Chapter 18
EIGHTEEN
DEAL
The next morning, we were fucking while spooning.
This was good and it was bad.
The good parts were obvious.
The bad part was that I could barely touch Knox while he was fucking me.
Then again, I was realizing (hazily), that was the point.
Knox was always greedy.
But he was also a giver.
Due to this, naturally, I came first.
With his face buried in my hair, he came after.
We lay together, unmoving, for lazy, satisfied moments before Knox kissed my shoulder, moved to my ear and murmured, “I’ll hit the bathroom first, then take Jacques out.”
I didn’t think I did or ever would.
But the truth was, I’d forgotten how good so much of this felt.
Morning sex.
Sitting next to someone on the couch eating dinner in front of the television.
Having a partner who’d take the dog out so you could laze in bed or go about your business.
Therefore, I said, “That’s a plan.”
He slid away from me.
When he came back to pull on some clothes, I got out of bed, stopped to give him a kiss, then went to the bathroom.
By the time they returned, I’d brushed, flossed, washed my face and had our coffees and Jacques’s breakfast ready.
Once I handed Knox his mug, he bent to touch his mouth to mine and said, “Gonna go lie down. Don’t freak, but my body’s telling me I overdid it this weekend, and I need to chill. I’m not in pain, just a little achy.”
I sucked my lips between my teeth so I wouldn’t say anything.
He watched me do this and muttered, “Good call.”
I let my lips go to ask, “Are you still going into the office today?”
“Yeah. I arranged it so we’ll be done around the time your shift is over. I’ll call one of the guys to take me. Can you swing ’round and pick me up after work?”
I’d pick him up after he shared a beer with Joseph Stalin.
See?
We had this partner stuff down already.
“Absolutely.”
He gave me another lip touch and took his coffee to bed.
Jacques, having snarfed down his breakfast through our convo, looked after him.
He then looked at me.
Back down the hall.
At me.
Then he trotted down the hall.
I took no offense.
If my choice was to watch some woman shower and put on clothes and makeup (even if that woman fed me and gave me more than my fair share of snuggles), or cuddle in bed with Knox, I’d be trotting down the hall too.
* * *
As I idled in the suicide lane, waiting for my chance to take my turn, I scanned to ascertain if I saw Cheyenne or her car (yeah, like Jayden said, this shit was insidious), then I gave up on that and looked at The Surf Club.
One of the front windows was taken with the sign for Willow’s Good Stuff, a business she ran alongside SC.
The other window had a revolving daily display of Tex’s sketchy artwork, considering he used a tube of white shoe polish on the window to declare the day’s coffee special, and he always drew his version of what that special would be.
And today’s looked pornographic.
There was something that might be a mattress, and a flood of something else was pouring down on it with some shoe polish dots rising up from it.
If he hadn’t put the words beside it (salted caramel mocha, I was assuming the mattress was a chocolate bar and the dots were salt), I’d have no clue.
Therefore, I was laughing to myself when my opening came and I turned into SC.
I did the parking, walking in, stowing my bag, grabbing my apron thing, and headed out to the main restaurant, calling a hello to Lucia, our chef, as I did so, who, per protocol, ignored me.
After sending a salute Tito’s way (his sunglasses dipped to me in return), I went behind the bar noting Byron was already there, waiting for Raye to make his dirty chai.
I logged in at the register and headed his way.
“You okay?” he asked.
Totally a good guy.
“Yeah,” I replied, then shot him a sisterly-sly smile (practice?). “And apparently, you’re a really good kisser and a fast mover. What’s on tap for Dream tonight?”
Raye audibly swallowed a laugh as she set his big mug in front of him, red started crawling up his neck, but my teasing was interrupted when an abrupt clamor came from the coffee cubby that included shouts of “Where’s he going?” “Don’t leave!” and a screech of “I need my salted caramel mocha!”
At this juncture, Tex appeared in the doorway to the cubby, but he turned back and boomed, “You’ll get your coffee, suckas! Keep your pants on!”
Two things of note here.
One: Tex had mad skills at an espresso machine. I didn’t understand the magic, but I’d had many of his coffees, so I could attest it existed.
Two: although Tex was part-owner, he had an iffy relationship with customer service.
You got one of two Texes. If you kept your mouth shut and just grabbed your coffee when he was done making it, he’d ignore you.
If you engaged him even in the slightest, say, to bid him good morning, he’d treat you like garbage.
I considered this a microcosm of the balance of the universe as the last would not be acceptable without the first.
At promises their coffee would be forthcoming, the din died down (though it didn’t die out), and Tex lumbered up to the bar, eyes on me.
