Spitfire Suckerpunch (House of Pain Book 2)

by Lavender Parker

  He didn't know how long he watched them. Eventually the delivery guy made his way down the street, a spring in his step. He hopped in his box truck and drove away, but Shay stared down at the pavement, her smile fading a bit as she stood there alone. Then she turned and went back inside the salon, her shoulders hunched against the cold. When the door closed behind her, Tate forced himself to pull away from the curb and continue on his way downtown. It was for the best, he told himself as he turned up the radio loud and let the thumping bass push thoughts of her out of his head. Shay Spears was trouble, he reminded himself. More trouble than she was worth. But the annoying thing was that it didn't matter how many times he repeated it. Deep down, he still didn't believe it.

  ***

  “Girlie, you look terrible,” Thalia said when Shay snuck in the salon at 10:15 a.m. Gina was, luckily, nowhere to be seen, but Shay still hunched over as she quickly disposed of her coat, getting rid of the evidence of her lateness.

  “Shh,” Shay shushed her, knowing she looked rough and not caring. She'd only given herself enough time to quickly shower and throw on some clothes when she'd gotten back to Gina's that morning. Throwing her hair back in a ponytail and applying a quick coat of lipstick was the only beautification she'd been able to manage. Thalia sucked her teeth and narrowed her eyes, pretending to be offended. It didn't last long though; the girl was biologically incapable of being anything but cheerful. Her smile returned as Shay tossed her purse underneath her desk.

  “She had a dentist appointment this morning,” Thalia said, lowering her voice like she was sharing some kind of secret. “Your ass got lucky.”

  “Did I?” Shay murmured, mostly to herself. Because, despite dodging her aunt's wrath, she sure as hell didn't feel lucky at that moment.

  Actually, she didn't know what she was feeling.

  So, in typical Spears fashion, instead of facing the mess of feelings she had after her night with Tate, she did everything she could to try to avoid them. She tried to keep busy at the salon, running out to get coffee for Gina and the stylists and cleaning the mirrors and front window and tidying her desk. She even stooped so low as to run an errand to the post office, which she usually avoided like the plague.

  Unfortunately, nothing seemed to work. If she let her mind drift, even for a second, he would seep under her skin and invade her thoughts once more. She kept replaying their night together over and over, reliving every moment again and again. She sprayed cleaner on the window and wiped the same spot a million times as she stared off into the distance, thinking about how he kissed her and how he looked at her and how his body felt on top of hers and how his mouth felt on her. The memories were an unending assault on her senses.

  She knew what she should do. She should lose his number and forget where he lived and never see him again. That would be the smart thing. But when had she ever done the smart thing? She'd always don the impetuous thing, the stupid thing, the dangerous thing. She was the one that had pursued him and provoked him and pushed and pulled him until neither of them was in control of what happened next. Even when she tried to live a boring life on the straight and narrow, she could never stick to it. Especially not when it came to Tate.

  “And where were you last night?” Gina's said the instant she strolled in the door, her cranky demeanor telling Shay immediately that the dentist appointment hadn't gone well.

  “At a friend's house,” Shay said, purposely being as obtuse as possible. She didn't even know if she would classify Tate as a friend, but it was the only thing she could think to say. “We fell asleep on the couch watching a movie.”

  “What kind of lame-ass grade-school lie is that?” Gina said, side-eying her hard.

  “I never lie, auntie,” Shay said as innocently as she could muster. “How did your appointment go?”

  “I don't want to talk about it,” Gina huffed, then walked back into the office. Thalia shrugged then giggled and followed after Gina. If anyone could make her aunt feel better, Thalia was the one. Besides, Shay couldn't deal with Gina's bad mood at the moment. She was already in too much of one of herself.

