by Maren Lee
Jesus. Jake thought the Jersey Shore references were old two years ago. “Rook must be watching some old episodes on the DVR again.”
“He’s like a toddler. He has to repeat everything,” Smitty smirked.
“Well, I am going to take money from that toddler this weekend. That fucker won last month in a lucky hand and I want my money back!” Wesson shouted.
“Did you guys get ahold of Justin and Brenden to see if they were in for this weekend?” Jake looked to both of them for an answer. Blank looks were on both of their faces.
Smitty put his hands up, “We thought you did?”
“Sorry, bro,” Wesson apologized.
“I didn’t, but I will.” Jake took a pull from his beer.
Wesson tipped his bottle, “So…” he paused for dramatic effect. “Where were you last night?” He faked the look of a disappointed parent on his face just to be an asshole.
“I was just hanging out. Lost track of time and fell asleep.” Not entirely a lie. That should suffice for an answer.
“Didn’t answer the question, Jakey.” Wesson swigged his beer and Smitty leaned against the counter.
“He didn’t answer it, did he? Oooh, this is gonna be good,” Smitty chimed in.
“Maybe I don’t understand the question, Wessy.”
“Maybe you’re avoiding answering because you’re being a sneaky fucker. Word’s spreading at the station about you and the firecrotch. Heard you got into a shouting match outside of the courtroom with her boyfriend. ”
Jake snapped. “He is not her boyfriend. And that will be the last time anyone in this house calls her firecrotch. I’m not trying to hide anything. Lane and I are just friends.” Fuck this conversation.
“Just friends,” Wesson scoffed. “Bullshit. Everyone saw you running out into the parking lot after her like Prince Charmy!”
Jake laughed. Wesson wasn’t trying to be funny. He just always fucked up common sayings.
“I think you mean Prince Charming, dumbass” Jake derided him.
“Fuck. Whatever. You know what I meant.” Wesson snapped. He chugged the rest of his beer and opened another.
“Listen. Guys-” Jake said.
“What’s all the yelling about?” Rook walked in.
“Good question, Rook. Jake would you like to continue explaining? Wesson, take it down a notch. Cooler heads prevail, buddy.” Smitty nodded at both of them.
“As I was about to say before I was interrupted,” Jake glared at Rook, “Yeah, I was with Lane. We hooked up the night of Hunt’s wedding. But we’re just friends right now. Last night we hung out and watched Netflix. We fell asleep. Do I wish we’d done more? Hell yeah. But she’s not into me like that. That’s it. All right?” He looked at his roommates.
Wesson shook his head, “Whatever man, it’s your life. If you want to sink your career that’s on you.”
“Woah, woah. Too far bro.” Smitty interjected. “There’s nothing wrong with Jake being friends, or fuck buddies, or whatever with Lane. Don’t be an ass and say shit like that.”
“How can I not?! He’s like sleeping with the ally!” Wesson shouted.
Ally? Wesson wasn’t an idiot, but in heated moments, he sure said really idiotic things. “I’m not sleeping with her. We are just friends. That’s it.” Jake was starting to get pissed at having to repeat himself.
“Fine! Do what you want. Don’t bring her around here though.” Wesson pulled at his beer again.
“That’s not up to you, Wess. This is my fucking house as much as it is yours. If I want her here, she’ll be here!” Jake slammed his beer on the counter and it began to foam up and over the rim.
“Dammit! Now look what you did?” Smitty gestured to the beer and pointed at Wesson and Jake. “Both of you shut your mouths now. You’re ruining dinner!”
“Fine!” they both shouted.
Rook sat still for a minute and then piped up, “I’m confused. Who’s Lane?”
A collective groan sounded in the kitchen.
“Fuck this. I’m not going over it again.” Jake shook his head.
“I’m not hungry.” Wesson grabbed his beer and headed to his room.
“Me either,” said Jake.
“Dammit, Rook! You just couldn’t keep your mouth shut could you?” Smitty glared at him.
Well. That conversation hadn’t gone as well as Jake had hoped.
He was fighting with his roommate, Lane wouldn’t make time for him, and he was on day shift. Mother. Fucker. It was going to be a long week.
Chapter 7
Lane looked at the clock. It was later than she realized. What a week. She gathered her files, shoving them into her luggage sized purse, slipped on her jacket, and headed out the door.
The past week had been a mentally exhausting cluster fuck of gathering evidence and taking statements. Lane’s earlier run in with the Mayor had left her more motivated than ever to prove Tom’s innocence.
Lane attempted to go to the City to obtain statements from the city officers who had arrested her client on previous occasions to at least get confirmation that her client was not a violent man, but upon her arrival at City Hall she was promptly escorted off the premises. The Imminence City Police Chief had been given a direct order to keep any County personnel out of the city offices unless they possessed a subpoena or a warrant.
The fuck?
