by Ava Lore
He shook his head. “Nope,” he said. “No favors between us. That was just for you.”
I frowned. “You don’t want me to do the same for you?” He didn’t want me? “Then...why did you...?”
He gave me a wicked smile, and his golden eyes seemed to glow. “I wanted to see you come in the moonlight,” he said. Then his smile softened. “It was even more beautiful than I thought it would be.”
Words fled, and I blinked stupidly at him. “Oh,” I said after a second. “Well...do you want to...you know, do anything else?”
“You are very drunk,” he replied.
I knew I was frowning, but I could barely feel it. “So?” I said.
The rumble of his laugh filled my head and sent a bolt of warmth through me even as he pulled away. He still held my hands in his, and he used that grip to pull me up into a sitting position. “Let’s just say that I want to do a large number of other things to you,” he said, “but I want you to remember them. For now, I think I should take you home.” He released my hands and dug into his pockets, pulling out a set of keys. “Shall we?”
He was confusing me, and I wondered if he didn’t secretly find me unattractive. But he had definitely been turned on when we kissed, and usually men didn’t give head to women they didn’t think were sexy, so now I had no idea what was going on.
Pride stiffened my spine. I wasn’t about to beg, and now that the thundering desire had faded into a background roar I was starting to remember the many reasons why I had so many rules about who I slept with or got involved with or even kissed—because deviating from those rules made things confusing.
I hated to be confused. So I sat up straighter and nodded. “Sure,” I said. “I guess.”
I watched as he picked out a key, inserted it into the ancient door lock and twisted it. The ker-click of the door opening gave me flashbacks to the old cars my parents used to drive back when I was a kid. We’d never been rich, and my parents had always driven their cars into the ground until the wheels fell off or the rust could no longer be covered up with spray paint.
...Okay, so maybe we’d been a little redneck. What can I say? It was rural Oklahoma. If the wheels didn’t fall off while you were actively driving the car, then clearly it was still good to go.
Manny pulled the door open with the satisfying clunk and screech of a car made in a simpler time, when gas was seventy-nine cents a gallon, if that, and cars were hunks of steel instead of carbon fiber. Rounding the door, he reached out and, before I realized what he was doing, lifted me again into his arms.
As if he hadn’t just wrung a shattering orgasm from me, my body again responded to him. The dark, wet place between my thighs throbbed and I pressed my legs together so the scent could not escape into the night air and give away just how badly I wanted him. Again.
The strong arms around me trembled only slightly as Manny leaned down and maneuvered me into the car, being careful that my feet never touched the ground, but other than that small wavering he remained as steadfast as a rock. When my butt met old, pilling cloth, I breathed a sigh of relief. Nostalgia flooded me.
Manny slid his arms from around me and stood back. “Good?” he said. “I’m sorry I don’t drive a nicer car...”
Guilt swept through me, and I hoped I hadn’t somehow insulted him. “No!” I said quickly. “This is just like one of my dad’s old cars. I haven’t ridden in a car like this since I was back home.”
In the light of the street lamps, Manny flashed his brilliant white grin at me. “Then let’s get going.” He shut my door for me, rounded the car, and let himself in on the other side.”
His scent filled the enclosed space, though now I could detect the scent of marijuana smoke as well. I didn’t mind it. It was an earthy smell and took me back to the one or two times I’d had fun in high school and college. I’d never smoked it myself, but it had always gone around at parties, and I’d grown to associate it with long nights and late breakfasts and too many stories to remember properly bouncing around inside my head.
Manny turned and looked me in the eye. “So where are we headed?”
“North,” I said. I frowned as I tried to remember exactly where we were. After a second I recalled the nearest highway and was able to give him a vague set of directions and my address. “Laredo Apartments, number ten fifteen,” I finished.
A thought tickled me. There was something I was forgetting, wasn’t there? Something important. About my apartment. I had to do something when we got there. What was it...?
My whole body went rigid when I remembered.
