Jessica had flown down there yesterday, although it hadn’t occurred to either of them that this was information I might like to have. I had no clue where the money for the plane ticket had come from, either.
Selfish, both of them. And Nate was selfish, too … although maybe he was right in his own way. For better or worse, Jessica was an adult and she’d made her decision. I should probably just accept it and let it go, because all this stress and worry wasn’t accomplishing jack shit anyway.
At least the wine was still on my side.
An hour later I’d finished the bottle and things were looking up. For example, with Jess gone, I wouldn’t be stuck at home every weekend. I could go places, do things … Sleep with Nate any time I wanted.
Assuming I still wanted to sleep with him.
But the more I thought about it, the less interested I was in following up on that. Sure, it wasn’t like we were engaged or anything, but what’s the point of having a boyfriend if he blows you off the first time you need him?
On the other hand, finally getting laid would be nice …
I’d completely forgotten about Reese until the doorbell rang just after seven that evening. By that point I was halfway through a second bottle of wine, which was half a bottle firmly over my limit. I opened the door to find him standing on my porch with a bag of Chinese in one hand and a six-pack of beer in the other. I ran my eyes up and down his strong form, deciding he looked fantastic.
I wanted to bite him.
Yeah, definitely over my limit on the vino—I’d had more to drink in this one weekend than the past two months combined. Too bad I couldn’t bring myself to care.
Biting Reese Hayes wouldn’t be a problem if you ditched the boyfriend, my brain whispered insidiously. I decided my brain was right. If Nate gave a shit about being in a relationship with me, he wouldn’t have been such a dick.
Oooh, and now I was cussing in my head. Fun!
“C’mon in,” I told Reese, suddenly starving. That bag of little white cartons smelled fantastic and I couldn’t wait to rip into them. His eyes widened.
“You seem to be in a good mood,” he murmured. I held up my wine bottle for him to see.
“I decided I needed a distraction,” I told him bluntly. “I called my cousin Amber. She’s a bitch and I hate her … Also Jessica is with her. She’s fine, perfectly safe. Flew down there yesterday and they didn’t bother to tell me. I’m washing my hands of both of them.”
I tried to rub my hands together like I was washing them and dropped my bottle in the process. Reese lunged, catching it midair. The motion set me off balance and I fell on my ass, laughing. He stared at me, a slow grin crawling across his face.
“You’re drunk,” he said.
“No shit,” I told him. “Feels great, too.”
“Do you have to work tomorrow?”
“I’m the boss,” I informed him proudly. “I make my own schedule.”
“I see,” he murmured, then reached down to catch my hand, pulling me to my feet. I lurched into him, rubbing my face against the hard muscles of his chest.
“You smell really good,” I told him. “Reeallly good.”
“You got a coffeepot?”
I blinked up at him, running my hands up and over his shoulders. They were nice and hard, like silk stretched over … something hard. I giggled because I couldn’t think of the right word.
“Coffeepot?” he asked again.
“Why?”
“Time to sober up, I think. What the hell is that smell?”
I beamed at him, feeling pleased with myself.
“The self-cleaning cycle on the oven. I like to clean when I get frustrated, and there’s nothing quite like a sparkly oven. You just turn it up to a million degrees, bake it, and then vacuum it out. Gas does all the hard work for you. Very cathartic.”
“You’re gonna kill me,” he muttered, running a finger down my cheek. “Let’s get some coffee in you and eat. No more wine.”
I pouted, because wine was my favorite. Then I forgot to pout because he smelled all yummy, and I wanted to see if he tasted as good as he smelled.
Now if I could just catch his lip and find out …
REESE
This was officially the most fucked-up dinner date I’d ever had in my life.
London—
Everyone calls me Loni, Reese, but I hate it. I like how you use my real name … Can I touch your stomach?
—was drunk off her ass, and I had a very bad feeling that if I fucked her, things wouldn’t end well. Not normally a factor for me, really. I liked it when things didn’t work out with women. Generally that was the goal.
Unfortunately, karma’s a bitch and she had a lot on me.
I stared at the TV, pretending to watch the world’s least interesting movie with London passed out all over me. Her tits smashed up against my chest, her legs straddled my thigh, and her hand lay on my stomach, precisely six inches from the top of my straining dick. I knew this because exactly once every sixty seconds I looked away from the screen to make sure it hadn’t ripped a hole through my pants. Then I’d start counting down again, because the counting was the only thing keeping me from rolling her over and shoving my cock so far up her cunt it hit the back of her throat. Yeah, that’d wake her up …
Why wasn’t I doing this? Good question.
It wasn’t because I’m a good guy or she was too drunk or any of that shit. I’ve never been a decent human being and didn’t see a whole lot of reason to change things up at this stage of the game.
Decency isn’t really my thing. This was about strategy.
