13. Theo #3
It would seem Luc is the most flexible dude on this planet, physically and emotionally, because although I’m in the damn way, he works around me and applies butterfly strips to Libby’s split skin.
“This’ll all be gone in a couple weeks. There’s no lasting damage.
” He works with a pen light and makes Lib scowl when he flashes it in her eyes. “Do you feel nauseous?”
She shrugs. “Not really.”
“Ringing in your ears?”
She gives a gentle shake of her head, but stops with a grimace. “I did earlier, but it’s not so bad.”
“Headache?”
“Yeah.” Her eyes flicker back to mine after each answer. Does it bother her that I hear her weaknesses? “Throbs a little,” she admits.
“Do you remember what happened?”
“Mm. Aaron Scanlon is getting a divorce and he’s unhappy about it. He technically didn’t mean to hit me.”
“Still charging him,” I growl. “Accidental or not, you don’t get to knock someone the fuck out and get away with it.”
Luc’s eyes flicker to me. “Did you see what happened?”
“Yeah. Dude was drunk and sloppy. Looked like she was telling him to move along, he turned a little fast. Looked like he was just trying to get her hands off him. Instead he clocked her.”
Libby nods. “That’s what happened. X sent me here to get him out, since everyone else is busy. Show my badge, move him along. Tink stopped serving him hours ago, but I think he’s taking more than alcohol. He’s way too sloppy still.”
“Ah, well, I’m sure your cop friend will take care of it,” Luc replies. “I can’t do much about your face; you’re gonna look like Rocky for a while.”
Scowling, Libby brings her fingers up to prod at her lip. “It hurts like a bitch.”
He chuckles. “Gonna hurt way more tomorrow. But it should ease the day after that. Go home and sleep it off, take some aspirin before bed.”
“I was already in my pyjamas before this,” she huffs. “I was down for the night.”
“And then you changed your mind and decided to party.” Luc pats her knee and grins. “That’ll teach you. Once someone is in their jammies, they stay in their jammies. Except, of course, when your nurse gets home.”
“You’re such a pig.” Lib shoves him back when he laughs and closes up the bag he brought along. “Kari’s brother know you speak about her that way?”
“Fuck no, and if you tell him, I’ll rip those strips off your face and take the tiny hairs with them. Don’t be a snitch, Tate. It’s ugly.”
It does my heart good to see her chuckle at his jokes. To see her smile, even if it stops again when the split begins to open. It makes me happy that she’s sitting up on her own and doesn’t need to be rushed to the hospital.
I suspect she’s perfectly fine to go home alone tonight, but I won’t tell her that. I’m sticking to her like Velcro, because I’m not ready to let go.
My date with Sophia was a total bust, and though that should enrage me, I find I don’t particularly care. She stands in front of Jay in a way that speaks to my soul. She’s not holding him back, but comforting him, and the fact that he needs comfort helps me see them as… well… vulnerable.
Not in the way that I see his jugular and I’m ready to strike, but in the way that humanizes him.
Maybe he’s the bad guy in my story, but maybe he’s not.
No matter who he is, I still have Libby sitting right in front of me, bringing me comfort by her presence, the way Sophia brings comfort to the other Bishop.
It takes only a minute or two for Luc and Mitchell to collect all of their shit and leave the room, and without a word, but with a small nod, Sophia takes Jay’s hand and pulls him away too.
He watches me with narrowed eyes that speak of betrayal more than rage.
How dare someone try to seduce his woman? How dare someone try to break a family?
“Why were you on a date with Sophia?”
I glance up as Libby holds a fresh ice pack to her cheek. She rests both feet on my lap, her elbows on her knees. It’s like history circling around and repeating itself.
I could be eleven all over again. Maybe I could restart what began back then.
Catching sight of a silver rod in the pencil tin in the left corner of the desk, I chuckle and reach out for the letter opener. The universe is fucking with us.
“It wasn’t a date. It was a business meeting.”
Libby’s eyes scour my face as she gives a slow nod. “Okay. Why was Soph at a business meeting in her underwear and stripper heels?”
I force a smile and shrug. “She likes wearing those shoes?”
“Nope.” Libby drops her feet and turns to slide off the desk. “Nobody likes wearing those shoes. I’m leaving.”
“No, stop.” I lurch forward and press her back until she’s sitting and her eyes widen.
Our noses are mere inches apart. Her breath whistles, her nose is blocked with clotting blood and tissues.
“I offered her a job with lots of money.” I pause, because I know the rest is going to hurt.
