by Willow Aster
“I like a girl who plays hardball.” He drops to sit, and it takes everything in me not to roll my eyes dramatically. His attempts at sexual banter are lame at best. Hell, Spence Taylor has more wit in his pinky finger than this assface.
Spence.
My stomach flutters at the thought of him, and I push it away. I don’t do butterflies, or romance, or anything in the feelings department.
I open the file beside my keyboard and hand him the transcripts. “What do you think my best angle is here?”
He reads for a few moments, flipping to the second page as his gaze narrows. Arwin’s strength: he’s never lost a case to date. That’s an impressive track record for a man who has been at it for two decades and has the attention span of a small flea. His weakness: everything else.
He’s a cheating dirtbag and he makes no attempt to hide it. In fact, he brags about the way he sneaks around behind his wife’s back. He’s donning a purple tie today with oversized white polka dots, a too-tight navy suit, and black shoes, drawing attention to his disastrous fashion choices. He’s going for young and trendy, but he’s missing the mark as badly as a TV evangelist during a fall from grace.
Most importantly, he’s a shitty father, and I can’t get behind that. As a child who’s suffered from the choices of one selfish parent, I find his behavior appalling. And he thinks it’s all okay because he’s successful and rich but emotionally bankrupt.
I think I like hangover Emma. She doesn’t mince words. Well, maybe that’s not so unusual.
“I think you hit him in the nuts. Hit him where it hurts,” he says. How prolific. The man tries to include nuts or balls or tits or cock in everything he says and he thinks he’s sly because he uses it in a way that makes it impossible for HR to write him up for it.
He’ll plead ignorance, which sums this man up in a nutshell.
Look at that. He’s rubbing off on me.
And this is how he wins cases? His advice is weak at best.
“Thank you for your words of wisdom.”
I don’t feel I need his help on this domestic battery case, but I do want to exhaust every effort to do what’s best for my client. If that means listening to Arwin’s nonsense in hopes of one gem coming through, I suppose I’ll try.
“We can go deeper when we have more time. Check your calendar. You’ll get a lot more out of me if I’m sitting down with a cock,” he pauses because he thinks I’m slow, “tail.”
“So original. Thanks for your help,” I say, as my phone vibrates on my desk. My heart races when I see it’s my mother.
Maybe she really is going to try this time.
So great to see you last night, Em. Bob can’t stop raving about you. Girls’ night on Thursday. Just you and me?
I stare at the message, and I can’t help but smile. What is it about this woman that makes me want to believe her? Her track record is shit, but I can’t seem to stop hoping this time will be different. Because what’s the point of life if you can’t redeem yourself, right? I believe in second chances. Hell, my profession centers around people being held accountable, serving their time, and then going back out into the world as reformed citizens.
So cheers to one hundred and thirty chances. You’ve got this, Mom.
Sure. That sounds nice. Where would you like to meet?
I watch the three little dots move across the screen and chew on my thumbnail. Why am I nervous? I’m not even fazed when it’s a stranger off a dating app asking to meet. Speaking of which, I’ve been in a dry spell for the past few months. I need to get back out there.
How about Tommy’s Steakhouse? I haven’t been there in a decade. 7 PM on Thursday? My treat, sweetheart.
Okay. Sounds good.
I let out a breath that I didn’t even know I was holding and get back to work. Mya has sent multiple texts begging me to come over tonight to play board games with her and Jesse, but I know there’s a good chance that his brothers could show up.
She’s feeling much better, and I have a hard time turning down a night of board games with my bestie, but I am not giving Spence the opportunity to throw my drunken emotional breakdown in my face, so I decline. I want to hang out with Dad tonight anyway. He and his friends always pull me out of my funk.
I tell Mya I’ll see her tomorrow night for our usual Real Housewives date night, but this week we will be watching with Yaya and her gusband, AKA her lifelong best friend-slash gay stand-in husband, Bernard. He calls himself Yaya’s gay husband outright, but Yaya thinks that sounds both politically incorrect and/or could ward off potential suitors for either/both of them. She tolerates gusband.