London sighed in her sleep, pulling me a little closer as her hand slipped down. I groaned, and somehow my dick got harder, something I would’ve bet a hundred dollars wasn’t even possible. It actually hurt, and the smell of her hair drifting up toward my nose didn’t exactly help.
She smelled like vanilla cookies.
I asked myself again why I wasn’t currently fucking her. I had her at my mercy—she was all over me. I should just take what she offered and enjoy it. Strategy was overrated.
She might actually make you happy, Heather told me sternly. Don’t blow it, asshole.
Goddamn ghosts in my head.
Heather needed to back the fuck off, because I wasn’t down with this shit. I hadn’t actually died with her, despite the fact that it occasionally felt that way. She’d left me to raise our girls all by myself and sometimes I hated her for it.
Fortunately, thinking of my girls made me smil
e.
Didn’t even have the words to describe how much they meant to me. Somewhere along the way I’d reengaged with life, for their sake if not my own. Biggest fight of my life, not crawling down into that grave with my wife. London was fighting the same kind of battle, in her own way. When shit hit the fan, she’d charged life head-on, taken in Jessica and fought for her, despite the fact that she had an easy out. Nobody could have blamed her for passing Jess along to social services. I respected the way she threw down for her kid, even though Jess wasn’t technically hers. She understood loyalty, and that family isn’t always about blood.
Much as I hated to admit it, that was the kind of strength and loyalty it took to make a good old lady … Then I shook my head, because I sure as shit wasn’t going there. Claim her? Okay. But nobody could ever take Heather’s place, let alone wear her patch.
Maybe I could find a happy medium, though, and that’s where London came in. Screwing her tonight would complicate things in a way that could end with her hating me. I’m nothing if not decisive, and I don’t fuck around once I’ve made up my mind. I wanted London and I definitely planned to keep her for a while.
That meant I should start things off right.
First order of business—remove Deputy Dick from her life without scaring the hell out of her. If I had to suck it up for a while to make that happen, I had no doubt she’d make it up to me down the line. Thus I found myself lying on a couch watching some dumbass movie with a dick harder than a diamond and no happy ending in sight.
London stirred against me again, letting out a soft snore.
Christ, her mouth was right by my nipple. I felt the heat of her breath touch me through the thin fabric of my shirt, and something like panic welled up in the back of my throat. I had to get the hell out of here, because no fuckin’ way I’d be able to keep my hands off her much longer. Respect only went so far.
The brothers would laugh their asses off if they saw me now.
“Okay, sweetheart,” I muttered, cradling her as I sat up awkwardly. “Let’s get you to bed.”
London snuggled deeper into me, making protesting noises. She really wasn’t very big, despite those fabulous tits of her. I lifted her easily enough and carried her back toward the bedrooms. Her door was open, revealing a neatly made queen-size bed. The room was decorated in what was probably thrift shop furniture, but it’d been polished up and laid out in a way that looked put together and purposeful.
Nothing like my bedroom.
“Still pissed at you,” she muttered as I tugged back the covers and tucked her in. Well, look at that. Sleeping Drunky was waking up, and I didn’t even have to kiss her first.
“Do I wanna know why?” I asked. She frowned, eyes still closed.
“You know why, Nate. But you can spend the night anyway …”
Nate? She thought I was Nate Evans?
That fucking cockwad was not getting credit for this good deed.
My good intentions disappeared in an instant, brain turning off as instinct kicked in. Didn’t matter that I’d decided to keep my hands off—she didn’t get to dream about Deputy Dick while I held her. That was a straight-up deal breaker, something both I and my cock felt very strongly about.
“This isn’t Nate,” I growled, sliding my fingers into her hair, gripping her head tight. She woke with a jerk, eyes wide and confused.
“What?”
“I’m not Nate,” I growled. She blinked at me.
“Reese? What are you doing here?”
Holy shit. I’d brought her food, listened to her cry, and then held her half the night—and she didn’t even remember. Karma could suck my ass. I dropped down on the bed, shoving a knee between her legs, covering her with my body. My dick found her pubic bone, and I rotated my hips.
Finally.
Fucking hell that was sweet relief, even if it wasn’t a money shot.
“Oh my God …” she whispered, eyes wide. “Reese, what are you doing?”
I groaned, grinding against her so hard it hurt. She bucked back, whimpering, and I completely forgot about keeping things simple. I needed inside her. Now. The rest could wait. I caught her lips with mine, nipping them before thrusting my tongue deep in her mouth. Her hips bucked again, her hands digging into my chest.
Then she bit my tongue.
“What the fuck?” I gasped, jerking away from her. Her eyes were wide and full of shock, which was right about the time I realized her hands weren’t digging into my chest to rip off my shirt.
Nope.
They were pushing against it.
