Not two minutes later, Nick walks back in. “Sorry,” he mumbles.
I sit back, ankle over my knee, my hands behind my neck. “I couldn’t quite hear that. What did you say?”
“I said, I’m sorry.”
“Again, I didn’t hear.” I cup my ear. “All that hair around your face distorts the sound. A little louder, please.”
“Fuck you,” he says loudly. “I’m sorry.”
I laugh and sit back. “Want to talk about it?”
“No. Naomi is being a pain in the ass. I’m going to play pool at Jimbo’s with Roger. I’d invite you, but someone needs to stay here and take care of the club.”
“I’m good. Go and have fun. Besides, I need you to cover for me next Friday night. I have a date.”
“With the weird chick who was in my office the other day?”
“She’s not weird. Her name is June.”
“There’s something off about her.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Not sure. Maybe I’m overreacting. This place is a maze. She probably really did get lost and end up in my office. Whatever.” He shrugged. “I got it covered next week.”
“Have fun on your date with Roger.”
“Fuck you!” He grins as he walks out. Nick and I can’t stay mad at each other more than a few minutes. He’s my other half…when he hurts, I hurt too. It’s a twin thing and it’s hard to describe. But it’s been like this all of our lives. He’s the ass, I’m the one who lets it slide. It works for us, mostly because I know he’s usually coming from a good place. Right now, it’s stress from Naomi. And Roger? They’ve been friends since we were kids, but he’s been MIA lately. I’m glad he’s back. Nick needs friends away from Panic.
MONDAY, 1:27 P.M.
Matt: Is everything really bigger in Texas?
June: Yes, it really is. How are you doing?
Matt: I have thirty seconds between meetings and am trying to wolf down a burger. You?
June: You have thirty seconds and you’re wasting it on me? Go eat your lunch.
Matt: Wasting? No, “talking” to you is my highlight. Regardless, I’m great at multitasking.
June: I can sense the innuendo through the phone.
Matt: Smart girl.
TUESDAY, 7:49 A.M.
June: We still on for Friday?
Matt: Absolutely. You can’t back out. It’s all I’ve been thinking about since Saturday.
June: Not backing out. Just double-checking.
Matt: Running into court. Have a great day, sweetheart.
June: Kick ass, Matt.
THURSDAY, 8:13 P.M.
Matt: Didn’t hear from you yesterday.
June: Miss me, huh?
Matt: You have no fucking idea.
—
The week’s been a bitch. Things are getting worse. I’m pulling seventy-hour weeks at the firm, and there were a few screw-ups at the club that I had to handle remotely. Things that were beyond Nick’s scope. Like threatening a vendor with a lawsuit because he didn’t deliver on the goods promised. The only thing that got me through it was knowing that I’d get to see June on Friday.
It’s finally Friday.
At four-thirty in the afternoon, I’ve had enough. I give our interns three motions and one memorandum to finish up over the weekend, then I jump on my bike and gun it to Miami. I’ve been leaving more and more clothes at my apartment in Miami. Not on purpose. One Sunday I just didn’t feel like bringing back the bag I’d carried down on Friday. Then the week after that, the same thing happened. Now I have most of my clothes here instead of at my real home in Fort Lauderdale. It works out perfectly on days like today when I just need or want to leave work and get straight down to Panic.
Nick’s in a worse mood than last week—that’s the first thing I notice. He lives in an apartment above mine in the swanky new building on the beach. This apartment is smaller than the one I have in Fort Lauderdale, but I like this one better because it overlooks the ocean. June already texted to let me know she’s on her way, but I have a two-hundred-pound broody man hanging around with no intention of leaving, it seems. My cranky brother is in my apartment with a beer in his hand, bitching about being stood up.
“…and I waited one hour for the sonofabitch.”
“So, you’ve been stood up by both your girlfriend and your boyfriend two weekends in a row now.”
He glares at me, not finding any of this funny. I just want him out of my home before June gets here. “Don’t you have a club to lord over? If I’m here and you’re here, who’s there?”
