“Damn it, Cooper.” She pulled the box over to the opening and climbed down the ladder until she was even with her dog. “No one invited you up here.” She carefully maneuvered herself over him until she stood on the floor and carefully guided Cooper down the ladder. “You don’t have to go everywhere I go, you know.” Stella smiled and petted his soft head. Cooper just wagged his tail.
Stella climbed back up and slid the box over to the top of the ladder. She lifted it to start her descent. “Shit, this is heavy,” she said to herself and tried just sliding the box down the ladder. When she got to the bottom, her feet firmly planted on the floor, she was able to carry the box easily. She turned and walked her box all the way down to the garage, as casual as could be, leaving the attic stairs down.
She opened the top of the box and peered in. She smiled—exactly the box she was looking for. She reached for her drink and remembered she’d left her wine upstairs. Fuck. Cooper followed her back upstairs where she grabbed the half-empty bottle of pinot noir. She took a huge gulp as she walked downstairs, a drop of the wine landing on her chin in her haste. She wiped it off with the sleeve of her yellow long-sleeve shirt, the wine soaking in the sleeve immediately. As she rounded the corner of the kitchen, she heard her phone notify her of a missed call and a text. For the love of shit! She was so tired of all the fucking tweets and media speculation lately. She ignored the phone and kept walking toward the garage.
“Sorry, Coop,” she said as she shut the door to the garage in his sweet, inquisitive face.
Stella bent and put her wine on a step stool off to the left of the door that led into the house. She’d been seeing her psychiatrist every week, but no matter how much therapy she was getting, she couldn’t wrap her brain around this one. The fact that her former fiancé might be trying to kill her, she was trying to expose him to the FBI, and her current boyfriend was dead set on killing said former fiancé. This was shit that happened in movies, not to regular people like her.
She carefully pulled a pilsner glass out of the box and unwrapped the newspaper around it. She’d taken such care when she packed her things. Now she didn’t care about any of it. Taking a deep breath, she squared her feet and threw the glass as hard as she could against the brick wall of the garage. She repeated this process until she felt like she could breathe again.
It took all twelve glasses.
As she started unwrapping the plates, the garage door began lifting. “Shit!” Stella breathed—George was home. He was supposed to be working tonight at the bar. There was nothing she could do to hide what she’d been doing.
At seeing all the broken glass on the side of the garage where he normally parked his bike, George pulled to a stop. He cut the ignition and, after small hesitation, took his helmet off and took in the situation.
“Sorry!” Stella called with a shrug. “I was going to clean up before you got home.”
“What are you doing?” George asked, his voice inquisitive, walking over to where she stood.
“Throwing shit. Breaking shit. Breathing.”
George eyed her curiously, then plucked the plate from her hand and threw it as hard as he could against the wall. Stella walked to the door and pressed the button to close the garage door, relaxing as soon as they were safely shut in their cave of broken glass and ceramic shards. The sounds of fragile objects smashing against brick was bizarrely soothing to her, but she didn’t think their neighbors would appreciate it.
“This is liberating,” he said, smiling.
Stella took another chug out of her wine bottle and smiled. “I’m glad you like it.”
“Oh, we’re drinking too?”
“Well, I am. You need to get your own bottle.” Stella pulled the bottle into her body protectively.
“You won’t share with me?” George raised one of his eyebrows.
“I’m sharing my dishes. That’s enough.”
Stella unwrapped two more plates and they took turns throwing them against the wall. George threw his like a frisbee and laughed. Stella stared at him.
“You’re weird.”
“Of course I am,” George agreed with a grin. “Aren’t you?”
Stella’s arms motioned all around the garage. “I think that’s clear.”
“Get me another plate,” George demanded.
“Hey, you don’t get them all!” Stella mock-pouted.
“You don’t pout well. I’m just as angry as you are.” He threw the plate she handed him and looked at her. “Okay, maybe not just as angry, but pretty fucking angry.”
“I should’ve killed him when I had the chance,” Stella said remorsefully through clenched teeth as she flung another plate against the wall.
“Doesn’t matter now.” George threw the next plate with all his might and it shattered into a million pieces.
“Well, I guess you’re right. We need a plan.” Stella finished her wine with one last slug.
“Let’s work on it,” George agreed, taking the empty wine bottle out of her hand and launching it at the wall.
They both flinched, for the first time, at the sound of exploding glass, and stared at the broken shards of glass and ceramic that were scattered all over the floor of the garage. Stella sighed. George wanted to help, but she knew from experience that wanting to do something and actually doing it were two different things. She had to finish this herself. Honesty.
“George, I think I have to finish this myself.”
“No,” he said shortly, and turned to her, determined. “We do everything together from now on, remember?”
“Not this,” she whispered and shook her head. “Not you.”
“El,” George pleaded with her, looking her directly in the eyes, “you’re not doing this without me. I can’t fucking understand why you keep pushing me away from you. We’re in it together. You can’t kill him; I will.” He shrugged like taking someone’s life would be easy.
Shock coursed through her body in waves and spurts. “No,” she breathed. “No, George. I won’t let you do that for me.”