“I also implied a type of sexual gratification if she accepted.”
Libby’s lips firm with anger. “You were gonna fuck her? You enjoy offering yourself to every set of legs that walk by?”
“No.” I sit again, making her head and shoulders taller than me, but I pull my chair forward and stop between her legs, resting my elbows on the desk on each side. “You’re the only person I made an offer to and meant it. And technically, your legs are kinda short and stocky, so…”
“You’re a fucking asshole.” She tries to push me back. If she was well, she’d be able to move me, but as she tries now, her burning cheeks turn green. “I’m not short. And not everyone has a ballerina’s body.”
“I like your body.” I pull my chair in closer and rest my hands on her hips.
“The thing with Sophia was business. Sometimes people react to money, so I offered her a well-paying job at Griffin Plaza. I mentioned how I live in the penthouse, and how there’s a spare apartment… ” I grit my teeth. “Well, close by.”
“And if she’d accepted, you’d happily fuck her in your spare time?”
“No. I was never gonna fuck her, Lib. It was purely business, and I suspect her coming dressed that way was business for her too. She’s either insanely smart or insanely dumb.”
“She’s smart,” Lib whispers. “Word on the street is she’s basically a computer genius.”
I sit back a little with a humorless chuckle, though I keep my hands on her hips and knead.
“I guess that shouldn’t surprise me. She’s Checkmate’s computer genius, isn’t she?
She’s so fucking smart, she knows to make herself seem like a brainless bimbo if it suits her purposes. ” Our eyes meet. “Right?”
She swallows as Libby-the-woman fights against Libby-the-cop. But of course, the cop wins. “I have no clue. She’s not my business to discuss. If you need to speak about Checkmate, then you need to speak to Checkmate. I won’t help you gain some kind of business advantage over them or anyone else.”
I glance down and study the denim pattern of Libby’s jeans while I think through my next move.
And between those thoughts, I think about my next move with her.
And between all of that, I think through the word Jericho .
Why did Sophia say that today, and why did it instantly calm Jay?
What does it mean? And why the fuck does it bother me that she has a safe word?
“Why are you here, Griffin?” Lib drags my face up with a hand under my chin.
“Tell me why you’re in this town. Why are you popping up everywhere I am?
Why are you so interested in the Bishops?
Why the secrecy?” Her open eye mists. “And why does this right now,” she points between us, “Why does this feel like déjà vu? Why do you constantly make me think impossible things?”
“What things?” My eyes flicker between hers as I move closer. “What impossible things do you think when you see me?”
She shakes her head, as though to deny what she already knows. It’s too close to the surface, and if she were to blab, my whole reason for being here could be blown. I need to leave this office, I need to stop letting her see into my soul, but I can’t look away. I’ve never been able to look away.
“I dream about your eyes,” she whispers. “I dream every single night. You make me think of things I don’t want to think about, of people I don’t want to remember. You make me remember one particular person I do want to remember. But it’s impossible.”
“What’s impossible, Lib?” I slide my hand along her thigh and stop to circle her knee with my finger. “Is it impossible that you forgot to have that growth spurt?”
Fat tears explode from her eyes when I say the very thing she’s been hoping and dreading.
“Is it impossible that your dimpled knees are no more? I’ve looked. I looked at the gym, but your knees aren’t fat anymore.”
“It’s impossible,” she cries. “It’s… I don’t know how… I just…”
“It’s impossible that you’ve literally not grown more than three inches since you were nine.”
She shakes her head. She denies me. But those dirty green eyes stay on me.
“It’s impossible that you’ve been holding on to a little boy’s red sweater for two decades.”
“Oh my God.”
I stand and push into her space so our noses touch and she has no choice but to stare into my eyes. “Why do you have that sweater, Elizabeth? How is that possible?”
“I stole it,” she whimpers. “My friend once told me that it feels good to steal. He told me that when it hurts bad people, but doesn’t hurt good people, it’s okay to steal.”
“Do you sleep with that sweater?” I slide my hand along her thigh and brush the tip of my nose along hers. Her breath hitches, and her hands come up to my shoulders – an embrace ? Or to push me away ? “Does it bring you comfort to smell that boy in your bed?”
“Not anymore,” she cries. “It doesn’t smell like him anymore.”
I brush my lips over hers and swallow her startled breath. “No. It smells like you.”
“It’s gone now.” Her gaze flickers between mine. “I lost it, and now I sleep with a stomach ache.”