by Finn, Emilia
“I guess maybe I feel a little different too,” I admit.
“Yeah?” She looks up and meets my eyes. “Did you meet a boy?” Her grin creeps across her face.
It was a joke question, something she’s asked before. She expects the same answer – because I never meet men that aren’t my brothers – but when I blush, her eyes widen, and she realizes she hit her mark.
“Oh my god! You did!”
I press the button for her floor when we step into the elevator, but she doesn’t let go of her smile.
“Abigail! Spill.”
“Well…” I hesitate. “Maybe. But you’re seventeen, and don’t need to hear about that.”
“Like hell I don’t!” Despite the weakness I thought I saw only a minute ago, she twists in her seat and stares into my eyes. “I want all of the details. All of the juicy stuff. I want to know everything.” She drags the word out and makes me blush so much more. “I’m not a child, and I’ve been with boys. I know what happens.”
“You have?” I shake my head. “What?”
“Of course I have. I’m seventeen. Almost eighteen. I did… stuff… last summer.”
“Shut up! Who with? Does your mother know?”
“Are you insane?” She laughs. Turning back when the elevator dings open on her level, she huddles in again, but whispers, “It was with that jerk who wanted me when I was hot. But now I look like this, he got what he wanted and ran.”
I push her past Doctor Rhett and his suspicious glare, and into her room. I shut the door and whip the curtain open and closed as we pass through, then stomp on the wheelchair brakes and rush around to face her. “You’re not a virgin? Marcie! What the heck?”
“I never said that, Abigail. Geez.”
“Well…” I prod. “Are you?”
She snickers. “No, I’m not. It was awful, too. Not like in the books at all.”
“Really?” I’m almost disappointed; for her. For me. “Why was it awful?”
She shrugs. “It hurt… like, a lot. I don’t think he knew what he was doing, though he claimed he was some kind of stud in bed. He was rough and hurried, so when he…” She nods and glances toward her crotch. “Ya know… pushed it in, it wasn’t very nice. I think I’m supposed to be wet or something? It’s not like they teach you that in sex ed, but I figure I wasn’t supposed to be bone dry.”
I think back on my night with Spencer. Every time he touched me, it was a smooth glide. Easy movement. Pleasurable touches. ‘You’re so wet, Priss.’
“So maybe he did it wrong,” Marcie continues. “Or maybe I did. I don’t know, but he thought he was winning some kinda of horse race. He just kinda…” She scrunches her nose and grins. “He took care of himself, I guess. And when he was done, I was left lying there thinking ‘Is that it?’ All of the girls in my grade had been waxing poetic on how amazing sex is, how much fun it is, how it felt so good. So either they were lying, or I got a faulty dude.”
“I mean… It’s probably a little bit of both, I suspect.” I step back and lean against her bed. “You’re okay though, right? Did you need to discuss this with someone?”
“I just did,” she laughs. “I don’t know if I’ll rush into the next time. It just doesn’t seem like something I should aspire to do, ya know?”
“Mm…” I nod and act totally cool with this conversation. Until she drops the bomb.
“Did it hurt your first time?”
“Um…” My heart hammers, but she only watches me with gentle curiosity. Do I admit I’m twenty-five and less experienced than her? Do I lie and pretend I know more than I do?
I figure I should meet somewhere in the middle, so I consider the first time Spencer touched me, and nod. “Yes, it hurt a little bit. I was… um…” My face burns red. “Wet, I guess. But it still hurt a little bit.”
And then I think back to this morning. ‘We’ll work you up to that.’
“Don’t be afraid of men or sex. Women kind of… adjust.” I try the word and roll it around in my mouth. “Yeah, adjust. We grow more accepting, I guess, over time and practice.” My eyes widen. “Oh my gosh! That’s not to say I’m encouraging underage sex! Please god, don’t do that. I just meant, if at some point in the future, you find yourself with a man that you want to have sex with, and if he treats you well and isn’t racing a horse to the finish line, you shouldn’t be afraid. It might hurt a little, but he should take care of you and make it pleasurable for you.”
