Izzy grabs the dice, blows on them, and rolls them on the board. She rolls a six and moves her little iron piece to Tennessee Avenue.
“You owe me fifteen bucks,” I say, holding out my hand, and she slaps the colorful money in my hand.
“Take your money and shove it up your asshole,” she jokes.
I hear the door swing open. My eyes widen so far I’m afraid they’re going to pop out of my sockets. Izzy and I stare at each other. I snatch the bottle of wine we just finished, rush to the kitchen, and dump it in the trash. I rush back to the living room, crouching on the lavender pillow I was sitting on.
“Act natural,” Izzy whispers.
I shake my head at her; I knew I shouldn’t have listened to her about drinking Gunner’s stuff.
“I don’t know how to act natural!” I whisper-hiss. “I’m blaming you. I’m throwing you under the bus.”
“I thought you were my ride-or-die,” she says, her doe eyes moving back and forth between me and the living room door.
“That ship done sailed the minute we got caught.”
Footsteps slap against the wooden floors and another man’s voice bounces off the walls. The voice sounds familiar—it’s deeper than Gunner’s, but smooth. When they stroll into the living room, I suck in a breath at the lovely sight in front of me. Gunner sports a gray polo shirt and dark denim jeans. Bags hang under his eyes, and his hair sticks up. He looks rough and boyish at the same time. He’s as beautiful as a rainy day in April when raindrops glisten in trees and the green leaves look well-nourished after the rain.
Then a guy strolls in behind him. No wonder I recognize his voice. He’s one of Gunner’s friends from college. His name is Matteo, and the rumor on campus was that he’s related to the famous Italian Mafia family Rizzo. That his grandfather shot his brother in cold blood because of greed and jealousy. Dateline and CNN shoved that story down everyone throats. Since his family had the biggest murder case in the country, he hates his last name.
In college, he was a drug dealer and now he owns a few well-known clubs throughout the United States. He has a God complex and thinks he’s God’s gift to women. I guess I would think that too if every time I turn around, women fall at my feet. And he will go to great lengths to screw you over while smiling in your face. His body is a walking canvas, covered in tattoos from neck to toe. The tattoo of a skull is smiling at me from the back of his hand. He has a bald head and strawberry-blond beard. He’s built like Dwayne Johnson, muscles stacked on muscle, and he has a face that makes women’s panties wet. He looks lethal in his expensive navy suit.
Matteo does a double take when he sees me, and his green eyes bounce between me and Gunner.
“Rainbow?” Matteo says before removing the toothpick from the corner of his mouth. I don’t respond. I never respond to people I’m scared of, and he scares the heebie-jeebies out of me.
“I see you’re still as quiet as you were in college, yeah?” He scrunches his nose.
Izzy jumps up from the floor, waltzes up to him, holds out her hand, and he takes it into his tattooed hand, kissing it. Her face turns fire-truck red. Izzy is boy- and girl-crazy. She’ll gush over any person she thinks is hot. In fact, that’s how we first met. I was sitting at the café on campus. She came up to me, told me that I was hot, and asked me out on a date. Flustered, I told her sure. I didn’t know if I was into girls, but after our first kiss, I figured women weren’t my jam. But we became friends shortly afterward.
“And who are you?” Matteo asks Izzy. Gunner and I stare at both of them as they gawk at each other like two horny teenagers. The sexual charge between them is enough to start a battery.
“I’m Izzy.”
“I’m Matteo, but you, bella, can call me Matt.” He says something in Italian and she giggles. Loud and annoying. Matt is every bit her type. Bad boys and men with accents.
Izzy removes her hand, flattens her purple Daisy Dukes and removes invisible lint from her white tank top like she always does when she’s nervous.
“You two want to fuck like rabbits, get a room, preferably not here,” Gunner says, then heads to his room, and I turn on the balls of my feet to follow him. My heart gallops and I’m horny. He’s going to see the mess I made in his room. What if he kicks me out? No, I’m being irrational. Gunner wouldn’t do that. I rush past him and block the door.
