Pull You In (Rivers Brothers Book 3)

by Jessica Gadziala

  After that, I passed out for another eight hours, feeling reasonably better, able to breathe out of one nostril. But, hey, that was better than the mouth-breathing I had been doing the day before.

  I was just taking the soup out of the fridge to reheat when there was a knock at my door.

  "It's open, Ma," I called, taking the lid off the soup. "Fiona brought me soup. Do you want to try some?" I asked. "It is amazing. Like maybe even better than Gram's soup. I know, that's sacrilege to say, but it's true..."

  When I got no response, I turned, expecting my mom.

  And seeing Rush instead.

  "Jesus," I hissed, hand flying to my heart that had tripped into overdrive. "Rush, what are you... how are you here?"

  "You're sick?" he asked, gaze moving over my robe, my bed-messy hair, my swollen sinuses.

  "I, ah, yeah. That's why I haven't been at work. I caught something on the plane back. I mean, I think anyway. Those things are Petri dishes."

  "Probably because you slept in the cold that last night."

  "You can't get sick from being cold," I told him, shaking my head. "It was probably from the plane. The woman next to me had twelve grandchildren. She probably gave me something one of them got from school. You thought I was faking it?"

  "I don't... I thought..." he started, his hand reaching up to run through his hair.

  "I'm supposed to be the one stammering," I told him, giving him a weak smile.

  "I thought you were trying to avoid me," he admitted.

  I wanted to say that was ridiculous, that I would never do something that pathetic. But, deep down, I knew I was capable of that. Just for a few days, while I sorted things out.

  Still, it bothered me that he thought I was that torn up over a kiss that I would avoid work to avoid him, that he saw me as that weak and sad.

  Even if I could be weak and sad.

  "I have no reason to avoid you."

  "You seemed to be avoiding me pretty well at the cabin. Talking to Beau to get out of talking to me."

  Was that insecurity in his voice?

  No, it couldn't have been.

  Men like Rush freaking Rivers didn't deal with pesky things like insecurity. He was gorgeous, funny, interesting, sexy, and charming. He had the whole world at his feet. There was nothing to be insecure about.

  "I was talking to Beau because he was talking to me," I told him, chin raising slightly. "All you did was stand there," I told him, stomach rolling. I avoided confrontation like the plague. Maybe it was the talk with Fee that had bolstered up my confidence. Because if he wanted to talk about that last day, I had some things to say. Namely, how cold and detached he had been, how he'd seemed annoyed and angry and had been a jerk to poor Beau who was just trying to make up for our situation.

  "You're mad at me," he concluded, sounding a mix of confused and surprised.

  "I'm sick," I insisted, deciding I didn't want to get into it. I could feel the confidence Fee had instilled slipping with each passing second. "I will be back to work when I'm well. I'm not avoiding you. And I'm not mad at you."

  Clear and concise communication. My therapist would be proud.

  "Did you talk to Fee?"

  "Yes. She brought me soup," I told him, waving toward the bowl on the counter.

  "Don't eat that," he warned, eyes going wide. "Unless you want to get sicker."

  "She assured me that she didn't make it herself."

  "Oh, okay. Do you... need anything?"

  "You know, I've been asked that more in the past two days than I think I ever have in my life."

  "It's nice to have people around who want to take care of you. You should—"

  "Honey, I brought you some—oh," my mom said, coming to a stop. "Hello," she said, giving Rush a warm smile as her eyes did an appreciative once-over of him. "I'm Lilly, Kate's mom."

  "Rush," he said, offering her his hand. "We work together," he added.

  My mom knew all about my work, got laughs out of the antics I often told her about, the way Martha would call men 'dirty little pig boys' while she knitted sweaters for her grandchildren.

  She even knew that there was one male worker in the office. I had left out the fact that he was stupidly good looking and that I had been calling his line for a while now. That wasn't exactly information you wanted your mother to know about you.