They can verbally spar like no one’s business. The man is a combo of Bernie Sanders and Andy Cohen. He looks like an elderly politician, an open-minded cool one of course, but he can talk smack and gossip with the best of them. He’s in my top five favorite people on the planet, and I’ve been dying for Mya to meet him.
My week is turning around.
Chapter Nine
Spence
I drop by game night at Jesse and Mya’s, and I’m surprised that Emma isn’t here. I’ve kicked myself a dozen times today for thinking about her. She’s Mya’s best friend, so naturally I want to make sure she’s okay. She was upset last night, and I can’t shake the feeling that she might need a friend.
An enemy can be a friend on a temporary basis.
“I’m not in the mood for games. I’ll talk to you later.” I push to my feet, snag a chicken finger off the counter and head for the door.
“Are you going to Mean Mug?” Gus asks, his voice eager, because God forbid the dude doesn’t attend a social gathering every twenty-four hours. “I’ll meet you over there after I kick Mya’s ass.”
Caden enters the apartment just as I’m leaving. “I thought you had a date?” I ask, as he steps inside.
“That’s a negative. She showed up to dinner and was acting all suspicious, looking over her shoulder and shit. She finally tells me that she just wants to make sure her husband isn’t at the same restaurant. She’s fucking married. Remind me to kick James’ ass next time he’s working at Mean Mug.” Caden stops at the fridge to grab a beer and everyone laughs, with the exception of Mya, whose eyes have doubled in size. James is batting two and zero these days and might want to stick to his day job of pouring cocktails. He was on board for a threesome with my last date and now he sets up my brother with a married woman?
“That dickshit is on my very last nerve,” Gus pipes up. “He tried to fix me up with a woman the other night at the bar, and when I offered her a drink, she said she probably shouldn’t because she’s three months’ pregnant. I have nothing against a good MILF but not one who is carrying the child of her fiancé. Yeah, that’s right. She said she doubted her fiancé would approve. James was fucking with me. And she got a basket of garlic knots and three Dr. Peppers out of it. The joke’s on me, I guess.”
“Well, James will not be setting me up anymore and I have all sorts of plans to get back at him.” Caden rubs his hands together. The dude is the master of pranks and no one ever sees it coming. He drops down beside Mya and I salute them before leaving.
I’m antsy as shit, and I need some fresh air. I zip up my coat and tuck my hands in my pockets. I’m surprised when I find myself standing in front of Kingsley’s Auto Shop. I didn’t plan to come here, but since my feet seem to have a mind of their own, I may as well check on her. Make sure she’s alive. Mya didn’t go to work today, so I didn’t hear anything about Emma. I knock on the door and wait.
“You looking for Em?” A voice calls out from behind me and I turn to see a dude that’s about my age, standing a few inches shorter than me and skinny enough that the wind might snap him in two.
“Uh, yeah. I was just in the neighborhood,” I say, stumbling over my words, which never happens. Why am I nervous? I'm checking on a friend.
I’m actually checking on my favorite enemy.
He chuckles. “Come on. She’s in here.”
&
nbsp; Damn. I wasn’t looking for a show. He yanks open the door and I hear boisterous laughter, as Emma sits on a stool with her hands flailing as if she’s entertaining all of them. There are three older dudes, the string bean, and Emma, and I’m suddenly awkward as shit. What the fuck was I thinking?
“You got a friend here to see you, Queenie,” the little dude says.
“Old Solemn.” She pushes to her feet and marches toward me, hands on her hips and gaze narrowed. The lighting above is dim, but I see pops of amber and gold in her hazel eyes even though she’s looking at me like I’m up to something. “Did you come to gloat?”
The guy that walked me in has joined the group and they are completely ignoring us, except for one of the older dudes who keeps looking over at me.
“No. I, uh, I was in the neighborhood. Just wanted to make sure you were okay.” I run a hand down my face, regretting this decision.