  The salon was quiet that day, as Gina pouted in her office and the other stylists walked on eggshells to not upset her. Shay stayed out of her aunt's way, wrapped up in her own little drama. To text or not to text, that was her dilemma. She rolled her phone around in her hands as she sat at her desk, debating what she would say if she did decide to text him. The way they'd left things that morning had been so awkward, she wasn't sure if he even wanted to hear from her at all. He seemed like he wanted her to stay with him, but maybe she was reading him wrong. Maybe he'd actually been relieved that his brother had shown up because then he could get rid of her. But even as she thought it, she knew that it wasn't the case.

  He'd wanted her to stay.

  And she'd wanted to say too, even though she'd talked herself out of it.

  “You look like you thinking some deep thoughts, girl,” a deep voice said, jarring her out of her thoughts. She glanced up and found Andre's handsome dark face staring down at her. He was leaning on her desk, casually, like it was second nature for him to lean against things. Her things, more specifically.

  “Hey, Andre,” she said, setting her phone face down on her desk.

  “Don't sound so happy to see me,” he said, flashing her a beautiful bright smile. Not able to resist, she smiled back, her mood lightening almost instantaneously.

  “What did you bring me?” she asked, leaning forward on to look at the stack of boxes he had on his dolly.

  “Good stuff,” he said, holding out the electronic pad for her to sign. “Lots of good stuff.”

  “I bet you did,” she said, standing and taking the pad from him. She scribbled her name quickly and then handed it back.

  “You still got that chicken scratch signature,” he said with a laugh.

  “Can't you see I'm not in the mood to be messed with today?” she asked, taking a closer look at the boxes that were being delivered. It was mostly hair and hair dye, which Gina had been waiting on.

  “I just always thought pretty girls were supposed to have pretty handwriting, but yours ain't pretty at all,” he replied, ignoring her light warning.

  “I guess I didn't get the memo,” she said, plopping her hands on her hips and narrowing her eyes at him. He laughed off her annoyance and stared down at her. He had really nice eyes, Shay noticed. They were kind and full of sly flirtation. He liked her, that much was obvious. At the very least, he liked flirting with her. He talked a lot and had a breezy air about him. He probably made friends easily and had a new date every night of the week. Andre was extremely easy to talk to – he wasn't awkward or too quiet or too intense. He didn't take himself too seriously. He didn't look like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. He didn't have dark green eyes and sandy blond hair and a strangely worldly look about him. Basically, Andre everything Tate wasn't.

  Not that Tate had anything to do with it.

  “I just wanted to let you know,” Andre said, licking his lips nonchalantly. “I'm trying to help you out, girl.”

  “Uh huh,” she said, cocking her head and giving him another examining look. She wondered if he wanted to ask her out. She wondered if she wanted him to ask her out. Then she wondered what she would say if he actually did ask her out. She wondered what they would do—something normal like drinks and dinner? Would they go to the movies like two teenagers? The thought of going out on something as innocuous as a date after so many years was so bizarre.

  “Don't be so suspicious,” Andre continued, his eyes locking with hers. “I have good intentions.”

  “I bet you do,” Shay said under her breath. He chuckled to himself and then unloaded the dolly, stacking the boxes beside her desk. He threw her quick little glances as he did, whistling a little tune that Shay couldn't place. “Alright,” he said, brushing off his hands when he was done. “Good talking to you, Miss Shay.”

  “I always enjoy our conversations,�
�� Shay said, smiling again. He shot her a wink, dipped his head, and then turned his dolly around and wheeled it toward the door. In a split-second, Shay made a quick decision. She pulled the sleeves of her sweater down over her hands and followed Andre out into the cold afternoon. “Hey!” she called after him. He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and she met him there, wrapping her arms around herself as the chilly air cut through the loose weave of her sweater. “Where are you from, Andre?” she asked, saying the first thing that came to her mind. He looked a bit surprised but then he smiled again, his face seeming even more attractive, if that was possible.

  “North Carolina,” he said, leaning against his dolly.

  “You like it here?”

  “Yeah, I do,” he replied with a sincere nod. “I like the hustle. I like the bright lights.” His eyes found hers again. “And I like the people, even if they are a little rude sometimes.” Shay felt her cheeks get a little hot, knowing his words were aimed at her.

