I assured her I could, and I hung up, my heart pounding and my phone slipping in my sweaty grasp.
I’d already met with Dr. Wilson, whom I really had trouble thinking of as Steven no matter how many times he reminded me, for a casual lunch the week after…the week after. He’d been a lot more sympathetic than I probably deserved, since I really had fucked up all on my own, without a lot of extenuating circumstances.
But he’d nodded along as I haltingly, embarrassedly told him about my shitty boyfriend, bad habits, and late nights.
“It happens,” he’d said with a shrug. “I was an undergrad in the seventies, myself.” And then he’d grinned, winked, and ordered dessert.
Aside from wanting to bow down and worship him as the savior of my academic career, I genuinely liked Dr. Wilson as a person. I could see why he’d been such a popular professor, though I hadn’t credited the Moo U board of governors with the good taste to nominate someone like him into their august body. Who knew.
He’d also pointed out that being kidnapped, even if only briefly, would give me some sympathy with the rest of the board. I’d pointed out in turn that I hadn’t been kidnapped before I got expelled, and he’d shrugged again and said it was all about perception. And then he’d told me we’d have one more meeting with his colleague, and he’d put my petition before the board in a few weeks.
I had no idea what I’d do to fill the time, except for biting my nails and missing my lab and my old grad school routine with renewed fervor.
I looked around my condo. I’d gone on a cleaning spree over the past couple of weeks, leaving my weekly cleaner with hardly anything to do. I’d scrubbed every inch of my bedroom, washed the bedding ten times, and flipped the mattress.
It didn’t take a psychologist to figure that one out.
Wash that man right out of my hair, and all that—or the comforter, as the case might be.
Except that it hadn’t worked. I’d even gone the literal route, re-dyeing my hair from purple and teal to all-over cotton-candy pink. I’d put new jewelry in my nipple, too.
And I felt exactly the same, only down a few hundred dollars and the hours of time spent inhaling bleach fumes, not to mention however many IQ points I’d lost to said fumes.
I still woke up every morning with an ache behind my breastbone I couldn’t ever seem to soothe, and went to sleep every night trying not to jerk off thinking about Alec.
But now my floor sparkled, and my countertops gleamed, and my bedroom looked like a particularly fussy monk lived in it. And it should’ve made me happy. Going the self-improvement route instead of the drunken slut route after a bad breakup—and this one, despite how briefly Alec and I had been together, had skyrocketed right to the top of my breakup list—had to be a good thing, right?
Yeah. Right. Tell that to the hollow feeling in my gut and the cloud of self-doubt hovering over my head, shooting down little lightning bolts like in a comic strip.
Maybe I’d been too hard on Alec. Maybe he really had cared. Dave had told me he thought Alec really liked me, shrugged, and added, “The guy was just doing his job. And anyway, he saved our lives. So he gets my vote, even if he was kind of a jerk about the champagne.”
Dave got ten points for practicality and minus a million for brotherly empathy, but I saw his point.
And I kept going back to how Alec had acted the one night we’d spent together. Not what he’d said, but what he’d done. I could see going out of his way to be a decent lover to assuage his guilt over taking me to bed in the first place, maybe, but—he’d done more than that. Way more. He’d spent so much more time and effort on my pleasure than his. And he’d already gotten his in with the company. He hadn’t needed anything more from me.
I couldn’t spend one more minute hanging around my condo. I’d start polishing the silverware, or something, and my silverware was stainless steel.
I found all my bits and pieces, making extra sure to have my phone in my pocket, a paranoid tic I wouldn’t be losing anytime soon, stuffed my feet in a new pair of pink-checkered Chucks that matched my hair (retail therapy at its finest), and headed out.
Time for some tough self-love. I’d been avoiding V and V ever since…ever since. But it was time to reclaim some of my old habits, the healthy ones, anyway. Books had to fall into that category, right? As long as I avoided the boozy side of the business, I’d be golden.