“I can’t do this,” she whispered, shaking her head. “Nate and I agreed not to see other people. I’m still with him.”
“If you’re with Nate, why the fuck wasn’t he here when you needed him?”
London closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. Unfortunately that forced her breasts up and into my chest. I thought my cock might actually explode, and not because I blew my wad. Nope, it might split from the sheer volume of blood trapped in there.
“He and I need to talk,” she said, and I growled. Talk? She looked almost as frustrated as I felt. I rotated my hips into hers one more time, both of us gasping in need.
“Fuck that. Your cunt wants me inside as bad as my cock wants in.”
“I don’t like that word.”
“I don’t like Deputy Dick,” I growled. “But you don’t see me putting a bullet in him, do you? Stop bitching and let me fuck you.”
Her eyes narrowed and she shoved at my shoulders, hard. I rolled off her, chest heaving as I tried to make my brain work. Almost impossible, what with the complete lack of available blood. My cock throbbed. Literally. I felt each pulsing heartbeat hit it like a sledgehammer.
I wanted to kill her. Fuck her, then kill her. Then kill Nate Evans for putting me through this. Teach that cocksucker to move in on a Reaper’s woman.
“I’m really sorry that I got drunk and made an idiot of myself,” London said after a long pause. “You didn’t deserve that.”
“Damned straight.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“Blow job would be nice.” Throw in a fifth of vodka and a pole dance and maybe I’d reconsider killing her … but I wouldn’t be happy until I’d split her cunt wide open. I slammed my fist down on the bed. Fuck!
She squeaked. Like a mouse. It was cute, which pissed me off even more.
“Anything else?”
“No, I think you’ve done enough,” I said, closing my eyes and trying to think of something—anything—to distract me from the pain between my legs.
“It was really nice of you to come over and bring me dinner.”
Nice.
Fucking bitch thought I was nice. If she thanked me for being her friend, it was over. I’d have to go on a killing spree.
I gotta get out of here.
Jackknifing off the bed, I stalked out into the living room, looking for my keys. They were on the kitchen counter, right next to the empty take-out containers. She could buy her own fucking dinner and cry alone next time.
I heard her bare feet padding up behind me.
“So I guess this probably means our deal is off?”
Her voice sounded uncertain, almost scared. Still a little slurred, too. I turned to glare at her, taking in her tangled blonde hair, the curve of her generous hips in those tight jeans, and the way her shirt drooped low enough to show plenty of cleavage.
“Not if you want to keep the club accounts,” I growled, wondering why the hell I didn’t just fire her ass. My cock reminded me that we weren’t finished with her yet. “I’ll see you out at my place on Tuesday. Make enough food for leftovers and maybe we’ll have a talk about getting a crew into The Line.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“Eat shit,” I said, and then slammed out the door.
Seems like a bit of an overreaction, Heather gloated as I climbed into my truck.
She could eat shit, too. Fucking women. Even dead, the
y stuck together.
CHAPTER SIX
LONDON
“So, where does this leave us?” Nate asked me Monday night. We sat at a table in the back of the restaurant¸ where the light hardly reached and the flickering of candlelight was supposed to make everything look romantic. Instead it felt claustrophobic and damning.
“Honestly? I’m not sure.”
“I know you needed me and I wasn’t there. Do you think you can forgive me?”
I sighed, wondering whether it mattered.
So he hadn’t been there for me. I resented that. But he’d had to work, and in his defense he dealt with runaways all the time. From his perspective, this was probably a pretty good outcome. She was with a family member, not kidnapped and murdered by a serial killer.
That wasn’t even the real issue, though. I’d been hot as hell for Reese Hayes, whether I liked to admit it or not. Nate and I had decided to make things exclusive—then I crawled all over another man.
What kind of person does that?
Not a woman who’s in love. Or even infatuated … And if I’d fallen out of infatuation in less than two months, that was pretty much it for me and Nate. Both of us deserved better, although I hadn’t decided what that should look like. It’d been fourteen years since I lived on my own. Was that why I’d been so eager to hook up with Nate? Fear of being alone?
Why was I falling into that trap?
I kind of liked the idea of doing what I wanted to do when I wanted to do it. Maybe I should try eating ice cream for breakfast for a while, or color my hair bright red. Maybe I should buy a car that didn’t have a cleaning service logo on the side of it.
A red Miata. I’d always wanted one of those.
Now came the hard part.
“I don’t think it’s going to work out,” I said slowly. Nate frowned, his hand covered mine, squeezing it tightly.
“Babe, I think you’re overreacting.”
“No, it’s not—” I started to say, but then stopped myself. It’s not you, it’s me. Such a cliche, but in this case painfully true. Nate might not be perfect, but he was pretty great. He just wasn’t the man I wanted. All I could think about was Reese and how he’d felt between my legs.
