Go With It (A Go Novel Book 1)

by Scarlett Finn

  “I really don’t want to be acquainted with that part of you,” she warned.

  Walking to the end of the bed, she dug around the med bag for more gauze and tape. The wound was red, but was still sealed, so she hoped that was a good sign.

  “Why are you so afraid of it?”

  She kept sorting the supplies, putting things in places where she knew she’d be able to find them in a hurry. “Of what?”

  “Sex.”

  She stopped sorting to look at him. For once, it didn’t sound like he was teasing, but that only made her more suspicious. “I’m not afraid of sex.”

  “Sure you are,” he said.

  Seeing him slip his hand beneath the pillow on his lap made her swallow hard. Whether it was inside or outside his pants, he was definitely making contact with… himself.

  “Can you not do that while I’m in the room, please?”

  Intrigue eclipsed his usual smirk. “Maybe it’s my dick you’re afraid of.”

  “I am not afraid of it,” she said.

  Raising his brows like he didn’t believe her, he flipped the pillow off his lap and showed that not only was his hand inside his pants, but he was holding the imposing member tenting his sweats. “No?”

  Rolling her eyes toward the ceiling, she tipped up her chin. “Oh, God.”

  “Definitely afraid.”

  Glaring at him, she might be getting used to his triumphant leer, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t resent it. “Your penis doesn’t have special powers.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “What do you think I’m afraid of exactly?” she asked, going back over to kneel by the bed, taking her wares with her, and ignoring whatever was going on beyond her work area. “I’ve had sex before. I’ve seen dicks. Plenty of them.”

  “Yeah? How many?”

  Pausing with the tape extended, she blinked at him. “What?”

  Whether it was genuine or not, his expression didn’t seem to be mocking. “You brought it up, so, tell me… How many have you seen, Trink?” She couldn’t even make her lips part. “Guess with porn that’s a tough one to answer. Better to tell me how many you’ve gotten to grips with.”

  It took effort on her part to blank her expression, and she wasn’t sure she succeeded. “You want to know how many penises I’ve touched?” He nodded. After a second of silence, the corner of his mouth twitched. He quickly flattened it again, but the brief crack in his mask was enough to snap her from her discombobulation. “You’re mocking me.” Picking up her scissors, she clutched them tight. “You think that’s a smart thing to do to the woman in charge of your care.”

  “You saved me from a stab wound last week, no reason you wouldn’t this week.”

  Except if she was the one who inflicted it. “Last week, I didn’t know you. This week, I do,” she said, but turned her scissors to cut the tape. “I don’t doubt that I have less sexual experience than you. I also don’t doubt there are rabbits with less experience than you, given how sex seems to be on your mind twenty-four seven.”

  “Not twenty-four seven,” he said, locking his fingers behind his head again. “I don’t think about it when I’m with my crew.”

  “Lucky for them,” she said, affixing his clean dressing. “Maybe you should initiate me, so I can be saved the trouble.”

  He laughed. “It’s trouble for you to hear that a guy’s attracted to you?”

  “It’s trouble for me to hear you’re attracted to me,” she said, tipping her head to admire her work, hoping it was good enough. “Especially since I don’t believe it.”

  “I’m not going to lie and say I can’t lie. But, why would I—”

  “It’s some weird Florence Nightingale thing,” she said, gathering up her supplies and trashing the used dressing. “Just like Dover says. You think you’re attracted to me because I was there at the right moment and because I’m the only woman you’ve seen all week. You don’t really want to be with me.”

  “Let me be the judge of what I want.”

  Breathing out a laugh, she tossed what she hadn’t used back into the med bag and sat on the bed by his feet. “What I should really have said is that you and I have different definitions of what being with someone means. You believe in casual sex.”

  “It’s not my religion,” he said, pushing his fists into the mattress to sit up straighter. “But, yeah, I think it exists.”

