“Shit,” he said, tossing the blankets back and putting his feet on the floor. Shay tried not to watch him as he got out of bed but was unsuccessful. The man even had nice feet, for God's sake. He strolled out of the bedroom without another look at her and she followed him. He headed for the buzzer, but she headed for the living room and the rest of her clothes. “What?” he barked into the intercom.
“It's me,” the tinny voice replied through the intercom. It sounded like a kid. “Let me in, dude. It's cold.”
“Shit,” Tate hissed again, scrubbing his hand through his hair. Then he pressed the button to unlock the door. Shay grabbed her jeans off the floor beside the couch and glanced up at him. He looked just as annoyed as she felt but reality had pierced their bubble. Real life was pushing its way back in and Shay didn't like how it felt anymore than he apparently did. “It's my brother,” Tate said, the words clipped. He didn't need to say anything more. Shay got the message loud and clear.
It was her cue to leave.
“You might want to get dressed,” she said lightly, hopping up and down as she pulled on her skinny jeans. Tate stood in the kitchen, still naked, watching her as she wiggled her way into the tight pants. He worked his jaw, like he had something he wanted to say. “Tate,” she said, a little more forcefully. “Get dressed.” Only then did he move. He ran his hand down his chest as he strolled past her, his eyes not leaving hers until he disappeared into the bedroom. With a shaky sigh, she plunked down on the couch and tried to ignore the memories of what Tate had done to her on that very couch hours before. She wrestled with her boots, but managed to get them zipped up before a knock on the door echoed through the apartment. Shay stood, debating if she should open it.
Another knock.
Tate emerged barefoot from the bedroom in a pair of gray sweatpants and a sleeveless NYPD T-shirt. She hung back in the living room as he made his way to the door and unlocked it. But curiosity soon got the best of her and she leaned forward in order to peek down the hallway to the front door and kitchen. Tate swung the door open and a tall hispanic boy with a scowl on his face and fancy designer headphones covering his ears bustled into the apartment like he owned the place.
“Hey,” he mumbled before tossing his red knapsack on the countertop of the kitchen island. Tate grabbed the headphones, pulling them off of the kid's ears.
“Why the hell aren't you in school?” Tate grumbled out.
“Don't know,” the kid said with a shrug.
“Not good enough,” Tate said.
“You gonna arrest me for truancy?” the kid flashed a small smile and leaned on the counter. Tate stuffed his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants, staring at his brother with that intimidating stare she was getting used to. Like he was in detective mode and trying to get a perp to talk. But this was different. Tate was different.
Tate'd said the kid was his brother, but like his sister Gennifer, the 'siblings' looked nothing alike. She was beginning to think Tate's family was thoroughly unconventional. And large. As an only child, she couldn't imagine having as many siblings as he appeared to have. However, the change in him was palpable. She'd seen him around his family before, but now that she knew him a little better, she could tell the difference in his demeanor. He loved the kid, she could tell. Even when he was pissed, she could see the change in his eyes. Although his face was still schooled and blank, his eyes were softer. Feeling like an intruder on a family moment, she cleared her throat and stepped into the doorway. She felt two pairs of eyes on her immediately and she forced a small smile.
“Who are you?” the kid asked, craning his neck to look at her. His gaze dropped to her boots and then back up, lingering for a moment too long on her tits.
“My name's Shay. What's yours?” Shay shot back, knowing exactly how to deal with kids with attitudes. She'd grown up around kids like the one standing in front of her. Shit, she'd been a kid like him.
“Shay, this is Brandon. Brandon, Shay,” Tate said brusquely. With introductions out of the way, he stepped around the island and into the kitchen. “Coffee?” he asked, turning around to look at her.
“No,” Shay said, shaking her head. “I should go. I'm already late.” Tate narrowed his eyes at her, like there was something he wanted to say. But he didn't. The kid, Brandon, broke the quick silence, spouting out rapid fire Spanish that Shay couldn't begin to understand. A lifetime spent in New York meant she knew a lick of Spanish, but she was nowhere near fluent.
