The Edge of Night

by Jill Sorenson

  “Why didn’t you wake me?” she asked.

  He massaged the back of his neck, not sure what to say. Her reaction seemed a bit extreme. “Uh—”

  “You have no right to take my daughter anywhere without my permission.”

  Noah didn’t feel compelled to defend himself. He also knew better than to argue with a woman in public.

  “I think we should go home.”

  He nodded curtly. Now he was pissed off. “Whatever you like.”

  They went back to the lockers and got ready to leave. Jenny didn’t want to go, unsurprisingly. For the first time that day, she turned on the drama, crying and pulling away from her mother, refusing to put on her shoes.

  April looked near tears herself.

  Noah didn’t have a lot of experience with little girls and temper tantrums. There was no crying in baseball, as the saying went. But he remembered something he used to do when his sister was upset.

  “Come on,” he said, kneeling beside her. “I’ll give you a piggyback ride.”

  Sniffling, Jenny climbed aboard.

  April tossed her daughter’s shoes in the tote bag and followed them out to the parking lot, her mouth thin. Maybe she didn’t appreciate the interference. He got the impression that she wasn’t used to letting anyone help her.

  Jenny slumped against his back, exhausted from too much fun in the sun. By the time Noah pulled onto the freeway, she was asleep in her car seat.

  He glanced at April, wishing the date hadn’t ended this way. If he didn’t say something to smooth things over, he knew he wouldn’t get another chance to go out with her. But—why apologize when he hadn’t done anything wrong?

  “I’m sorry,” she said quietly.

  And those two simple words changed everything. “Don’t be,” he said, feeling like a jerk. “I shouldn’t have left with her.”

  “No. I overreacted.”

  “You looked so peaceful, and I didn’t want to bother you …”

  “It’s okay,” she said, giving him a wobbly smile. “When I woke up, and she wasn’t there, I … panicked.”

  “Of course you did. It was stupid of me.”

  “She’s never been around a man before, other than her uncle. I know I’m overprotective, because of some … issues in my past. It took years before I’d leave her alone with anyone, even family members.”

  He wanted to kill whoever had hurt her. “I’m sorry,” he said, wishing the world wasn’t full of abusive assholes. “I don’t expect you to take my word for it, but I’d rather die than touch your daughter. And I’d cut off my own hand before I used it to harm a woman.”

  She nodded, acknowledging his statement. “This is why I was hesitant to go out with you, Noah. You seem too good to be true, and I don’t let my guard down easily. If you’re just looking for sex—”

  Jenny made a noise in her sleep, her head lolling to one side.

  “I’m not,” he said, lowering his voice.

  April looked out the window. He wasn’t sure she believed him. It was difficult to be convincing when sex was at the forefront of his mind. The hungry looks he’d been giving her all day didn’t help.

  For the remainder of the drive, he questioned his own motives. He was taking a professional risk by dating her, and he’d never done anything like that before. Beginning a “complicated” relationship—with April and Jenny, for they were a package deal—wasn’t the wisest course of action.

  He shouldn’t have asked her out.

  The more time he spent with her, the more attached he became. Maybe he should walk away now, before things got … sticky.

  At her house, Noah carried Jenny inside. While April put her down for a nap, he took the car seat out of his truck and placed it on her doorstep. Then he waited for her in the living room, his hands in his pockets.

  Any minute now she was going to come back and say she was sorry but she couldn’t see him anymore.

  And he was going to let her.

  –––

  April tiptoed out of Jenny’s room, shutting the door behind her. She paused in the hallway, turning on the air conditioner full blast. The mechanical whir would drown out their voices, should Jenny awaken.

  She usually didn’t take naps, but the day had been long and eventful. April assumed she would sleep for another hour, at least.

  Noah was waiting for her in the living room. She felt a pang of regret for the way she’d acted. He’d been wonderful with Jenny today, and she’d repaid his kindness by freaking out, scolding him, and demanding to go home. When Jenny started to throw a tantrum, April had almost broken down in tears, too.