She watches me with her lips pressed together and her cheeks puffed with laughter she holds back. “Wow, alrighty. Um… I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”
“Shut up.” I literally fan my face, proving why I wasn’t very cool in high school. “Sheesh, why are you putting me on the spot like this?”
She giggles. “Because watching you blush is fun. But don’t worry, Dr. Phil, I won’t tell Mom that you said I should go out and lay men like they’re bricks on a construction site.”
“You’re impossible!”
But she’s smiling, so there’s that.
18
Spence
Abigail didn’t call me last night. She didn’t come to my home. She didn’t pop up on my radar at all, so I spent the night working on my shot and preparing for work today – which is usually how I spend all of my nights. I don’t spend time with women, I don’t talk and laugh with them, I don’t go slow or pour coffee for them the next morning.
She was the anomaly… so why does my life now feel like the thing that’s different?
Abigail broke the fucking system, and it bothers me almost as much as wishing she was in my home for dinner.
I pull up in front of Nadia’s home around noon with the security system Laine bitched me out about. Often, we come on these jobs in pairs or groups, not for safety, but because we enjoy fucking around and laughing while we work. But Kane’s at home with his babies, and Jay is with Soph while they simultaneously work on their threat and Riley’s prosthetic leg replacement.
Cars sit in Nadia’s driveway. A little hatchback, and behind that, a slate gray truck with shiny wheels and shinier paintwork.
That sure as hell makes me lift a brow with curiosity.
I load my arms up with boxes of shit for the job, and kick the door closed. Then I head along the narrow footpath between beds of daisies and pretty flowers that make me think of Abigail.
I know Nadia is Abigail’s assistant. I know they have a fondness for color and pretty things. If I can’t see Abigail today, maybe I can see her assistant and pretend it’s almost the same thing.
Moving up the few steps at the front of the porch, I juggle my boxes, and open the wire screen door. Knocking, I step back again and wait.
Movement inside makes me grin. Someone – Nadia – rushes around the living room, trips over things, and cusses, making me wonder how much she has to pull her shit in while at work. Does Priss make everyone squeaky clean when she’s in the room?
Something heavy crashes to the floor, and then a male grunt fills in the blanks.
Nadia was having a midday fuck, and I’ve disturbed them.
I don’t give a single shit about business professional or manners, so where a real estate agent or door-to-door salesman might walk away, or at the very least, paste on a fake smile that implies he knows nothing, I leer like a total prick, and when the door cracks open, my chest bounces from muted laughter when Nadia steps out with a mis-buttoned top.
“You got a big ol’ hicky right there on your neck, miss.”
Her eyes widen, and her hand swings up to cover the nonexistent mark.
“It’s company policy that I apologize for interrupting, but it would be a lie, and I’m not about that life.”
“I forgot you were coming today.” Her face flames. “I’m so sorry.”
“I can assure you, I didn’t come today. But I am here to install your security. Wanna let me in?”
“Umm…” She pulls the heavy door closer to bar my way, but then a familiar face steps up
behind her and confirms what I already knew.
I knew his truck from my searches.
Messy hair, legitimate bite marks on his neck, and no shirt at all, he growls, “Serrano.”
I grin. “Mitchell-fucking-Rosa. Well, hump my leg and call me Dolly. This is an interesting turn of events. Does Abigail know you’re fucking her assistant?”
* * *
“You need to keep this shit to yourself.”
I pretend like my world hasn’t shifted since I arrived here and found those Portuguese eyes glaring at me. I don’t know how this affects me, I don’t know why, but I know something big has changed, and I don’t have a clue how I feel about it.
And because of my uncertainty, I’m annoyed.
Mitchell follows me every step I take through Nadia’s country-style home. I work on the placement of cameras, the wiring, making sure her home is tight and secure. And all the while, I think of Abigail and whether this will hurt her.