“No. I'm taking your ass to school,” Tate said, after apparently understanding what Brandon said. She supposed she shouldn't be surprised that he was fluent in Spanish, but she still was. The kid mumbled something more in Spanish, and Shay had the distinct impression it wasn't good. However, Tate ignored it and turned back to her. “Let me drive you,” he said, the slight hint of pleading in his tone sending a little tremor through her ribcage.
“I'll take the train,” she replied. A muscle in his arm jumped, but he didn't respond otherwise. Brandon muttered something else in Spanish, most of his attention on his phone. Tate shoved the kid's shoulder lightly as he passed him. He gave her a heated look as he he walked out from behind the counter on his way to the foyer.
“You're not his girlfriend, right?” Brandon asked matter-of-factly, turning around to look at her as he slid his headphones back on. “He doesn't have girlfriends.”
“No, I'm not his girlfriend,” she said, letting the kid's words sink in. Wondering what he meant, she followed Tate to the door silently. She put on her coat as he threw on a a hoodie and a pair of running shoes. It was awkward, how abruptly their time together had come to an end. She didn't know what to say, especially with Tate's little brother within earshot. He held out her scarf and she took it, finally daring to look at him. He was stone-faced as ever, not giving her any emotion. But she remembered how he'd looked at her in the bedroom, like he didn't want her to go. She didn't really want to go either, if she was honest with herself, but she had to. She didn't know if or when she would see him again. She didn't know what the hell they were doing. All she knew is that she had to get out of there.
Tate pulled his hood over his head, shielding his eyes from her. Then he opened the door for her and took a step back, waiting for her to walk through. She had an urge to touch him, so she let her hand drop over his on the doorknob for just a second. It was all she was going to get, it seemed. Then she walked out the door onto the fourth floor landing. Tate's building was quiet in the morning. The faint scent of coffee and something sweet lingered in the air.
“Brandon!,” Tate barked out and the kid shuffled down the hallway, his knapsack clutched in his hand and followed them out the door. Tate locked up and they all headed downstairs in a quiet group. Shay felt like she should say something, but she didn't know what. The kid didn't seem like he was in the mood for talking, and neither did Tate. To be honest, she wasn't either. She was suddenly grumpy as hell, actually.
It was a mild early winter day, but still chilly. The sun had slipped behind thick white clouds so there wasn't even a hint of sunlight to warm her face. Shay pulled her scarf around her chin and shoved her hands in her pockets. They walked down the street in silence and when they reached the corner where she had to turn to head to the subway stop, she slowed her pace. She didn't want it to be awkward, but with Brandon there, she couldn't do or say the things she wanted to Tate. So she figured a quick exit would be best.
“I'm going to go catch my train,” she announced. Tate shook his head, his brow furrowed in disagreement.
“I said I would drive you,” he said stubbornly.
“The kid's gotta go to school. I can find my way back,” Shay said, throwing up a hand in what she hoped was a carefree wave. “See you around.” She groaned inwardly at her lame words but then she forced herself to turn and hurry away, hunching her shoulders against the cold. She didn't look back and she didn't stop. She just wanted to get back to Harlem and back to her life and back to pretending that she didn't want Ta
te Grayson's dick every damn minute of every damn day.
***
Tate was pissed.
He didn't know why he was so pissed, but he was.
As he drove Brandon up to the Bronx to his prep school, Tate couldn't help but feel angry. He wasn't angry at his younger brother, well not totally. The kid had cut school before. That was nothing new. Sometimes, the fourteen-year-old wanted to escape his life as a high school freshman and sometimes he didn't. Tate could understand that. But that morning, it wasn't good enough.
That morning, the timing was just too fucking shitty.
"Don't do this again," he said, his eyes on the road. In the passenger seat, Brandon had his headphones on but Tate knew he didn't have music playing. "It may suck but you still have to go."
"Who was that lady?" Brandon said after a moment, tugging on his seat belt.
"Don't change the subject," Tate said, clenching his jaw as he thought about Shay turning her back on him and walking to the train. There was so many things he had wanted to say to her in that moment, but he didn't, because Brandon was there. As it was, everything had been left up in the air. There were a lot of things unsaid, in fact. He didn't even know if he was ever going to see her again. He hadn't decided yet.