  He probably never wanted to see her again. And yet he was still here. Too polite to leave without saying goodbye.

  “Would you like a drink?” she asked tentatively, fisting her sweaty hands in her skirt. The cotton fabric inched up her thighs, drawing his attention.

  “Sure,” he said, clearing his throat. “Water’s fine.”

  She filled two glasses with ice and purified water. As soon as she sat down, he took the space next to her on the couch, draining half his glass in long swallows.

  “Thanks.”

  They were silent for another moment.

  “To pick up where we left off,” she began, feeling self-conscious. “I was talking about my trust issues?” He nodded, listening.

  “I’ll probably always be overprotective of Jenny, and I might never get completely comfortable around you. When we’re alone, I mean.” She hazarded another glance at him. This was so embarrassing. “My behavior the other night was kind of strange. You see, I’m usually a little more … reserved with men.”

  His gaze dropped to her mouth, as if he was remembering their kiss. She couldn’t help but replay the scene herself. He was so close she could smell him, a heady mix of male skin and summer heat.

  She moistened her lips, wanting his mouth on hers so badly she could taste it. “Anyway, this is all irrelevant, I’m sure. I just wanted to finish explaining why I reacted that way. Thank you for a lovely day, and I’m sorry for—everything.”

  His eyes met hers. “So this is goodbye?”

  “Yes.”

  He didn’t argue with her, but he made no move to leave. She sensed his reluctance, and his disappointment, and his desire. They stared at each other for a long beat, poised at the edge of an unknown precipice.

  Her chest rose and fell with every breath, and she was aware of the still-damp swimsuit against her pebbled nipples.

  His hands flexed against his thighs, and she felt an answering tug between her own. She wanted him to touch her. Everywhere.

  April wasn’t sure if he leaned in or if she did. One moment they were agreeing it wasn’t going to work out. The next he was kissing her senseless. His mouth was hot, agile, hungry. She moaned, touching her tongue to his, twisting her fingers in his hair. His hands spanned her waist and squeezed, burning through the fabric of her dress.

  He kissed her over and over again, as if he couldn’t get enough of her mouth. She arched her back, wanting to feel more of his body. He complied on instinct, pressing her down on the couch, crushing her breasts to his chest. When the ridge of his erection settled into the apex of her thighs, he groaned.

  She wrapped her legs around his waist and dug her fingernails into his shoulders, gasping against his mouth.

  His fingertips danced over the tie at her back, tugging it loose. She felt her bikini top fall away and her dress inch down. He broke off the kiss to stare at her exposed breasts. The skin beneath her bikini top was a shade paler than the rest. Her nipples were small, tight beads. She’d never experienced anything more erotic than watching his eyes darken with lust for her.

  Before his head descended, she braced her hands on his shoulders. “Wait,” she said. “I can’t … do this … here. Not with my daughter home.”

  “Let’s go to your room. I’ll be quiet.”

  “The bedsprings squeak.”

  “Who needs a bed?”

 
She tried not to picture him lifting her up against the wall, pinning her with slow thrusts. “No bedroom. No sex.”

  “Okay,” he whispered, his fingertips trailing down her throat. He bent his head to moisten one nipple, then the other, sucking gently. Surveying his work, he blew on the wet, puckered tips, wrenching a gasp from her.

  “Noah—”

  “This isn’t sex. It’s just … touching.” Repositioning himself, he slid his hand underneath her skirt. With a quick tug, he untied her bikini bottoms and brushed his mouth over hers again, drinking her protests. His fingertips found her, hot and wet. He let out a hissing breath.

  “That feels like sex,” she panted. When he dipped one finger inside her, she moaned, spreading her thighs a little wider.

  “How about this?” He moved his slippery finger up to her clitoris, circling it lazily.

  “That feels … better than sex.”

  “What if I did it with my mouth?”

  She thrashed her head back and forth. “I’ve never—oh, my God.” He pushed her skirt out of the way so he could get a good look at what he was doing, but he didn’t go down on his knees. He flicked his tongue over her nipples and continued to caress her heated flesh, tracing her opening with his fingertip, strumming the taut pink nub.

