CHAPTER EIGHT #2
Maddox flicks his balisong in an intricate combination, as if to garner my focus. “You know you’re kind of screwed then. You can’t just fuck her now.”
“Definitely not,” Ryker agrees, staring me down.
I scoff and pull the asshole move of turning my agitation back on him. “Well, I guess I’ll do the friend thing, and maybe in two decades, we’ll say, Fuck it, and go for something more.”
“It’s not that dire.” Jax snaps his fingers, lighting a match hidden within them, the crisp sizzle of the flame illuminating the room and his perspective. “Be her friend, but never let her forget that you’re interested beyond that.”
It’s not as though I hadn’t considered that, but it’s messier than I tend to indulge in.
“Says the only brother unattached,” I grumble, jumping out of my chair, prepared to bolt because I’ve had enough of this shit.
Jax flips himself off the ground, lands on his feet, flicks the match out, and meets me toe to toe. “I haven’t found anyone worth it yet. Sounds like you have. Don’t lose her because you’re too stubborn to pull your head out of your ass.”
“Wisdom,” Axel quips, but his sapphire eyes burn into me. Despite being completely spellbound by his wife, he grasps my reluctance to be attached.
Even if I was willing to pursue something with her, Sylvie probably isn’t interested in being pursued.
And I’m certainly not the person to swoop in after she’s been through hell.
Although I have an intense urge to wipe Danny Gordon off the face of the earth for doing whatever despicable thing he did to her.
Plucking my tux jacket off the chair, I throw it over my forearm and head for the stairs. “I’m going to bed.”
Axel rises, expecting me to wait. “Will Peter Fairfax be calling me?”
Ahh, I almost forgot about that.
“Probably.” I rub my hand over my mouth, thinking back on the night. “And when he does, you might want to inquire about something else.”
He dips his chin. “Go on.”
“We were in his private lounge with a few other couples, and one of the guys mentioned that Senator Paulke was in bed with Kratos.”
“Fuck,” he hisses. “What else was said?”
“Nothing. Peter shut it down quickly, but I thought it was worth mentioning.”
“It was. Send me the names of everyone who was in the lounge at the time and anyone else notable from the party.”
“Will do.” I start for the stairs again, but I hear him approaching, so I turn and find him right before me.
“You put security on her?” He phrases it like a question, but he never misses anything.
“Of course.”
“And she isn’t aware?”
I rub my forehead, wondering if he’s going to give me shit about this—the part about it being a secret, not about keeping her safe. I’m too exhausted to be anything other than honest though. “She’d be pissed if she knew.”
The man who yearns to protect women and pull all the strings of the criminal underworld takes that into his bones. He always gets a keen read on people, and he liked Sylvie. How could he not? Plus, we both know the type of trouble she could be in is the kind that can spiral quickly.
“Not since Mardi Gras?” he probes, eyebrows arched with a command to be forthright, and when I give a curt nod to his suspicion that I haven’t been with anyone for months, he pulls me in for a hug, his dad hat firmly in place.
“Don’t run from something because it’s complicated, Cash. You aren’t him.”
My throat gets dry. I can’t respond to that, so I slap him on the back a few times and wait until I’m a couple of steps up to call out, “Good night, Papa Axe.”
When my head hit the pillow last night, I was adamant that I would, at the very least, not text Sylvie for a week or so. That was the time frame I landed on for maintaining my dignity or whatever the hell kind of impression my tired ass was determined to bestow on my little thief.
I got up at dawn this morning, rubbed my dick raw to fantasies of my beautiful bandit stealing my cum, went to my office and worked harder than I’d ever fucking worked to keep my mind occupied, and lasted until noon.
Fourteen hours since I’ve seen her.
I’m fucking pathetic.
Me: You know what we didn’t discuss last night?
The thing is, it only takes ten minutes for her to text back.
Sylvie: I sure don’t, but I’m guessing it’s titillating.
Me: I wasn’t gonna go the dirty route because I thought we were keeping this clean, but there you go again with your filthy mind, Palmer.
Sylvie: What?
Me: Titillating.
Sylvie: You know that has nothing to do with tits, right?
Me: Maybe not for you.
Sylvie: What the hell are you talking about? Titillating means exciting.
Me: It sure does. In the sexual sense.
Sylvie: It can also just mean interesting. But let’s blow past that. You are clearly reading into things.
Me: I’m not the one who jumped to tit being part of the word, which was so junior high, but I can be mature enough for both of us. Let’s move on.
Sylvie: So gracious. What is the point of this absurd conversation?
Me: Last night was our third coincidence. If I remember correctly, which I always do, you said the third coincidence would make you a believer.
Me: We can also label it what it really was. Fate.
Sylvie: I thought we were doing the friend thing.
Me: Do friends not have coincidences?
Sylvie: Not serendipitous ones.
Me: So, you admit that meeting me was fate.
Sylvie: Absolutely not. There were too many points to argue over a text thread at the same time. I started with the most obvious.
Me: Well then, whether serendipitous coincidences lie within the friend zone remains to be seen. I guess it’s something we’ll have to consider because we keep showing up in the same places. And I have a feeling it will continue to happen.
Sylvie: Yeah. Imagine that. Stalker.
Me: Rude. I assumed since I entered friend territory, I’d be invited.
Her dots prance on my phone for a long-ass time. I think she’s flustered, and the thought of that is far more riveting than I expected.
Sylvie: Maybe someday, but friendship knows no distance. That’s the beauty of it.
Me: Well, don’t take too long about it. My stalker tendencies will eventually win out.
Sylvie: Stalking seems like something that would ruin a friendship.
Me: I’m counting on it, Sly, but only if the outcome is titillating.
She doesn’t respond, but I’d be willing to bet she’s smiling. And fuck knows what the hell is happening to me, but that’s enough.