by Cari Quinn
Carly’s long sigh brought me back to the conversation. The pauses between us were becoming more frequent, the silences more telling. She was my best friend, the only family I really counted as mine, and I’d be damned if I lost her too.
“No, Ame. No boyfriend.” She swallowed audibly. “Not anymore.”
Aww, shit. I bit my lip and cursed at the new trickle of blood. In the light of day I didn’t look as bad as I’d feared. My new concealer had helped big time, but the cut lips were a problem. The top one had a shallow scratch. The bottom? Hurt like hell.
“What happened, honey?” I asked softly, my throat aching.
“Nothing happened. We got together, we hung out for a while, he got back with his ex. I knew he wasn’t for real but I liked the way he made me feel.” She sighed again. “You know?”
I didn’t, but I figured she wanted me to agree. “Yes. I’m sorry. He doesn’t deserve you.”
She laughed. “You don’t think anyone deserves your little sis.”
“Damn straight. If he doesn’t treat you like gold, show him the door.”
“How about you? Who deserves you?”
My teeth approached my lip but I dug my nails into my palm instead. As bad as I felt for her, I’d gladly escape into her high school romantic tragedy rather than deal with my own reality. “I’m happy on my own.”
“No, you’re not.” Carly’s voice choked up, and for a second I thought she was crying.
My heart clenched but I didn’t speak. Couldn’t. For some reason I didn’t understand, I glanced at the beat-up leather jacket on my couch. It smelled so good. Rich, masculine, fresh like a sunny day on the beach. Like a life I’d had so long ago for such a brief slice of time. Even back then, I was never the girl with the hot, protective boyfriend, the one with eyes like jewels and big hands to keep me safe. I’d lived in the shadows for so long, seeking out punches so that at least I could control which direction they came from next.
Now I wanted him to hurt me, so I could hurt him right back. Fox had given me his jacket, and I wanted his blood.
A few minutes later, Carly told me she had to get back to study hall. And I had to get back to…nothing. I’d already visited the gym and spent an hour sparring with Kizzy. She was the only friend I had except for my sister, who had no choice but to be friends with me. Okay, so that wasn’t true, but sometimes I almost believed it when the familiar fear of her vanishing from my life surfaced. She wouldn’t leave me, voluntarily or otherwise, and I wouldn’t leave her.
One way or another, we’d find a way to be happy.
Since I didn’t have anything better to do and I needed cash, I decided to throw myself on Carmine’s mercy. I was one of the hardest working bartenders he had and I didn’t call in sick. Surely he’d cut me some slack for yelling at him and calling him a dickhead. And giving him the finger. Twice.
I changed into my black capris and snug black T-shirt with Vinnie’s across the front. There was no Vinnie, just Carmine, but he thought Vinnie’s was a more accessible Italian name for a bar.
I’d been scheduled to work that afternoon and would be showing up a full half hour early. See, I had employee of the month written all over me.
On the way out the door, I looked at the jacket again, sitting so innocuously on my shit-brown couch. A tapestry of scars marred the supple leather, an irresistible invitation to run my palm over the sleeve. The inside was thickly lined with a silky fabric that made me want to rub my cheek over the material. I wasn’t ready to return it. Or to see him again.
The next time we met, I intended to convince him to fight me, and now was too soon. I was too raw from the power of his aqua blue eyes drilling into me, right through flesh and bone.
Next time I would be prepared. No opponent caught me unaware twice.
I pulled out the handful of mail I’d shoved in the jacket’s left pocket last night and tossed it on the side table. Bills mostly. Those would wait. My fingers drifted over a slight thickening in the collar area and I felt around until I found a small, almost undetectable zipper. I opened the strangely placed pocket and came up with a shiny penny, which I promptly put on the coffee table.
Look at that. I’d only known Fox for less than a day and I’d already made some money.
Giving in to impulse, I slipped on the jacket. It cradled me, wrapping me in a shroud of warmth. I shivered and tucked my nose into the collar, drawing strength from the already recognizable smell. Leather and smoke, sweat and aftershave. Shamelessly, I took another pull and closed my eyes as heat sizzled over my skin. I’d awakened with my face hidden in the depths of the coat, and I’d never forget the momentary sense of safety Fox’s comforting scent had given me.