  “Oh, my God,” she moaned again, biting down on her lip. She was going to come.

  The surprising part wasn’t the orgasm itself. She’d had those before. Even Raul, who’d been a selfish lover, had managed to bring her off a few times. But he’d labored over the task, treating it like a nuisance on the rare occasions that he bothered.

  And he’d never put his mouth on her.

  Noah showed more tenderness and more aptitude in a few languid strokes than Raul had offered in their entire relationship. His attention was rapt, attuned to her responses, and his fingers were so well placed …

  “Oh, God,” she gasped, gripping his forearm. She blurted out something in Spanish. Right there, don’t move, don’t stop.

  When she started to shudder, he covered her mouth with his, swallowing her cries of pleasure.

  April came back down to earth in slow increments, realizing that her dress was bunched around her waist, exposing everything above and below. Noah removed his hand slowly, his fingers slick. His eyes were half lidded, hungry with arousal.

  Lifting his fingertips to his mouth, he tasted her.

  Shocked by his behavior and appalled by her own, she scrambled into a sitting position, tugging her dress into place. Her heart was throbbing dully, her brain sluggish. “You—I—that was a bad idea.”

  He leaned back against the couch and closed his eyes, seeming pleased if unsatisfied. His erection was clearly visible, straining at the fly of his shorts. He pressed the heel of his palm against it, as if encouraging it to go down. “Maybe.”

  She raked a hand through her hair, darting a glance toward Jenny’s door. “That was depraved.”

  He chuckled weakly. “Not really.”

  “You should go now.”

  His brow arched. “Can I see you again?”

  Her lips parted in surprise. “Yes.”

  “Then I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said, kissing her once more before he left.

  14

  Eric showed up to work on Sunday afternoon, not sure what to expect. As far as he knew, Jack was still in jail. Jack’s dad, the owner, was there with bags under his eyes.

  No one talked about Cristina.

  Although Eric had known her most of his life, and he grieved for the loss, he hadn’t gone to the Lopez house to pay his respects. He wasn’t sure he’d be welcome there, and he didn’t want to intrude on the family at such a difficult time.

  He was waiting for Junior to come to him.

  By talking to the gang-unit officers, Eric had broken a major neighborhood code. The streets had ears and eyes. People knew he’d gone down to the station of his own free will. Cooperating with the police wasn’t cool.

  There was only one honorable way to leave the ’hood in a squad car—handcuffed.

  If the gang thought he was turning his back on them, he was in serious trouble. Members had been killed for similar transgressions.

  Eric hoped his life wasn’t in danger. His brother was the liaison between the Locos and the Mexican Mafia. Raul’s involvement with the prison gang had cast a dark shadow over Eric’s life, but right now it afforded him a modicum of protection.

  Of course, Junior was a loose cannon. Eric had been friends with him long enough to know he did whatever he felt like doing and to hell with the consequences. Junior might blame Eric for Cristina’s death.

  He anticipated a beating, at the very least.

  Instead of dwelling on those fears, he continued to stock shelves in an orderly fashion, his thoughts drifting to Meghan. He’d dreamed about her the night before. Strange, sexual dreams. In the first, he’d been the one holding her down under the pier, taking what he wanted from her. In the second, he’d been watching Junior do it.

  Both scenarios turned his stomach, but his dick was less particular. When it refused to stop throbbing, he gripped himself firmly and closed his eyes, picturing Meghan’s pretty mouth and soft tits. For a few seconds afterward, he was ashamed of the fantasy.

  Then he fell asleep.

  When his shift ended, he was reluctant to head home. He’d rather go see Meghan or visit Jenny and April. But he had some deliveries to make, and his grandmother was waiting. With a sigh, he pedaled his bike toward the grim streets of Castle Park, whizzing past rusted cars and run-down apartments, into the belly of the beast.

  He wasn’t surprised to see Junior’s charcoal-colored Malibu idling under the streetlight in front of his grandma’s house.

