Sixteen
I declined two drinks the bartender tried to put down in front of me, sent over from men I didn’t know, and instead paid my tab and headed for the door. I glanced over my shoulder, but Trip didn’t even notice. I was going to make a clean getaway.
Outside on the street my phone rang, and I leaned back against the glass window and answered it.
“I need to talk to you,” Sam Kage said flatly on the other end.
I was surprised that I was speaking to the detective again.
I had thought our last encounter was it.
When he came to my apartment in the middle of the night and yelled at me for not letting him protect me, I thought I had finally driven him away.
I had hoped I was wrong, prayed I was wrong, but feared I was right.
Sam Kage had a hold over me that was hard to articulate, and I was usually so good at talking.
“Jory.”
I slid down the wall, crouched there, held up by the building. “Sorry, why do you need to talk to me?”
“You’re my witness, you idiot.”
I was silent, thinking about my stupid heart and how much yearning I’d done.
“Are you there?”
“Yeah, sorry. Go ahead.”
He cleared his throat. “You know those guys that chased you the other night? We brought them in on—”
“You know who they are?”
“Of course we know who they fuckin’ are.”
“Oh.”
“Oh,” he repeated like I was brain dead. “Jesus.”
“Maybe I’ll just hang—”
“Wait,” he rushed out. “Just wait.”
I sighed long and loud but said nothing.
“Okay, so like I said, we brought them in on separate charges, and their rap sheets are good for attempted murder, aggravated assault, and attempted rape. Lucky…you were just lucky they didn’t get a hold of you.”
“Yeah,” I agreed.
“Yeah? That’s all you have to say?”
“What do you want me to say?” I asked, rubbing the bridge of my nose, realizing that I hadn’t eaten dinner yet and I’d had a lot to drink while I was watching Trip dance.
“Why do you sound all weird?”
“I’m drunk,” I said flatly.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m on my way home.”
“How ’bout you meet me for dinner?”
Worst idea in the history of ever. “Absolutely not.”
“Why?”
“You know why.”
“Enlighten me.”
“You hate me,” I replied, and I sounded petulant even to myself.
“I don’t,” he countered, and I could almost hear the smile in his voice. The flutter that rolled through me was really annoying.
“Well, I hate you.” I was back to sounding like a brat.
“No ya don’t.”
And I didn’t. I was crazy about him, plain and simple, and too drunk not to show it. I chuckled. “Well, somebody hates somebody or we’d be together.”
“You’re a drama queen. That’s why we’re not together.”
I grunted.
“Just come on. Tell me where ya are.”
“I’d rather gargle glass.”
“See? Dramatic.”
I groaned loudly.
“Tell me,” he demanded.
So I told him, and he said to give him five minutes. I promised to give him that. I fiddled with my phone, deleting old text messages and downloading a new song for my ringtone. It was always a good diversion. I lost track of time.
“Jory.”
I looked up as Trip came to stand over me. “Hey, man.”
“I couldn’t find you.”
“I’m gonna go ahead and leave.” I smiled slowly. “I’ll see ya later.”
“But I thought we were gonna hang out.”
“So did I, but it’s cool.”
“No,” he said, squatting down beside me, hand on my back. “I want to—”
“J!”
I looked to the street, and there was Sam getting out of his tank, which he had parked beside the curb. I really needed to ask him why he felt the need to drive the monster car. He didn’t need to compensate for anything.
“Who’s that?” Trip asked me as Sam came around the front of the SUV and strode toward us.
And I had the strangest moment of clarity, watching him close in on me. “That’s Sam.”
“Jory.”
My eyes flicked back to Trip’s.
“Who’s Sam?”
“Hey.”
We both looked up at Sam as he reached me and held out his hand for me to take.
“That was fast.” I smiled at him, liking the way the chinos hugged his long, muscular legs, the enormous belt buckle, and the steel-toed boots that were all beat to hell.
A white T-shirt peeked out from under a flannel work shirt, and the fleece-lined denim jacket finished off his outfit.
“What’d you do, work construction today, Detective? ”
His smile came slowly, warming his eyes, firing them as he stared down at me. “I did a lot of walking around today. I didn’t wanna freeze my ass off.”
“Canvassing the neighborhood,” I offered as I took his hand and he hauled me to my feet.
“That’s right,” he said gently, his hand slipping around the side of my neck. “I forgot you watch TV, so you know what’s going on.”
I nodded, agreeing with him that I was a big dork as Trip stood up next to me. “Sam, this is my friend Trip Ward. Trip, this is Sam Kage.”
They didn’t shake; they just nodded at each other as Sam drew me closer.
“Let’s get some food in you.”
“Okay,” I agreed, offering Trip my hand. “I’ll see you.”
“Wait, no. Jory, I thought we were gonna—”
“You’re leavin’ me hangin’ here.” I smiled wide.
