Called Up (10 page)

“Are you all trying to make me feel better?” Fitz said, smiling. “Because it wasn’t necessary, but it sure is working.”

“Well, good,” Wash said. “Because you’re obviously not getting anything out of Deke and Lo—”

“Hey,” Lola interrupted, holding her hand up. “You’re talking to the lonely, widowed single mother of four, don’t forget.”

Which, of course, meant everyone’s eyes swung to Deke.

He had to say something. They were all expecting the off-the-cuff comment that would ease the tension, make everyone laugh. But for maybe the first time in his life, Deke was the one who felt off. Who felt like he was a stranger in his own skin. Who felt like a fucking
idiot
for not having a clue that pretty much every one of his friends had been dealing with all this shit. And that Deke, whose whole freaking job was to pay attention to people’s tells, had pretty much been clueless while he was off getting laid.

But they were all looking at him, and he had a role to play. So rather than give in to the sudden urge to jump to his feet with a huge, freaking, What the
fuck
? he pulled on his bartender hat, gave what he hoped appeared to be a genuine smile, and stretched his legs out in front of him as he gave them the response they were waiting for. “Well, Jesus fuck, don’t look at me,” he said. “I clearly drew the short straw. I’m the one who had to hang out with all you misfits.”

As everyone laughed and threw things at him, he drank from his beer and smiled back, all the while wondering how he had missed every single one of those majorly important things.

Which was why he probably should have avoided being anywhere near Fitz, especially at the very end of the night, after the others had left. It wasn’t unusual for them to be the last two by the fire. Deke was always the one to make sure the fire was out, and Fitz would typically hang out with him until the last of the embers died away. It just wasn’t a good idea tonight.

“Are you okay?” Fitz asked, her eyes keenly on him.

And he was keenly avoiding looking back. His gaze on the fire, Deke very deliberately misunderstood. “Not usually a woman’s response when I tell her we should fuck.”

Rather than reply to what he knew was an even more inappropriate response than when he’d said it the first time—which, honestly, was a feat in itself—Fitz’s voice went soft. “No, I imagine it’s not.”

She was quiet for a few minutes as she stared at the fire, too. “I wanted to make it better for you, not worse,” she finally said.

Jesus.
He closed his eyes and leaned his head back. Of course she’d be the one to call him on that. “I’m a big boy. I can handle my own shit.”

Clearly not, but she was kind enough not to contradict him.

Because it wasn’t her problem. Hell, he wasn’t even sure what
it
was, just that this whole
what-the-hell?
thing was new to him and he was trying to figure it out.

When he heard her get up, putting her Corona on the ground, her clothes rustling as she stood, he assumed she was going inside. But then her hand was on his knee and she was nudging his leg aside and getting up nice and close. He brought his head up just as her fingers brushed his lips.

He wanted to devour her whole. He gripped the armrests so he could at least keep some semblance of control.

“What if I wanted to?” she asked, her hand drifting down his jaw. “Make it better, I mean.”

Christ
, he couldn’t breathe.

“I thought we weren’t going to do this,” he said, fighting every single cell within him as his body rose up to meet her. Not that he didn’t want to, of course; he was even thinking how to go about convincing her she was wrong. He just wasn’t sure he was in the best frame of mind at the moment and there was a freaking lot at stake.

“We’re not,” she whispered, moving even closer, her hands now on his chest. “I am absolutely not kissing you.”

Except then she was, and he was letting her, because if he made so much as a move he would go off like a freaking rocket. He dropped his head back and gripped the armrests even harder and tried to keep his heart from bursting out of his chest when her mouth traveled down the side of his neck.

And... Fuck.

He grabbed her by the waist, lifting her up and then settling her in his lap, his hands at her hips. For a second he had enough willpower to keep her hovering over him. To not grind her down against him and ease this godawful six-month-old ache. But then she shifted her hips and every good intention faded away. He pulled her down hard and that moment of first contact was so fucking sweet he wanted to freeze time so he could feel it over and over again. She moaned and pushed against him. Not since his Lacey Jones days had he been so close to losing it while still fully clothed.

As much as he wanted to go there, though—and holy Christ, did he want to go there—he was actually still able to think straight.