  "Kate has mentioned there is one man there. I guess I always figured you were older like some of the ladies that work there. You'd think she would have mentioned that you were young and handsome..."

  "Mom!" I hissed, feeling the heat rise up my neck.

  "What? I'm old, not dead, sweetheart."

  "You'd think she would mention something so important, wouldn't you?" Rush teased, smiling at my mother.

  "I've always wondered about women who call into a phone sex line," she admitted, motioning toward the table, inviting him to stay in my apartment. "What are they like? Older? Younger? Married? Not?"

  "It's hard to tell age unless they share that with me. You know, I think, it is mostly different than it is for the men. It isn't so much about the sex. It's about the connection. Hell, the majority of my callers end up talking about their days or what they are stressed about. They want someone to listen."

  "I get that," my mom agreed. "I've tried dating a handful of times since Kate's father, but I'd swear these men never heard a word I said."

  Of course my mother had dated. I didn't imagine she'd been a monk. But she never really mentioned it around me. I always figured it would be awkward for her to talk to her daughter about it. But then there she was, talking to Rush.

  Maybe the problem wasn't her, but me. Maybe I needed to specifically ask, tell her that we could talk about that kind of thing. Because I didn't date often, I guess it was just never something that was on my mind, so I never stopped to think it might be on hers.

  "This is the part where I am supposed to truly humiliate my daughter by asking if you have an attractive, available father. See," she said, beaming at me when I felt myself blush.

  "I'm afraid I don't anyway," Rush said, shrugging.

  "Did you grow up in the area?"

  "No, actually. My family and I traveled a lot. But my sister Scotti met someone when we were staying around here, married, settled down. My brothers and I decided to stay as well, put down some roots. My brother King has a private security place in town. Two of my brothers work there part-time. Nixon has been working at a whiskey company lately."

  "No interest in private security?" my mother asked, and I could practically hear her thoughts: it seems a more likely job for someone than a phone sex operator.

  "It took a while to get it going. In the interim, I needed work. Fiona, our boss, who is an in-law to my sister, had the idea of me working for her. So I fell into that. And by the time Kingston got things running, I was already settled. I do pitch in here and there, though. I like the work. I guess I am just comfortable where I am now."

  "It's always good to have a fallback. I work as a piano teacher in the summers when school is out. Kate takes online classes in her spare time," she added.

  "Oh yeah?" Rush asked, his gaze slipping toward me.

  "I, ah, yeah. I started a couple degrees. I would like to finish one of them." I left out the part about how I chose to do them online because the in-person atmosphere had been such an epic failure for me. Working at them at home on my own time was proving a better choice for me.

  "What's the ultimate goal?"

  "An editor," I admitted. I'd chosen other paths along the way, but my heart had always been in books.

  "You'll have to send me recs of all the best MC and mafia books you come across when that day comes."

  I couldn't see myself leaving For A Good Time, Call... anytime in the foreseeable future. The idea of going on interviews gave me hives.

  "You like to read?" my mom asked, brightening. As an educator, it always warmed her heart when she heard that. Even if they were adults. Maybe even especially so when the
y were adults since it was unfortunately somewhat rare for a love of reading to last into adulthood. "Sorry if that sounded shocked," she added, wincing. "I think the latest statistics are that only thirty-something percent of adults read between one and five books a year. It always makes me happy to hear that someone enjoys reading."

  "I actually didn't most of my life. I was an outdoorsy kid, always getting roughed up and into trouble. I got into it because of work actually. One of the women left a romance on the desk, and it was a slow night, so I picked it up as a joke, out of curiosity, but ended up reading half the thing in one sitting, then having to get myself a copy to finish it since she didn't leave it there again. It's been good research on top of the general enjoyment factor."

  "I bet Kate could give you a ton of great recommendations," my mom said, making me want to groan at her none-too-subtle attempt to include me in the conversation again. When I was all-too-happy to be an outsider, to be an inactive participant.