It was a perfect day for a walk. Seventy degrees, sunny with a few puffy clouds drifting through the sky, and a fresh breeze. My route took me by an elementary school, where the kids had just run outside for their lunchtime recess. They ran in circles, shrieking and laughing and bouncing around like pinballs, and my spirits lifted a little. Kids at close range kind of freaked me out, but at a healthy distance…yeah, they were pretty cool. They didn’t brood over lying FBI agents or scrub kitchen tile grout with a toothbrush while they worried about whether they’d made too many typos in their grad-school reinstatement petitions. They just ran around and screamed.
Too bad I’d end up in the drunk tank if I did the same thing.
The Church Street marketplace wasn’t too crowded on a weekday morning, but a few college students wandered around, drinking coffee and killing time, and a stream of mom-looking ladies were heading out of a yoga studio and into a coffee shop.
My heart gave a lurch as I pulled open the door to the bookstore. I half expected to see Alec’s tall figure leaning against the true crime shelf, shaking his head and scowling.
Now I knew why he thought that section was so annoying and so funny, of course.
Because he’d lied to me. I hardened my heart and headed for the sci-fi shelves. No popular science today. It was my version of true crime, and I didn’t have the heart for being annoyed by misinterpretations of theories the authors didn’t understand half the time.
“Excuse me!” I turned back to the counter, where a female clerk stood smiling at me. A friendly, flirty smile, at that. I returned it. She and I both had to know I wouldn’t be flirting with her for more than the fun of it, and she had the air of someone who might have enough interest in girls for the both of us. “Are you Gabe, maybe?”
I blinked at her. “Yeah, I am. Did…why?”
Only Alec knew both my name and that I came in here often. The tingly, lightheaded feeling creeping over me had to be irritation, right? I wouldn’t be feeling anything else at the thought of Alec coming in the bookstore and asking after me.
“A guy bought you some books.” She reached under the counter and pulled out a large V and V shopping bag. “A lot of books, actually. He spent two hours in here on Saturday right before closing. I wanted to close the register, but he gave me…like, puppy-dog eyes, even though he was scowling. It was hilarious. I stayed open an extra ten minutes.”
The lightheadedness intensified, and I grabbed onto the edge of the counter. “Books?”
The clerk eyed me with a mix of wariness and compassion. “Yeah? This is a bookstore?”
“Yeah,” I managed. “Um. Can I take a look?”
She turned the bag toward me, and I peeked inside. A whole stack of books—and a manila envelope.
I couldn’t do this here. But I also couldn’t wait to go home.
Screw it. Five o’clock…I honestly didn’t care where it might be five o’clock. The wine bar would be opening up by now, and they’d be quiet.
I thanked the clerk absently, knowing she probably thought I was insane, and took the bag next door.
Two minutes later I’d settled in the booth at the very back of the bar, out of the way, with my glass of wine and my bag. Alec’s bag. The bag of books Alec had spent two hours choosing for me.
Plus whatever he’d put in that envelope.
The envelope had me mesmerized, but I looked through the books first, forcing myself to save the part that had me wildest with curiosity for last.
A history of the FBI sat on top. Okay, not sure where he was going with that. Then a biography of Queen Maria I of Portugal
, who looked like she’d been a bundle of laughs if the towering headdress and sour expression in her portrait on the cover were any indication. Really not sure where Alec was going with that.
I shuffled those to the side to reveal a tourist guide book to upstate New York. I blinked at it. Alec must live there, since I’d heard him talking to some of the Shelburne cops about his field office in Albany. Under that, I found a history about immigrants who’d passed through Ellis Island, a coffee-table book full of photos of classic motorcycles, Frank Herbert’s Dune, and lastly, an autobiography by an army sergeant who’d served in Afghanistan. I stared at that one for a while, stroking the cover with my thumbs and thinking hard. Obviously these books represented Alec. I hadn’t known he’d been in the army.
I hadn’t known a lot of things about him, as I’d told him furiously the last time I’d seen him. Was this his way of evening the playing field? I understood the gesture, but it wasn’t enough. Yes, it provided an outline of his life, in a way. But that didn’t compensate for him using his position with the FBI to learn everything about me, from my bank account balance down to my grades in high school.