  “I've never lived anywhere but New York,” Shay admitted. “In my whole life, I've never even been anywhere else.”

  “Well, if you have to be stuck in one place your whole life, New York City is a pretty good place to be stuck,” he said. “All things considering.”

  “I guess you're right,” she said, flicking her hair over her shoulder absent-mindedly. “But Manhattan feels a lot bigger than it is sometimes.”

  “There's four other boroughs, you know. You should branch out. Travel a bit.”

  “Other boroughs?” she scoffed, a laugh bursting out.

  “Yeah, like Brooklyn, maybe.”

  “Brooklyn? Is that where you live?”

  “I do,” he said with a nod. “You should come visit some time. We have good restaurants, I hear.”

  “Really?” she laughed, shaking her head. “Maybe I'll think about it.”

  “I hope you do,” he said, his eyes shining as he said it. For a minute, she wondered if he was going to ask her, but then the moment passed and he glanced down the street to where his truck was double-parked. “I'll see you tomorrow, then,” he said, almost regretfully.

  “You know I'll be here,” she said, running her teeth across her bottom lip as she thought about the promise in his words. He nodded then turned and headed off toward his truck, whistling the nameless tune again like he didn't have a care in the world. She dropped her eyes to the sidewalk, smiling a bit as she thought about sitting in a small, cozy candlelit restaurant at a table with a white tablecloth. Unfortunately, when she thought about who was sitting across from her at that intimate table, it wasn't Andre that she envisioned.

  A frigid breeze hit her and a shiver wracked her body, pulling her out of her fantasy. Pushing the thoughts out of her mind, she hurried back inside the salon, wondering what the hell was the matter with her. Tate was wrong for her in every way. Maybe Andre was wrong too, but at least he was fun. He reminded her of the dudes she'd always been attracted to growing up. Talking to him didn't seem like a battle. Laughing and flirting with him made her feel young again, like she was back in school and chatting up her crush by her locker. It wasn't like it was with Tate. With Tate, every moment felt like she was going to explode. Being near him set her entire body on edge. She didn't know how long she was going to be able to take how volatile she felt.

  And it was all her own fault.

  Settling back at her desk, she checked her phone again. She still didn't have any texts. Grumbling to herself for caring, she rubbed her arms, trying to get rid of her goosebumps. In the few minutes she'd been outside, the cold had seeped under her skin and muscles and into her bones.

  It took her over an hour to get warm again, even though she turned on her portable heater. In that time, she checked her phone another million times and came to the conclusion that Tate was most definitely not going to text. As the sky darkened outside and the salon emptied out, her body was getting antsy. It was his day off and she wondered where he was and what he was doing. The more she thought about it, the more she had a good feeling where he was. She leaned forward on her desk, thinking of him in a sweaty, sleeveless T-shirt, his pants riding low on his hips as he pummeled a punching bag. She smiled and waved goodbye as the last of the stylists left. The salon was finally empty and Shay couldn't wait anymore.

  “Hey Gina?” she called out, knowing her aunt was in the back office doing paperwork.

  “What?” Gina screamed back.

  “I'm going to head out,” Shay replied.

  “What?!”

  “I'm leaving!” Shay screamed as she grabbed her coat from the coat rack beside the door.

  “You going to be home tonight?” Gina asked, startling Shay with her sudden appearance at the door of her office, her lime-green reading glasses perched on her nose.

  “Yeah,” Shay said, feigning nonchalance.

  “You sure about that?” Gina said, looking thoroughly unconvinced. Ignoring her aunt, she grabbed her purse and her phone and headed for the door. She knew the only way Tate Grayson was going to stop haunting her is if she got an answer. She wasn't quite sure yet what the question was, but that didn't seem to matter.

  “I'll text you,” she said as she reached the door.

  “Is it Andre?” Gina asked and Shay shot her a sharp look.

  “What? No!”