  "We had some book talks at the cabin," Rush said, giving her a smile that didn't quite meet his eyes. Was that regret there? And if it was, what was it over? The fact that we'd ever been at the cabin? What had started between us? About how cool he'd been to me at the end.

  I felt that sad smile of his in my soul.

  It was how I felt about the whole experience myself. On the one hand, there had been many pleasant moments. But, in the end, other factors made it so it couldn't be an overwhelmingly great memory. Like the cold shoulder. Like the rejection. Like another experience to add to the list of reasons why I didn't want to put myself out there anymore.

  The look my mother shot me was a familiar one. It was one that said 'you have some explaining to do, lady."

  "He's a sore loser at board games," I added, needing them both to stop looking at me.

  "That's funny. Kate was the worst loser when she was little. Would quit and refuse to ever play a game again if I won. Now, she couldn't care less."

  "She tried to help me spell a word when we played Scrabble. The cheater."

  "Is it actually cheating if I was helping you beat me, though?" I shot back, brow raising. "It's like someone scoring a point for the opposing team," I added.

  "Fair enough," he agreed.

  "Did you come here to check on Kate?" my mom asked, making me turn to pretend like ladling out soup into a bowl required my utmost attention.

  "I... yeah," Rush agreed, and I wondered how good of a liar he was, if my mother picked up on any hint of untruth in his tone, in his face.

  "That's so sweet. I hope she doesn't get you sick. Though, Kate is a great cook. She could make you some soup if she shared her germs with you."

  Oh, God.

  That was the cringiest thing she could have possibly said. Especially because I was almost sure she meant it in more than a ' since you two shared the same cabin' kind of way.

  "If I want her to cook me anything, it is more of those crêpes," he said, making me turn on my way to the microwave, sharing a small smile with him.

  "Oh, the chocolate and whipped cream ones?" she asked.

  "Wait a second, how am I just learning that is an option?"

  "Oh, and the cookie butter. Oh, my God. Those are amazing too."

  "I'm sensing the need to tell Fee we should have an office breakfast bar potluck," Rush suggested, "as soon as Katie is better."

  "We actually do brunch at my place on Saturdays. Katie and I both usually whip things together. You are more than welcome to come."

  I tried to shoot her "What are you doing?" eyes, but her gaze was stubbornly looking in any direction than at me.

  "In fact, I think she should be up and running by this next Saturday. You should come. Give me your number. I can send you the address."

  Accepting I was no longer a part of the conversation, I took my soup out of the microwave, and started to eat, standing there in my kitchen while my mom schmoozed Rush on my behalf.

  Just when I finished, she was walking him to the door, thanking him for checking in on me, and reminding him that she expected to see him for brunch before closing the door, and turning back to me with an arched brow.

  "I can't believe you invited him to brunch. You don't even know him."

  "Honey, you get to know people by spending time with them," she reminded me. "Besides, he seems like a perfectly nice man."

  "I don't need you to play matchmaker, Mom," I told her, putting my bowl in the sink, turning to flick the electric kettle on.

  "I was just being friendly. Clearly, you know him better than you let on. So I assumed something was going on with you two. You didn't tell me anything about board games and book discussions. Or how handsome he is."

  "We were looking for ways to pass time at the cabin," I insisted.

  "And the handsome part?"

  "Seemed inconsequential."

  "Oh, honey, a man who looks like that is never inconsequential. I know, I know, it's not about looks. But he is also charming and sweet."

  "You talked to him for fifteen minutes."

  "Which was long enough to know what I know. And inviting him to brunch will only allow me to get to know him better."

  "To what end?"

  "To make a new friend."

  "Mom."

  "Fine," she said, sighing. "You two kept looking at each other like you had unfinished business."

  "Well, we don't," I told her, shrugging. "It's finished. It is all finished."

  And that was my intention.

  Life, it seemed, had other plans.

