“Well, after I saw them not react to your test, I wanted to make sure it wasn’t a flub, so I started my own test. When they got me outside, they tazed me, and when I went down, then they went to town,” he says calmly.
“Holy Hell, Paul! I say a little quieter than before, holding a bag of ice to his ribs. I grab his phone, scroll through until I see McCall’s cell number and press send.
“Ramsey, it’s May Young, Paul’s partner. You are closing at 1:30 a.m., and there will be an all-employee meeting at 2 a.m. Are we clear?” I spit out into the phone. Two weeks, my ass!
“Yes ma’am,” is what I hear before I stab the end button with my thumb.
Throwing his phone on the bed, I move closer to stand in between Paul’s legs. Placing both my hands on either side of his head, I tilt it upward to see from where the blood is coming. It looks like it’s just a small cut on his gum. Closing his mouth, he puts the bag of ice down, puts his hands on my hips, and pulls me towards him while resting his forehead on my chest.
“You know I hate that test, babe.” He sounds so exhausted.
“Well, you shouldn’t have tested them like that, Paul,” I say, feeling just as tired myself.
“No . . . not mine . . . yours,” he says into my shirt.
Ignoring him, I pull away saying, “All-employee is at 2 a.m. Take a nap. You might feel better.”
I’m stopped. He has my hand.
“May.”
“Paul, I‘ve been in worse situations, and I don‘t need you to protect me every single sec–”
“May,” he repeats softly but more firmly this time.
Pulling me back to standing directly in front of him between his legs, he places his hand on my chest, above my breasts but below my neck.
He’s serious. When he wants to convey how serious he is, that is where he goes to do it. I’m listening, but he doesn’t say anything. He just looks at me with those deep brown eyes. The look is different. There is more intensity there, and I let go of some of my tension from our conversation, no matter how brief it is or was. I will not talk first when his hand is there because he apparently has something he needs to say. But again he says nothing.
He takes his hands and, starting at my shoulders, runs them down my back. He pulls me closer and slides his hands to my face. Brushing my cheeks slowly with his thumbs, he brings my lips together with his. I sink towards him when I feel our tongues slide over one another. As I sink lower, he stands up, and with us locked together, we move towards the bed. There is no picking me up, no throwing me up against anything, no fast and hard either. This feels very different.
Still standing, he undresses me slowly, planting a kiss to my skin here and there. I stand there with my eyes closed, and I’m shaking all over. He undresses himself, and we crawl up on the bed locking our lips as if needing them to survive.
This is the way it’s supposed to be, man over woman.
He lowers his body to mine, and he’s on fire. Our breathing heavy and our hearts racing, he positions himself between my thighs. Before anything else happens, we lock eyes once again.
“I love you, May,” he gets out, searching my eyes.
“I know, Paul,” I say.
Without breaking eye contact, he sinks into me little by little. When he can’t go in any more, he stops and doesn’t move, and I know why. It feels as though it’s the first time all over again.
As we move and glide together perfectly, a burning feeling starts in my chest and spreads like wildfire. I know what this feeling is, and I am petrified.
Sensing something is wrong, Paul stops completely. “May?” he asks, panting and searching my face for an answer.
With tears sliding down my cheeks, I open my mouth, but I hesitate.
“May? Are you okay, babe?” He’s a little worried now, has withdrawn all the way out of me, and is brushing his hand across my cheek.
“I . . .”
“May, what is it, babe?” he asks again, a little more worried.
“I love you, Paul.” I say it with purpose, making sure he hears me.
He doesn’t say anything.
He doesn’t do anything.
He doesn’t move.
He breathes shallowly.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit, is all I can think.
This is fun.
God, Paul, please say something, anything. I am out here on this limb hanging by a thread. Put me out of my misery.
“May . . .” he says on an intake or air.
“Please say something else, Paul . . . I’m dying here,” I beg. Now I’m searching his face for an answer.
“I’ve never had anyone love me like that before, May,” he says completely thrown.
“What?” I ask. Now I’m worried.
“Having someone love you back like you love them . . . I’ve never had that before. Then again, I’ve never been in love before either, so this is all new to me really,” he says. His smile is back.
“I love you so much, May, and I am going to show how much right now.”
On the word “now” he sinks back into me, and it feels extremely different. This isn’t fucking or having sex, this is making love at its finest. He doesn’t stop but moves with the most precision and passionate ease, no rush, just us.
“Paul,” I whisper.
“I know, May. Will you come with me?”
“I’m so close already.”
“I am too . . . Do it for me, babe.”
I explode. So does he. Together we experience our organism that seems to wrap us up even more than we already are.
That was perfection at making love.
Then there is the lone thought: Kevin.
CHAPTER TEN
As we stand outside McCall’s waiting to go in and rip just about everyone a new one, Paul and I are arm’s length apart, and it’s killing me not to reach out and grab and kiss him. As I’m about to do just that, a question hits me, hard. Now that I’ve said that I love him too, does he regret taking our friendship down this path?
Oh, shit. Have we ruined our longest and strongest friendship?
