Chapter 15 #2
Tamping down on the inclination, I clear my throat. “Oh… well. How’d you get here so fast?”
“Was at Cooter’s having a beer with Miller.”
I scrunch up my nose, the tequila rolling in my gut again. “Ew. The strip club? That place as dirty as it used to be?”
He shrugs. “Can’t beat their two-for-one wing nights. Gotta be pretty brutal for the girls, though,” he says, waggling his fingers. “All those sticky hands touching them.”
“That’s gross, Linc. For real.”
“I’m just there for the cheap beer and wings.”
“Sure you are.”
With a roll of his eyes, he holds out a hand. “I’m taking you home. Let’s go.”
“Ah, no. I’m not going anywhere with you.” I push off the wall, swaying a bit.
He steadies me quickly, his hand finding my waist. “Ah, yeah, you are. You’re wasted. You need to sleep it off. And I’m not letting you go back in there so Tex can convince you to leave with him. That asshole is not what you need right now.”
Scowling, I thrust his hand away. “First of all, I’m capable of making my own decisions.
I can sleep with whoever I want. Second, I won’t let Tex convince me of anything.
If I wanted a quick fuck, I definitely wouldn’t ask him for it.
” I step forward, this time taking extra care to root my feet to the ground.
“Who would you ask? And so you know, Grace, I’m not all that quick.”
“And third,” I say, ignoring him and the thrill shooting up my spine, “stop this ‘you’re not gonna let me ’ shit. You don’t get to tell me?—”
The world spins, and my feet leave the ground. A second later, I find myself slung over Decker’s shoulder.
Yelping, I hammer my fists against his back. “What the hell?” His grip on me is firm, and he keeps me restrained easily as I kick out wildly. “Decker!”
He’s already exiting the alleyway and stepping out onto the crowded street.
The people gathered nearby watch, a few laughing and pointing, a few others looking concerned.
“Put me down,” I warn.
“No.”
“I’ll scream,” I grit.
With a dark chuckle, he slaps my ass.
“Ow, hey!”
“You screaming because of me isn’t the worst thing in the world, Grace. I’m pretty good at that. Making women scream.”
“Screaming as they run in the other direction,” I mutter with another punch to his lower back. “Put me down.”
To my surprise, he flings me over his shoulder and places me gently on my feet.
I wobble slightly, head spinning as I adjust to being vertical again. “You’re an asshole, you know that?”
“So? Get in.” He nods to the big black pickup parked on the curb.
I open my mouth to argue, but he cuts me off.
“Grace. I will literally pick you up and shove you inside if you do not get your pretty ass in my truck right now.”
I purse my lips, readying for a fight. But Decker looks serious, and the lead brick in my stomach is begging me not to go back to the loud music and the moving bodies and the Sinner Sisters with their copious amounts of tequila.
“Dick,” I bite as I yank open the door and hoist myself up into his truck.
“Keep fucking running your mouth. See where that gets you,” he says coolly as he closes the door.
Big dick.
The truck interior is immaculate. No food wrappers or empty to-go cups, no specks of dirt or loose pebbles on his floor mats. I’m almost tempted to sit with my feet hovering above the floor so my sneakers don’t leave anything behind.
Decker jumps into the driver’s side and takes me in slowly.
“Seat belt,” he says.
Right. I drag it across my body, and once it clicks into place, he pulls onto the road. Then we’re headed through town, me annoyed, him seemingly calm and maybe a little smug.
I thumb out a quick text to the group chat.
Me:
I’m out.
Kat:
NOOOOOOOOO.
Bex:
You suck. I have to be up in 4 hours with the kiddo. How am I outdrinking you?
Me:
I will literally die if I take one more sip of alcohol. You two are fucking crazy.
Bex:
Lightweight
Kat:
FINE. Still on for Kuppajoe at noon?
Me:
Definitely. I’ll need the caffeine.
Triss:
Door is unlocked for you.
Me:
Why are you still up?
Bex:
Don’t ask her that. You don’t want to know what your brother’s been doing to her for the last hour.
Me:
Gross.
Triss:
Sorry. But also… we’re not done, so… double sorry for the noise.
Kat:
Is Graves really so boring that you’re texting us right now?
Triss:
Keep talking shit, and I’ll describe it to you. In detail.
Kat:
Please don’t. I really don’t need to picture all the ways he’s disappointed you tonight.
I snort as Bex drops a line of laughing emojis.
As I close our group chat, though, my chest suddenly feels heavy.
Like there’s a weight pressing down on me, reminding me that I don’t actually get to keep this.
That I made a choice that would forever mark me as a traitor.