I don’t think it will, but Mitch and Nadia are hiding for a reason. I have to figure out the reason before I can do anything else.
“I need to keep you and your afternoon delight to myself? Why?”
“Because what I do in my spare time is none of anyone’s business. Least of all yours.”
“But why does it matter? I don’t get bent out of shape if people know who I’m fucking.” I look into his eyes and grin.
“You better not be fucking anyone,” he growls. “You don’t touch my sister, and for as long as she’s looking at you, you don’t fuck anyone else. Abigail is special, so if you break her heart, I’ll take you the fuck out.”
“Mmhm.” I move with my laptop and continue Nadia’s security while she hides in her living room and has a mini crisis, like fucking her boss’ brother is grounds for termination. Maybe it is. I don’t know. “I’m not breaking anyone’s heart, Rosa. Whatever you think you know, you’re wrong.”
“Abby isn’t a toy for you.”
He grabs my shoulder when I continue to ignore him. “You don’t see how different you two are? You’re a fucking thug, she’s pure. You look like… you. And she’s perfect.”
“You don’t like my ink, motherfucker?” I stop and square my shoulders. He’s not small, but not many men are taller than me, so I still look down my nose and scowl. “Should I not mention the chest piece I see under your crooked shirt, or the ink I saw on your girl’s belly when she was pretending everyone walks around with messed up buttons?”
“Don’t look at her fucking belly!”
He’s possessive of her. Interesting.
Smiling, I continue walking, but he stays on my heels like a little dog.
“I never said I was anything for your sister, Rosa. I never said we were fucking. I never said we were dating. I didn’t say shit. You boys assert yourselves on her, you gag her, smother her, and act like it’s all for her own good, and when she steps out of the lines you’ve carefully drawn up for her, you make assumptions and look like dicks while doing it.”
“How do you know we smother? If you don’t know her, how do you know what we do?”
I stop in the kitchen and set my laptop on the counter. “I never said I don’t know her. I’ve talked to her a time or two. We sat together at Bishop’s wedding. I’ve been into her shop a couple times–”
“She didn’t come home two nights ago!”
“Okay… well…” I tilt my head side to side and grin. “So we’re friends. But I know you smother her, because every time we’re in the same room, you or your brothers get in my face and act like I’m trying to make her my slave.”
“She is special,” he snarls. “She can’t cope with what you’re selling. She needs to be left alone so she can focus on her, not chased after by a man who will never be the Prince Charming she’s been waiting for. Twenty-five years, Serrano, and this is the first time she’s started clapping back at us. It’s the first time she’s copped an attitude, the first fucking time she’s been out all night and not taken our calls.”
“God forbid the woman grows a little spine and pushes her obsessed brothers back to where they should have been all along.”
“We’re not obsessed! We’re her protectors. We’re what stands between her and the cruel world. We’re the ones who pick her up when she falls. And you…” He steps closer and slams his fist against my chest. “You’re going to knock her down again.”
“How could you know what I’m doing? You don’t know me.”
“She’s not a one-night stand! She’s not a fuck and run.”
“But Nadia is?”
He blanches. “Don’t talk about her.”
“Don’t hide her. If you wanna fuck, fuck. If you wanna have a raging affair, have an affair and make it fun. But the fact you hide her makes me curious.”
“Don’t get curious.” His eyes are afire with more than the rage he felt about his sister. “What I do is none of your business.”
“Funny, I could say the same about you getting up in my business. I don’t know you, man. We aren’t friends, we aren’t brothers. We aren’t colleagues or penpals. I’m a messed-up motherfucker, and I’m not scared to get my hands dirty. I haven’t put you down yet because no matter how mad Abigail gets about you being in her face all the time, I know she’d still get upset if I hurt you. But make no mistake, what you call protection, she considers smothering. And the second she finds it hard to breathe, I’ll clear the way for her. Sit the fuck down. I’m here now.”
