Chapter 14
Nolan
It’s one thing getting hard for her.
It’s another thing getting hard for him.
But it’s a really fucked up thing getting hard-er because he’s hard for her.
That shit shouldn’t even be possible.
A lot like one woman being able to look this fucking good in anything she puts on.
Forfuckssake, this chick could wear a Twister themed moo moo paired with an oversized sombrero and baby vomit colored Ugg boots and I’d still be calling her beautiful and bargaining with her to suck my cock in the dressing room stall.
Which she won’t.
I asked.
Several. Times.
The Kid did too.
Still.
No go.
The thing she will do?
Flash us her beautiful round ass in the tiny little navy blue ass cheek panties she’s sporting.
I think she called them boy shorts?
Not sure what kinda dudes she’s seen in that shit, but I’m hoping that’s some sorta fucking misnomer.
Awkwardly adjusting my crotch is followed by an even toned demand from Kipp, “Get all three, baby.”
Bunny sassily shoves her hands inside the red and white patterned thing she called a hobo dress.
Or maybe it was boho?
No.
That can’t be it.
That’s not even a real fucking word.
“I don’t need all three, Kid,” she sweetly insists, oversized mountaineer hat adding something – but I don’t know what – to the outfit.
“I think you do,” he argues without hesitation as he scoots to the edge of the chair he’s been occupying.
The same fucking one I can’t believe I mentally saw myself sucking his dick in a minute ago.
I don’t know what the fuck is going on this weekend.
I think Rabbit may be spiking my coffee in the morning.
How else do I fucking explain suddenly wanting something I’ve never wanted before?
Or letting him touch me in ways he never had before?
Or wanting him to do it again?
Counting down the literal moments until he can do it again.
Until I can try it?
Fuck. Me.
I know if I start being a little less tinted window honest with myself, I’ll see that I’ve wanted that shit for years. And if I stay fresh off of the lot clear about the situation, it’s also apparent that anytime before now…before her…would’ve been wrong.
She’s not the duct tape that magically holds us together.
She’s more like that limited supply missing part we’ve been waiting on.
And fuckkkkk has she been worth it.
Rabbit does her best to maintain her polite demeanor. “I don’t.”
“You do.”
“I don’t.”
“You do.”
“I. Really. Don’t.”
Kipp’s sharp retort is more growled than spoken, “You. Really. Do.”
And what the fuck is that shit?
When did he…learn to…have so much fucking bass in his voice?
And so much fucking weight in his balls?
Where the fuck has this shit been hiding?
Where the fuck was this shit when that tramp, he wouldn’t take to the prom keyed his car or when the bank wouldn’t give him a loan to help us expand the business?
What is it about our little cotton tail that brings out his big bad wolf side?
And why the fuck am I just waiting for my turn to be gobbled up?
“Mutt,” our woman stomps her white boot covered foot in frustration at the same time she redirects her attention to me, “tell him I don’t. Tell him I don’t have room in my bag for all three.”
“Sir,” the Kid devilishly begins, leading me to lower the shirt I’m holding to conceal the way my cock is starting to swell, “tell her she does. Tell her my closet or yours has plenty of fucking room for all three.”
Thankfully this argument – like most of the shit they put me in the middle of – is not only mostly harmless, it’s easy to fucking split from.
An impish grin is swiftly presented to the pair in tandem. “How about I just tell you both that I’m gonna slowly but surely walk the fuck away from this conversation?”
Her shake of the head is attached to a small giggle while his is accompanied by an amused grunt. “Pussy.”
“Yeah, that’s what I’m trying to keep the chance of stayin’ in, Kid. You’ll learn.”
Laughter leaves them both prompting me to turn on my heels and head for the counter with a wide grin on my face.
I should probably hate how stupid I look smiling.
How goofy I get over something like listening to them laugh.
Fuck, how excited I get over all of us spending time together versus just the two of them.
And they do spend a shit ton of time together without me.
To the point I’m thinking about cutting hours for the first time since I started this shit a little over a decade ago.
I’m not jealous.
I’m just…not…happy about missing shit.
With either of them.
Doesn’t matter if it’s a dishwashing event turned wet t-shirt contest or a midnight Speed Racer streaming marathon because someone couldn’t sleep.
I wanna be around for it.
Fact?
No one goes out of their way to make me feel like the third wheel.
I just…I spend a lot of time driving around alone…wondering…thinking…wishing…I was home instead.
Helping the kid change sparkplugs.
Letting Rabbit doodle on my work boots.
Getting blown by whoever is up for it on the entry stairway to a classical music soundtrack.
