Patchwhore

by Kim Jones

  His scent engulfs me when he dresses me in his shirt. The signature, manly smell is my aphrodisiac. I want him to make love to me again. Or fuck me hard. Eat me like a starved animal. Feed me his cock and call me his, “good girl.”

  When he turns me to face him, his hands slide to my neck. His thumbs whispering across my throat. Circling the area where my pulse beats erratically against my skin.

  There’s something different about the way he looks at me. It’s not that heated look of desire. That playful expression, cocky smirk or amused gaze. This look is reverent. Adoring. Warm and liquefying.

  The loud rumble of pipes shatters the severity of the moment. Framing my face in his hands, he places a sweet kiss on my lips. My eyes flutter closed as he keeps his soft mouth pressed against mine for a few moments. When he breaks the kiss, I peek up at him from beneath my lashes to see him wearing a crooked smile.

  “Get some sleep, gorgeous. I’ll be back soon.”

  And like so many other times, he walks out. Leaving me feeling abandoned and alone once again.

  My body shakes awake and I reach out to slap whoever is moving me. “Carmen,” a voice whispers in my ear. I crack my eyes open.

  Leaning over me is a very drunk, Kat. “Wake up!” I sit up quickly, scanning the room—looking for signs of trouble.

  “What is it? What’s wrong? Where’s Cook?” I whisper shout the questions as I clamber out of bed, pushing past her and into the bathroom to splash cold water on my face.

  “Cook’s outside talkin’ to Ronnie and Glen. Nothing’s wrong, I just need you to drive me home.”

  “What?” I ask confused. “Who drove you here?”

  “I did, but drivin’ a few miles through the woods is one thing. No way can I drive on the interstate. Can you? Please?”

  “Why are we whispering?”

  “Because they don’t know I’m here.”

  “Kat you’re not making any sense. If you drove here, and Ronnie is here, Glen is here and Cook is here, how do they not know you’re here.”

  She shakes her head, her dark hair wild around her face. She smells like tequila and pot. “I parked down the driveway. Ronnie would be disappointed if he knew I drove. Glen would just kill me.”

  “So why did you leave?”

  Her eyes narrow as her lips curl in disgust. “Remember the chick with the resting bitch face?” I shake my head. Having no idea who she’s talking about. “Yes you do,” she breathes, exasperated.

  “No, Kat. I don’t.”

  “Maybe you’d already left. Anyway,” she says, dismissing it with a wave. “She’s stayin’ at Glen’s. Where I’m supposed to stay. But if I stay, I’m gonna kill her. So I need you to take me home.”

  “Just stay here.”

  “Can’t.” She pulls a flask from the back pocket of her shorts. “They’ll find out I left. That I drove. I’ll have to hear that shit for a year. Or die. Remember? I just told you Glen would kill me. Pay attention, Carmen.”

  “Let me get this straight.” I cross my arms and watch as she takes a pull from the flask. “You drove here and weren’t supposed to.” She nods. “You snuck inside without anyone knowing.” Thumbs up as she tilts back the flask again. “Now you want me to disappear into the night, drive you home and tell Cook what? That I had to go?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Oh, okay.” I grab her shoulders and whisper shout in her face. “Are you out of your fucking mind? I’ve been drinking too!”

  “It’s after three in the morning, Carmen. You left at like eight thirty. You’re hardly drunk.”

  She’s right. I’m not drunk. I was pretty buzzed before, but after a nap, rubdown by Cook, crazy intimate moment and an additional several hours of sleep, I’m sober. But this idea is crazy. So I find another tactic to talk some sense into her.

  “Don’t you think he’ll come looking for me? Thinking I’m wandering in the woods? I don’t have a car here, Kat.”

  She points her finger at me. “You’re right. You should leave a note.” Scrambling out of my grasp, she searches the nightstand for something to write on.

  “I’m dreaming,” I mutter. “I’m in a nightmare.”

  “Here.” She thrusts the stationery and pencil in my hand. “Tell him what’s going on. And that you’ll make it up to him.”

  “So you don’t care that he knows?”

