Deep Blue

by Jules Barnard

  I shoot Gen a text.

  Cali: I left the bar. Getting a ride from a coworker. Please bring my purse when you leave. See you back at our place. Get some digits, will you!

  I don’t wait for her response. If she worries about me, she’ll check her phone.

  Drake leads me to a dark sports car. I have no idea of the make—that kind of detail is beyond my cognitive ability at the moment.

  He opens the passenger door and I ease onto tan leather seats, slipping off his jacket and draping it over the center console.

  “Where do you live?” he asks from the driver’s side.

  Another internal twinge hits me, as if beneath the alcohol haze, common sense lies in wait. I don’t like the idea of giving a stranger my address, but I really want to go home. Besides, he works at the casino. If he wanted my address, he could look it up. I smother my worries and give him the information. He programs it into his GPS and we head out.

  Within minutes, we pull into my driveway. I hop out of the car and Drake does too. Maybe he’s walking me to the door? I slip behind the fence where we hide the spare key. When I return, Drake’s waiting on the darkened doorstep.

  Gen and I forgot to turn on the porch light before we left. This wouldn’t be a big deal, except that having the lights off sets a certain romantic mood I’d rather not encourage.

  “Thank you for the ride. Sorry about zoning out at the club. I guess I’m more tired than I thought.”

  Drake sidles closer, resting his hand lightly on my hip. He flashes his charming smile. “How about a short visit?”

  I step back, my shoulders brushing the door. “Not tonight. Another time, maybe?”

  He nods slowly. I can’t see his eyes clearly in the dark, but I sense calculations going on behind the pregnant pause. “A kiss good-night, then?”

  He leans forward and my hands flash to his chest, urging him back. “I don’t—”

  Drake dips his head, my arms no barrier when he’s half a foot taller. His mouth closes on mine even as I’m pushing him away. He doesn’t seem to notice, or care, since he’s too busy grabbing my neck and angling his tongue inside my mouth.

  Every danger instinct goes off. My brain moves in rapid fire, registering each breath, a rough hand grabbing my wrist, pinning it behind me in a gesture meant to be sexy or an assault—I’m not sure which. Either way, it’s unwelcome. Drake’s body urges me flush with the door. The only sounds are the shifting of our feet, and the smacking of Drake’s rough mouth amid the struggle for control.

  A fine sweat breaks out along my back despite the evening chill. Rapid footsteps penetrate the panic surging through my body.

  “Off!” a deep, familiar voice shouts a second before Drake is ripped from me. I step away from the door, my arms shaking from the effort of pushing at him.

  Jaeger stands between us, his back to me. I have no idea how he got here, or why he’s here. But the relief is unimaginable.

  “Is there a problem?” Drake casually shifts his collar forward. Jaeger must have wrenched it when he grabbed him.

  Drake saunters closer, careful to remain clear of Jaeger. “The lady came home with me. I don’t see how this is any of your business.”

  “It’s her home and she asked you to leave,” Jaeger says. “Get. The fuck. Out!” He steps back and drapes a long arm over my shoulders, pulling me close. My heart slows, my breathing calms.

  The threat in Jaeger’s voice stuns me, but my body instinctively curls into his. Frankly, I’m surprised anyone can garner this kind of response from Jaeger. He’s the gentle giant. But Jesus, is he scary when he’s mad.

  “Cali—” Drake steps to the side and grabs my wrist, tugging me.

  I twist my arm away. Does the man have a death wish? Or is he just so arrogant he thinks a guy twice his size can’t touch him? “Please leave,” I tell Drake.

  His jaw clenches as if he’s refusing to give up a toy.

  Jaeger lets out an angry sigh, pushes me behind him—what the hell?—and punches Drake in the face. Holy shit!

  Drake lands on the ground, rolling, grasping the front of his face. There’s no blood, but that has to have hurt.

  Jaeger leans over him. “Do. Not. Touch. Her. That was a warning tap. The next one won’t be.”

  Drake hastily rises and brushes the powdery Tahoe soil off his trousers. He glares at me. “Not what I had in mind for tonight,” he says and stalks away. He fires up his car and tears out of the driveway in a spray of pebbles and pine needles.