“I don’t need your permission for shit, El.” His eyes clouded over with an expression she hadn’t seen before. It was indignation.
“What the fuck are you going to do, George? He will kill you. And if you get hurt because of me, it will end me. Do you hear me?!” she yelled. “END ME!” She started shaking involuntarily and wrapped her arms around herself, retreating inward.
“El,” George pulled her into him tight. “It’s okay, Love. It’s okay.”
It’s not okay. “Please promise me you won’t do anything stupid. I can’t…” her voice broke.
He held her, not giving in, not letting her go.
She used the one skill she knew always worked when it came to George and pushed him back against the hood of her mother’s car. He stumbled and looked at her with a mix of concern and amusement. She quickly unbuttoned his pants.
Argument over.
The press was more manageable than last year, but was ramping back up. Even two weeks after his fight with Jamie, there were still pictures of George, his face beaten and bruised, everywhere, coupled with speculation on it. He tried to stay out of it, but everything from
#dominatrixstellamurphytakesitoutonboygeorge to #jessevsgeorge to #falconfistsfly was splashed all over the media.
He was hiding in his office at the bar filling out paperwork, as usual, when his sister called for the third time, ostensibly “to see how he was doing.” Bullshit. She was digging, just like the media was, and he hated it. Why couldn’t everyone just leave them the hell alone?
“Hey.” He didn’t want to answer, but he did. He’d been avoiding his entire family, waiting for his face to heal.
“Will?” his sister, Kara, said in a question.
He and his older sister had always been close. He was closer to her than his other sisters and she was like his other half growing up. They were only a year and half apart and thicker than thieves as kids; they rode the bus together and, more often t
han he’d like to admit, got in fights defending each other and then sent home together. His dad had always made it clear to George that he was to take care of all of his sisters, even his older sister. He’d beaten up his share of asshole ex-boyfriends and gotten in other girls’ faces defending his sisters. They were a team and he felt guilty not being around them much. He knew they all thought it was Stella that was keeping him from them, but it wasn’t. Was it?
“Yes, I know you saw the pictures. I was in a fight and I’m fine.” He answered all the questions in her voice before she had the opportunity to ask them.
“Who in the world did you get in a fight with?” Her voice dripped with disapproval.
“Doesn’t matter,” he retorted and leaned back in his office chair. His bruises were almost gone and were now shades of yellow and green.
“It does matter.” Her voice was defiant, borderline outraged.
He released a long breath. “Care Bear,” he used his longtime nickname for her, “I need you to leave it alone.”
“Well, fine,” she huffed. “The real reason why I called is my mortgage company called. Did you forget to pay my mortgage this month?” she accused.
“Oh, shit. Care…I’m sorry. With all that’s been going on, I totally forgot.” George pulled up his bank account online and sent a payment to Kara’s mortgage company. “Done.”
“Okay. Thanks.” She didn’t say anything else, but stayed on the line. The pause was uncomfortable and George closed his eyes. “People are saying you and Stella fought and she beat your ass.”
He sat up straight, eyes wide. “Again? I thought they were past that and on to Jesse…”
“You should see the shit that’s out there, Will,” she said, her voice low and caring.
“Damn it!” he yelled. “It’s always something.” George pulled up Twitter and shook his head.
#fbibeautykicksbartendersass
#idletfbibeautybeatmyasstoo
#dontfuckwithfbibeauty
#bartenderisapussy
“Are you fucking kidding me?” George said to himself.
“Will, are you really willing to deal with all this…for her?”
George was silent for a beat. “I love her.”
“Sometimes love isn’t enough, Will,” she reminded him.
Like he didn’t fucking know.
“That’s fucking sad, Kara.”
“Isn’t it?”
Chapter Seven
Sex on Wheels
“So, my mom called and she wants her car back. Dad told her they couldn’t buy a new one right now. They’re coming to get the car this weekend.”
“Okay.” George stepped out of the shower and toweled off his body.
Stella, who was applying her “work makeup,” almost purred as she took him in from the mirror. “You’re beautiful,” she said, leaning into the mirror as she lined her eyelids. She had a press conference today for some major social media big-wig accused of something gross she couldn’t remember and she had to look her absolute best.
“Um…really?” George dried his hair with the towel. “Beautiful?”
“Yes. Every line of your body is so attractive to me. The simple act of—”
He wrapped his still-wet arms around her, flipped her around and lifted her up to sit on the counter.
She giggled. “Stop!”
He forced her thighs apart to give him room to get between them. Pulling at the collar of her dress, he pressed his lips to her collarbone, then pulled her breast from her bra. Her head fell back, a moan escaping her lips when his mouth met her skin.
“I can’t…I have to get to work.” She laughed as he burrowed further into her neck. “Seriously.”
“Come on, you can be late,” George urged as he licked a trail down her neck.
“Not today. I have to go on TV today and tell everyone that this is an absurd accusation because it’s a private matter and that there’s no need for anyone to keep asking questions.”
George nipped at her neck. “You sound like you believe it,” he said sarcastically.
“I don’t have to believe it. I just have to sell it.” She pushed back on George’s still-damp chest.