Oh. Right. I had to have him drop me off outside. But that was okay, right? I could do that. No worries. I’d tell him when we got there.
Problem solved.
Next to me Manny was nodding. “Yup,” he said, punching the address into his phone and pulling up the map. “That’s the exact opposite of where I need to go.”
A stab of guilt went through me. He’d made me come and then he was going to have to go out of my way to drive me home? I was a terrible date. “Sorry,” I said. “I don’t mean to make you go out of your way.” In several senses of the word.
The laugh he gave was disbelieving, and he slanted an amused look in my direction. “Believe me, it’s not a problem, Rosa.”
I frowned in confusion. “Sorry,” I said. “Did you mishear my name? It’s actually Rose.” Then, because I’m a pedantic prick like that, I spelled it for him, just to make sure he got it. “R-O-S-E. Rose.”
I can’t help it. I’m a trained lawyer. Being a pedantic prick is my specialty.
To my dismay his full, beautiful lips thinned down. Oh, crap. I’d insulted him, hadn’t I?
But then his mouth twisted, and I realized he was trying to hide a smile. “Usually the ladies love it when I turn on the Latin charm,” he said. “But not you.”
A fierce blush fired my cheeks. “Sorry,” I said.
He laughed. “No. No, I like it. Very practical. Like me.”
I wasn’t quite sure about that, in more ways than one, but I let that slide. Instead I leaned against the window and closed my eyes.
I heard the chunky sound of the key slotting into the ignition. “Ready?” Manny asked. He seemed far away.
I managed to summon a nod. Ten the engine cranked on, the car shuddered into gear, and away we went.
I was asleep before the first turn.
* * *
Gray cloth walls. A computer. A stack of files. Cold air conditioning piped through the vents. Flickering fluorescent lights overhead.
My chair. My desk. My law firm.
Late at night, so tired. Ready to fall asleep at my desk. Can’t. Can’t fall asleep. Can’t rest, or I’ll be fired. Or worse. Fired or worse. Too many nights up. Too many hours worked. How many hours this week? Eighty? Ninety? No extra pay. Too tired to do math anyway. Have a case I have to work on. Find the relevant precedents. Where was that file...?
Dark suit at the corner of my eye. The flash of cufflinks. Expensive. The scent of cologne, familiar, sweet.
Want to turn my head. Want to melt into him.
Can’t. Would ruin both of us.
Soft manicured hand reaching down, touching my desk. Decorated with rings, secret societies and alma maters I can only dream of. Fingernails tapping against the wood.
Tap tap tap.
“Rosa,” he said.
I frowned. That didn’t sound like Clint.
“Rosalita? We’re here.”
That’s not my name, I thought. Clint would never call me Rosalita. Clint was so rule oriented that he barely understood the point of nicknames. That was why our quick fucks in the broom closet or on the desk of one of the senior partners had always been so sinful. So wrong. So everything I had never done before...
I heard a sigh, and then the world was tipping. I sagged against something warm and solid, and then something was happening at my hip. “Where are your keys?” someone muttered.
Keys. Why would anyone need
keys? I’d never had keys to the office. I’d never been important enough. I’d never been anything other than a peon.
And I never would be now. Now that I lost my job.
Now that I’d lost my...
Oh my god.
I woke up just as Manny pulled my keys out of my purse and stuck one in the keyhole of the apartment door in front of us.
Apartment ten fifteen. I knew it well.
“Manny...” I said, but it came out mumbled and slurred, even as panic shot through me. Why were we here? Why had he brought me all the way up to the door? He was supposed to drop me off in front of the building, not walk me to the door, not carry me up to it, not search for my keys, oh my god, not search for the key that wasn’t there—
“Manny!” I said, and it was clearer this time, but he was already rattling the key in the lock, and fear blinded me, obliterating my thoughts, blacking out all rationality. I was sagging in his arms and I struggled to stand up, reaching for his hand. I had to get that key out of the door, I had to get him back down the walk, back to his car, see him off, he couldn’t know, no one could know that—
Without warning the door swung inwards and then Manny and I found ourselves staring down the barrel of an over-under shotgun.