"She has purple hair," Brandon said. Tate didn't say anything because there was nothing to say to that. He liked her purple hair. "How old is she?"
"What do you care?" Tate asked. Brandon shrugged, turning his face to the window to hide a smile.
"Is she younger than Gennifer?" Brandon asked, not letting up. He knew that the more he annoyed Tate, the less he would have to talk about what was actually wrong. Tate knew Brandon wasn't doing well at school. He knew he missed his old neighborhood and his old friends. But it didn't matter. He was a part of Big Jimmy's brood now. Eventually, he would get used to it.
Just like Tate had.
"Yeah," he said finally, slowing to a stop at a red light.
"Did you guys fuck?" Brandon asked, throwing out the dirty word so casually that Tate turned to look at him, giving him the exact reaction he wanted. Brandon snickered, like the little shit he was. Tate happened to love the kid, but that didn't make him any less of a little shit.
They rode the rest of the way in silence because Tate didn't want to talk about Shay and Brandon didn't want to talk about school. When Tate pulled up to the curb outside of Brandon's private school, housed in a big red brick building nestled amongst old oak trees on a quiet street in Riverdale, he let the car idle for a few moments, thinking about what he wanted to say. He wanted Brandon to know that he was always going to be there for him but he didn't know how.
"I won't tell them," Tate finally said, referring to Big Jimmy and Maria. "But you're old enough now. You have to be responsible for yourself." He drummed his hands on the steering wheel, picking his next words carefully. "Kids get lost all the time. I've seen it a million times. You don't want to be one of those kids." He clicked his tongue as the now-familiar memory of a chubby, pretty girl sitting in the back of a beauty supply store unfolded in his brain. That girl went from having a stolen lipstick in her purse to serving a six year prison sentence. Life could be fucked up like that. He knew that all too well and he hoped Brandon knew it too. "Right?" he asked, wanting some kind of confirmation. Brandon shrugged, but that wasn't good enough. "Use your words," he said.
"Yeah," the kid said, his voice small and stubborn.
"Good. Now go learn something." Brandon opened the door, cursing in Spanish under his breath but Tate ignored him. He even ignored how the kid slammed the door hard enough to make the car rock. Tate sat at the curb and watched until Brandon disappeared in the front door of the school and then he drove up the block a ways and parked. He sat there for awhile, watching the entrance to the school. It wasn't above the kid to try to ditch even though Tate had gone out of his way to make sure he'd gotten to school. However, when Brandon didn't reappear after fifteen minutes, Tate finally took off and headed home.
As soon as he walked in the door, he could smell her. Her perfume still lingered in the air, somehow. He didn't know how it was possible and he didn't like it. He kicked off his shoes and hung his coat on the hook in the foyer before heading barefoot into the kitchen. He started a pot of coffee, knowing that the invasive smell would soon completely block out her distracting scent. He would change the bedsheets too, he told himself as he opened the fridge and looked for something to eat. On the top shelf was a plastic container with a bright blue top. He remembered immediately the cake she'd brought over the night before. Scowling but intrigued, he grabbed a fork from the drawer, not able to resist a homemade dessert.
She'd made it from scratch she said, and that was enough to make him curious. The only other person he knew that made desserts from scratch was Maria and her cakes were legendary. He usually only had desserts on holidays or special occasions but at that point he was hungry enough to not care.
The second he opened the container, his mouth started watering. It smelled heavenly, like cream and butter and sugar and deliciousness, and it looked just as good. When he sunk his fork into the soft, moist cake and took a bite, he had to close his eyes for a moment to truly appreciate it. It was the best carrot cake he'd ever had and he didn't have to second guess that. He knew it was the truth. He thought about her making it and somehow that turned into a fantasy of her baking something in his kitchen. He'd never found the thought of a woman in a kitchen as sexual before, but suddenly it was.
But it wasn't just any woman who would be sexy in his kitchen. It was only Shay Spears.
