In a daze, I shook my head and stood, then walked back to my office. In the dark comfort of my tiny workspace, I messaged the unidentified caller back, hoping it was Cameron, and then left for police headquarters to file a report.
My phone buzzed almost right away, and a shiver ran down my spine. Was it him? I realized I wasn’t thinking of Cameron, and an even colder shudder rocked through me as I pulled out my phone.
How could I get so man-crazy when my career was in shambles and my life was threatened? Was I nuts?
JAKE: Did you make it to work okay? Is it okay for Mav and I to pick you up in town?
I didn’t answer, just shoved my phone back in my bag and went about my business.
Jake
Aly didn’t respond to my text. Was she mad at me? Maybe I shouldn’t have left this morning before she woke up, but I needed to work out. It was part of my survival routine. Without it, I felt too exposed and raw; I was a ticking time bomb without the release.
Fuck! I slammed my hand into my desk. I’d never done this relationship thing before, and now I knew why. Because it sucked. Sucked big hairy balls.
My phone rang and I snatched it off the desk, hoping it was Aly. No such luck.
“Hey,” I said after swiping my finger over the screen.
“What’s happening in the North Hills?” Lane asked.
“All good. On track now and set to open in the fall. I’m looking at an October grand opening.”
“Good. Glad Jax is working out. What’s new with you?”
“The big dogs from the baseball team are working out at my place. After two sessions, they love it. Want to put in some of my equipment recs in the stadium and find them some shit to travel with.”
“Good, that’s all good. And the girl?”
I sighed. “I’m pretty sure I messed it up. How ’bout Bess? By the way, why the fuck do you keep fading in and out?” I stood and paced, kicking at the foot of my desk in frustration.
“I’m in France with shit service. Bess is good; she stayed back home. May from the hotel is helping her with Maddy. James went back to Florida for a few weeks, thank fuck. God, I love the little gay Napoleon, but he needs to know he doesn’t run my house.”
“He does, Lane. Bess lives and breathes for him.”
“Yeah, I fucking know. I got all these frou-frou decorations everywhere. Now, how the hell did you screw up with this girl?”
I sat back down and propped my feet up on my desk, holding the phone between my neck and ear. I’d just started to tell him what happened when a very unwelcome visitor burst into my office.
“You know what, Lane? I gotta go. I’ll talk to you later.” Not waiting for a response, I slammed my phone facedown on the desk and stood, thoroughly pissed off. “Camper? What the hell do you want?”
“Jake.” She doubled over in front of my desk, red-faced and gasping as tears slid down her cheeks.
“What’s wrong?” This was totally unlike her. Camper might be a lot of things, but she wasn’t a crier. I came around the desk and ran my hand down her back in smooth strokes. “Camper, why the hell are you crying?”
I gathered her in my arms, hoping like hell this wasn’t a ploy to get me back in bed. More drama from her was the last thing I needed.
Camper clung to me, her cries coming out in raspy gasps, but she didn’t respond.
“Camper?” I shook her. “Snap out of it. Talk to me!”
Finally she looked up at me, hiccupping her words through her tears. “I came out of my apartment this morning and there was this chick waiting by my car. Tall, skinny, blond, and blue-eyed with some weird accent. She kept muttering something about how I slept with her man.”
“Did you call the police?”
She shook her head. “No, she had this huge knife and was waving it all over the place. She kept saying in broken English, ‘You tainted him, diseased him.’ I don’t even know what she was talking about. Then she took the knife and stabbed all my tires and used it to scratch all over my car door. I couldn’t run or do anything because she had this young guy, maybe only eighteen, holding me back.”
“What the hell? Who’ve you got yourself mixed up with, Camp?”
She collapsed in my arms, and I leaned on the desk to brace the both of us. “No one. I’ve been sitting at home, upset about losing you.”
I rolled my eyes while I automatically patted her back. Jesus Fucking Christ. Why couldn’t I just fuck complete strangers? Now I had this crybaby ex-lover/ex-employee stuck to me like goddamn glue, and my heart and head were all twisted up over Aly.