So was she. “Oh,
fuck
,” she said, her head falling to his chest. “How is it that kissing you is better than sex with any other guy?”

A statement, incidentally, that did nothing to help make things “better” in any way.

She stayed there for a minute, those perfect breasts heaving against his chest as she got her breath back. Then she sat up straight, straddling his thighs rather than his waist. “This would probably be a good time for me to go to bed,” she finally said.

“Yeah,” he managed. “It would.”

But not before he ran his hand up her back, pulled her up against him and kissed her one final time. Openmouthed and with lots of tongue.

She was the one to pull away this time, panting, although she did it with a smile on her face. “Was that for good luck?”

God’s honest truth? “I don’t know what the fuck that was for.”

Then she gave a low, soft laugh, and a quick brush of her lips to his cheek before she got to her feet and left.

Deke sat there until the sun came up, wondering where they were going to go from here.

Chapter Eleven

The buzz of her phone woke Fitz bright and early on Wednesday morning. Six thirty.

Or, rather, she woke up bright and early on her own. It was the buzz of the phone that put a smile on her face. Deke had texted her each of the last two mornings with a trivia question. Monday morning’s had been,
What is the brightest star in the sky?

Sirius
, Fitz had answered.
Go harder next time.

To which Deke had replied,
Did you really ask me to go harder? Shit just got real.

‘Shit just got real’?
she replied.
It’s amazing you’ve been able to rack up all those numbers on your belt. Your way with words is...unique.

I happen to be unique in all sorts of ways
,
he texted back.

Which had both made her giggle and gotten all those pop rocks fizzing again.
I think we should probably shut this down right now.

Thankfully, he’d agreed.

Tuesday’s question had also been an easy one, but it made her laugh out loud.
What’s your perfect date?

I’d have to say April 25th
, she replied.
Because it’s not too hot, not too cold, and all you need is a light jacket.

Miss Congeniality FTW
, he’d texted back.

And now you’re going soft.
Fitz had smirked as she sent that one.

Ouch
, he said.
Later, Angel.

Reaching over for her phone now, Fitz wondered what this morning’s text was. She hated how much she wanted it to be flirty. Logically, she knew that keeping this whole thing going with Deke was the absolute worst idea. But it made her happy in a way she wasn’t used to, and she kind of didn’t want it to end.

It didn’t matter, as it turned out. The text wasn’t from Deke, it was from Doug.
Things are moving. They liked the package you put together and I think we’re heading toward a face to face. Let’s talk today.

Wow.

They liked her. They had no idea who she was and they liked her.

She grabbed her pillow and squealed into it, then fell back against her bed, smiling goofily up at the ceiling for a few minutes before forcing herself to sit up and stretch. Not quite ready to get all the way up, she pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, trying to imagine what she’d do with her own place. She’d never had a place of her own, going from Mama Gin’s to the apartment Nate owned and then here. As bedrooms went, it wasn’t bad. It was in the basement, yes, but Lola’s house was on a slope, so Fitz’s window looked out over the backyard. Lola was a gardener extraordinaire, and it was a surprisingly nice view.

Not for one minute did she regret moving here. But, yes, signing on with Headhunter Doug had only been the first step. The fact was, she was thirty-two years old and needed to live a life of her own, rather than get comfortable living in other people’s houses and taking care of other people’s kids.

Although she did kind of love having the sounds and chaos of a family living upstairs. It was something she’d miss when she left, because she didn’t see herself with a family of her own. She’d been in therapy for a long, long time. She was pretty confident she was as reasonably adjusted as someone with her past could be. But finding out in the most brutal way possible that her own father had lied to her about being his first child, not his fourth, had the tendency to skew a girl’s ideas of happily ever afters. There was a reason she hung out with the guys instead of getting one of her own. Fall in love? No freaking way.

After a quick, I’m free to talk around 1:30, she got herself in the shower.

She was in the middle of drying her hair when her phone lit up with a new text, this one from Deke.
Great day for fishing. Pick u up in 20 mins.

Okay, then. No flirty notes, no trivia questions. They were going to have their talk after all.

Which was fine. She’d meant what she’d said to him. That they may as well just move on to the inevitable. Of course, then she’d gone and kissed him again that very night and, well... She’d stayed scarce over the last couple of days; she hadn’t entirely minded living in a state of denial.