As he finished off the two perfect slices of cake she'd gifted him with and licked the remainder of the thick icing off of the tines of his fork, he couldn't help but imagine she was there with him, on her back on the dark stone countertop, legs spread open just for him. He knew it was a mistake, but he couldn't stop himself from letting the fantasy unfold. She would make him suffer, tease him, play with herself and not let him touch. But when she let him, then he would fuck her hard. She would arch her back and purr and clench her pussy around his cock like he was the best fuck she'd ever had in her life.
She was good at that.
He leaned forward, running his hand over the smooth countertop, his mind running free. He imagined sucking icing off her tits, swirling his tongue around her hard nipples and sucking them clean. He imagined her fingernails digging into his biceps as he tasted her, her smooth thighs pulling him in close. His dick was hard and his heart was racing when the the incessant beeping of the coffee machine brought him out of his fantasy. He opened his eyes to the cold hard reality that she was gone and all he had was his hand to relieve the need that was burning in him. He didn't like it. Not one bit. If Brandon hadn't shown up... well he didn't know what would have happened if his brother hadn't appeared on his doorstep that morning. Thinking about it was only torturing him.
Tossing the empty plastic container in the sink, he turned off the coffee maker and told himself he was going to put her out of his mind. He knew it was just a fling—an ill-advised one, at that—but he couldn't deny that the sex was fire. It was glaringly obvious that having her in his bed had fucked him in the head. They'd only been together a few times, technically twice, and he barely even knew her. But that didn't seem to matter to his dick.
He tried to keep busy the rest of the day. Sitting and reading his book in peace was out of the question, so he stripped the sheets off the bed and did the dishes and then he threw on his workout clothes and headed out, intent on going straight to House of Pain. But as he drove downtown, he found himself turning left onto 125th st. He made his way over to the little hole-in-the-wall salon where she worked, not completely admitting to himself that he was actually going there. But then all of a sudden, he was pulling over across the street and draping his arms on the steering wheel and leaning forward, trying to get a better look inside the front of the salon. It was only 4:oo p.m., but the sky was already darkening. The salon was the only bright spot on the
gray street, with its bright pink and yellow awning. Every other store front around it looked dull in comparison.
Every time the door opened, he tightened his hand into a fist and wait. For the first few seconds before the person exited, he would anticipate seeing her. He got disappointed three times before he told himself he was going to stop being an idiot. All he had to do was get out of his car and walk across the street and go inside the salon. He didn't know what he would say to her or what he would do, but he was tempted. He just wanted her to know. What exactly he wanted her to know, he wasn't sure. The only thing he knew for sure was that he hated how she'd left him that morning.
When the tall black guy in a brown delivery uniform walked out of the salon door, Tate barely noticed him. It wasn't until he was followed out by a pretty girl with purple hair and tight blue jeans that Tate's heart spiked in his chest. She folded her arms across her chest as she stared up at the delivery guy with a smile on her lips. His eyes drifted from her red high-tops to her heart-shaped face. She looked damn good, he couldn't help but notice, even as she flirted with some other motherfucker right in front of him. She was barefaced and looked her young age for once, but he couldn't help but notice she also looked a little tired. He knew for a fact she'd barely gotten any sleep the night before. That was the only thing that kept his pride from deflating as he watched her giggle and flirt with someone other than him.
Not that she'd ever giggled and flirted with him like that.
Tate flexed his hands, trying to pretend that he wasn't getting fucking pissed that she was smiling and flicking her hair and looking at the delivery guy like he was the only man in the world. She shifted her hips and tightened her arms around her chest. She was only wearing a thin yellow sweater and no coat, Tate noticed. She was cold, but didn't seem to care. She was taking her sweet time talking to the delivery guy, 30 degree weather be damned. He shook his head and bit the inside of his cheek, the urge to punch something very hard flaring up in him. It was becoming glaringly obvious that even though she'd spent the night in his bed, she wasn't thinking about him the way he was thinking about her. She didn't seem to mind the way they'd left things. She didn't seem to care at all, in fact.
Spitfire Suckerpunch (House of Pain Book 2) Page 20