  “Who, Cook? Hell no. But it’s not like I can talk to him right now. Ronnie and Glen are drunk. They’ll be on that porch all night. Then they’ll probably pass out on the couch. Which is why we need to leave now. Before they discover I’m here.”

  “This is ridiculous,” I say, even as I scribble the note.

  Hyped on adrenaline, excitement starts to build at the idea of doing something that feels so wrong. I pull my shorts out of my beach bag and tie my hair behind my head. Tiptoeing through the room, I follow Kat out a door that opens to a private balcony.

  The unmistakable sound of Ronnie’s laugh fills the quiet night. Like a mouse, we creep down a flight of stairs to the ground level. Keeping off the gravel, we break into a jog—the only light coming from the bright moon. I see we’re near some water, but am regretfully too scared of getting caught to turn and look at the house I’m escaping.

  A few hundred yards later, past the tree line and out of sight, we arrive at Kat’s car. I’m breathless behind the wheel. Laughing like a teenager. Feeling triumphant as I turn the key. Then I’m screaming when the headlights shine on a figure standing in front of us.

  Cook’s here. Of course. Holding my note in his hand. Looking unimpressed. Amused. And not the least bit winded. He walks over to the driver side window—rapping his knuckles on the glass. I glare at Kat who pretends to be passed out as I roll down the window.

  “Cook … had to run. Kat needed ride. Didn’t want her to die. I’ll make it up to you. Signed, squiggly line.” I roll my eyes as he drops down so he’s at my level. “The next time you mention someone dying, maybe you should be a little clearer on your meaning.”

  “It’s Kat’s fault,” I grumble, blaming her for the second time tonight. She doesn’t even flinch next to me.

  “You said you’d make it up to me. How?” Slowly, I turn my gaze to him. He’s smiling like a Cheshire cat.

  “What do you want?”

  “This is some pretty valuable info I have here.”

  “How so?”

  “Kat’s life’s at stake. Remember? I’d hate to tell Ronnie, or Glen what she did.”

  “Whatever you want, she’ll do it,” Kat says. I shoot her a disbelieving stare. She only shrugs. “Sometimes you gotta take one for the team, Carmen.”

  “I saved your ass and this is how you repay me?”

  She holds a finger up. “Correction. You’re gonna save my ass. Just as soon as you agree to Cook’s terms.” She grins. I look at Cook and that bastard is grinning too.

  “Thursday night, you’re goin’ on a date. With me. And not to Pop’s. To dinner.”

  “Hardly,” I scoff. Even though my heart is pitter-pattering in my chest.

  Kat opens her big fat mouth. “She’ll be there.”

  “See? You’ll be there.” I glare at him, trying to look pissed. On the inside, I’m happy. Jumping up and down. Somersaulting. Liver quivering. The good stuff.

  “Fine.”

  “I’ll pick you up at seven. Drive safe, gorgeous.” He starts to stand. “Oh, and one more thing.” I cut my eyes at him, ignoring how much that smirk of his turns me on. “Wear something sexy.” He presses his lips in my hair, speaking low so only I can hear. “You have my permission.”

  And I’m Not Your Prospect

  “You have his permission?” Emily shrieks. “What the hell does that mean?”

  Putting my phone on speaker, I set it on the counter in the bathroom. “I don’t know,” I say, removing the hot rollers from my hair. “I guess it means I can dress sexy since I’m going out with him. You remember how possessive he got after my date with Lefty.”
<
br />   “Actually, the only part of that story I remember was Lefty asking if he could stick his finger in your belly button.” I shiver at the reminder. Emily laughs. “That shit was funny as hell.” When she catches her breath, after another fit of laughter, she says, “So since you’re not going out with guys to make Jud jealous anymore, this is like a real date.”

  I fidget with the ends of my hair. “I wouldn’t say it’s a real date.” My nerves tingle. The butterflies are back. I feel a stutter in my chest. I’ve missed him so much. I haven’t seen or even heard from him since Saturday, and it’s driving me crazy. “We’re just going out to dinner instead of to the bar.”

  “It’s a real date,” Emily deadpans.