  EIGHT

  Rush

  Work was slow.

  I mean, my job had been slow a lot lately.

  But it was especially slow now.

  Meaning I hadn't had a call in days, not since I came back from the woods.

  I would sit at my desk at night waiting for a phone that never rang, a call that never came.

  Not even her.

  My regular.

  A woman who called, but rarely spoke. If she did, she did so in a small voice, barely audible. Instead, she had specified in her notes that we asked callers to fill out, describing their preferences, that I talk to her. About "anything" she'd said. So, sometimes, I talked to her about the weather, something I was watching on TV, some news story I'd heard about that wasn't too controversial. And she just listened.

  I guess that should have been weird. But lonely people just wanted to not be so alone sometimes, to hear a voice. Some people could go whole days without speaking to another human being. It was good to get relief from that. Even if you had to pay for it.

  Sure, there were nights when I was a little heated from some book I'd been reading when the call came in. And those nights, the stories turned into dirty talk.

  She would be on the other line, quiet for a while, but her breathing would get fast, ragged. Then, as things got hotter, she would make these quiet little mewling noises.

  Now, the nature of the job was detachment.

  The women did it with ease, knitting while taking calls, doing color-by-numbers, painting their nails.

  I figured, when I first started, that it would be difficult to detach. Sex was sex. Hell, even phone sex counted. It could get steamy. The body reacted.

  But, in the end, Fiona had been right about there being a wall, that it wasn't like real life. Because you knew it was a job. Because you knew you were getting paid. Because you knew at any point in time, someone at the company could listen to your call for quality control, to know things were appropriate.

  All that helped.

  I never did get turned on during a call. Not even when the older women with a shitton of sexual confidence got on the phone and said filthy shit I wasn't sure I'd ever heard a woman say before.

  But then there was my regular girl.

  She'd put her name as Katherine, had given her age, but hadn't given out any other personal information, not even interests for me to play off of when we talked.

  But even knowing less about her, something about her calls d
id something. They penetrated the wall of professionalism.

  Maybe it was just because she was such a regular caller, on the other end of the phone often enough that I felt a connection with her.

  All I knew was her little whimpers and moans actually made me get hard some nights. Fine, most nights.

  I was unexpectedly concerned about the absence of her name on my caller ID.

  My mind went in several different directions. Something had happened to her. She ran out of money. She found someone.

  It was irrational to be annoyed about that prospect, but it was there—a coiled thing under my ribcage—regardless.

  "Slow lately, huh?" Fee asked when I came in for my shift the next day, feeling a little more listless than usual. I found myself wanting to hop in my car and take a trip somewhere, anywhere. Get my mind clear. Even though I'd just gotten back.

  Because this fucking mind of mine kept going places it had no business going.

  Like back to those woods.

  To the things I wanted to happen there, but didn't let.

  To how much of a dick I'd been in the end.

  "Yeah," I agreed. "Feel like I'm cheating you out of money," I told her, shrugging, going to her coffee bar to help myself to her personal coffee machine. We had the one in the main area, but Fiona kept a couple special pods for herself that I liked to steal when I was in a shit mood. Stuff like salted caramel or mocha or Kahlúa.

  "Wait, sit," she demanded, brows furrowed, when I tried to rush right back out.

  "Yes, ma'am," I said, dropping down into her seat, laughing at the pussy flower statue she had on her desk.

  "Pretty, right? Aimee, remember her? She left like a year ago when she got married, she took up ceramics, and made that for me."

  "Nice," I agreed, hearing the solemness in my voice, not caring enough to try to mask it.

  "What's going on, sort-of-little-brother?" she asked, taking her seat.

  "Nothing. Just... frustrated," I admitted, shrugging.

  "You know what I find interesting?" she asked, turning a golden pen in between her fingers.

  "I'm sure I don't want to know," I told her, lips twitching, "But I know you well enough to know there's no stopping you either."