“It’s still early.” He glances at the huge, expensive watch on his wrist. Our father gave us identical watches when we graduated from college.
“Listen, Roger is an asshole,” I informed him. “Always has been. You never realized it because you’re an asshole too. You’re an asshole by character; he’s an asshole because he’s high off his ass most of the time.”
“He is not.”
“Brother, get a clue. Your best friend is drugged up all the time. And since we’re being real here, I’m going to lay it down for you. So is your girlfriend.”
“Naomi is not high all the time. She drinks sometimes. Maybe smokes some weed once in a while. Nothing serious.”
I don’t have time for this shit. “Whatever you want to believe, brother. But you need to get your ass out of here. I have a date and I don’t want you here when she arrives.”
He tosses his empty beer bottle in the trash. “Afraid she’ll take one look at me and realize she’s with the wrong brother?”
“No, more like afraid she’ll take one look at you and run screaming when she sees your grisly-looking yeti face.”
“Don’t be jealous of my ability to grow a beard. It’s a man thing. You’ll get it one day. Maybe when you hit puberty,” he says, slapping the back of my shoulder on his way out.
Once he leaves, I start pacing around my apartment waiting for June to get here. I’ve known her now for a few weeks, but every time I see her it’s like the first time all over again. I’m anxious and eager to impress her, and when I see those clear blue eyes, it’s as if I’ve been stabbed in the heart. Every. Single. Time. I haven’t even thought of taking a hit of coke or sleeping with anyone else. But I’m okay. More than okay. The high from being around her is enough.
I gave her name at the desk downstairs, so now I won’t even have a heads-up before she arrives. I sit down with a beer in my hand, then stand and walk over to the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooks the ocean, and a minute later go back to the couch. I probably do this ten times before I hear the knock on the door.
I’ve become a lovesick idiot, I think as I practically run to the door. Taking a calming breath, I open it. And just like every other time, it’s an arrow right to my chest.
She’s in jeans, a glittery tank top, and a sweater. She’s casual but cute and oh so fucking sexy, and God, I just want her. Like, want her want her. Like, against the wall, on my dining room table, on the floor by the door. Anywhere and everywhere I can have her.
But at the same time, I want to talk to her. Get to know her. Hold her. What the fuck is wrong with me? I’m losing my goddamn mind. It must be the sober horniness that’s getting to me.
“Hi,” she says in that voice, and I’m lost. So completely fucking lost that I just can’t control myself. I pull her inside by the waistband of her jeans and attack her mouth. I know this is wrong. We haven’t kissed yet, and attacking her without having even said hello is not the way to begin a long-lasting relationship.
Is that what I want? A long-lasting relationship? Isn’t it too soon to even be thinking these things?
With her, the answer is a resounding yes. I’m not a kid anymore. I’m a thirty-three-year-old man. I’ve had plenty of meaningless sex, but this woman makes me want something different. Something more. It’s not that I’ve been avoiding it all these years; it’s that I’ve never really thought about it until now. She’s like a puzzle pie
ce I didn’t even know was missing.
At first she hesitates. Of course. I’m a lunatic who attacks her within seconds of seeing her, grabbing her caveman style and thrusting my tongue in her deliciously sweet mouth. But soon she’s clawing at my shirt, meeting my tongue thrust for thrust. Biting my lower lip, sucking it into her mouth. She kicks the door shut behind her and I push her against it, unable to get enough. She doesn’t protest how fiercely I am kissing her, the need I have for her. It makes me want more of her. All of her. I snake my fingers into her hair and pull back, elongating her neck so that I can kiss her and bite her and trigger those fucking goosebumps all over her body I know she gets when I get close to the shell of her ear. I fucking love it.
I’m moving lower, definitely pushing her boundaries, when she grabs my face and pulls me back up. I’m just inches from her cleavage and I whimper a little at the loss of contact. I just want my face in there.
“Are you pouting?”
“Maybe?” I whine.
“You kissed me. You didn’t even ask.”
“I know. You didn’t seem to mind.”