“You got a stalker?” he demanded.
“Shit, you have a stalker?” Byron asked.
“I might have a stalker,” I conceded, but only because I didn’t want to worry them about the fact I did, indeed, have a stalker.
“What’s Chambers doing about this stalker?” Tex asked.
“There’s nothing we can do,” I told him. His bushy eyebrows shot up. “Though, Knox will be texting you a picture of her so we can all keep a lookout. We have to have a log of it just in case we need to go for a restraining order or something.”
At this point, Willow stumbled out from the coffee cubby holding a tray she used to carry in some of her muffins, or cupcakes, or cookies.
“Ohmigod, Tex, get back in there,” she ordered. “Someone clawed me on the way out.”
Tex ignored her and looked at Raye. “What you gonna do about this stalker?”
“We talked to a cop, Tex, and he said you shouldn’t engage,” Raye informed him.
Tex had very good hearing, he still repeated, “What you gonna do about this stalker?”
“We don’t want to make some move and make it worse,” Raye retorted.
Tex turned to me. “You got an address on this woman?”
“No,” I said.
“Mason will,” Tex decreed.
That would be true. I had no doubt Mace knew exactly where to find Cheyenne.
“Why are you asking?” Raye queried.
“Because she can’t stalk if I disable her car,” Tex stated.
My mouth dropped open. So did Raye’s. Willow’s eyes got big.
Byron whispered, “Holy shit.”
Tex just walked back to the coffee cubby, a part cheer, mostly impatient outcry rang out, to which Tex boomed, “Pipe down!”
And they did.
Willow approached the bar and said, “I’m not sure he should disable her car.”
“She’s behaving like a lunatic. I think he should have at it,” Raye replied.
I didn’t want to talk about Cheyenne.
Though, I kinda wanted to go with Tex just to learn how to disable a car.
“Due to executed henchmen and a scene at Starbucks that Knox had to deal with…” I began.
Byron made a strangling noise.
“…I couldn’t get into it with him about our proposed chat with the underboss of the Russian mob…”
Byron sounded like he was dying.
“…but I’ll talk to him tonight. Maybe we can make a reservation at his restaurant tomorrow?” I suggested.
“I’ll get on that and getting a word to Dimitri we’re going to be pulling up,” Raye said.
“We should ask Titus to go with,” Willow proposed. “I think the men will be happier if he’s there, he’s tight with Dimitri and us, so it won’t seem weird, and I haven’t seen Titus in a while. I miss him.”
I missed him too.
And I suspected Willow had shared with Gabe we were thinking of instigating this meet, and the Titus suggestion was actually Gabe’s as to what might not make Knox and/or Cap lose their shit that we were going to have a sit-down with the underboss of the Russian mob.
“You’re on contacting Titus,” Raye said to Willow.
At this juncture, the phones in all of our aprons buzzed, and we looked down at them. We then pulled them out.
Text to the group from Jinx, a friend/informant, ex-sex worker, current student at ASU studying to be a teacher, who was now living with a hot guy with a mansion and a view.
Oh yeah, she’d pretty womaned.
I pulled it up and it said, What? I become invisible? Word on the grapevine is one of Los Guapos WAS SHOT! And NOTHING?
One could say, with recent holidays and our current dearth of missions (so we didn’t need information), we hadn’t been meeting up with our sex worker (and former sex worker) crew.
But they weren’t only our informants. They were our chicks.
Bad form.
Therefore, I said, “We should set up some diner time with the girls.”
“They also might know something about what’s going down with Knox’s family,” Raye said.
“I know all of that is down in Tucson, but they may still hear things. Not that we’re going to do anything about it,” she said that last sentence fast when I shot her a look.
“Just good to know all you can know, especially when the guys aren’t out of it. ”
I thought this was a good idea, though if we did the Russian thing tomorrow, and then did the diner thing, I’d be missing out on eating in front of the TV with Knox two nights this week.
Bummer.
But a girl had to do what a girl had to do.
“You text Jinx, calm her down and set that up,” Raye finished with her orders, that last one was to me. “And we got tables, ladies.”
I looked to the restaurant.
It was filling up.
So I sent a quick text to Jinx that said, Knox is recuperating well. We’ll plan a diner date. And he and I are together.
I was punching my first order in when I got back, Who he?
So I replied, Knox.
And she replied, I get that, gringa. Who he?
Oh, she meant which Hottie Squad member.
Dark hair. Killer bod.
To which she replied, That could be them all.
She was right.
So I said, Hazel eyes. Little cleft in his chin. Football Hottie.