If I was crazy, at least I kept it to myself.
A pair of gloves were tucked in the other pocket. They were thick leather, the kind made for doing heavy yardwork. I pulled them on and smiled at how they dwarfed my hands. But they were so toasty and soft inside that I couldn’t bring myself to take them off.
Grabbing my purse, I locked up and hurried downstairs. Bright sunshine beamed into my eyes the second I opened the outside door, and lucky me, my sunglasses were upstairs on the coffee table. I sighed. At least the walk to Vinnie’s wouldn’t take long.
Ten minutes later, I tugged open the door to the bar and stepped into the cool darkness. The familiar sounds washed over me. In the back, balls clacked together on the pool tables and from the bar area, bottles and glasses clinked. The juke was playing tinny country, a common occurrence during the late lunch rush. Johnny Cash was singing about rings of fire. I smiled, figuring it was a good omen. My mom had sung Johnny’s songs to me when I was a baby and his voice brought back happier times.
As my gaze swept the room again, my smile faded.
Fox slouched against the bar, elbows back in a relaxed pose. He wore a lazy expression that didn’t match the burning intensity of his eyes. Eyes that were trained, unblinkingly, on me.
“Well, hello there.” One corner of his mouth crooked up in what passed for a smile as he reached back to grab his beer. He tipped it to his lips and drank in steady pulls that made his throat ripple.
Mine went tight as something flashed through me, hot and unexpected. I didn’t recognize the sensation at first, it was so rare.
Actual honest to God lust.
I didn’t speak. What was I supposed to say? Holy fuck, you’re sexy did not seem appropriate. Especially since I wanted a crack at his face with my fists.
My silence didn’t deter him. In fact, he gave me a devastating, full-on grin. “Nice jacket,” he murmured, his gaze taking a lazy trip down my body. “And gloves.”
My cheeks burned. I caught the fingers of the glove in my mouth, yanked, and shoved them in the pocket where I’d found them. But I couldn’t hide the coat.
All of this was so freaking stupid. I could feel my IQ dropping the longer I gaped at him like I’d never seen a man before. Just because this one had mile long legs encased in denim and a big ass belt buckle that sat just above things I’d avoided glancing at thus far didn’t mean I had to lose my cool. He wasn’t anything special. I’d set my sights on him because I believed he was the one to beat, the one that would get me out of New York and into a new life with my sister.
I wasn’t going to change my mind.
Walking around the bar, I tugged the purse I’d worn cross-body over my head and tucked it behind the cash register as I’d done a thousand other times. Fox swiveled around to watch me like I was a circus monkey doing tricks for his amusement.
And oh, was he amused. Intrigued even. His leisurely smile, the gleam in his unnaturally blue eyes, the way he loosely gripped his beer bottle in fingers that seemed too long and artistic to belong to a fighter—they were all signs that he’d found an object of interest.
Me.
“Came back to work, did you?” He continued as if he didn’t expect an answer. “After that show you put on yesterday, you must have balls of steel.”
A real smile came to my lips while I shrugged out of his jacket. The right thing would be to return his property, but I was enjoying this little game of hunter and prey too much to end it so swiftly. And I liked the damn coat too much. It kept me warm. I hadn’t been warm for so long.
I tucked the jacket under my arm, almost daring him to protest. He said nothing. Just met me stare for stare.
“You have no idea.” I let the words sink in before I headed back to deal with Carmine.
I felt his gaze following me. Little licks of heat burned straight through my thin T-shirt into my spine. My chest. My heart sped up and my steps faltered. Even my swagger slipped, on the verge of vanishing entirely.
For once, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to ignore a man’s interest. Or encourage it.
Chapter Six
Tray
After only two conversations, she already had me by the nuts.
Privileged guy after damaged, wrong-side-of-the-tracks chick? It was a joke. A cliché. I’d grown up as a cliché myself—the spoiled little rich boy who wanted to find his own place—so I sure didn’t need to take on another. Too bad that wasn’t enough of a deterrent.