When Lane informed Judge Corcoran of her predicament, he shut down all of her requests for depositions. His grounds? Not relevant. Apparently the Mayor had called and had a detailed conversation with Judge Corcoran about Lane’s “attitude and disrespect.” He’d also claimed that Lane had been harassing him and the City officers.
Lane lost it. If that wasn’t an ex parte communication with the court - a straight up ethical violation - she didn’t know what was. Then the judge threatened to hold her in contempt of court.
The whole situation was fucked.
Besides a few character witnesses from the halfway house Tom lived in and a statement from the clerk at the liquor store, Lane had made very little progress. Not that helpful. Without being able to talk to any of the city officers, she was left with nothing but Tom’s word versus the investigating officer.
Lane was banging her head against the wall trying to come up with something - anything - to help the case. Work fucking sucked right now.
She needed the Sheriff’s deputies. Good luck with that, Lane. They fucking hate you. Well, all but one. Hope bloomed in her chest. Maybe Jake could help her? She knew it was a long shot. Jake didn’t want her to take this case to begin with. She sighed.
As she made the short drive home, Lil’ Wayne soothed her soul. Don't judge, me. Lane rapped along to the gangsta’ poetry of 6 foot 7 foot (she may be a white girl, but she was from Chicago - she could flow). She was interrupted by her phone ringing on her hands free system. Jake.
Lane hesitated to answer, because she wanted to go home and drown her sorrows with a bottle - or two - of wine, but the butterflies in her stomach (not to mention the fact that he might be able to help her case) won the battle. So she answered.
“Hello, Sergeant Hamilton.” Lane was smirking.
“Hello, Ms. Bennett.” Jake cleared his throat. “Shit, sorry. It just came out. I meant hello, Red.”
“Thank, God you corrected yourself. If one more person calls me Ms. Bennett this week, I’m going to throat punch them.”
“Damn. That bad, huh?” Jake asked her.
“That. Bad. But good news, I’ve converted Anne over to the dark side. She’s been calling me Lane all week!”
There was a smile in her voice. Hearing it made Jake happy. And she was sharing her day with him. Maybe this was going to be easier than he thought.
“Nice work, counselor. Maybe you do belong in Imminence after all.”
“So I know you didn’t call for that update. What’s up, Jake?”
“I was just calling to see what you were up to tonight? It’s been too long since I made you breakfas
t. But I gave you the time you asked for. Just hoping you had some time set aside to hang out with your good friend, Jake?” Jesus. He sounded like a kid asking his parents for the car keys on a Friday night.
Lane didn’t want to do anything, but she found herself wanting to just sit and do nothing with Jake.
“I have zero energy to go anywhere or do anything. Would you be opposed to a night of college football and pizza? And wine? Lots and lots of wine?” Lane begged, practically drooling. She swore she heard Jake whisper “yesssss” in the background.
“Fuck yeah. That sounds great. Minus the wine. I’m a beer guy. What kind of pizza do you want, babe? Sorry. Lane?”
Lane could tell he wasn’t actually sorry about that.
“Chicago-style deep dish. Combination, please. Oh! And a thin crust margherita one… And breadsticks. And dipping sauces. Marinara and ranch.”
Jake started to laugh. She loved his deep timbre. “My god, woman. Anything else?”
“What? I didn’t eat lunch. I’m starving!”
“Good lord. Okay, okay. I can do that. Lorenzo’s good for you?”
“Yes! God, yes!” She was practically having a food orgasm on the phone with him. Breathless. Hot. Control yourself, Lane! She heard Jake groan on the other end of the line.
“Lane, honey, you can’t say shit like that,” he warned.
“Shit like what?” she was literally clueless.
Jake lowered his voice. “Shit like what you shouted out that night while while I was making love to you.” Lane gasped. “Can't forget any of it. Christ, I’m standing here in my kitchen half hard with the guys twenty feet away, honey. All I’m thinking about right now is how I’d love to bend you over my counter and fuck you into next week.”
The thought of Jake bending her over sent tingles throughout Lane’s body.
“Jake!” she admonished. She sucked in a deep breath as quietly as she could. Her damn body responded to him in ways she couldn’t explain. Every part of her wanted to tell him to do it. No, Lane! “We’re friends and friends only,” she realized immediately that she sounded like she was trying to convince herself more than she was trying to convince Jake. Good try, Lane.
“Friends can eat pizza together, Lane.” True.
“Ok, so when are you coming... over?” God, that sounded dirty. Way to go, Lane.
“Right fucking now if you don’t stop sounding like that, Red.” Jake’s tone was slightly pained. As much as she secretly wanted that, she really wanted pizza. Don’t forget the wine!
“No, Jake. Friends.” For now. “Will you pretty please stop and grab a bottle of pinot grigio for me, too? I need to get home and get this day showered off of me. That would help me save some time. I'll pay you back!”
Jake growled in the phone. Lane, you just can’t give this guy a break, can you?
“I can afford a bottle of wine, Red. I got it. $6 screw top, right?” he teased.