  Jaeger tilts up my chin with his finger, searching my face. “Are you okay?”

  I nod, wondering what in the hell just happened. “What are you doing here?” Drake’s car rounds the corner at the end of my street, his taillights disappearing. “How did you know …?”

  Jaeger rubs a hand down his face and lets out a tense breath. “Kerstin. She told me you looked drunk and left with some guy from the club.” His face contorts. “What were you thinking, Cali?”

  This side of Jaeger, the angry, protective side, is something I’ve never seen before, and it’s totally hot—not that I wish to ignite it unduly.

  I wasn’t thinking when I left with Drake. In fact, I purposely tried not to think. About Jaeger. But that’s not something I’ll tell him. “I made a mistake.”

  “You made a mistake? You—” Jaeger steps to the side and runs his fingers through his short hair. “Do you understand what that—that psychotic asshole could have done?”

  Yeah, I kinda do, and I’m trying not to imagine it. The last half hour has sobered me up.

  I rub my eyes and move to the front door, unlock it and walk inside, my fingers and arms still trembling. Jaeger lingers on the threshold. “You can come in,” I tell him.

  I fill a glass of water in the kitchen and offer him one, but he shakes his head.

  “I’m sorry for yelling.” He lets out another strained breath. “But you can’t go home with people you don’t know. Matter of fact, don’t go home with anyone unless it’s a friend.”

  I spin around. It was stupid to go home with Drake and I learned a painful lesson tonight, but where does Jaeger get off telling me what to do? “What about you? Did you take your lady friend home before you came here? It’s okay for you to leave with some random person, but not me?”

  “I’m not a hundred-pound female,” he growls. “He could have hurt you, Cali.”

  Before I dated Eric, I’d left parties a time or two with guys I had just met. But in those cases, I knew the guy’s fraternity brothers, or we had friends in common. There were dangers in college, sure, but we lived in a bubble where people knew each other. The risks were lower.

  I ignored my instincts tonight and treated Drake like I would a guy from school. It was foolish and dangerous, but that doesn’t give Jaeger the right to treat me like a child. “I said I made a mistake. I don’t recall having a second big brother. Why did you follow me, anyway?”

  Jaeger sits in the center of the couch, taking up two-thirds of it, his legs spread wide the way guys do because they don’t wear skirts or feel the need to hide their private parts. He leans his head against the wall behind the cushions and stares at the ceiling. “I thought the guy could be bad news.”

  I look around searchingly. “And you knew this how?”

  He glares at me. “He’s a guy and you’d been drinking. I wasn’t taking chances.”

  My brows furrow. Jaeger’s earlier behavior was rather heated for someone I’m casually friends with, like he was taking things personally. Why the hell would he leave his date to follow me home on the off chance Drake was a serial killer?

  “What about your lady friend?”

  “Client. She’s a client, Cali.”

  I raise my brows. “She’s pretty handsy for a client. Do all clients feel you up?”

  A vee forms between his brows. He sits forward and grabs my waist, pulling me between his knees until I have no choice but to shift and sit on his leg or fall into his chest. I choose the leg, slowly slid
ing off onto the couch beside him, my legs dangling over his lap. His arm braces me from behind. “You scared the shit out of me tonight.” His green eyes are intense and worried.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, surprised.

  Jaeger presses my face to his chest, cradling my head. “Promise me you’ll never do anything like that again.”

  I’ll promise him anything, as long as he keeps holding me like this. “I won’t. Totally stupid,” I mumble, nuzzling his shirt and breathing in his clean scent.

  Jaeger leans back and our eyes meet for a long moment. The intensity makes my breath quicken. He lowers his head infinitely slowly until a puff of air from his nose tickles my skin. His lips graze mine, a delicate touch that is the total opposite of Drake’s mauling. Jaeger’s gentleness speaks of heat and longing, and something deeper I can’t put my finger on. But I want it.

  If I thought the attraction between us was intense, the electricity his lips generate is coiled, sizzling need. My fingers clutch his shirt. This is what I’ve craved. All night, all week—since we first met.