You know…small shit.
Small shit that for some inexplicable reason is beginning to feel like big shit.
I plop the black dress shirt and gray dress pants on the counter in front of Posie McGarth, the owner’s daughter – also the only other employee of this shop – and try to tame the grin I’m displaying. “Can you hear ‘em up here?”
She carelessly drops her phone to one side of the counter and lets her bright blue eyes find my brown. “Not really.” Her bottom teeth steal a long, not subtle bite of her bottom lip the same way her mom’s always does when she’s looking at me too. “And that doesn’t have to be a bad thing.”
While Posie may be easy on the eyes and there may be nothing wrong with fucking people in the same family, I’ve never really wanted to join the list of men in this town – or the next one over – who could say with a straight face “your mom does it better”.
And despite what that cheating cunt of an ex of mine would say, I’ve never slept with this girl.
She’s too young.
Much too young.
I mean she fucking graduated with The Kid, for crying out loud.
Huh.
Okay that’s…different.
He’s different.
What we’ve got there is…fuck.
Why the fuck do I feel the need to keep justifying that shit instead of just letting it be whatever the fuck it is?
“Do me favor?” I retrieve my wallet from my back pocket. “No matter what either of them say, don’t let them pay.” Offering her my credit card is done with a goofy grin I need someone to scrub the fuck off my face. “I got it.” The instant the object is in her possession, I inquire, “You got it?”
“I got it.”
My head tips to one side to silently repeat the question.
“I got it, Nolan.” She’s tossed a smile of gratitude that’s cut short by her dramatic sighing. “You must really like this one.”
Sidestepping her word choice is easy. “Yeah, I guess you could say she’s…grown on me.”
“I’d say a lot more than that,” Posie states and pulls the clothes to her side of the counter. “You’ve always been this way with Kipp – the coddling, the cooing-”
“I don’t fucking coo.”
“-the wining and dining-”
“Kid has to eat.”
“-but you were sooooooo never like this with Jolene.”
Maybe if Jolene gave more of a shit I might’ve been.
Hell, if she gave half the amount of shit about me that Rabbit has since she’s shown up, I would’ve been more likely to marry her.
I said more likely not that I definitely would’ve.
She not so fucking secretly couldn’t stand The Kid, and I’d pick his ass over anyone else on any day of the week that ends in y.
“Come to think of it,” she gathers the clothing up to her chest like a blanket she needs to clutch for stability during her declaration, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this in love.”
My mouth drops down to argue the obvious, yet nothing comes out causing my eyebrows to pull together.
What the fuck?
I’m not in…
I can’t be.
It’s too soon.
Forfucksake, we haven’t even gone on a date!
Any of us.
Besides that kick you in the dick fact, I can’t be in…whatever…with someone or someone that I can’t or don’t or won’t or am not so sure I could call my…something.
What the hell is with this need to label every goddamn thing nowadays?!
Can’t people just…be together without defining all the shit?!
Without adding all the bells and whistles and little boxes to check?!
It’s not a service form for crying out loud!
It’s a…person to person thing!
Feeling my throat begin to tighten pushes me to quietly croak, “I’mma step outside for some air.”
“It is a little stuffy in the store, huh? Probably could lower the temp.”
I force myself to nod.
“Understood!” She warmly wiggles her entire frame like an excited Labradoodle. “No worries!”
Wrong.
I should be really fucking worried.
Rationale says to pump the breaks because we barely know shit about this woman while instinct is gnawing at me that I know enough.
Do I?
Is knowing I want her safe and am willing to do anything to make that possible really fucking enough?
And what about Kipp?
I know him better than I know my fucking self, but logic says to grind everything to a stop and to not get invested because this is probably just a phase for him.
Not…whatever it is I feel it might be.
Could be…if I let it – like instinct is insisting I should.
Like I possibly should’ve years ago.
Getting suddenly slapped by the cold air the instant I step outside is perfect and refreshing; however, immediately being greeted by two suspicious looking men is not.
I don’t see badges, but considering the way they’re dressed, they’re either UCs, detectives, or whoever the fuck serves you papers when someone is suing you.
“Miles Nolan?” the rectangle headed one asks as I brace my back against the brick wall of the store.
Rather than confirm or deny, I slide my hands into my pockets. “Who’s askin’?”
“We are,” the shorter, thicker eyebrowed male informs.
A small unimpressed hum hits the air. “You think I owe you money?”
“No,” blockhead replies.
“You think I owe your client money?”
“No,” caterpillar face answers.