The thought turns me ice-cold; I cross my arms across my chest. Time to protect myself and keep him away. We hear our names mentioned inside, and we get ready to go in. I don’t want to do this right now. I need a strong drink, a tall, strong drink.
“From now on, what they say goes. They are the best, and if you don’t like it, by all means, please leave because I don’t want you here,” McCall says.
Walking into the all-employee meetings are a combination of things. For Paul and me, it’s hilarious and business. For them, it’s embarrassment and fear.
We hear the usual “No way,” “Shit!” and my personal favorite, “Well there goes my job.” Standing upfront next to Paul usually gives me the strength to speak in front of a crowd, but as of right now, that strength is weak. Weak because I let my thoughts and fears make it weak.
I look at Paul, and we nod.
Clapping my hands together, I walk right over to the four guys that took out Paul. My eyes land on the creepy guy that tried to pick me up earlier. He must have had tonight off, and now here he is for the meeting. Great.
“I want the taser . . . In fact, I want all weapons on the table up front . . . NOW!” I’m not to be messed with right now, not about this.
A few people put pocket knives on the table, one guy puts a retractable baton, but no taser.
“Give me the fucking taser,” I grind out looking at the group of guys.
“It’s mine . . . I bought it with my money.”
“You’ll be reimbursed, and you weren’t on the clock tonight. Why did you think it was alright to get involved with something when you weren’t working and while you were drinking?”
“Man, you are just a chick, you don’t know how bad this shit can get! What are you even doing here . . . paperwork?” he continues to dig his own grave.
I chance a look at Paul, and he’s about to move. I shake my head once. He sta
ys put.
I look at McCall. All he says is, “Matt.”
Shifting my glare back to Matt, the cocky, mouthy, ignorant kid, I say nothing. I calmly walk over to him, knock his feet off the table, and stand in front of him, smiling. I lean down and squeeze his knee until I see him flinch. He holds it in well because he doesn’t want his ego bruised in front of his buddies and the girls. Men and their egos, I swear.
My right hand is at the collar of my shirt, and his eyes follow as I pull it down so only he can see. Revealing my scar is always a last resort, but when I do show it, I mean business, and it gets the point across faster than talking in circles.
When he sees it, his eyes go wide. “Fuuuuuuck,” he mouths, and his facial features start to fall away into nothing.
Standing back up, I announce our number one rule.
“No one inside is allowed to keep weapons on their person . . . And no one is allowed to get involved if you aren't on the clock . . . bottom line . . . We see you with a weapon in here . . . you will be gone . . . Are we clear?” I say, making sure I look at each and every person.
“It does get pretty bad in here sometimes,” one of the female bartenders says.
“That’s exactly why Paul and I are here. Nine out of ten incidents can be talked down and resolved. You bouncers simply don’t know how to spot an incident before it happens, but that’s, again, what we are here for, to make this as safe a place as possible, for you and then the customers.”
I’ve said all I need to say. Paul steps up and throws his pitch in, but I don’t hear anything. My head is still in the hotel room, going over everything that played out just a few short hours ago. Why did I say that? I do love him; I do, but was it just because I saw him weakened? Not to mention for some reason, Kevin is always there in my mind, lingering in the shadows.
Paul snaps me out of my thoughts, and I immediately start rattling off schedules for when we will meet with the men and women to start to train them properly. I can feel Paul’s eyes on me the entire time, and it’s frustrating. I just want to get this done and over with and go back to the room.
Paul starts to wrap up the meeting and finalizes everything with Ramsey. I go straight outside to the car and take a deep breath of the crisp, early morning, mountain air. It is really nice here.
“Need a ride?” Matt asks, walking up to me.
“Nope, I’m good. Time for you to move on,” I say, looking back up at the few stars that are still visible.
“Aww c’mon, sweetie. We can still have some fun together, don’t you think?” He slurs as he leans his arm against the car door, stopping me from opening it.
As I am about to just lay into this jackass, the doors of the car unlock, and I turn around. Paul is standing at the back of the car with his arms crossed over his chest.
“There a problem here, Matt?” he asks.
“Naw, no problem. See you two around,” he answers, straightening up and walking past Paul. When he is all the way behind Paul, he turns around and walks backwards. I see him wink and then lick his lip. Are you kidding me?
Paul walks in my direction, and I can feel him willing me to look up. So I do. I look him dead in the eyes. Neither one of us says anything, but I hear him exhale loudly as he reaches down and opens my door. When I am settled in, he closes the door and joins me on the driver’s side, all without saying a single word. The ride back to the hotel is much like the ride to the bar, dead quiet and no touching.
We drag ourselves to the elevator and ride in silence to our floor. When we get to the door, Paul holds it open for me, and I brush against his chest with my arm, just a little bit on accident, but it’s enough to make my heart beat faster.
I go into our mock-kitchen and straighten up the papers and blueprints. Doing anything to keep me busy and avoid Paul’s direct stare is my goal. I’ve noticed that Paul hasn’t walked fully into the room yet. I heard the door shut. Maybe he let me in and then left. That might be for the best, considering we haven’t said one single word to each other since we left McCall’s.