He surveys me from head to toe like I’ve lost my mind, and I have. Where did it go? I don’t know.
“Gia, get the fuck out of the way,” he says, taking a step forward so I feel his body heat radiating off him, and his cinnamon spice caresses my nostrils, making me melt like butter. It’s because I haven’t gotten laid in a while and the alcohol in my system is wrecking my body.
“No.” My voice pleads guilty as I shake my head.
“Have you been drinking?” He arches his eyebrow, and I want him to kiss me everywhere on my body.
“Yeah.”
Plastering a fake smile over his mouth, he picks me up and sets me to the side. When he opens the door, his eyes drink in the mess I made.
His bed is unmade. My dirty, funky clothes are on the floor next to the bathroom door. My perfume bottle I left on his black metal dresser. It looks like a tornado came through here. His room is identical to mine except his closet is bigger and his bed is made out of maple wood.
“I’ll clean the mess up,” I say as embarrassment dances on my face.
“Why are you sleeping in my room?”
“Izzy needed a place to crash. I didn’t want to sleep on the couch, and I was going to clean up my mess before Monday, but you showed up sooner. Sorry.” I follow him in and stand next to the dresser.
He goes to the drawer, grabbing a pair of gray boxers, cotton T-shirt, and black basketball shorts.
“Why are you here on a Saturday?” I ask as I lean my right hip against his black dresser.
“I went to Matt’s club and didn’t want to drive all the way home.”
He turns around, and his gaze clings to my bubblegum-pink knee-high socks. I’m in my white tank top and purple flannel pajama shorts. I wrap my arms around my body, covering it like a shield.
“So you’re not mad?”
He shakes his head. “No.”
“So you’re not going to kick me out?”
“Why would I do that?” He gives me an are-you-serious look.
I shrug, and he continues to stare at me, his mouth twitching.
“Did you sleep naked in my bed?” he asks out of the blue.
“Well . . . No. In my bra and panties. Why?”
He takes long strides toward me, taps his fingers on my nose, and his lips are inches from mine. I swallow hard.
“I want to imagine you while I jack off in the shower.”
My eyes get big, and I back away slowly as I bite my bottom lip to keep from smiling.
The sexual tension is so thick I can cut it with a knife.
“Are you spending the night here? Or . . .” I leave the question in the air to break up the sexual tension between us.
“Yeah, I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“’Kay,” I say.
“Did you play with yourself?”
My cheeks flame and I twirl the loose strand of hair floating in front of my forehead around my fingers.
Oh, I did. Every time I smelled his sheets. I thought about him screwing me while I stared at myself in the mirror above his bed.
“That’s a personal question.”
“You did.” He tilts my chin with the rough pad of his thumb, and I feel like I’m about to combust. “How many fingers did you use?”
I glance down to his black slacks, notice the size of his erection, and my sex does a happy dance between my legs.
“Three?” he asks.
No response.
“Two.”
No response.
“One.” Bingo. And heat creeps up the back of my neck.
“This convo is over, Gunner,” I whisper, struggling to get the w
ords out.
“You used one.” I hear the humor in his voice.
I back away, turn on the ball of my feet, and I shut the bedroom door behind me. As I walk into the living room, I see Izzy straddling Matt’s lap as they speak in hushed tones. They are so engrossed in their conversation they don’t notice I’m here. I don’t want to be a third wheel, so I grab my camera next to the stylish lamp and stroll to the balcony and perch on the seat. I got into taking pictures because of my mom; she used to love taking pictures of everything, according to Petra. So every time I hold a camera, I feel like I’m close to her. The city is alive beneath us as I take pictures of tall skyscrapers. The wind cools off my scorching skin and the sky is the color of cotton candy.
Thirty minutes later, I hear the glass door open, and I twirl around. Gunner’s hair is wet, and his clothes cling to his damp body as he holds two glasses. As he perches next to me, he smells like body wash. He hands me a glass, and I set the camera Izzy bought me last year for my birthday down on the concrete.