“I didn’t,” she admits, and kisses me on the lips one last time. “I brought your jacket back. I may have slept in it.” She hands it to me and then steps around me. I gently bang my head against the door two times, making her laugh, before I follow her into my living room. “So, this is where the rich and famous live.”
“Not famous. And not really rich either. Come on. I’ll give you the grand tour later. If you set foot in my bedroom, I’ll probably end up sliding your panties down your legs and busying my face between your thighs. So let’s make dinner, cool off, and stay in the safe zone.”
She stares at me, her cheeks red.
“See, you need to cool off too,” I add, taking her by the hand and leading her to the kitchen.
“You have a dirty mouth, Mr. Moreno.”
“Woman, my mouth is the least dirty part of me,” I say, lifting her and planting her ass on the kitchen island. “Okay, so I bought steaks, chicken, shrimp, and pasta. What do you prefer?”
“Jeez, Matt. You bought everything.”
“Wasn’t sure what you liked. I mean, I know you like steak, but we just had that and I wasn’t sure if you wanted that again. We can throw the steaks on the grill outside, if that’s what you prefer. Then I bought chicken, thinking that if you didn’t want steak and maybe didn’t like shrimp, you’d want the chicken. Then I bought the shrimp because I like shrimp and maybe you do too but just felt like eating steak that day. And then the pasta is…you know…just in case you didn’t like any of the above.”
She laughs and pulls me to her by the back of my neck. She wraps her legs around me and gives me a hard closed-mouth kiss. “You are sweet, Matt.”
“I’m really just trying to get into your pants.”
She laughs again and shoves me away. “If that were true, you wouldn’t have bought all those things. And it all sounds good. Really. You pick.”
“Shrimp it is, then. You want to help?”
“I’m a shitty cook, but yeah, I’ll help. Just show me what to do. I’m good at following instructions.”
For the next twenty minutes I show her how to prep the shrimp while I cut up the vegetables for a quick shrimp stir-fry. We work in tandem, while I tell her all about my horrible week.
She dumps the shrimp into the wok where I’ve cooked the vegetables, then washes her hands as I stir the sizzling mixture. “So, I’ve bored you to death,” I say. “Tell me about your trip.”
“It’s not nearly as exciting as what you do. I went to Houston, met with doctors, went to a conference. Mostly it was boring. I want to hear more about your week.”
“I’ve talked your ear off, sweetheart. There’s nothing more to tell.”
“Do you think you’ll eventually work at Panic full-time?”
“And leave the firm?” I stir the food in the wok. “I always thought I’d run Panic, but I’m not so sure if that’s what I want to do anymore. Or maybe I do want to do it, but not at the cost of quitting the firm.”
“I get it. Must be hard, though, balancing both jobs. When I met you, you were bartending. Is that what you do? Help with the bar?”
“I do it all. Nick does too, but he gets the brunt of it. He’s always at the club. Nick does a lot of the administrative stuff, and when I’m there, I take over all the grunt work so he has time to do all the paperwork bullshit. When I have some downtime, I go up and help him. And even during the week, if there are issues, they’ll call me and I handle them. Like contract kind of problems.”
“But is it, like, your club? Like you make all the decisions?”
“Hell, no. My dad can’t seem to let go. He’s still calling a lot of the shots, and Nick is always so high-strung I don’t want to add more stress by giving too many opinions. I just go with the flow, help where I can. Like if a DJ quits, I’ll hire one. Then Nick will get mad and fire her or him.”
“Damn, seems stressful.”
I shrug. Yeah, it’s stressful, but it is what it is. “It’s my family. I’ll do anything for them. Anyway, grab those two plates, will ya?” She hands me the plates, and I portion our food. “And grab that bottle of wine and the corkscrew and follow me.”
I lead her to the balcony overlooking the ocean. It’s a beautiful night outside, and in the distance you can see the cruise ships. “Wow, Matt. This is gorgeous.”
“I love it. Every morning that I’m here in Miami, I sit out here and drink my coffee.”