  She shrugged and zipped up the bag. “I’m not a casual sex kind of woman… I’m not afraid of your penis, and I am attracted to you. But, I’m smart enough to know what kind of man you are and I know we want different things.”

  “Want? If you’re attracted to me, you and me want exactly the same damn thing. But, if you’re talking about a future…” he said, a snicker in his voice. “Baby, you should be happy I have no plans for you beyond this bed and your body. The only thing I plan beyond the moment is the con. If I haven’t made plans for you that means you’re not on my professional agenda.”

  Trying to subdue what would probably be a condescending smile, she licked her lips. “And that is exactly how I know we’re incompatible. I want to be on the agenda of the man I’m sleeping with. I don’t want him to trip and fall into bed with me just because I’m around and then forget me the minute I’m out of his sight.”

  “You want a relationship? Baby, we’ve known each other a week, and I’m not the type of guy to—”

  “You’re not my type of guy,” she said, making eye contact. “Isn’t that the point we agree on? You want an easy, fun girl to be casual with. I sleep with men I see a future with. I’m not frivolous and fun, Crash. I’m a serious professional.”

  For the first time, she saw a glimmer of offense on his face. It made him appear petulant; it was almost cute. If a man with the physique and demeanor of a tough guy could ever be considered cute.

  “I’m a professional,” he grumbled.

  A professional law-breaker, yes. “But what are you serious about?” she asked. “Other than whatever scheme you have going on.”

  “Okay, so I’m not your white picket fence guy, but I can be the ride of your life.”

  His wink made her laugh. “That’s some claim when you’ve no idea who I’ve ridden before.”

  “I know you’ve never ridden me.”

  She leaned toward him, lowering her volume. “And, I never will, Crash.”

  Ryske wasn’t dissuaded. If anything, whenever she asserted her opposition, he only grew more assured. “Baby, you are gonna taste so sweet.”

  “Do you think I’m some sort of prize or is it just the challenge you crave? You’ve been laid up all week when what you want is to be out on the street, running your con. I’m here, that’s why you want me. As soon as Bale’s clock runs out, you’ll forget that I exist.”

  For a breath, it seemed like he was going to say something. But, when his eyes moved toward her covered window, she knew that she was on the money. It was ridiculous to be stung by the silent confirmation that she was right, especially when she simultaneously appreciated him not bullshitting her with pick-up lines or platitudes.

  Ryske was a dynamic guy, always ready to move, whether it was for a con or onto the next mark. His lifestyle intrigued the immature part of her which was excited by danger. In spite of that, Harlow was smart enough to recognize that letting herself be seduced by the novelty of him would lead to heartache and humiliation in the long run.

  He hadn’t said anything else, so she decided to give him some space. “I have to call and let my colleagues know I won’t be joining them. Get some rest.”

  Harlow stowed the med bag in her closet, then headed for the dark living room again. “You gonna join me, Trink?”

  The guy never switched it off. Keeping her smirk to herself, she didn’t slow. “You’re an invalid, Crash. I need a man who can go all night and not break a sweat.” Sweeping the crystal ball curtain aside, she tossed a sultry look over her shoulder. “If I said yes to you, you’d be too busy drooling and
bleeding all over the place to satisfy me.”

  She kept on going out of the room, but he called after her. “Come back in here and say that to my face, babydoll!”

  Harlow hadn’t intended for Ryske to ever be in her apartment. Now, somehow, he was semi-naked in her bed probably still sporting a semi.

  While exerting little effort, the man had a way of diverting the course of her life. Astounding as it was, Harlow wasn’t really complaining.

  Whenever Crash was around, life wasn’t boring, anything could happen. Thinking fast, accepting a challenge, was exhilarating. Thrilled by the twists and turns, this wasn’t life like Harlow knew it, but it was every day for Ryske.

  As soon as the patient had completed Bale’s ordered recuperation time, he’d go back to his vibrant life and she’d return to the stresses and strains of social work. Normal, boring life, helping people who often didn’t want to help themselves. That was her life; the only one she knew.