My ears have pulled me out of my own head and thoughts. I hear music; it’s faint, but I hear it. Walking out of the kitchen, I look around and then back to the door. Outside maybe? When I look, Paul is leaning against the door with his phone in his hand. He pushes off the door and slowly walks over to where I’m standing. He holds his phone’s screen up to where I can see it. I don’t know what I’m looking for, I just see a playlist, and then I look at the top, My May’s List.
He props the phone up on the edge of the counter, so the music is louder. He turns to me with an outstretched hand. I take it without hesitation; I just want some kind of contact with him. He tugs me to him, and we begin to dance.
We are close. I turn and rest my cheek on his chest and breathe him in. Song after song, we just dance in the middle of our hotel room. I almost don’t register what songs are playing because I’m just so wrapped up in the way this feels. After taking in a couple of songs, I notice they are all great love songs, the kind of songs every girl wishes their man would dance to with them. Man, when I least expect it, he can really turn on that charm of his.
“How many women has he made feel this way?” comes a voice in my head.
My smile fades, and I take my head off his chest. I go to move to break the contact, but Paul holds me firmly to him. It isn’t until I hear the last song, and then I get it.
Mr. Strait croons about wanting his baby to run.
“If you are going to run, I want you to run to me not away from me, babe,” he says quietly into my hair.
Damn he is good.
When the song is over, we don’t stop dancing. We just stay there rocking back and forth, not wanting to say anything or do anything else. How did I not realize my feelings for him sooner? Why now? Don’t question it; it’s amazing. Just let it be that, fucking amazing.
Monday rolls around, and it’s the first day of separate meetings. We all show up on time. Paul takes the guys to one side, and I take the girls to the other. We talk about situations they have found themselves in. One bartender, Jessica, recalls one such event:
“He wasn’t hammered or anything, just buzzed, and he was hitting on all of us non-stop. So when I had enough, I slid him his tab on the bar to him. Out of nowhere comes a knife, and he stabs the tab to the bar. It was the biggest and closest threat I’ve ever gotten working here.”
I’m not my usual hard ass in the separate girls’ meetings. I relate to them because I was them a few years ago. For Jessica’s situation, I explain what would have been a good counter reaction.
“Well, what if we do that, and they jump the bar?” a now nervous Jessica retorts.
I begin to explain the crucial point to all of this.
“Right now Paul is explaining that you ladies and your safety comes first, then the customers. We will map out sections as well as camera angles and times y'all's shifts start. That’s going to be Wednesday. Every female will be assigned a bouncer and, depending on where you are for the night, a camera to make sure everything is on tape. That’s what saved me.”
“What did you show Matt to make that smartass shut his mouth?” Amber asks. I don’t like Amber. It’s just something about her voice; I just can’t stand it.
“Well, I was working in a club like y’all.” I explain what happened that night. When I am done, I’ve noticed they are all staring at my shirt. “I take it y'all want to see the damage, huh?” I say.
They always do.
So I show them. A couple gasp, some put their hands over their mouths, and then some say, “Oh, my God, I’m so sorry.”
I look over at Paul and see him break off his stare at me and focus back on the guys.
“The whole point of Paul and I being here is so this type of situation doesn’t present itself to you. Paul was assigned to me, and he’s the reason it wasn’t worse or that I am not dead.”
I stop, run my fingers over the scar, and turn to the guy’s side to look at Paul again, but
he’s gesturing his finger over in my direction and then back to his neck and shoulder. He’s recalling the same night to them.
“Wow, he must be really good,” Amber says a little too loudly and bites her lip.
Down, green eyed monster, down.
“Yes, he is,” I reply.
“What is his story? Is he taken, or is he up for grabs?” she continues.
Slut.
It’s almost like she is trying to push my buttons for some reason.
“Hey, Paul?” I call out, startling the girls.
“Are you taken or up for grabs?” I ask in a raised calm-as-a-cucumber voice, over my shoulder.
“I’m taken,” he calls back and resumes talking to the guys.
I smile on the inside. Damn right you’re taken. I almost laugh. Wait, what? I stop laughing.
“Damn, that is a shame because I could use that body for a few hours . . . hell, maybe even days.” Amber is still talking.
Super Slut.
“Well, now that Paul’s situation is established, are there any questions?” I say, putting my hands on my knees and standing up.
All is quiet.
“Alright this meeting is done. Tomorrow, be here at 11:30 a.m. We are going shopping for uniforms.
“Shopping? Hell yeah!” some of the girls say out loud. With that, they all head to the door.
I head over to the guy’s meeting and pull up a chair next to, but not too close to Paul.
“Can you handle it if the girl you lov–,” he stops and corrects himself, shooting me a sideways glance, “the girl you have been assigned to gets hurt? And I’m not talking about she gets shoved or called a bad name; I’m talking about a broken bottle to her neck? It’s one of the most gut-wrenching things I have ever had to experience. You don‘t know how to feel or what to do. You feel helpless, and it‘s . . . fucking awful.”
All the guys are now looking at me. I, however, am looking at Paul, and he in return is looking right back at me.
Standing up, Paul asks, “Any questions?”
There never are on the first day. It’s more shock and scare.
Need You, Need Me (The Need Series Book 1) Page 8