“You got five seconds to get off my porch,” said the man behind it, “or I’ll pump you both full of lead.”
Chapter Three
“I’m so sorry,” Manny said next to me. “I thought this was apartment ten-fifteen.”
Shit! I was screaming inside my head. Shit, shit, shit, shiiiiiiit!
“It is,” the man said. “And it’s my apartment. Get your asses off my porch. I’m counting to five, wetback, and you’d better be gone or I’m calling the cops.”
Manny’s body tensed next to mine. “Are you going to call the police before or after you shoot us?” he asked.
Drunkenly I whipped my head around, staring up at him with horror. He was going to get us killed. No, wait, I was going to get us killed. Summoning the last of my strength, I reached up and tugged on his sleeve.
“Manny,” I said. “Let’s go back to the car...”
He looked down at me. “I thought this was your apartment,” he said, clearly unconcerned by the shotgun barrel in his face.
I stared up at him. It was, I thought.
Past tense.
Oh, shit.
“Please,” I whispered. “Please let’s get back in your car.”
His thick brows drew down. “What’s going on?”
A lump rose in my throat. “Please.”
“I’m counting,” the man said. I glanced at him, and knew immediately that he wouldn’t hesitate to shoot us. He was fat and balding, and wearing a white undershirt and white boxers. His finger wasn’t on the trigger, but it could be in half a second flat.
I shifted unsteadily, tugging on Manny’s sleeve again. “Manny...”
His arm came up and around my shoulders. “All right, Rose.” He nodded frostily to the man sticking the gun in his face. “Good evening, sir.” His voice could have frozen fire.
To my shock, he turned his back on the man and his gun, and started down the walkway toward his waiting car. I was left to stumble after him, confusion and exhaustion warring inside my head. How had this happened? What...who...where?
A sharp pain lanced up my leg, coming straight from the sole of my foot. I cried out and stumbled sideways. No shoes, I thought, and the evening came roaring back to me. The vomit, the gallantry of my hero in drummer’s skin, and then the utterly scandalous moments on top of the very car we were headed toward...
Oh my god, I thought. What have I done?
All of this flashed through my head before I even hit the ground, and my alcohol numbed senses barely even registered my downward trajectory. Then there were strong arms around me and the hot smell of cloves and beer. Manny.
I hung my head, unable to look him in the eye. But when he spoke his voice was gentle.
“Come on,” he said, “let’s get you in the car.”
Miserably I nodded, and Manny let me lean on him, borrowing his strength, for the last leg of the journey down to his car. When we reached it I opened the door and got in without waiting for an invitation, and Manny didn’t protest. I didn’t dare look back at the man standing in the doorway that used to be mine. It didn’t seem safe.
The car dipped and groaned as Manny got in on the other side. He started it up and pulled away from the curb, and the silence crowded in.
Vaguely I noted that he was driving in aimless circles around the apartment complex, as though he were looking for the correct apartment. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that he would never find it. Because there was no correct apartment. There was no apartment at all. Anywhere.
After a thick moment, Manny cleared his throat. “So,” he said finally, “you want to tell me which of these apartments is really yours?”
Oh god. Oh, god, no.
I covered my eyes with my hands, my empty stomach suddenly remembering that it was full of alcohol and it did not like it one little bit.
“Rose?”
Something stung me high in my nose, and I realized that my eyes were growing hot and swollen. I was about to cry.
Don’t fucking cry, you dumb cow, I thought fiercely to myself. Don’t you dare fucking cry. Somehow that little pep talk just seemed to make me sadder. I pressed the heels of my palms into my eyeballs, setting off fireworks behind my eyelids as I tried to stanch the bubbling flow of tears threatening to spill over. Stop it, stop it, stop it...
“Rosa?”
A sob escaped me, loud and ugly in the closed interior of the car. It sounded like the bark of a seal.