  7

  Having Ryske as a permanent feature in her apartment meant taking on more than just entertaining and feeding a single patient. It didn’t mean having one roommate, it meant suddenly having four of them.

  Every day when Harlow came home from work, Ryske’s crew were dotted around her place. Usually, in her bedroom or living room, making plans or messing around. They filled her fridge with half-eaten takeout, left wet towels in her bathroom, and never cleaned up after themselves.

  Odd thing was, it didn’t make her angry. She actually liked the energy of the abode when it was filled with the Floyd’s crew.

  Growing up in her starched parents’ house, there was never as much joy and camaraderie as she felt when the crew were lounging around in her apartment. Not even during joyous or festive times when there was more activity.

  Having four men around full-time was a steep learning curve. Ryske was Ryske. And, she was learning more about each of the others. Maze was the most discerning, and from what she could figure, the one with the most in terms of a formal education. Dover was a jack-of-all-trades, skilled in a variety of practicalities. Responsible and smart, he was aware, yet discreet.

  Noon was like the little brother of the group. The one the others liked to pick on, but in a light-hearted way. He often spoke before thinking, which gave the guys plenty of opportunities to josh him.

  Entering her apartment after work that Friday, a week after Ryske had arrived, Harlow heard the TV and the murmur of masculine friendship and laughter. The quartet loved to clown around. As serious as they could be, especially if they had an audience, they could be such big kids in private.

  Hanging up her things by the door, she slipped her laptop from her bag and crossed to the living room, pausing by the first armchair. “Maze, my computer crashed again,” she said.

  Harlow didn’t expect the multi-tasking pro to look at her and he didn’t disappoint. Maze just lifted a hand to take the machine from her without ever moving his attention from the TV. When her hands were free, Noon took one to guide her over his straight legs that were resting on her coffee table. Kissing Dover’s cheek signaled her final greeting.

  After that, Harlow dropped to her knees in front of Ryske who was seated at the end of the couch. The other three guys in the room all whooped. Ryske didn’t react to them. With his eyes on the TV, he did as she’d trained him to do every time she got home and slid his hips to the front of the seat to let her lift his shirt and peel back the waistband of his pants.

  Checking the dressing was her priority. By now, it was just there to stop the wound being aggravated by his clothes. Bale had told her it was okay to take it off. She might have neglected to tell Ryske that yet.

  “You’ve got her trained,” Maze said, though he was half-lost in her computer, while still catching glimpses at the TV. “She goes out to work all day, earning the bacon, and comes straight home to blow you.”

  “If that’s what she was doing down there, you guys wouldn’t be here when she came home from work,” Ryske said, stroking her hair. “She does look damn good down there though, right?” Drawing her eyes from the dressing, she let him register her displeasure before going back to her task. “Did you have a good day, dear?”

  Tearing off his dressing in one swift move, she enjoyed startling him. “Let’s keep this off tonight.”

  “Guess that’s an answer,” Ryske said.

  Twisting around, she didn’t bother to get up, just slumped on the floor between Ryske’s feet to stare at the TV. Noon pushed a box of Chinese food down the coffee table and she grabbed it, using the chopsticks that were in it to eat the delicious chicken inside.

  Ryske’s fingers tangled in her hair, stroking through it. Her body was tired, but not as exhausted as her mind. With the food box in her hand, she chewed the chicken and let her head fall against the inside of Ryske’s knee.

  In her exhausted hand, the food box sank to the floor by her hip. “Still not the best I’ve ever had,” she murmured.

  “I’ll keep trying, Nightingale,” Noon said, making her smile.

  Noon had promised her the best Chinese food she’d ever tasted. So far, he hadn’t managed it. But, he was tenacious, she had to acknowledge that he wasn’t giving up easy.