Lane laughed. “They’ve made some advances in non-corked wine lately, so screw top is fine. I’m not a wine snob, Jake. I’ll even take a box. I’m classy like that.” Lane knew she looked high maintenance, but she wasn’t really in real life. At least, she didn’t think she was.
“Good to know, beautiful. See you in thirty.” He hung up before she could yell at him for calling her beautiful. She wasn’t sure she’d yell at him for that anyway.
Lane pulled into her garage and ran into the house. Thirty minutes would be just the right amount of time. Thank goodness for waterproof vibrators.
The shower felt amazing. She’d been stressed and completely exhausted. This was the first chance she had to relax all week long.
She imagined a shirtless Jake carrying a pizza box in one hand, a bottle of wine in the other. Muscles flexing as he walked toward her. I am seriously hungry if “Pizza Delivery Jake” is my fantasy.
Lane laughed at herself. And then her memory flashed to Jake’s characterization of “that night” and she became weak in the knees. “Shit like what you shouted out that night while while I was making love to you.”
Oh man.
Making love.
Is that what he thought that night was about? Lane recalled the deep V that separated his hips from his rock hard abs and had even more thoughts. Where do those muscles even come from? Does he work out all the time?
Lane’s fingers (and vibrator) started to travel down her torso and toward the apex of her thighs. The image of Jake that night between her legs, kissing her thighs, slipping his tongue between her folds, lapping up the wetness dripping from her pussy...it was too much. Lane pushed B.O.B. harder against her clitoris. She could feel the build up.
The memory of what he felt like when he first opened her up with his tongue gave her the push she needed to come. It was a memory she would hold in her bank forever. She could feel the contractions releasing deep inside of her and the tingling sensation moved from her core to the tips of her fingers and toes.
She leaned against the side of the shower wall and turned her vibrator off, feeling boneless. Lane gathered up enough energy to wash and condition her hair and shut the faucet off. She dried herself and then walked back into her bedroom in a post orgasmic state.
Jake was coming over, so she should probably look cute or at least like a human person and wear actual clothes. But she also didn’t want to look like she was trying too hard and give him the wrong idea. She settled on not trying very hard at all. A pair of gray yoga pants (no panties) and a deep green v-neck t-shirt (no bra).
Lane pulled her hair up into a wet messy bun and then rubbed lotion all over her face. She looked in the mirror on her dresser and smoothed her shirt. The fabric was, perhaps, a bit too thin for no bra. Her nipples were on full display, but she wasn’t about to put a bra back on after the week she’d just had. Jake could stare all he wanted. She'd gotten hers in the shower. She'd have no problem resisting his sexiness now. Friends. We’re just friends.
Lane put on chapstick, gave herself one last once over, and headed to the kitchen. Wine and pizza was on its way. Lane couldn’t wait. She was starving.
➰
Jake practically threw the money at the cashier at Lorenzo’s and ran out of the restaurant with the pizza. He did the same thing to the clerk at the grocery store, too. He couldn't decide what wine Lane would want so he grabbed four different bottles - two with corks, two with screw tops. Something’s gotta work. He grabbed a six-pack of Sockeye for himself.
It was a new feeling for him, but God, he’d missed her. He’d sent her a text here and there, but her distracted one word replies, and the fact that he’d also been insanely busy this past week, kept him from pushing the issue. As much fun as it was giving Lane hell, his feisty redhead was skittish. He didn’t want to fuck this up. But he also didn’t want to give her any more time. He was done waiting.
As soon as five o'clock hit, he’d decided to call rather than text. He was happy as hell he did. Oddly, she sounded turned on by the fact that he was coming over and bringing pizza. What woman doesn’t love a man who offers to bring her pizza? And what man doesn't love a woman who loves pizza?
The last three minutes it took to get to Lane’s place felt like an eternity. He grabbed his jacket and wallet, scooped up the pizza, grabbed the bag of wine in his right hand, kicked his truck door shut with his heel, and headed to the door. His arms were completely full, so he used the tip of his boot to knock on the door three times. After about thirty seconds of waiting he rang the doorbell with his elbow over and over until Lane swung the door open.
“Jesus. What the fuck is your problem?” Lane laughed.
“My arms were full. I knocked but you didn’t answer,” Jake stated in a matter-of-fact manner that in no way showed that he realized ringing the doorbell 40 times in 15 seconds was outside societal norms. He pushed through the doorway past her.
“Still no reason to act like a psychopath with the doorbell,” she shook her head and closed the door, following him to the kitchen.
“What took you so damn long anyway?” He set the food down and turned around to face her.
Busted. Lane was staring about three feet south of the back of his head.
“Hey, friend. My eyes are up here.” Jake pointed to his face and then behind to his butt, “Not back here.”
Lane’s face went three shades of pink. She smiled at him and rolled her eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself, Romeo. Did you bring me my fix?” She wiggled her eyebrows at him.
Damn she was cute. Enough of that. Time for “Operation: Fuck with Lane” to commence.