  Eric rolled up to the driver’s side, feeling a hard jolt of apprehension. This wasn’t a friendly visit. Junior’s eyes were guarded, and he didn’t offer his usual handshake. He had a brown quart bottle of beer in his lap.

  “Qué hubo?” Eric murmured, moistening his lips.

  “Get ready to come out.”

  Eric didn’t consider saying no. At this point, he had no options. This was the hand he’d been dealt, the life he’d made for himself. If he’d wanted out, he should have graduated high school, applied for a scholarship, or joined the army.

  He’d chosen this.

  Eric went inside the house, putting away his bike and grabbing a brown hooded sweatshirt. His grandma was dozing on the couch. She said she wasn’t hungry, but he made her a quick meal anyway.

  “No sales esta noche,” she said, clutching his sleeve. “Por favor.”

  Eric disregarded the request. No one had been able to tell him what to do since he’d been ten years old. Even though this was her house, Eric paid all of the expenses, and he’d earned the right to come and go as he pleased.

  “Don’t worry,” he said, gently removing her hand. “I’ll be back.”

  “No sales.” Don’t go.

  “Salgo.” I’m going.

  She shook her birdlike fist at him. “Que vete al diablo, ya!”

  “I’m already there,” he muttered, stepping out into the thick night. Junior looked a bit like the devil, with his dark eyes and gleaming head. Eric walked around to the passenger side, which was already occupied by a guy they called Conejo, or Rabbit.

  Conejo was barely out of high school, skinny as hell, and crazy as fuck. He couldn’t sit still to save his life. Right now, however, he was staying put. Although Eric’s status dictated that Conejo move to the backseat, he didn’t budge. His challenging attitude solidified Eric’s suspicions: Junior had it in for him.

  Eric could handle a beating. But if they thought he was going to lie down and take it like a bitch, they were wrong.

  “Get in the back,” he said to Conejo, showing him his fist. His knuckles were scabbed over, healing well, and his adrenaline was pumping. Although he didn’t want to brawl in front of his house, he would if he had to.

  Conejo glanced at Junior, who nodded his pe
rmission. Beady eyes flashing, he scurried to the backseat.

  They drove to an overlook near Telegraph Canyon, where Junior parked among a row of cypress trees. The branches jutted toward the night sky like the edges of a serrated blade, sharp and jagged and precise. Below them, the city lights sparkled.

  It was a common hangout to drink or just kick back and listen to music, but the mood tonight wasn’t jovial. Junior’s CD player was thumping a hard and heavy baseline, Columbian gangster rap.

  Eric could feel Junior’s cold gaze assessing him. He wondered if his best friend had brought him here to kill him.

  “The cops told me you texted Cristina on Friday night.”

  He let out a slow breath. Talking was better than dying. “Yeah.”

  “You were with her?”

  “I went to a bonfire. She was there.”

  “You went to meet her?”

  “No.”

  Junior took a swig from his bottle. “Don’t fucking lie to me, cabrón. You were acting all secretive. I know you were trying to get with her.”

  Eric couldn’t tell Junior that Cristina hadn’t wanted her big brother ruining her fun at the party. So he told him about Meghan. “I wasn’t trying to get with your sister. I was trying to get with her friend.”

  “Then why did you keep it from me?”

  “Come on, güey. You know how it is. It’s hard enough to talk to a girl without your friends hanging around.”

  Junior drank some more, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He’d never appreciated the concept of privacy. Eric knew from experience that Junior would fuck whoever, wherever, whenever. He seemed to take a perverse pleasure in performing in front of others. Or perhaps he got off on exhibiting whichever female he was with.

  Eric suspected that an incident from their youth was the reason for Junior’s proclivities. The experience had affected Eric, as well. When he saw Jack on top of Meghan, the memory had resurfaced, infuriating him further.

  He’d watched men mistreat women his entire life. He’d stood by, helpless, while his father beat his mother. He’d tried to stop Raul from hitting April.