One that’s still threatening to catch up to me.
These friends I’ve made, this family I’ve tried to sneak my way into, they’ll turn their backs on me soon enough.
For the last year, my allegiance has been to the enemy.
That’s not a sin a few tequila shots can erase.
With a sigh, I pocket my phone. Then I lean my head back against the headrest and close my eyes.
“Not gonna throw up, are you?” Decker asks.
“No, Linc. You don’t need to worry about your precious truck getting all messy.”
“I did just get her detailed.”
“Another her? This one got a name too?”
“Of course. Jane.”
I laugh. “You named your truck Jane? Not something… I don’t know. Sexier?”
His mouth twitches. “Jane is sexy.”
“No. You name cars after women you’d want to take home. You know, like Lexi, Scarlett, Roxy. Sexy names. Jane sounds like she works at a bank.”
He hums a few lines of a song and then looks at me expectantly, as if he wants me to finish the lyrics. When I shrug, he sighs. “Jane? Jefferson Starship?”
“Ah, of course. The eighties.”
“Seventies, but yeah.” His mouth curls up on one side. “See? You don’t sing about a woman who isn’t sexy. Jane is sexy.”
“You’re only in your thirties. Why are you listening to music that’s a hundred years older than you?”
He laughs. The smooth, easy kind he only lets out once in a while. “If you don’t like Jane, you definitely won’t like what I named my bike.”
I pull my feet up on the seat and twist towards him. “Lay it on me.”
“How do you feel about Barb?”
A scoff escapes me. “I have never hated anything more.”
His face splits in a grin. “Come on! Barbara Ann?”
“Beach Boys?”
His eyebrows jump up. “I’m surprised you know that.”
“Jimmy doesn’t listen to anything written after the turn of the century. And I’ve spent a lot of time in his garage. There’s no arguing with the man. His garage, his music.”
“I officially have a newfound respect for your father.”
The smile stays on his face as he drives. He’s relaxed, one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on the centre console, his attention on the road, sleeves of his white henley bunched up just below his elbows.
I study him too long. Taking in the angles of his face, the dip of his brow line, the way his shoulder muscles flex as he adjusts his grip on the steering wheel.
My own little private showing. Decker up close and personal.
Where I can watch him unabashedly. Stare at the face I like to think about too often.
And his hands. I like thinking about those too.
He slows the truck, and when he comes to a stop, he throws the gearshift into park and faces me.
He gives me another one of those long looks, and I think it might be the tequila, but I almost lean over and kiss him.
Because god. That fucking kiss. I shouldn’t have done it, because now I’m desperate to feel that again. Just one more time. Just for tonight.
Thinking better of it, I unbuckle my seat belt and open the door. “Thanks for the ride h?—”
The house before me registers, and I pull up short. There’s no bright red door or Harley in the driveway. This isn’t the pretty upper-middle class neighbourhood Triss and Jack live in. Instead, I’m met with a perfect green lawn, a weathered wooden porch, an A-line roof, green painted siding.
Decker’s house.
“What the hell are we doing here?”
He grins. “I told you I was taking you home.”
“Yeah.” I whip around. “Home. Like Jack and Triss’s place.”
“Mmm. No. I never said I was taking you there.” He jumps from the truck and slams the door.
I’m out moments later, cursing as I stumble up his driveway.
Fucking. Tequila.
“I’m not staying here.” I plant my feet on his front lawn, arms crossed. “I’m walking home.”
“Only place you’re walking is inside. So let’s go. Or do you need me to carry you again?”
Asshole.
Gritting my teeth, I follow him into the house, muttering curses under my breath.
“Couch sucks,” he says, nodding to the living room. “It used to be pretty comfy, but some crazy bitch broke into my house and cut open all my cushions.”
Like the first time I was here, the place is immaculate. Gone are the broken dishes and the feathers from the pillows I destroyed. The pictures are back on the walls. Everything in its place.
Stepping into him, I say, “That crazy bitch wouldn’t have fucked up your house if you’d followed through with your end of the deal and had given her what she asked for.”
“If I remember right, Gracie, you didn’t ask for anything. You threatened me.”
“I didn’t have a choice. If I’d asked you for help?—”
“I’d have done it.”
I shake my head. “Oh please. ‘Hey, Linc, I know you’re a cop and we haven’t seen each other in ten years and I punched you in the face last night, but could you please help me retrieve the drugs and money I’ve got hidden in my impounded bike?’ Right. That would have gone over real well.”
“Me being a cop doesn’t mean much these days. Your brother made sure of that.” He clenches his fists, his amber eyes darkening.