  Jaeger pulls back, keeping an inch of space between us. His breaths fan my chin, thumb rubbing circles along my hairline. “Is this okay? After—”

  I lean up and fasten my mouth to his in answer. Whether I acknowledge it to myself or not, I’ve been waiting for this kiss for weeks.

  His fingers slide into my hair, angling my head for better access, and I’m drowning. My belly tightens, body arching toward him. I wrap my arms around his broad back and pull him close until we fall backward onto the cushions with him on top.

  His weight feels amazing. Not crushing or forced, but just enough to fire more need. I’m a sea of sensation and all we’re doing is kissing. My legs squeeze his hips, drawing him closer.

  A short, guttural moan escapes his mouth and his hand drifts from my hair, down my throat, to my chest, wrapping around my breast. He pulls his mouth away and runs kisses along my chin and neck. “Cali,” he whispers, cupping my breast and rubbing his thumb over my nipple.

  It’s not until he says my name again that the lust clears enough to register that he’s attempting to communicate with something other than body talk. I look into his eyes.

  “When is Gen getting back?” he says.

  Wha …? Gen? Shit.

  Panic spears my gut, and not because I’m worried Gen will walk in on us, though she could. I forgot all about Gen and Jaeger and the possibility that something exists between them. After all the encouragement I’ve given Gen to get back out there, here I am making out with a guy she may like. The worst part is, I pushed Jaeger and Gen together.

  What am I doing? I squirm out from beneath him, my anger piqued at myself and the idea that Jaeger could be playing me. I have to find out what is going on between them. Gen is my best friend.

  I swallow and attempt to gather the rest of my brain that scattered the minute Jaeger loomed over me with his large, heated body. “I don’t know, but she was pretty drunk when I left. She’ll probably be home soon.” What a night this has been.

  “Maybe I should leave.” He stands and adjusts his pants, which I realize now house a very large, impressive bulge. I glance away.

  If I ask Jaeger about Gen, I’m not sure I’ll be able to tell truth from lie. The subject needs to be addressed soberly, when I’m not reacting passionately to my protector. “That’s probably a good idea.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  This morning my head feels like I thrashed it against a sharp boulder a few thousand times, but I’ve held back the queasies thanks to a few green olives and dry toast. Gen, however, has not fared as well. She’s in the bathroom puking her guts out.

  “You okay in there?”

  She doesn’t answer, so I open the door a crack and check on her. She’s hugging the bowl, her cheek affixed to the rim. I open the door wide. “You don’t look good. Do you want me to take you to Urgent Care?”

  “No,” she says without moving. “Just need quiet time with the toilet.”

  I grab two washcloths from the cupboard and soak them in cold water. I drape one across the back of her neck.

  Gen moans. “Feels good.”

  “Here.” I hand her the other. Her arm wavers unsteadily in the air. I grab her fingers and direct them to the cloth.

  I keep a close eye on her for the rest of the day, and by evening she’s eating. I don’t bother asking how her night went. I’m pretty sure she won’t remember, and to bring it up might encourage questions about mine. I don’t want to go there. Not until I’m sure I’ve not encroached somewhere I shouldn’t have.

  Holy crap. The full force of what could have happened with Drake if Jaeger hadn’t shown up hit me this morning. I will never do anything like that again. And afterward, with Jaeger? Clearly, I was not thinking. I was feeling, and allowing it to control my actions. If there’s something going on between Jaeger and Gen, I could be the other woman this time. Gen can barely trust as it is after the last A-hole played her. The level of betrayal in this situation would be so much worse.

  Gen and I spend the evening recovering from our hangovers with an eighties chick-flick movie marathon. While Gen watches Mystic Pizza with a pre-Hollywood, fuller-figured Julia Roberts, I attempt to figure out when and how to mention Jaeger, because the only way to resolve my problem is to find out the truth about them.