Instead of taking my hand, he stepped into my arms and hugged me tight, his hands sliding over my back. “We should’ve gone somewhere, just the two of us.”
“Yeah, we should’ve.” I squeezed back because he felt good in my arms. I needed to be held, I craved it.
“We gotta go,” Sam said, and I felt his hand tangle in my hair and pull gently but insistently.
I let Trip go, and Sam grabbed the lapel of my topcoat. “Take care,” I said.
“Jory, lemme take you out tomorrow. I’ll pick you up at work and we’ll have dinner, and then we can—”
“He’ll be busy,” Sam said gruffly, yanking me forward so hard I almost fell. “Get in the car before I put you in the car.”
“Oh yeah?” I teased him, shrugging off his hand, walking backward. “Ya think you can do that?”
He grunted and moved faster than I would have thought he could. I had wrongly assumed that a man his size wasn’t capable of speed, but he had a hold of my arm again before I even realized what he was doing. “Lemme show you where the car is.”
I smiled, looking down at my feet. “I can walk.”
“You’re barely vertical. How many drinks did you have?”
“I dunno.”
“Why were you drinking anyway?”
“I was sitting by myself and I got bored.”
“Why were you sitting alone?” he asked as he opened the door for me and held it. I climbed up, and he closed it behind me. I glanced back over at the club entrance, and Trip was still standing there, watching me. I waved, and he returned the gesture.
“Were you supposed to be on a date with that guy?” Sam asked when he slid into the driver’s seat.
“You asked me two questions in a row, do you want an answer to either?”
“Yeah,” he said, chuckling. “G’head.”
“Okay, so I was sitting alone because Trip, who yes, I was supposed to be on the date with, was dancing with other people.” I turned and looked at him. “He invited me for dinner but brought me here instead.”
He reached out and put a hand on my cheek. “You look confused, baby.”
“Well, he invited me to dinner but not alone. What is that?”
“I used to invite friends if I wanted the other person to think it wasn’t really a date.”
I shrugged, brushing his hand away. “Then I guess it wasn’t really a date.”
“I guess not,” he agreed, starting the car.
“But last night when he invited me, he said—”
“You spent Thanksgiving with him?”
“With him and his family, yeah.” I was more than tipsy or I wouldn’t have just started chatting with him like we were old friends or something.
“They’re really nice, but he came off all player and everything, and so I said I wouldn’t go out with him, but then he apologized for thinking he was getting laid and—”
“What made him think he was gettin’ laid?”
“Did you see him? He’s gorgeous. I’m sure he gets laid all the time.”
He just nodded.
I smiled in spite of myself. “I might be drunker than I thought.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Even drunk, I know sarcasm when I hear it.”
“Do you?”
“You know, if you’re gonna be all—”
“What, J? What are you gonna do? I can do whatever the hell I want with you starting now, and there ain’t shit you can do about it. So you know what? Screw the food. I’m taking you home with me.”
“Wait, no. I’ve gotta work tomorrow. I—”
“Tomorrow’s Saturday. You don’t hafta work.”
“Yes, I do. I’ve gotta deliver something for my boss. I’ve gotta be there at, like—”
“You’re coming with me.”
“I can’t. Don’t—”
“Don’t what? Don’t just do whatever I want since you always do whatever the hell you want?”
“No, I—”
“You don’t always get to have things your way, so sit there and shut up.”
I vowed it would be a cold day in hell before I ever spoke to him again. Arms crossed, staring out my window, I didn’t even look at him. When he suddenly pulled off down a street I didn’t know, I turned and looked at him.
He was gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles were white. “I fuckin’ hate this.”
“What?” It was an early thaw for hell.
He turned and looked at me. “This. You and me, I fuckin’ hate it.”
“Then let me out and I’ll get—”
“No,” he roared, and in the small space it was even louder. It resonated through my whole body.
“I don’t—”
“This is eatin’ me up.”
I watched him swallow hard, saw how ragged his eyes were, how wrung out he looked.
“Jory…”
I was good at changing the subject when people were drowning in too much emotion. I needed to help him not push himself under. “That night you saw me out, did you really think I looked like a rent boy?” I asked softly.
“No.” His voice sounded hoarse, crackly.
“Did I look good?”
“Yes.”
“Do I look good now?”
In answer, he was on me, fast. I didn’t even hear him unlatch his seat belt before his mouth was sealing over mine, his tongue pushing for entrance that I instantly allowed.
As soon as my lips parted, his tongue swept inside, and I undid my own seat belt, which allowed him to gather me close, crushing me against him, kissing me so hard, so long, reacquainting himself with every part of my mouth.
When I pulled back to look up into his face, he bit my bottom lip to keep me close.
I smiled, and he ended up kissing my nose, my eyes, still holding me in his arms so tight.