“Sit down,” I told her, leading her to a chair. “Tell me this again. What exactly happened?” The whole thing sounded so insane, I had to hear it a second time.
Camper reiterated the same story and burst into another round of tears.
Of course, my phone was buzzing every minute while I sat and consoled Camper, and there wasn’t a fucking thing I could do about it. I was probably missing Aly’s text or call, but it was clear this was serious.
Together, we called the authorities and Camper repeated her story for the third time, the stupid suburban detective scribbling down all the details and promising to call as soon as they found anything out.
Finally, the police decided to escort Camper back to her apartment so they could have a look at the crime scene, and I was free to check my phone.
I had one text from her. One stupid text.
ALY: Something came up today at work and it’s going to mean an all-nighter here at the office. Can you keep Maverick until tomorrow?
Shit! She was mad!
I texted her back, scrambling for a way to fix it.
JAKE: Of course. But how about I run some dinner to you? I can bring dessert too.
It wasn’t until after I made it back to Fizzle’s city location that I heard from her again.
ALY: Thank you but not necessary. We’re going to call out for pizzas. Why don’t I cook tomorrow as a way to say thanks? You can bring Mav then. Six thirty?
Well, maybe she wasn’t as mad as I believed. I kicked the drawer to my desk closed, causing the entire piece of furniture to move, the pens and shit on top scattering everywhere.
What the hell did I know about all of this? Nothing, but I still texted back that I’d be there. Then, being the ass I truly was, I sweet-talked Chloe into watching Maverick while I did an extra-long workout.
At a quarter to seven the next night, fifteen minutes late, I threw my Hummer into PARK in front of the rental unit. The one I bought for a female do-gooder lawyer with green crystals for eyes, red hair, and legs for days. A woman who had no business being with the likes of me, yet she’d spread her legs for me, moaned my name, and came on my face.
I’m going to hell.
I stood on my—her—porch after ringing the bell, the dog jumping around my feet as I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans. I wasn’t standing there waiting for just a fuck. A woman was about to cook me dinner, after shutting me out for a day. I was nervous as hell.
Eating with Camper was easy; we worked together. What I was about to do now was completely different, no comparison at all. I’d just squeezed my eyes shut, trying to shove out any thoughts of Camper, when Aly answered the door. I definitely wasn’t going to tell her about Camper showing up at my office the day before.
“Jake? You okay?” She stood there wearing tight jeans and some loose white shirt, blouse, or whatever you call it, along with those knee-high boots that drove me wild.
I blinked. “Yeah, yeah. Fine. It’s been a long two days and you’re . . . I don’t know. Seeing you has seemed to wipe it all away,” I stammered. Scary part was, I meant it.
“Well, thanks. Come in.” She picked Maverick up and gave him ten too many kisses before setting him down.
“What about me?” I asked, kicking the door shut with my foot and turning the lock. The click separated us from the rest of the world, which was the best news I’d had in twenty-four hours.
“Saving t
he best for last,” she said in a whisper, as if she’d embarrassed herself with her forthrightness. On tiptoes, she wrapped her arm around my waist and asked, “May I?”
I didn’t answer. My mouth took hers in a hard kiss. Biting her lower lip when I was done with her, I said, “That was punishment for yesterday. Making me wait.”
I’m definitely going to hell. I shrugged off my jacket and tossed it on the banister.
“I couldn’t avoid that,” she said as she walked toward the kitchen with both Maverick and after her. “We had some stuff come up at work.”
“Oh yeah?” I raised an eyebrow. “Something with your break-in?” Unsure of where to go or what to do, I stood uncomfortably in the middle of the kitchen, itching to take Aly upstairs.
“Sort of. I really can’t say. So, can I get you a beer? Water?”
Why couldn’t she tell me? I wanted to tell her everything, explain what happened with Camper, but was unsure if it was appropriate.