I opened the envelope.
Yeah, okay, that was evening the playing field in a big way. His bank statements. A printout from the DMV; he’d gotten a speeding ticket ten years ago. A freaking college transcript, showing—yes, he’d earned mostly A’s and B’s in a variety of classes about the history of Portugal. Weird, but not everyone had the sense to realize how much cooler chemistry was than every other subject. He had taken Chem 101 as a freshman, with a B minus. I rolled my eyes at that.
And then last, at the bottom of the stack, a copy of his army service record, paperclipped to a small sheaf of emails he’d sent to his sister while he was deployed. I desperately wanted to dive into those, but I couldn’t focus right now.
I drained the last of my wine all at once and set the glass aside, terrified I’d somehow spill it on the papers in front of me if I didn’t get rid of it.
The quiet instrumental piece playing above me faded away, replaced with Ella Fitzgerald crooning about having someone under her skin. I glared at Rainn, wiping something down behind the bar. Asshole. He smirked and waved, as if he’d known exactly what he was doing when he chose the music.
Fucking bartenders. They always knew more than they let on.
Alec had gotten under my skin, in more ways than one. I couldn’t forget about him.
And apparently he couldn’t forget about me, either. He’d laid himself bare to me, as much as he could without actually talking to me.
Which I’d told him not to do.
He’d managed to run a background check on himself and deliver it to me in the least obtrusive way possible. He’d gone out of his way, driving down from Albany and spending hours in V and V putting together a far more personal background check, as represented by the books.
So what did it mean? And what did I want it to mean?
I gathered up the books, slipped all the papers back in the envelope, and carefully replaced it all in the bag.
I wanted it to mean Alec cared about me. I wanted Alec.
Denying that wouldn’t do me any good at this point. I just wasn’t sure that would be enough.
17
Alec
The park where I’d met Gabe for the first time didn’t have many people in it at midday on Tuesday. A couple of dog walkers. A mom with toddlers. An older couple in matching goofy sunhats.
And me, sitting on the bench near where we’d kissed, sticking out like a sore thumb. The mom had smiled at me and exchanged a casual hello, probably too relieved to have a moment of human contact with someone with a double-digit age to care what I looked like, but the dog-walkers had both given me the up-and-down of someone considering calling the police.
Sticking my badge to my forehead felt like overkill, so I focused on trying to get my resting pissed-off face under control.
Judging by the disapproving frown I got from the male half of the sunhat couple, I hadn’t succeeded. Maybe I should’ve shaved. Oh well.
The park regulars should’ve been used to me by now, anyway. I’d resisted the urge to stalk the bookstore, and Gabe by extension. Yes, I could’ve found a spot to unobtrusively watch for him. Hell, I could’ve staked out his apartment.
This park was the closest I’d been willing to come to that. I had to leave it in the hands of…fate, maybe? Gabe, definitely. The ball had to be in his court. And if I’d taken the whole week off after all, so that I could hang around the park and hope Gabe went to the bookstore, got my books, and walked home this way, well. That was between me, fate, and the guy in the sunhat.
It felt like a hallucination when I glanced at the northern end of the park and saw a slim figure with bright pink hair carrying a shopping bag. Bright pink shoes, too. Tight jeans and a hoodie, and big sunglasses.
Gabe. I thought I might throw up. Should I stand? Sit where I was? Walk toward him, or maybe run at him, throw myself on my knees, and beg?
I couldn’t tell if he’d seen me. Those sunglasses completely hid his eyes, and he didn’t waver, didn’t show any physical tells. Just kept walking until he reached the fork in the path that’d either take him up the hill and directly toward his place, or along the length of the park to pass by me.
Gabe hesitated. He took a step along the path away from me. Jesus, I was going to have a stroke before he made up his mind.
And then Gabe turned briskly and strode my way, and my heart beat a rhythm more suited to dubstep, irregular and pounding and sickening. I stayed where I was. If I stood up, I’d be looming over him, and we all knew how that’d turned out last time, right? With me shoving him against a wall and kissing the hell out of him.