She had a hungry look to her, as if she hadn’t had a good meal in a while. Like an underfed wolf. And here I was sniffing around like she was fresh meat.
Thirty minutes later, she still hadn’t reemerged from the back room. The spiky-haired bartender who’d wandered off on a break shortly before Mia appeared had returned to polish the bar with the same fervor as the blonde bartender from yesterday. With all the polishing going on, I couldn’t imagine how the place still carried a pervasive layer of grime.
“You want another drink?” Spiky asked, her lips sagging with disinterest.
I shouldn’t. I’d already had two while I was waiting. Spiky had told me the blonde bartender was due on shift soon, and I’d planned to grill her for Mia’s whereabouts. Instead, Mia herself had strolled in, all bundled up in my leather coat with her thick dark bangs barely hiding the puffiness around her black-hole eyes. They didn’t have any light in them. Any life.
She looked better than yesterday. Still worse for wear, still wary, but if you didn’t look too close in bright light, nearly normal. Must be makeup. Women were practically magicians with the stuff.
“Nah, I’m good. Thanks.” I gestured with the beer. “Is Mia still in back?”
“Yeah. Heard her and Carmine going at it pretty good. He really doesn’t want to give her back her job, but word is she can be awful convincing.” Without warning, she grabbed my beer and make a loud sucking noise over the mouthpiece, sliding her lips up and down in an obvious pantomime of oral sex. Or severe glass addiction.
Frowning, I yanked back my beer. My perennially sore knuckles protested as I clamped my fingers around the neck of the bottle. I’d seen Carmine yesterday, and he had to be pushing sixty. Would Mia really do that just to hang on to her job?
“Can I go back there?” I had to fight to keep my voice even. “I need to talk to her.”
Spiky waggled her brows. “Ooh, you into those ménage a twats?”
I didn’t mean to laugh. Really, I didn’t. But before I could stop myself, out came a harsh bark that could’ve summoned seals.
Mia appeared in the doorway, sleeves rolled up to reveal surprisingly muscled—and unblemished—arms. The hem of her Vinnie’s shirt flirted with her navel, riding up over her low-waist pants. The indentations of her hips spoke of serious workouts, the kind not found in a Zumba class or on a DVD. The girl was seriously tiny. Seriously cut.
Seriously fucking hot.
She stopped dead when her gaze met mine. I seemed to inspire that reaction in her every time. I couldn’t decide if I liked it or if it annoyed me.
“You’re still here?”
“I am.” Spinning my bottle between my palms, I flashed her an easy smile. “Guess I’m awfully thirsty today.”
Spiky grunted and sashayed away. Looked like I’d made another fan.
“Get your job back?” I asked, half expecting her not to answer. She didn’t seem to be much of a talker, which made her the exact opposite of most of the women I’d met. If she ever frivolously giggled or chatted about shoes, I’d start blowing my beer myself.
“What’s it to you?”
Ah, the million dollar question. “If you’re gainfully employed, maybe you’ll see fit to return my jacket sometime soon.”
She lifted a brow. “I never said I wouldn’t return it.”
“Then?”
She strolled over to serve a pair of older guys who had ambled up to the bar while I waited. Much to my surprise, she chatted with them in an entirely natural way I wouldn’t have guessed she was capable of. So that meant I was the problem. For whatever reason, she closed down around me. At least she liked my coat.
A vague itch settled between my shoulder blades as she did her job. She still hadn’t offered to help me, yet she attended to every other customer promptly. By the time I reached the bottom of my beer, I was edging toward annoyed.
Outside the ring, very few things bothered me. I endeavored to keep it that way. My dad thought I had my head in the clouds, or more succinctly, up my ass. I saw it as emotional management. What I didn’t dwell on couldn’t stress me out.
Maybe that was my problem. I’d dwelled on Mia too much since yesterday. No wonder my head was starting to throb. The one above my neck in this case. The one below my waist had been on standby since I’d seen Mia in my jacket.