“Water’s good. You having wine? I’ll open it.”
“Sure. That would be great.”
She scooted behind me, her tits brushing against my back as she made her way to the fridge. I grabbed her by the wrist and leaned her against the fridge as I kissed her. It was like muscle memory. I didn’t even realize I was doing it until I did it.
The icemaker hummed behind Aly, the vibration a steady beat in the background as my tongue assaulted her mouth. “Put your hands on my back, under my shirt,” I demanded into her mouth. “I want to feel your nails scratch me.”
She hesitated a beat before I felt the soft pads of her fingers lift my shirt and her nails scratch up toward my shoulders. My tongue dove deeper into her hot mouth. The kiss was messy, hurried, and desperate on my part. Desperate for the woman, eager for her virtue to wash over me and erase my sins—but nothing could really do that.
“Jake,” she whispered, pulling back. “Dinner’s going to burn.”
“Hmm?”
“Dinner?”
“Fuck it,” I said, sweeping her off her feet. I lifted my knee to hit the OFF button on the oven before I carried her out of the kitchen.
As soon as we hit the bedroom, I started talking, spewing my feelings and shit. “I didn’t like not seeing you yesterday. I know you were upset I wasn’t there when you woke up.” Still talking, I yanked her shirt off and grabbed a handful of her tit. “But I got to work out. It keeps me sane, and you seemed comfortable.”
I bent down and wrapped my mouth around her pretty pink nipple and sucked hard. She grabbed my hair in the back, pulling it and drawing its length through her fingers. I’d been thinking of shaving it again, until now.
“I want you to trust me, Aly-cat. I want to be tough for you, but I can’t do that if my head isn’t right. Do you get that?”
My hand worked her other tit, kneading it, flicking her tight, hard nipple as I plundered her mouth. Her creamy skin was pinking up everywhere I touched, and my cock kept getting harder.
Her lips broke from mine. “I get it, Jake. I do. I wasn’t mad.” She moved her hand out from my hair to my cheek, her soft palm grazing my stubble. “I wasn’t mad. You don’t always have to think you did something wrong. I had work stuff going on. That’s all.”
My cheek prickled under her touch and my heart tumbled with emotion. Yes, my bad-ass black heart tumbled.
Aly
Jake was a little boy stuck in a grown man’s body—except when it came to sex. When it came to feelings and emotions, he was stunted. Even though I’d felt like a jilted schoolgirl that morning when I woke up and he wasn’t there, he was obviously pained over leaving me to do something he so obviously had to do.
My shielded heart broke for the man in front of me. I’d always envisioned falling in love, but never imagined doing it with a needy bad boy. In my dreams, the man I fell for was stable, predictable, and soft. Not rough and brisk.
“You know what? Let’s go have that drink and dinner.” Jake released me, then efficiently tucked my boobs back into my bra and slipped my shirt back over my head.
“Okay,” I said hesitantly, thoroughly confused. What was happening? Hilary had texted me that morning about coming to visit, and the prospect of it was feeling more necessary. I needed advice, and not the kind I could ask about at work. The questions I had were way too personal to ask someone I worked with.
Jake gathered my hands in his and gave a light squeeze. “It’s a good thing, Al. I want you, don’t you worry, but just realized I wanted to slow shit down. I don’t want to pressure you. I want to, I don’t know . . . hear about your day. I’m going soft.” He winked and led me back downstairs, where he opened the oven and peeked in.
“Lasagna?” His eyes lit up and a huge grin transformed his face.
“You eat that?” I asked.
“Of course. Not often, but my mom used to make it. It was one of the things my grandma would cook when I’d be sad . . . after they died.”
Reaching past him, I set the oven back to 350 and wrapped my arms around Jake’s waist. He’s lost so much, I thought as I leaned my cheek against his chest.