  Harlow sighed. Ryske’s hand stopped in her hair. “You need me and the guys to go kick someone’s ass, baby?” he asked. “You’re not yourself tonight. If someone upset you—”

  “I’m tired,” she said and stifled a yawn with the back of her hand.

  “Take a nap.”

  “There are four men in my apartment and there’s no lock on my bedroom door.”

  “Babe, there’s no door,” Dover said and the men snickered.

  Harlow’s eyes closed. “Exactly,” she said, thinking this was a nice cozy nook that she could get comfortable in.

  “Your virtue’s safe,” Maze muttered.

  Noon laughed. “Yeah, we’ve all jerked off today.”

  She wasn’t sure how he knew that, but figured it had been part of some odd conversation they must have had while she’d been at work. “Do you think I’m worried about you thugs violating me? Hardly. I won’t sleep for the commotion of you people making a mess, teasing each other over nothing, and apparently conversing about your masturbation habits.”

  Ryske’s fingers sank deeper into her hair to curl around the side of her neck. That meant he was leaning forward, but she couldn’t bring herself to open her eyes to chastise him. “The guys are clearing out in a minute. Go lay down. I’ll wake you up in a while for that college assignment you were talking about.”

  Another sigh. “I’m supposed to be looking after you.”

  “There’s less than forty-eight hours left on the clock, Trink,” he said. “You’ve done your duty by me.”

  “Not a minute before Bale says I have,” she said. “I had lunch with him today. He was explicit. You don’t get out of here until at least Sunday… He’s coming over to check on you in the afternoon.”

  “If you’re going to be spending another two nights with me, you better keep your energy levels up,” Ryske said, strengthening his grip until his tangled fingers were digging into her neck.

  The security of his firm grasp stimulated the simmering heat that had become a familiar sensation in her gut whenever he was around. “Tighter,” she groaned before she realized the word had slipped out.

  It wasn’t until he complied that Harlow figured out what she’d done. Tightening his grip sent a searing pulse of awareness shimmering from his fingers through her torso to her clit… and he’d done it at her request.

  Her eyes snapped open. Though she tried to level out her breathing, Harlow was achingly conscious of the faux pas she’d just made. All week, even in the rare moments they were alone, she’d fought hard against her growing need for him. It wasn’t easy, especially given how obvious he made his want for her, but she’d been strong.

  Except what she’d just done revealed too much of herself. It would let Ryske peek beneath the surface and get a glimpse o
f what he kept telling her, but she kept trying to ignore: they were electric together.

  Harlow didn’t know what Ryske had told his crew about their relationship. While she knew they didn’t sleep together and that they hadn’t even kissed, she guessed Ryske had implied there was something going on because his crew always talked as if it was a done deal.

  Hoping to maintain her dignity, she straightened up. “I will go and lie down,” she said, pulling his hand away and tossing the Chinese food box to the table while getting to her feet. “Excuse me.”

  She’d have preferred to hear the guys jeering Ryske about her instead of the hushed whispers that proceeded the crystals falling back into place after she entered her bedroom. When the crew huddled and whispered, something serious was being discussed.

  Harlow did not want to be something serious. If they mocked her or her association with Ryske, it was one big joke. She could handle the humiliation of that. What she couldn’t take was the embarrassment of the truth; her feelings for Ryske were more than sexual.

  She cared about him, and his friends.

  In a few days, this extraordinary chapter of her life would be closed forever. Coming to terms with that had been playing on her mind, but there was nothing she could do about it. It would be over for her.

  When slipping beneath her covers, Harlow had expected to find her scent intermingled with Ryske’s. She’d become accustomed to it. Though it made no sense, it was a comfort. Sharing the bed while not sharing the bed was how their routine had settled.

  Each night, she’d go to bed early, but set her alarm for around midnight or one AM. After the alarm went off, she’d wake, kick out whoever of the crew were loitering, and put Ryske to bed before finishing her night’s sleep on the couch.