  The urge to defend myself is pressuring. “We’ve eaten together plenty of times. He’s bought me dinner on more than one occasion.” I let out a breath of laughter. “He bought me groceries, Em. The only thing that makes tonight any different is that we’re actually going somewhere.”

  “On a date.”

  “It’s not a date. It’s dinner.”

  “He said it was a date,” she argues.

  “He also blackmailed me into going.”

  Exasperated, she lets out a breath. “It’s definitely a date. Accept it. Besides, you deserve a night out with someone decent.” That’s the damn truth… “So what hot … sexy little number are you going to wear?” Her animation has me grinning. Instead of telling her, I promise to send her a picture soon.

  Thirty minutes later, I look down at my outfit of choice lying on the bed. Before I put it on, I turn to my reflection in the mirror and take in my freshly made face—smoky eyes. Red lips. Contoured cheeks. My hair that’s now flowing in soft curls down my back. Perfectly painted nails. Smooth legs. Shimmering skin.

  I could wear something sexy like Cook suggested. Maybe a tight dress or a pair of short shorts and those boots he loves so much. Hell I’m dolled up enough to pull off a more elegant look—a cocktail dress or even an evening gown. But I’m not doing either.

  Cook may think he can boss me around. That he can tell me to do something and I’ll comply. In the past, I have. Under normal circumstances, I probably would again. But everything I do is of my own free will.

  I’m not a Prospect.

  I don’t need permission. Not even from Mr. Delicious himself.

  Devil’s Renegades Prospect Cook

  Cook stands silent in the doorway. His hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans as he appraises me. Pulling his bottom lip between his teeth, he nods a few times before meeting my eyes.

  “This is because of the whole permission thing, isn’t it?”

  I scrunch up my nose and return his nod. “Yeah,” I whisper.

  “Thought so.” His gaze drifts back to my outfit a moment before returning to my face. Raising his eyebrows, he nods again. “I’m impressed.”

  “I can tell.” Taking a page from Mr. Delicious’ playbook, I offer him the most mischievous, teeth baring smile I can manage.

  “You’re not gonna change, are you?”

  “Not a chance in hell.”

  “Yeah, I figured that.” He crosses his arms over his chest. Then brings his hand up to cup his chin. Tilting his head to the left a fraction, he keeps his face well-guarded as he studies me a little longer. It takes everything I have to hold back my laughter.

  I should feel bad. I even try to. He went all out tonight. This might be the most delicious Mr. Delicious has ever looked. Hair styled to a perfect mess. Panty melting five o’clock shadow. Black sports coat over a smoky grey shirt. Dark denim jeans. And I’m pretty sure that’s Gucci on his feet. Unfortunately for him, it only makes my wardrobe decision that much greater.

  “You think too much, handsome.” His lips twitch at hearing his own words thrown back in his face. Poking my lip out, I frown. “Are you disappointed?”

  “Not at all.” He offers me a small smile. I wait with a smile of my own as he struggles to find the right words to say. This is definitely a first for him. “I’m just surprised.”

  “Were you expecting something else? A little black dress … some heels … maybe a little more cleavage,” I tease, feeling victorious as he finally starts to accept his defeat. Ronnie once said he didn’t know how to lose. Ronnie was wrong.

  A giggle escapes me and I have to press my lips together to keep from losing it completely.

  He breathes out a laugh and shakes his head as he stares at his shoes. When he looks up, he’s smirking. The shock has worn off. Blue eyes dance with amusement instead of disbelief. There’s my Mr. Delicious.

  “Well, gorgeous. You got me. And I don’t get got very often. So congratulations to you.”

  I curtsy. “Thank you, sir.”

  Three steps later he’s in front of me. His look sincere as he cups my cheek. My breath hitches at his nearness. My pulse speeds at the scent of his cologne. “Even like this, you’re still the prettiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.” His line is repeated, but still makes my belly flip. Even if it is used as a ploy.

  Smiling shyly, I look up at him from beneath my lashes as I give him the same response I did the last time he said those words to me. Right after he fucked me in the employee bathroom at Pop’s.

  “Flattery doesn’t work on a true lady.” The corners of his lips tip. “And it sure as hell won’t work on Wonder Woman.”