She finally made her way back over to me long after my throat had dried to dust, and I’d resorted to tapping my thumbs against the bar. I wouldn’t report her. For all I knew, she was a masochist and got off on that kind of thing.
I made a living out of waiting for an opponent to reveal his weakness before I struck. Mia wouldn’t knock me out of my rhythm.
“Still here?” she asked over her shoulder, passing me to serve her latest patron.
Almost happy hour and everyone was getting lubricated but me. “Yes.”
“Still thirsty?” she questioned on her next trip.
“Yes,” I replied, well aware she wasn’t listening.
She stopped to talk to a guy with wavy dark hair. He tossed it back out of his eyes every few moments as if he had a permanent twitch. TV shampoo commercials had nothing on this dude.
“Bet she’s setting up something for later,” Spiky said with a smirk and a finger gesture that I was reasonably certain indicated a money exchange.
I hadn’t even seen the other bartender approach. I was too fixated on Mia, who was now leaning toward the dark-haired guy. She had her mouth against his temple.
My hand fisted around the empty beer as something nasty brewed in my gut. I wasn’t jealous by nature. The feeling was almost as foreign to me as love. Despite my issues with them, I loved my parents—distantly, in a very hands-off sort of way. I had buddies I was close to. My best friend, Slater, especially. I’d occasionally been jealous in school when other guys beat me at a track meet or asked out the girl I’d wanted to invite to Prom. But this felt much more personal.
“D’you want a drink now?”
I started to answer Spiky. Then Mia drew back from the guy and he reached out for her, aiming for either her forearm or her breast. Hard to tell. Annoyance flared over her face, transforming her expression from flirty to lethal in a heartbeat. I’d already started to rise when she grabbed the beer bottle beside her elbow and broke it over the edge of the bar. They were too far away for me to hear what was said, but from her come hither gesture and the shocked gasps that erupted around them, I figured she’d responded to his advances with one of her own.
I sank back in my seat, surprised and impressed. She could handle herself. Any woman who didn’t take shit from a man immediately rose in my estimation.
And sometimes my rising estimation decided to show itself in painful ways.
Wincing, I shifted on the stool. Christ, what was I? Sixteen? I hadn’t gotten near her and my balls were alr
eady aching.
“So what were you saying about her setting up something?” I asked Spiky with a grimace that only partly had to do with the bartender’s sneer in Mia’s direction.
Spiky slapped her arms over her heaving chest. “You want another beer or what?”
Mia strode toward us, her posture so rigid I feared she’d punch me rather than the hair tosser. Perhaps feared wasn’t the right word. My cock stiffened more at the possibility.
Speaking of masochists…
“Sure.” I slid the empty toward Spiky.
Spiky shuffled off as Mia took her place. “Why the hell are you still here?” Her voice was way too loud considering people still watched her with wary eyes.
She must not mind the crazy bitch label. Another notch in her column. Another inch in my pants.
All right, half inch. Maximum capacity loomed larger with every passing second.
“I was thirsty.” I rolled my tongue over my lips and waited for her to growl. All she did was stare at my mouth, like she was starving and I’d just given her an all-access pass to the buffet. Leaning in, I moved as close the bar would allow. “I can see you’re too busy to refill my drinks. Maybe I need to set something up with you for later. Is that how it works?” I hadn’t meant to say that, but from the wild flash in her eyes I’d hit the target.
Her hand swung up and I caught it, bending her fingers into her palm and then lifting her knuckles to my lips. Hadn’t planned that either. This impetuous crap was getting out of control.
“You have something that belongs to me.” I quickly released her, since I suspected from the panic contorting her face that she’d snap her wrist to get free. “Let’s talk about it after you’re done with work.” Then I’d question her thoroughly about what she’d probably already found in my pocket.
“Why shouldn’t I just hand it over right now?” The quick pace of her breathing made mine speed mine up to match.
“You could. But I’m getting the idea you want to be alone with me. Isn’t that what he was all about?” I jerked my head toward the other end of the bar. “You’ve been ignoring me, knowing all the while it’s turning me on so much I couldn’t fucking walk out of here right now if I wanted to.”