  “You can keep playing dumb, Sugar. I know the truth,” Gina said, then turned and went back into her office. Shay stuck out her tongue at her aunt's retreating form and then made her getaway. She was impatient, she realized, as she pulled on her gloves and hurried to the train. She was practically running to see him. But she didn't care. Where Tate Grayson was concerned, she was beginning to realize that trying to avoid him wasn't an option. She needed to see him, to face him head on. Otherwise she was never going to be able to get on with her life. She needed an answer, but she wouldn't know what it was until she got it. As she stood on the platform waiting for the express train at 125th st, all she knew was that she was tired of waiting. Tired of waiting for her life to start, tired of waiting for her future to reveal itself, tired of waiting to be free. She just wanted a damn answer. And she was going to get it that night.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Tate dodged the boxing glove that was flying towards his face and hopped back, giving himself a little more room. It was his first time sparring in over two weeks and he already felt a little rusty. Austin was going to take full advantage, he could tell. Sure enough, his friend was smiling around his mouthguard. Shaking his head, he darted in and jabbed at Austin's midsection. His glove connected to Austin's ribs and the smile was wiped off of his face instantaneously. A rush of adrenaline shot through him at the successful shot, and for a second, just a second, he forgot about his troubles. Forcing himself to refocus, he swung again, this time catching Austin on his chin. Austin reeled back, shaking off the hits.

  “You gotta move your feet, rich boy!” Hector called out from the corner of the ring, his voice almost gleeful. Hector had never been a huge fan of Austin and Tate could understand why. When Austin had shown up at House of Pain three years before in a three piece Italian suit with a rolex and a leather briefcase, he hadn't exactly endeared himself to the blue-collar regulars and lifers that populated the dingy gym. He was blond and blue-eyed and from Boston and he made more money in a year than Big Jimmy had probably made his whole life. He was deemed the enemy as soon as he walked in the door. But the second the white boy stepped in the ring and showed his skills, he silenced all those that didn't like him. Well, they still didn't like him, but at least they begrudgingly respected him.

  Tate hadn't cared one way or the other at first, but slowly the guy had wormed his way into Tate's good graces. He couldn't really explain how Austin had somehow become his closest friend outside of his family. It started with sparring on Tuesdays and Wednesdays and evolved into happy hour beers on Fridays and football in the park on Sundays. And now Austin was trying to help him with his love life, which was awkward as hell. Especially since Shay'd
made sure to sabotage Austin's attempts to help.

  Shay, of course, was a completely different issue altogether.

  Tate followed Austin around the ring, getting out as much aggression as he could. It felt good every time one of his punches hit their mark. It felt like a bit of his anger was chipped off with every blow. Adrenaline shot through him, and even though he was covered in sweat and winded, he felt alive. In the ring, he felt like nothing could phase him. No bad feelings or insecurities. In the ring, all he had was himself and he'd learned long ago to trust in that.

  It didn't hurt that Austin seemed to be off his game that night. Austin was taking more hits than he was landing and it just fueled Tate's fire even more. Everything had gone to hell in his personal life, but at least he still had his training and he still had his skill. He'd started boxing at the age of fifteen, when he was a social outcast and a generally shitty kid who spent his day sulking around and pissing off anyone he could. It took him years to finally trust that Big J and Maria weren't going to give up on him and send him away. Boxing was a big part of that, along with the support of Big J and Hector and Gennifer and the other kids. He'd turned himself around and made something out of himself.

  Tate was feeling himself pretty well when Austin finally got a lucky break. Tate threw a straight right and Austin ducked out of the way and countered with two quick jabs in succession. Tate, unable to block the blows quickly enough, took one to the nose and one to the gut. Reeling back, he rolled his shoulders and quickly shook off the throbbing pain, but he couldn't ignore the warm wetness oozing down his upper lip. He grabbed the hem of his T-shirt with his gloves and pulled it up to catch the blood dripping from his nose. A bloody nose was nothing new; he just hoped it wasn't broken. He scrunched up his nose, waiting for the piercing pain that would signal it was busted. Luckily, the pain was nothing more than a dull throbbing.