  I asked Gen about Jaeger once and she denied a connection, while her eyes told a different story. I’m not sure why she’d keep her feelings about him—or any guy—a secret, unless she was waiting until the relationship was on solid ground. Given her last relationship debacle, that would make sense, but that type of tight-lipped attitude doesn’t help me.

  It’s a delicate situation. I can’t tell Gen about Drake without lying about Jaeger’s involvement. And I can’t tell her about Jaeger without letting on that I have feelings for him, which could set off a friendship bomb.

  The next day, I approach the seamstress counter at work scratching my arms. I haven’t figured out a solution to the communication roadblock, and all this nervous energy is giving me hives.

  “Sorry, honey,” the attendant says to me after Gen leaves for her locker. “Boss says you need to visit the supervisor. Elevators off the lobby, second floor. They’ll direct you from there.”

  That’s weird. I’ve only interacted with the head dealer and a pit boss who manages new trainees. I’ve never gone upstairs to the big guns—the people observing Casino Real World through stealthy security cameras.

  There’s no time to tell Gen where I’m headed—I’ll be late for my shift. I nod to the attendant and jog up the stairs to the casino floor and the wall of elevators off the lobby.

  The second floor of the building could not look more different from the rest of the casino. A section of cubicles takes up a good portion of the space, which is so institutional and wrong compared to the high-end décor of the gaming and customer areas, yet an upgrade from the yellowing paint and metal lockers of the basement. Offices line three sides of the floor, with one large double door labeled Security in the center of an entire wall.

  “I’m Cali Morgan,” I tell the receptionist. “The seamstress asked me to come here.”

  The receptionist drums bright red nails and tucks a lock of wavy, shoulder-length hair behind her ear. The nails disappear into layers of reddish-purple locks that under no circumstances came from nature. Those nails flash back out and pluck a sticky note from the desk. “Right this way.”

  I follow the receptionist down the hall. Her heavy eye makeup and hair are casino glam, but the modest skirt and blouse she wears keep her respectable. I’m going to take a wild guess and say she worked the casino floor at some point.

  We pass the security area and come to a different hallway lined with offices spread farther apart. The receptionist knocks on a door with Robert Middleton, Gaming on a metal plaque to the side and we enter.

  Inside, a man of middling years with sandy blond hair and a dimple in his chin taps a few last keyst
rokes on his computer. “Thank you.” He nods to the receptionist and she closes the door behind her.

  I have a strange feeling about this.

  What could I have done wrong or right to land me here? I’m not the fastest dealer, but no one has complained so far. I haven’t miscounted, which is more than I can say for other new dealers. If miscounting or botching a riffle shuffle were cause for dismissal, half the summer dealers would have been axed.

  Robert Middleton stands halfway and gestures to a chair. “You must be Calista. Have a seat, please.” I never go by my full name, but I don’t correct him. Something in his voice tells me this is serious.

  He sits down in his wide leather chair, a large picture window looking over the mountains and lake in the background. Blood rushes through my veins, pulse pounding at my throat. This guy is big time.

  Leaning on his forearms, Robert Middleton steeples his fingers. His jacket is off, but he’s wearing a white dress shirt and a striped taupe business tie so tight the skin at his neck folds above the collar. “I’ll get right to the point. We’re going to have to let you go.”

  My jaw drops, eyes unblinking. What?

  I mean, that thought occurred to me, given where I am, but I didn’t actually think it possible. I’ve never in my life received anything less than an A-minus, let alone been fired from an internship or work position. “I don’t understand.”

  “It’s very simple. You are here as a summer employee. We have a probationary period of three months for all employees. If at any point during those three months we feel the collaboration isn’t a good fit, the casino may terminate without cause. It’s been brought to my attention that your conduct does not fit our culture and that you would do better somewhere else.”

  His poker face is perfect. I get nothing from his expression. “What conduct are you referring to? I’m not trying to be argumentative, I just don’t understand what I’ve done that would warrant this.”

  “I’d rather not go into specifics, nor am I obligated to. Your termination is effective immediately.” He stands and walks around his desk, gesturing to the door, a waft of spicy aftershave making my stomach roll. “Please return to the front desk. The receptionist has a packet of closing forms for you to fill out.”