“Oof,” Manny muttered under his breath, and a wave of shame washed over me. He was regretting taking me outside now, regretting getting...whatever it was he got out of eating my pussy in the middle of the parking lot. Oh jeez, don’t think about that...
The car swung around and then shuddered to a stop, and I realized he had parked. Forcing great draughts of air into my lungs, I finally felt as though I had brought myself under control, and I let my hands fall away from my eyes. I kept my lids glued shut, however, and leaned back in my seat, breathing deeply. I didn’t dare look at Manny sitting next to me. I didn’t want to see the expression he wore. Disgust. Anger. Betrayal.
The quiet stretched out.
“Rosa?” he said again.
I licked my lips. “None of them,” I said. “I don’t live in any of them.”
He didn’t say anything to this, and finally I risked a glance.
I couldn’t quite see him in the dimness, but he seemed to be staring out the front windshield, his beautiful lips pursed, as though he were about to kiss the steering wheel. Lucky steering wheel. No, wait...
Abruptly he turned his head and his golden eyes found me in the dark. “Then where do you live?”
There was nothing in his voice to indicate that he thought anything was amiss with my failure to give good directions, and for a second I wondered if I could pass it off as being too drunk to remember my newest address—but that was stupid. If I told him to take me somewhere else I’d be fucked beyond belief, lost and abandoned in another part of town at—I glanced at the clock—two in the morning with no shoes. No, that was out of the question.
I inhaled, a deep, shaking breath. “I live...here,” I said.
Say it, coward. Say it. Say it!
“But not in any of these apartments,” Manny said. I could hear his confusion, could hear him trying to figure out just what I was talking about.
I nodded. “I live...” The words sat on my tongue, too heavy to push through my lips and into the world.
A warm hand alighted on my thigh, and I jumped. Immediately Manny retreated, and I wanted to cry even harder. “Do you want to show me?” he asked. He’d tilted his head to the side, and there was nothing in his face that said he was admonishing me, but he might as well have been. I felt like a naughty schoolgirl caught
out in a lie. But what other choice did I have?
I nodded and opened the door. My bare feet hit the asphalt and I winced at the myriad of tiny rocks pressing up into my soles. I gritted my teeth and held my head up, refusing to show any pain or weakness. That would just make him feel sorry for me, and the last thing I needed was for someone to feel sorry for me. I handled that pretty well on my own, thank you.
“This way,” I said simply, and started walking through the parking lot. I kept my eyes trained downwards so that I could hopefully avoid any broken glass that happened to be strewn about, but I was lucky. Nothing twinkled back up at me, and I wove through the lot, Manny close on my heels.
After a few minutes I stopped.
“Here,” I said.
Manny cocked his head, looking at where I stood.
“So,” he said after a second, “are you living out of the Ford Focus, or the Honda CR-V?”
I couldn’t look him in the eye. “The Focus,” I said, gesturing at the blue hatchback.
From the corner of my vision I saw him nod sagely. “I see,” he said.
I reached into my purse and pulled out my keys. “Sorry about the shotgun,” I said. I held the key fob and clicked it, unlocking my car. “Goodnight,” I said. I put my hand on the front door handle. Needed to get my pajamas on, needed to set up my bed in the back, needed to get things settled down for the night...
Manny’s hand landed on my arm. I couldn’t help but look up. Fear made me skittish, but pride refused to let me bow my head.
He was looking down at me, those golden eyes glittering in the moonlight. “Do you want to go get some food?” he asked.
I glanced down at myself, my hands self-consciously smoothing over my skirt and blouse—which was still unbuttoned by the way, oh my Christ—and I looked away from him as I refastened the buttons, my cheeks burning. “Um,” I said. “I don’t have shoes on.”
He reached out and tapped the roof of my car. “You got shoes in there?” he asked.
I swallowed and nodded. There was no point in lying.
But Manny just smiled. “Good,” he said. “Grab some shoes. Let’s go get some food in you.”