Not just “hadn’t minded,” actually. Denial was a great place to be.

So maybe they could put off their chat
just
a little longer. Busy today,
she typed. Later this week?

Deke wasn’t having it. So get unbusy.

Right. Unfortunately, the man knew far too much about her.

For example, he knew her getting “unbusy” was completely a matter of her deciding it was so. She had complete control over her schedule. There were proposals to consider and checks to write and all sorts of other things. Still, she could do her job in her sleep. Plus, unless she had a meeting to attend or prepare for, she could work anywhere as long as she had her laptop and phone. If she wanted to do it with a fishing pole beside her, it wasn’t even a question that she could. Deke knew that as well as she did. Hell, he knew her well enough to know she was standing there right now, trying to figure out how to reply.

It was just that she
really
liked kissing him.

Which was maybe why when his next text came in, saying,
You gonna make me beg?
the same something that kept possessing her took over and typed,
I guess it depends on how good you are on your knees.

Her heart skipped a few beats as she sank down to the floor. What was her
problem
?

Since when did she talk to
anyone
like that?

And what on earth was he going to say back?

I guess it depends on how good you want me to be, apparently.

Oh.

Just the idea made her so hot she actually threw the phone across the room as if it were a potato providing the source of heat.

The phone had nothing to do with it, clearly. It was all Deke.

And fifteen minutes later, when she came up into the kitchen and saw him standing there, it just took one glance at the look in his eyes and her knees almost gave way. His gaze traveled over her and every cell in her body heated. She couldn’t even speak. Her heart started pounding and her breathing went shallow. And then it raced its way down through her, settling dangerously where he had no business being: nestled right there in her very core.

No matter how dangerous this could be—how much damage they could do—she couldn’t deny that she
wanted
him there. She wanted him rooted deep inside her and chasing the doubt away.

She closed her eyes and, with a deep breath, focused on the walls that were keeping her safe. The walls behind which she could just happily move through her day the way she had all the others that had come before, ever since the wind had taken her parents away. Except when she opened her eyes up again, she was no longer all alone, secure in her protected space. Nope, he was standing right there.

Her breath caught.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t just the look in his eyes or his almost-too-beautiful face. It was that she knew the taste of him, the feel of him. That she wanted to taste and feel him again. She wanted to reach out and bunch his T-shirt in her hand and pull him that extra step toward her. Bring his body up against hers; lean her head against his chest and know he was hers and hers alone.

Trust that he would never leave.

His hand went to her jaw and he tipped up her chin, that perfect mouth of his curving up into the faintest of smiles. He whispered, “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” and she nearly fell down to the floor.

When his thumb brushed her cheek she braced her hands on the cabinets behind her just to keep standing. Overwhelmed by the sensation of all that hard muscle right up close against her, she blinked. “Could we maybe just start with ‘hello’?”

His eyes narrowed as his lips curved up into a grin. He planted his hands on either side of her and leaned down, sending chills down her back as his lips brushed a wave of her hair. “Hi, Angel,” he said, his voice low and raspy as he spoke into her ear. “Morning.”

Oh, holy hell. She felt herself melt, felt her body curl into him, completely out of her control. She even, maybe, whimpered a little bit. When he bent his head down to kiss her and paused, his eyes and lips no more than an inch away, she felt herself falling, falling, falling backward into space, unable to do anything other than grab onto him and hold on as his mouth covered hers.

It was too much. Kissing him was one thing;
kissing
him she could do. Very well, as it turned out. Falling into anything, however, was completely off the table. Thank God the boys came clamoring down right then, their footsteps pounding down the stairs from the second floor.

She and Deke parted instantly as they were swarmed, the kids’ happy cries—”Uncle Deke’s here, Mommy!”, “Auntie Fitz!”, “Pancake time!”—breaking the spell.

“Okay,” she said, trying to keep her world from shifting. She turned her back on Deke as she got out the sippy cups for the toddlers and a bright green plastic cup for Si. “I’ve got the drinks. Si, you get the napkins; boys, your job is plates and forks.”

Her carefully constructed walls, so close to tumbling down, righted themselves again.