“Did you have fun in the shower?” Oh, my God. Did I just flirt with Gunner? Guess I did. Maybe I need to lay off the wine, it’s making my lips loose as a goose.
“Would have been ten times better with your tiny hand jacking off my dick.”
He scoots so close to me our thighs rub against each other, and I pretend to ignore he is affecting me.
I feel my cheeks heating, and I rub my index finger on the rim of the glass. We are quiet for a while. Izzy strolls out the door with messed-up hair and bee-stung lips.
“Matt and I are hanging out, I’ll be back in the morning.” She darts her eyes between me and Gunner. “Gunner, you better not hurt Gia. Or I swear I’ll be your worst nightmare.” Then she hugs me and whispers in my ear, “Guard your heart.”
“What’s your scrawny self gonna do? You can’t even bust a grape,” he shoots back.
“I have muscles.” She flexes her right arm, using her index finger to push up her bicep. “And I have a mean right hook. My dad taught me how to box. I know a thing or two.”
“I’ll be fine,” I say. “Have fun with Matteo.”
She uses her index and middle fingers to point to her eyes then to Gunner’s as she walks backward toward the glass doors, disappearing from the balcony. I watch as Matteo holds her hand, then I peer at Gunner.
Several moments later, the silence between us is drowning out the blaring of car horns.
“Are you still friends with Logan? Is he still with that crazy girl?” This is the most boring talk, but it keeps me from thinking about being super-duper horny.
He takes long sips of the brown liquid before he answers. “Yeah, we are. He isn’t with her anymore, but they have kids. He’s a criminal lawyer now.”
Logan didn’t show up to the library as much as Matteo and Gunner, but when he did and his girlfriend wasn’t around, he asked me if I had any friends who were into random hookups. He invited me to Gunner’s graduation party and encouraged me to go because I might not see him again. Gunner was known as a party animal back then.
“Wow, I can’t believe you guys are still friends.” I tuck my legs under my butt.
He stares at me with delight in his eyes. What kind of dirty thoughts is he having about me?
Note to self—Don’t drink anytime soon, especially not around Gunner.
I set my glass on the round table next to me and shake my head. “Is Alana your only sister? Do you come from a two-parent household?” I ask, changing the subject.
I always wondered if I had any brothers or sisters on my dad’s side, and if I did, would I have been close to them? Or would there be sibling rivalries? The way I see Izzy and her sister interact with each other make me envious. Siblings are lifetime friends that people are lucky to have.
“It’s public knowledge I came from a single-parent home, Rainbow.” He pauses and his eyes move rapidly. “Alana is five years younger than me.” He rests his arm on the back of the couch, still clutching the glass. “My dad left when I was seven, and Alana was two.”
“Why did he leave?” I ask, playing with my hair.
“He dumped my ma for younger tits and ass. He had a thing for women younger than him.”
My heart bleeds for him.
“Tell me more about you,” I say. His eyes are so deep, I can get lost in them. I lick my lips, wanting to taste the whiskey on his tongue.
“That’s all you’re going to get out of me.” Just like that he shuts me out. I want him to use me like a diary and spill all his secrets to me. “Why are you fighting what’s between us, Rainbow?” He uses his thumb to stroke my right cheek; a million butterflies swim in my stomach.
“There’s nothing going on between us,” I lie.
“You’re a terrible liar, but if you want to live in denial, then I’m all for it.”
“Maybe I hate the way you make me feel, Gunner,” I say.
“How do I make you feel?” He cups my cheek, staring into my eyes. Like he’s about to kiss me.
Don’t kiss me.
Kiss me.
Don’t kiss me.
Kiss me.
“Like a winter’s thaw. I’m frozen until you come around melting me into a puddle and making me feel more alive than ever before.”
I’m shocked by the way I opened up to him. Shocked that I finally admitted how he made me feel all those years ago when he used to come to the library to visit me. I pull away from his warm touch, avoiding eye contact. I don’t want to know how he feels about me, if he has any feelings.