She raises a brow and all the muscles in her face relax. She studies me before crossing her arms over her chest. “Am I supposed to believe that you were worried about me?”
“Don’t get excited, I worry about the pigeons outside my window being eaten by the hawk across the street.”
Her head falls back in laughter and it’s quickly becoming one of my favorite sounds.
“Who’s your friend, Queenie?” someone calls out.
“Friend is a bit of a stretch,” she shouts and they all chuckle. There’s a comfort level here that I recognize. It’s the way I feel around my family. But I’m the outsider in this group, and they are all watching me like they’re deciding if they should pounce or not.
“Come on over. I’ll introduce you.”
She leads me toward the group of men, and for a brief moment I consider bolting. This is a mistake and I shouldn’t have come. But I’m here now, so I don’t have much choice.
“I’m Little Joe,” the guy I met outside says, extending his hand to me. He’s definitely the friendliest and his gaze bounces from me to Emma several times as a wide grin spreads across his face.
“Hey. Spence Taylor.” I clear my throat and take his hand. I feel like I’m picking up my date for the prom by the way they are all assessing me.
“This is Sam, my dad.” She points to the man who has been watching me since I walked through the door. “And these are his best friends, Fish and Stinky Pete.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say.
“What’s your story?” her father asks, as he moves a bit closer, with a deep frown on his face. “You related to Jesse Taylor?”
“Jeez, Dad. Take it down a notch. He’s Jesse’s brother, and he’s just a, well, he’s sort of my enemy.” Emma shrugs, and everyone bursts out in laughter. I shove my hands in my pockets.
Ow. You’re her enemy, dickbean, why the fuck did you come here?
“Most men are Emma’s enemy. We’ve all been there,” Little Joe says and now it’s my turn to laugh. She slugs him in the arm.
“So, you’re Jesse’s brother,” her father says skeptically, as if he’s memorizing every detail about me for the sketch artist later.
I guess you could say karma’s a bitch, because this is how we are with our baby sister Penelope. But this is a one-time check-in with my barely friend—there’s no reason for them to be concerned.
“Yep. Like I said, I was just in the neighborhood. Wasn’t planning to come by,” I say, and I sound like I’m lying because I’ve already said it.
They chuckle again. At my expense. And Emma is enjoying herself as she watches them.
“Yeah. You mentioned that,” Fish says, his face hard and the dude is scary as shit. “You sure this wasn’t intentional? Did you come to ask our girl out?”
“Because if so, you’ve got to go through each of us before that happens,” Smelly Pete or whatever the hell his name is says, squaring his shoulders as he steps in my space. I feel like I’m in a bad gangster movie, and I’m about to be driven out to the desert.
“You fools are insane. Go back to work. I’m leaving,” Emma says, cocking her head as if to say it’s time to go.
Don’t threaten me with a good time.
I’m ready to get the fuck out of here.
“Nice to meet you,” Little Joe says, and he’s the only one smiling.
“Call me later, Em,” her father says before tipping his chin at me with a warning look, like I better watch myself.
We get outside and Emma bends over and starts laughing hysterically. Yeah, I came to check on her ass and now she finds it hilarious that my life just got threatened.
All for the she-devil.
I turn on my heels. “See ya.”
“Spence,” she yells.
“What, Queenie?” At least I got her nickname out of this life-threatening visit. Although it’s very fitting. Emma Kingsley is not a princess, she’s definitely a queen.
“Do you like nachos?”
“What?”
“Do. You. Like. Nachos?” she says, and the light shining down in the parking lot makes it easy to see the smirk painted on her face.
“That’s an infantile question. Everyone likes nachos.” I shove my hands in my pockets, waiting for her to taser me or punk me or slap me. I never know what this woman is going to do.
She mimics “That’s an infantile question” back with a low, irritating voice that sounds nothing like me and laughs when I glare at her. “Stinky Pete doesn’t like nachos.”
“No? I’m guessing he’s more partial to leaving a horse’s head in someone’s bed?”