“Either of you think I fucked your wife?”
“No,” they retort in unison.
“Then whatdoyou want?”
Like a poorly rehearsed scene in a movie, they each shift their jackets to the side to reveal detective badges.
“Nice hardware.” The new information has no effect on my demeanor. “Didn’t answer my question though.”
“We want you to answer a couple of ours,” rectangle head announces prior to standing up as tall as he can. “I’m Detective Davis.” He gestures inward. “This is Detective Northwood.” His finger flicks to his partner. “We’re from Augustine County Police Department. Do you know where that is?”
“Somewhere out near Spike Village.”
Detective Davis slowly nods. “You familiar with that area?”
“I’ve picked up work that way.”
“Frequently?” Detective Northwood questions.
“When I need it.”
They nod together in an uncomfortable nature.
I know what this shit is about.
And unfortunately for Dumb Dumber here, I’m not the redneck backwoods idiot they think that I am.
“We were wondering about your whereabouts,” Detective Davis proclaims pulling out his phone from his inner jacket pocket.
“That wasn’t a question,” I slyly point out seconds prior to the door chiming, “and you didn’t specify a day or a time.”
“Problem?” Kipp cautiously investigates, redirecting my gaze to him and our woman who is thankfully still wearing the oversized hat she tried on earlier.
“Not to my knowledge.” Unsure of who can be trusted or how far her ex-dick head’s reach really goes convinces me to cleverly suggest to Bunny, “Babe, why don’t you take the bags to the truck for us? Go stay warm. Temp feels like it’s droppin’. Don’t want you to get sick again. We’ll be there in a sec.”
She hums in acknowledgement and scampers off making sure not to allow them to see her face like the brilliant beauty she is.
Keeping my gaze plastered on her is both a protective and distraction tactic to have their focus where I want it versus where it might be more inconvenient.
Getting rid of two badge wearing bodies would be a lot more difficult than some random ass bounty hunter wannabe.
Detective Davis clears his throat and sternly bites, “Mr. Nolan.”
I let my stare meet his once more while Kipp stations himself protectively beside me. “What can I do for ya?”
“Can you tell us where you were Monday morning?”
“Working.”
“Where?” Northwood quickly asks.
“I don’t remember off the top of my head. I’d have to check my logs.”
“Do you recall if you were in or around Spike Village?”
“Again, detective,” my emphasis is presented to indicate my irritation, “without my documentation in front of me, your guess is as good as mine.”
“Do you happen to recall if you gave assistance to a man named Patrick Baker?” Detective Davis proceeds to interrogate.
“Not off the top of my head.”
“This is him,” Davis announces at the same time he shoves his cell in my direction. “Look familiar?”
Meeting his glare is as effortless as my answer. “No.”
“According to his phone records he called and texted your company several times for a tow,” Northwood reveals like he’s hoping to rattle me.
It doesn’t.
It doesn’t even warrant a fucking response.
“That jog your memory?” Davis prods after tucking his device away.
“No.” My response obviously isn’t the one they’re looking for. “You asked about my schedule, which I don’t have memorized. You then asked me about some man I don’t remember seeing off the top of my head, which considering how many people I fucking see in a day, isn’t that surprising. And then you tell me he contacted me for a job that I can’t confirm or deny I took without my work shit in front of me.” The shrug that escapes seems to shock and irk the pair. “Not real sure what the fuck this is about boys, but I’d love for you to get to the fucking point.”
“He’s missing,” Northwood clumsily confesses. “And he may be connected to another person of interest for a more pressing case, which is why any information from anyone who has seen him recently is crucial.”
“Critical,” Davis echoes.
My money says that the other “more pressing case” is about Rabbit.
Or going to be about her, and I’m not about to let that shit fly.
“Sorry detectives,” I calmly proclaim. “Without documentation to assist in my answerin’ I can’t be of much help. And I don’t keep that shit on me. Especially not when I’m out handlin’ house shit.” Their eyes briefly settle on Kipp like he’s their next target pushing me to grunt, “Look, if you wanna get an order for my records, do so. I’ll pull ‘em and we can do this little song and dance again, but until then? I’ve got a man to feed and a woman to fuck.” The condescending head tip is followed by me moving towards my parked nonwork truck. “Detectives.”
“We’ll be in touch, Mr. Nolan,” Davis calls out only to receive a two-finger wave over my shoulder.
Even if they are, so what?
They’ve got nothing.
I know where I was.
I know what I did.
And I know that they’ll never find him.
Just like that stalker son of a bitch will never get his hands on our woman again.