  “Now isn’t this better than sitting in some fancy restaurant?” I ask, dipping my fry in Cook’s ketchup.

  “No.” He narrows his eyes at me. “River Martins has the best damn seafood in the south. And reservations there are nearly impossible.”

  I shoot him a smile and hold out my hand. “Here, have a McDonalds fry. Best damn fries in the world. No reservation needed.” He nips the tip of my finger with his teeth as he takes it. An erotic shiver ripples through me when I lick the remaining ketchup from that same finger. So weird.

  “Besides, I don’t eat seafood.”

  He quirks a brow. “No shit?”

  “No shit.” I spin to face him. Tucking my legs beneath me and leaning against the door of his truck. “I got food poison from shellfish once. Now I get queasy just at the sight of it.”

  “I guess Wonder Woman was looking out for you.” He smirks. “Or maybe it was that ridiculous fuckin’ cape.”

  “Hey.” I point my finger at him. My expression serious. “This cape is awesome.”

  Shrugging, he has to agree. “Yeah. It kinda is.”

  “So tell me something about you. Where you from? What did you do before you became a Prospect?”

  “I’m from here. I worked in the oil field.” His evasive response reminds me of why I can’t allow myself to feel too much for him. It’s just as hurtful as it is annoying. “Tell me more,” I demand, but it sounds more like a plea.

  He gives me a thoughtful look. “Like what?”

  “I don’t know…” I drop my gaze, unable to look him in the eye. “Tell me about your family.”

  His silence calls to me and I peek up at him. “If you want to know something Carmen, just ask.”

  “But I don’t want to ask,” I say softly. My fingers fidget with the zipper on my onesie. “I want you to tell me because you want to.”

  I’m selfishly seeking a reason to allow myself to feel something deeper for him. After all, that is one of the reasons I refuse. Right? Because he’s so private? It sounds ridiculous now that I repeat it in my head. I start to apologize or try to change the subject when he finally speaks.

  “Her name was Elise,” he starts, repositioning himself so he’s facing me. Both our food forgotten. “We were together six years. She had me fooled into believing she was the one.” Smirking, he shakes his head. “And she was. She was the one who ruined my life. My family. My checking account,” he adds on a smile. I mirror his smile. But my happiness doesn’t stem from his joke. It’s because he’s finally opening up to me.

  “But she was also the one who taught me about loyalty. How important it is to stay true to t
he people you care about. What it feels like to be betrayed by someone you love. Without the experience, I never would’ve known the magnitude of giving your word. Some people live their whole life not fully understanding what it means to be loyal. But I do.” He pierces me with his stare. “So do you.”

  I smirk. “You’re a glass half full kind of guy, aren’t you?”

  “I learned to be.” His voice drops. “Haven’t you?”

  Averting my gaze, I look out the windshield at the parking lot. “Jud destroyed me when he broke my heart. I may be over him, but I’m not quite ready to appreciate him for anything.”

  “Then you should at least appreciate the beauty of a broken heart.”

  “Beauty?” I face him, my look incredulous. “What the hell is beautiful about a broken heart.”

  Rich, cobalt blue eyes filled with tender appreciation, bore into me. “It gives you a second chance at something better.” His words floor me. The intensity in his powerful gaze is enough to rattle that cage around my heart. Deliquescing the iron bars to nothing but a puddle of molten.

  We stare at each other in silence. Unmoving. Barely breathing. Minds start to wander. Questions seek answers. Reality is just a hairsbreadth out of reach. The space between us is filling up with words neither of us can say.

  Then his phone vibrates on the dash. Our eyes jerk to the device I’ve hated since I’ve known him. And for the first time, he looks like he hates it too.

  Releasing a noisy breath, he grabs the cell, answering it with a snappy, “Yeah.” I watch his eyes fall closed. His jaw tightens. “On my way,” he says with no emotion even though his anger is tangible.

  His look softens when he turns to me with eyes full of apology. “Bad news, gorgeous.” I try to give him a reassuring smile. Letting him know it’s okay. When really, it’s not. “I have to go to Pop’s.”

  “Why?” I ask, shoving a cold French fry in my mouth just to give my fidgety hands something to do.