Okay, so he’d pulled on my jacket and got me off-balance. But I’d pinned him.
Gabe stopped right in front of me. His white knuckles around the handles of the shopping bag belied the casual hand-on-hip he had going on. I looked up. I still couldn’t see his eyes, but his lips had parted a little, and his chest rose and fell a little too quickly for someone who’d been taking a leisurely Tuesday stroll.
“Someone bought me all these heavy books,” he said, his voice almost steady. Almost. “I don’t really feel like carrying them all the way up the hill.”
I stood, and it put us toe to toe, chest to chest. Not eye to eye, since he wasn’t tall enough. But it gave me a great view of his pink hair, and a lungful of the scent of him: lemony and fresh and a little bit like fresh sweat from walking around. And wine. My chest clenched. If I’d driven him to a lunchtime drink, maybe I should’ve reconsidered my grand gesture.
“Anything good? Or does he have bad taste?”
Gabe tipped his head back a little, and his sunglasses slid down his nose. Blue-gray gleamed through the gap. He blinked, a sweep of golden lashes. “He picked me, right? So he can’t have such bad taste?”
Relief welled up, so powerful and overwhelming I nearly went to my knees after all.
“No,” I said, my voice rough. “He has great taste.”
Something brushed against my hand. Gabe’s fingers, delicately stroking over the back of my hand. I caught his in mine, trying not to crush him, so desperate for that little contact of skin on skin that my head spun.
“Come on,” Gabe said softly. “Walk me home. But you don’t have to leave me at the door this time.”
Gabe
The front door of my condo thudded shut, and the book bag fell from my hands, thumping to the floor and falling over, spilling its contents.
My back hit the door as Alec’s mouth found mine, his hands clutching at my sides and the weight of his body shoving me against it. He kissed me like he had the night we’d spent together, desperate and hungry and with all his self-control burned away in a flash, like dry grass in a wildfire. I pushed his jacket off his shoulders, tore at his belt buckle, slipped my hands under the hem of his shirt. I needed him. I needed to feel him. Nothing else mattered with that longing
pounding in my veins and echoing in my frantic heartbeat.
The jacket went flying and then Alec’s hands were all over me again, sliding over my back, gripping my hips almost too hard.
He’d gotten my jeans open, somehow, and when he palmed my cock I moaned and arched up into his touch, throbbing and already halfway there just from the pressure of his hand.
Alec shoved the jeans and my briefs down and spun me around. My burning face hit the cool wood of the door, and I closed my eyes and bit my lip as his hands skimmed the curve of my ass.
His mouth followed. He’d gone to his knees behind me. I tried to spread my legs, but my jeans restricted my range of motion too much. Alec tugged my hips until I had my ass sticking out, my arms braced against the door. His hot mouth pressed kisses along my cheeks, and he opened me up with his thumbs.
The first stroke of his tongue had me keening, almost sobbing with how good it felt. He swirled his tongue in slow circles, stopping to prod my hole with the tip of it, softening me and getting me wet. When he buried his face between the cheeks of my ass and pushed his tongue inside, I couldn’t take it anymore. I got a hand on my cock and stroked, the relief nearly too intense, coming in spurts all over the door, shuddering, with Alec’s agile tongue still forcing its way inside me.
My vision whited out for a minute, and I couldn’t feel anything but the throb of my cock and the clenching of my muscles, everything narrowed down to the heat of his mouth and the grip of my hand.
He stood, and I heard the rasp of a zipper. A moment later, his erection rubbed down my crease, catching against my hole. He pushed, not enough to get inside, but enough that I knew he could. The thick head of his cock stretched my opening, all my oversensitized nerves screaming for less, for more, for everything.
I pushed back against him, taking him a fraction deeper. With only his spit, it wasn’t quite slippery enough. I wanted him to force his way inside anyway. Slam all the way home, take me up against the door. Make me scream.
Undercover (Vino and Veritas) Page 17