She moves closer and slaps me on the shoulder. “That was good. Almost funny. They’re just protective. That’s why I’ve never brought anyone here. But obviously you’re just my—”
“Enemy,” I remind her.
“Exactly, right. So who better to share hangover nachos with? Come on. The diner up the street—Goldy’s—loves me. Bones, their cook, always gives me double cheese and extra guac.”
She starts walking and I follow. Because I fucking love nachos with guacamole.
That’s the only reason I agree to go.
“Did you tell anyone about my drunken emotional outburst?” she asks over her shoulder, and I jog to catch up.
“Of course not. I’m not an asshole.”
“Says no one but you,” she says, and her smile spreads across her face. “Fine. No one hears about the nacho truce, okay?”
“What—are you in the mob? You’ve got your muscle back at the auto shop who threatened me with their eyes, and you’re afraid to be seen with me. Most women would kill to be eating nachos with me.”
“Sleep with one eye open, Grumpster. I’ll never tell my secrets.”
Now we both laugh, mine more begrudgingly than her witchy cackle, and I open the door for her when we arrive at Goldy’s. She ducks under my arm to lead the way.
This woman is a born leader.
But so am I, which is probably why we bump heads so much.
“Hey, Dee Dee.” She hugs the server before taking a seat. “This is Spence.”
Again with the surge in blood flow when she says my name. This is becoming a concern.
“Nice to meet you.” I drop to sit across from Emma in the red vinyl booth.
Dee Dee raises one brow and studies me. No smile. Her gaze narrows and then she nods. “Nice to meet you.”
Emma orders for both of us, and I don’t bother speaking, because I’m certain this woman is ready to kill me as well.
“Do you want a beer?” Emma asks, and I notice she orders a Coke.
“Nope, I’ll just have water.”
Dee Dee walks off and Emma intertwines her fingers on the table and smiles.
“That was decent of you to check on me.”
“It won’t happen again, don’t worry about that.” I lean back in the booth just as the busboy sets down our drinks.
“Well, it was nice of you. And thank you for not throwing my behavior in my face. I don’t know that I would have done the same for you.”
Now it’
s my turn to laugh. “Oh, I’m sure I’d be hearing about it for weeks if the tables were turned.”
“Damn straight. But thank you.” All humor leaves her voice, and her eyes soften.
“Not a problem. How are you feeling today?”
“Like I was dropped from an airplane into the ocean, and the sharks are feasting on me one limb at a time,” she says as she rubs her temples.
“That bad, huh?”
“I think I’ll feel better once I eat something greasy,” she says, just as Dee Dee places a platter large enough for a party of eight between us and winks at me before she walks away.
“Of course you won her over.”
“I’m batting two out of five,” I laugh and pull a chunk of chips and cheese and beans and guac onto my plate.
“Two?”
“Little Dude? What’s his name? Little Stink?”
She laughs so loud a few people look over at us. Emma doesn’t care. She marches to the beat of her own drum, and I respect that.
“Little Joe. He’s Stinky Pete’s son. And no, they aren’t the mob, you fool. I’ve just grown up around them my entire life, and they’re my family.”
I nod and wipe my mouth after shoveling a healthy amount of chips in.
“I can see that. That’s cool. Did you hear from your mom today?”
She looks surprised by my question. Did she think I forgot our conversation?
“I did. We’re getting together Thursday. Just the two of us.”
I nod, but my gut tells me this is not going to end well. And my gut is something I’ve grown to trust. “Just proceed with caution.”
“Look at you, Old Solemn. You do have a heart.”
“Nah. Just a good brain.”
She snorts. “Thanks for checking on me. It actually means a lot. But if you tell anyone I said that, I will hunt you down and cut off your teeny tiny balls.”
“I promise you, they are a lot of things, but teeny tiny they are not. You need proof of that, you just let me know.”
My dick immediately hardens when her hooded gaze meets mine.
“If you say so. That’s probably why Dee Dee keeps looking over here like she wants to climb you like a spider monkey.”