This conversation is over, so I gather my wine glass and camera and walk inside.
When I crawl into his bed with my phone, pinning cupcakes on Pinterest, I receive a message from Gunner.
You’re my new addiction.
From your Wolf.
Gunner
For twelve hours, I pace the black-and-white tiles like a madman as I thrust my fingers through my hair, waiting for Darien to come get me from the lobby of the hospital. Right after Gia left me on the balcony, I got a phone call from Alana saying they were heading to the ER because her water broke.
Darien comes out wearing blue clothing while removing a cloth mask from his face, placing his hands on his hips. He looks like he’s been through hell and back—bags hang under his eyes, and a day’s stubble is growing on his chin.
“Alana had a safe delivery.” His tone is rough. “Follow me.”
I follow him to the small room. Alana wears a standard hospital gown and her dyed flaming red hair is in a high ponytail. Just like Darien she looks like she hasn’t slept in years. And she’s holding a tiny, wrinkly baby in her arms.
“Good, you made it, bro,” she says, yawning.
“Yeah,” I say, and walk up to her and kiss her cheek. Then I stare at the sleeping baby. “She’s beautiful. What’s her name?”
“We haven’t decided yet. Darien doesn’t like the name I picked.”
“What is it?” I ask Darien as he crawls into bed next to her, his legs dangling off it, looking at her like he will kill anyone who harms them.
I can see Alana bite the inside of her cheek before she answers, “Cydney Ava Casey.”
“I don’t like it,” Darien says, rolling his eyes.
“She’s named after your stepma and my ma. What isn’t to like about it?” Mrs. Cydney and his dad were in a terrible car accident five years ago. She died on impact and his dad was left a paraplegic.
“I don’t know,” he answers.
“Can I hold her?” I ask.
“Of course.” Alana hands her to me gently. Her hair is jet-black, and she’s wearing a pink onesie with the Wonder Woman logo. My sister loves the hell out of comic books, and she’s a gifted artist. She draws and paints pictures as well as some of the famous painters. She owns her own comic book company, which she started a year ago. Her latest comic hit stores in October.
Alana laces her fingers together like they’re in prayer and says, “Please, can we keep the name?”
/> Darien’s mouth twitches and his gray eyes light up. “Sure.” He kisses her forehead. “But next time I’m naming the baby.”
“I don’t know what she sees in your ugly ass,” I joke.
Darien and I talk shit to each other, it’s how we show our love. He’s my best friend and business partner, and I’m glad he married my sister. He’s good to her, treats her like she walks on water.
Her ex-husband Charles treated her like the scum of the fucking earth after Cole, their son, drowned in a pool. He cheated on her and then divorced her two years after Cole’s death. Alana had to deal with a lot of grief at a young age, but she’s fucking strong as an ox.
The last five years of her life make Greek tragedies look like child’s play.
Losing Cole took a toll on our family. I miss him so much, thinking about his gap smile pings my chest.
Darien twists his head sideways. “Your right arm’s starting to look bigger than the left one.”
“I get pussy like ordering fast-food. Whenever I want, and however I want.”
Alana covers her ears. “Eww. No. Just no, Gunner. That’s gross. And watch your mouth around Cydney.”
Cydney lets out the cutest yawn I’ve ever seen. Her pink lips curl into a smile.
“I need to talk to you about something in private, Gunner,” Darien says, tilting his chin to the door.
“Okay,” I say, handing Cydney back to her momma.
I follow Darien into the hallway. The nurses in purple scrubs are busy working at the station, and I can hear faint beeping machines from other rooms.
“What’s going on?”
“You moved the girl you’ve been wanting to fuck for years into your condo.”
“How the fuck did you know that?”
“I talked to Matt this morning, he gave me the rundown of him fucking her friend last night.”
I should have known. Matt can’t keep his trap shut to save his life. That’s one thing I don’t like about him. I’m a private person and keep my business to myself because A. people don’t need to know and B. people say they want to know the real you, but in reality, they want the truth but never the scars.
Chasing Gunner Page 7