“I can see why,” she says, her eyes closed, the breeze on her face, her hair whipping around. I put the plates down and walk behind her. Unable to resist, I kiss the back of her shoulder and neck.
“Come on, let’s eat before it gets cold.”
Chapter 5
We’re eating pie on my sofa after dinner. Her bare feet are tucked underneath her and she’s leaning into me. It feels so familiar and intimate, I forget what I’m saying.
“Matt? The new server, Stephanie? You were telling me about Nick’s reaction.”
“Oh, shit, sorry. My mind went elsewhere.” I tell her about Nick and how he’s being more ornery than usual. “And he doesn’t even realize that Naomi is strung out most of the time. He seems to think she’s just having a little fun.”
“And you’re sure she’s using drugs?” she asks, her nose wrinkling in disgust.
“Yeah, she’s definitely using something, and it’s not just alcohol. She’s tweaked out of her mind most of the time, you know what I mean?”
“Nope. Never done a single drug in my life. I can’t imagine feeling out of control. I wouldn’t want to do anything that would make me feel that way, you know?”
“Yeah, I hear you.” I’m in a difficult place now, because I don’t want lies to taint what we are starting to build. “Well, I feel like I should tell you something.” I take a deep breath. “The kind of lifestyle I live, being up most nights, that party environment, I drink too much sometimes, and sometimes I’ll…” I don’t even know how to say it. It feels so wrong all of a sudden, and I’m disgusted with myself.
“You’ll what?” She looks as if she’s braced for the worst possible news.
“I’ll…I have done some drugs.”
“Like when you were a stupid teenager?”
I groan out in frustration. “No, like recently. Recreationally. Some pot, some coke.”
She moves away to the other side of the couch. “Seriously?”
“But I haven’t since I met you. I haven’t felt the need or the desire. I’m not a drug addict or anything—I just need a little something sometimes to handle things.”
“Handle things?”
“Running Panic can be stressful, but handling my father and Nick is more so.”
“You always seem like nothing bothers you.”
“That’s always been the way I am. I joke, I make light of most situations, but it doesn’t mean things don’t bother me.”
“I bet you’
re one of those people who never gets mad, but when you do…get out of the way, because you’re a nuclear bomb. Maybe talking it out and expressing your feelings is a better outlet.”
I think about that. How many times have I truly been mad? In court, when I have a son of a bitch as opposing counsel or a lying client or a dick judge, yeah, I get mad, but even then I always keep my cool and outsmart them by not letting things get to me, which seems to throw people off. But lately I’ve been feeling a little overwhelmed by the lack of sleep and the days that turn into weeks without a single break. In the past, when I’ve felt this way, that’s when I drink too much or take a hit of coke. Maybe June’s right.
“Matt, I can’t be with someone who does drugs.”
“I don’t,” I quickly say, and then amend, “I won’t. I promise. I don’t even want to. Lately you’ve taken over most of my thoughts. It really hasn’t crossed my mind.”
“How do you even get it? The drugs, I mean?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Girls’ll slip it to me, or there’s a guy I know…I don’t want to talk about it.”
“You’ll tell me if you start again? I—I just—it’s not something I want around me.”
“I will. But I won’t, okay? I just wanted to tell you. I don’t want to start things out with you on a lie.” I feel gross and like the lowest form of human. This woman doesn’t deserve to be around a guy who copes with his feeling by snorting or drinking.
There’s a noticeable tic from her when I say that, and her body is wound tight. I’m not sure whether she’s having second thoughts about me or if it’s something else. “Get back over here.” I pull her back to the crook of my arm, where she was sitting until just a few moments ago.
“Okay. I trust you. Tell me about your dad,” she says, and it’s a very welcome subject change.
“Dad? Well, he’s on a cruise right now. With some chick named Misty who is less than half his age. Cheated on my mom when we were younger, probably screwed most of the women who set foot in Panic in the eighties and most of the nineties.”
“But he must’ve been a good businessman if he was able to make Panic so successful.”
Make Me Stay: The Panic Series Page 6