* * *
I head by the shop after Nadia’s place, but I don’t intend to mention what I know. I don’t consider my silence a lie, but minding my own business.
I walk through the front door, and smile when the bell above my head jingles. But I don’t find Abigail behind the counter like I expect. I find some young dude… eighteen or nineteen, skinny and into the trend of stretching his ears.
I’d have a problem with him being here, except for the fact he’s just a baby and super gay.
I wanted to see Abigail. I wanted to see her more than I wanted to fuck her thirty-six hours ago… well, almost. But it isn’t meant to be, so I buy bunches of pretty flowers instead, drop several hundred dollars on the counter, and watch the dude enter it into the register.
If I drop cash and leave, he could pocket it and not tell her, but if I wait for him to enter it into her system, I know it’ll go to her bank, because she’ll reconcile her accounts and find it if it’s missing.
Walking out again and climbing into the Hummer, I head over to Kane’s place and load my arms up with the scented posies like a total… posy.
Who the fuck am I?
I don’t head to Jay’s place, despite the fact he lives across the street. Instead, I go to Kane’s because that’s where everyone always goes. It’s the headquarters when we’re not at Checkmate or at the range.
I head up the steps and let myself inside, then I move toward the chatter in the kitchen, grinning when I find two Bishop boys holding a baby each, and a tiny bottle of milk pressed to the babies’ lips.
“You guys look like pussies.”
“Says the guy covered in flowers.” Snickering, Jess makes her way across the room holding a matching pair of red baby dresses with tiny dinosaur patterns on the skirts.
She’s slow to move, and still has a lot of the baby belly I thought would deflate the day she gave birth.
Guess not.
Her hair is messy, and she carries none of that polished perfection she had when we met. She’s a lawyer, a platinum blonde princess with a fetish for expensive shoes and a bad attitude. But today she’s just… mortal, like the rest of us.
I kind of like it.
“Hey, Jessie.” I lean forward and drop a kiss on her cheek. She blushes, which makes me smile, but then she stands taller and hides the way her stomach hurts her. “I got these for you.” I push a bouquet of what the gay dude called chrysanthemums toward her – pink, like her babies – and smile when her eyes turn misty.
“For me?”
“Of course. You deserve flowers.”
“Lies,” Jay mumbles. “He wanted to check Abigail out. You’re a convenient excuse for him to wander into her shop.”
“Shut your mouth, Bishop.” I step around Jess when I realize she won’t be able to carry her vase, but stop when I find the three-hundred-dollar bouquet I wanted to buy her the other day.
I set the new vase down beside it and turn back.
“Where’d these come from?”
Jess looks away from Kane and Chicken. Or Nugget. Fuck knows which one; the one with black hair.
“Hmm?”
“These flowers. Who brought them?”
Jess’ eyes narrow in thought. “Abby did. She brought them by the hospital the other day. Said they were from you and that you’d paid for delivery. Thank you, by the way.” Her face transforms into a smile. “They’re beautiful.”
“Mm. Welcome.”
I didn’t pay for those, but I got the credit for them. Interesting.
“I installed the system at Reynolds’ place today,” I tell the guys.
“All done?” Kane holds his baby against his chest. His tattooed hand holds a delicate little bottle, while the baby suckles like she’s starving.
I wonder how the hypocritical Mitchell feels about Bishop’s ink?
“Yeah, all done.”
When Sophia walks into the kitchen and grins at Jay, I pull her attention with her own bouquet.
“For you, ballerina.”
She accepts them with suspicious eyes. “What gives?”
“Was buying flowers, figured I’d get some for you, too.”
“He wants an excuse to drop cash at Abby’s shop,” Jess teases. Her words put Soph at ease, as she accepts and brings the bouquet to her nose.
“Thank you. They smell good.”
“Welcome.”
When neither Angelo or Eric join us, which means their girls don’t either, I dump the last two bouquets in the sink and turn back to face the group. “Reynolds is all set up. She’s wired into the main system, so any of us can check in whenever.”