He kissed the top of my head, his lips lingering and tickling my hair. “I tried not to be sad, really hard. Mostly, I didn’t show my feelings. If I was having a shitty day, I’d either beat the crap out of Lane or one of my buddies, but every so often, shit would rain down on me. I’d get so overwhelmed or sad, and my grandma would make lasagna. It always helped.”
“This is my mom’s recipe,” I murmured against his chest. “I hope you like it. Before she lost her memory, she’d always show me how to make something new on Sunday. Even when I was little, we’d cook on Sunday for the week, and she’d let me do little things to help. It was just her and me against the world, and letting others in was hard. No one really got it other than my college roommate, Hilary.”
He squeezed me tighter to him, his heart beating like a wild drum inside his chest, mine playing in rhythm with his. Even our breathing was in sync. It had only been a few weeks, months if you went all the way back to Christmas Eve, but it felt so right.
“How about that wine?” he asked.
I’d gone to the grocery store and liquor store on Monday, and I had to admit it was much easier taking the bus from Highland Park there than from Oakland. I also felt like an adult and not a student when I went. Thanks to Jake.
“Sounds good.” When I placed a small kiss over his heart, he tipped my head, touching our foreheads.
“Good,” he whispered. Releasing me, Jake looked through the cabinets until he found the glasses we’d used the other night. I’d put them in the cabinet next to the plates he’d brought and bowls I’d discovered. When I raised an eyebrow, he said, “What?”
“Tell me the truth. Did you do all this for me?” After handing him a bottle of wine, I gestured around me at all the furnishings. When he didn’t respond, I asked, “Well?”
I wasn’t going to let it go, even though he was acting like opening up the bottle of wine was the hardest thing he’d ever done. “Jake?”
“Yeah, I did,” he said in a low voice, avoiding my eyes as he pulled the cork from the bottle.
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I just felt I had to. Let it go, Legs.” He brought me a glass filled with dark red cabernet and held it to my lips, tipping it so some of the liquid slid down my throat.
“Mmm.”
“More?” he asked.
I nodded, but took the stem of the glass from his hand. “I’m a big girl. I can drink all on my own.”
He tickled my rib cage. “Oh yeah?”
Laughter came spilling from me, and Jake chuckled along. Maverick started yipping at our feet, so Jake tossed him up in his arms, and that was how we spent our time until the lasagna was ready. Wine in hand, tickling each other, and laughing at the puppy’s antics.
Over dinner, he gave me a pointed look. “Bowling tomorrow, you know.”
“Oh no! Not again?” I said, feigning shock. We were sittin
g side by side at the buffet, and he had turned to face me, drawing my legs between his.
“Again.” He reached over and took my hand, turning it over in his before he leaned closer, as if he were going to share a secret. “I’m going to help you so we don’t lose,” he whispered against my hair.
“Oh yeah?” I flipped my hand in his and ran my finger over his palm.
“Yep. When it’s your turn, I’m going to come up behind you and position you just right, then help you swing your ball exactly how you need to. You’re going to have to be still, though, because if you shake your ass too much, my cock is going to get hard.”
“Jake.” I smacked playfully at his arm as heat crawled up my neck to my cheeks.
“Oh, I’ll definitely have a chubby to begin with, but if you move that tight ass just an inch, my big guy will be ready to play.”
“I’ll be sure to remember that,” I said seriously with my face on fire. “Maybe I’ll wear baggy bell-bottoms to go with the seventies theme? This way my butt and legs are adequately covered.”
He shook his head and ran his free fingers down my boots, which I just realized I still had on. “No, I like your sexy lawyer look very much.”
Tilting my head, I let my hair cover my growing embarrassment. “It’s called chic on a budget.”
“I don’t give a crap what it’s called. I like it.”
His hand wound under my hair, gathering me close, and he kissed me. We sat like that for a while, his hand massaging the back of my neck, his lips touching mine, saying without words what we didn’t voice out loud.
This wasn’t casual; it was something more, something unexpected but real. I wasn’t sure if it was lasting, but it felt right. And almost too good to be true.
The Crossroads Duet Page 42