“Well, you could sell me anything in that dress.” He looked her up and down from head to toe.
“I hope so, but you love me. It’s the people that don’t love me I have to sell a big pile of shit to.” She got down from the counter and straightened her dress. As she began to walk away from him she felt a snap on her ass. Stella turned her head quickly to see George giving her his 100 watt smile and waggling his eyebrows suggestively. “You’re relentless!”
She could still hear George laughing as she walked from the bathroom into the closet and put on nude heels to go with her vermilion sheath dress. They weren’t the “don’t fuck with me” shiv heels, but they were high and badass and, paired with the asymmetrical collar on the dress, she felt sexy, confident, and powerful. She grabbed her iPad and kissed George on the cheek, her nude lipstick making a barely noticeable mark. He stood in the doorway of the bathroom, his hair wet and towel wrapped around his waist. Stella wished she had an extra twenty minutes to take with him.
“I love you,” he said to her back.
“Not as much as I love you!” she called as she walked down the stairs with Cooper racing to beat her to the door.
“You’re a tough guy to get in touch with,” George pointed out when he finally got Jesse on the phone. He turned his back to the customers and faced the back of the bar.
“It’s football season, man. I told you this time of year would be hard. What’s up besides Stella beating the shit out of you?” he asked jovially. “Is that a sex thing? That’s kind of hot. I mean, not you, but her.”
A noise of protest escaped George’s mouth but died on his lips. Ignoring Jesse’s rambling, he launched into the reason why he’d been trying to get in touch with Jesse. “I figured out why we couldn’t find Jamie.”
“Why’s that?” Jesse countered.
“Because he’s back in DC, in the ATF.”
“You’re fucking with me.” Jesse’s voice was almost a growl. “How long?”
“I wish, man.” George fiddled with a tap that’d been leaking. “You should’ve seen his face.”
“Wait, that’s who you got in a fight with? You beat his ass?” Jesse asked, amused.
“Fuck yeah, I did. He waltzed out of Patrick’s house like he owned the motherfucker. I fucking tackled his ass,” he boasted. “I bet I broke his fucking nose, too.”
Jesse chuckled. “Damn, dude. I wish I would’ve seen that.”
“Yeah, that part isn’t what’s all over the internet, though. Only that El kicked my ass,” George hissed, annoyed as usual at the media. “Sometimes they blame it on you as the jealous other man, but usually it’s Stella. #fbibeautybeatsmorethanbartendersballs.”
“Ha!” Jesse laughed out loud. “You have to admit that’s funny.”
“No. It’s not funny,” George rebuffed.
“It is. The media doesn’t know shit and just assumed she kicked your ass. I mean…come on.” Jesse’s laugh filled George’s ear. “She is one badass chick.”
“Whatever,” George said, annoyed; he didn’t see any humor in telling everyone that his girlfriend beat him up. “What do we do now?”
“Well.” Jesse was silent for a moment. “I mean, we know where he is now, right? What do you want to do next?”
“You know what I want to do next.” George lowered his voice. “We just need to figure out how to do it.”
“I might know some people who know some people.” Jesse blew out a breath. “Give me a few days.”
Stella opened the door to the Challenger SRT8 and a sound inadvertently slipped out. She looked at George and caught him smirking at her. He’d told her to act like she didn’t like the car that much in front of the salesman, but she couldn’t help herself. It was a muscle car, powerful and perfect for her—pure, unadulterated sex on wheels with a shiny r
oyal blue paint job and white stripes down the middle of the hood. The grey leather inside was shiny and filled her nose with the most delicious smell. She was practically salivating. It had a stick-shift. This is my fucking car.
The salesman was in his forties and had a small beer belly that rubbed up against her when he dropped the keys in her hand. She slipped into the driver’s seat while the salesman tried to fit himself into the backseat. George plopped down happily into the passenger seat and patted her thigh indulgently.
Stella turned the key in the ignition and her entire seat vibrated with the power. Her eyes widened. “Oh shit,” she said gleefully.
“What?” George asked, laughing at her reaction.
“I think I just had an orgasm,” she laughed.
George’s laugh filled the confines of the car. The salesman looked aroused but uncomfortable.
“If that’s the case, I’ll buy it for you right now,” George offered.
Stella’s eyes didn’t move from the road as she accelerated on a straightaway. The entire car warmed her heart and filled her soul with longing. “This car…” Stella clamped her mouth shut before she said something else sexual in front of the salesman.
“We’ll take it,” George confirmed, his eyes twinkling. He turned in his seat, facing the salesman. “Seriously. I will write you a check when we get back.”
“No,” Stella shook her head, “I’m buying it.” She wouldn’t mooch off George. He had enough mooches following him around.
“Let me get this for you, Love,” George pleaded, “and me.” He gave her his biggest dimpled smile.
“Negative,” she smiled at his dimples, “I’ll pay for my own shit. You already pay for too many things that aren’t for you.”
“You think seeing you have an orgasm every time you crank this car isn’t for me? That’s where you’re wrong.” He pointed at his lap.
Seamless Page 5
