Casting Stones (Stones Duet #1) (9 page)

I pedal harder and faster until sweat drips from my forehead, driving away the familiar scene I’m sure to encounter at home. Instead, thoughts of a beautiful man swirl around my mind. Those eyes. Those lips. Those arms. That ass. Everything about him screams sex. With the bar of the ten-speed wedged between my inner thighs, I stand at the stop light, waiting with the rest of the afternoon traffic, when I feel heat pool in between my legs. If I weren’t in public, maybe I would lower myself and rub against the metal bar. Fantasies of a certain Mr. Abercrombie make me squirm and throb below.

When I go to bed that night, I tap the screen to open a new tab on the Google search engine on my phone. I shouldn’t use my data foolishly, but for once, I don’t care.

Shane

EVERY COUPLE OF
hours I check my phone. That’s a lie. I’ve checked my phone nearly thirty five times in the past hour alone. I thought I’d at least get a text with a snarky response after I left the diner without saying a word or without leaving a tip. Nothing at all. Not a single penny. I figure one of several things happened: a) she didn’t want my number, b) she didn’t see the receipt and threw it away or c) she didn’t appreciate my humor.

A light knock on the door draws my eyes away from the piles of student schedules in need of changing. Marty Birdman, the high school’s head principal, smiles tightly, eyeing the work strewn across my desk. “Gotta pay your dues, my friend.”

I laugh, pushing my chair away from the desk to stand. I liked Marty the moment we met. After I was hired, he took me to lunch and told me about his years in the military as a Navy SEAL. He paid his dues and more to this country. While he’s got the visible battle scars to prove it, others bury their scars, hiding them deep within.

“What can I do for you, Marty?”

“I’m just checking in. How are things going so far?”

I glance at the pile that seems to have just mysteriously multiplied, wondering how I’m ever going to get through it all in less than two week’s time.

“Dana is very good at her job.” He gives me a look and I wonder if he knows that’s she already offered to do more than file transcripts or make copies for me. “A simple word of advice…keep it professional.”

“Understood. Will do, sir.”

Marty looks at his watch and notes the time. “I’ve got to go…Moving-In Day for college freshman. My kid doesn’t want to be home another minute. See you tomorrow.”

My phone chirps and, thinking maybe it’s Remy, my dick stirs in excitement. There’s something about her that draws me in. She’s so different from the women I’ve dated or slept with. It’s my sister again and just like that, the blood drains and I go limp.

Dana’s several attempts to help me sort through the schedules are in vain; her dress is too short, her perfume too strong and her advances still unwanted. I don’t need to get tangled up with anyone here. I don’t need any psychopath drama that’s for sure. That one crazy woman from Newport was enough to last me a lifetime. Boston is a new start.

The drive to Boston’s Logan International Airport isn’t that bad except for the winding traffic. I spot Collin immediately, dressed in his Army fatigues, carrying a large green duffel bag while talking to a flight attendant who must be staying in the city overnight. Just as I park my pickup at arrival, I see him take her phone and then quickly hand it back. I laugh at my friend who will probably have the tall, strawberry blonde bent over on her knees before the night is through.

“I’ll call you later,” Collin says to the woman who is walking away pulling her suitcase behind her.

A woman with short blond hair emerges through the sliding glass doors, and I strain my eyes to see if it’s Remy. A small child takes her hand and follows her to the waiting stretch limousine. I briefly wonder if Remy has a child. I’m beginning to wonder if I’m losing my mind; this infatuation is crazy because it seems everywhere I turn, no matter where I am, I see someone who looks just like her.

I want tomorrow to hurry up and get here. Even completely alone, I’m humiliated at how that sounds…I know I sound pussy-whipped. The insane part is that I haven’t even had one single taste of her and she’s all I’ve been thinking about, dreaming about.

“What’s up, bro?” Collin opens the door, tosses his duffel bag into the rear cab and leans in to pat my back. “Look at you! All clean cut and shit! You don’t look like a grubby military runt anymore.”

“Watch your mouth, Private! I was and will always be your Staff Sergeant. It will serve you well to remember that.”

“Yes, sir Sergeant fucking Davis.” His right hand moves to salute me in mock respect as I maneuver into the flow of traffic.

“Shut the fuck up and put your seat belt on before I make you run alongside the truck.”

He laughs and smacks his thigh. “Dude, even with this peg leg, I can still run faster than you.”

“Oh please!” An exaggerated huff releases between my tight lips. “You think I’m going to go easy on you just because you lost a leg. Hell no!” I laugh even though I have a twinge of sadness remembering that day.

“Ah, shit! Boston’s gonna be great!” He cranks the music up as loud as it goes and sings along when Flo Rida’s song
My House
comes on the radio. I smack him in the back of the head after he yells out the window, “What up, bitches!”

WE DODGE THE
last of the raindrops as we walk around the wet streets of Boston to find a sports bar famous for its burgers and beer. The Sox are playing again tonight and have been on a rain delay for over an hour.

Collin talks to the bartender who has a heavy Scottish accent. “Yeah, I’m only in town for a few weeks. I want to see and
do
as much as possible in that time. Got any good suggestions?”

“Eh, my friend, you have come to the right city, indeed.” The man continues to name all the “must-see” things to do and see in Beantown. A commercial on the television has me rubbing my side to ease the dull ache where Collin’s elbow connects.

“That’s the place. The Glass Slipper.”

I look up just in time to see the LED lights of the stage and a sultry woman smiling seductively.

“Yo, we have got to go Friday night. Liam said I need to see some babe named Jade.” He laughs. “Jade? What kind of name is that? All the strippers I know are always all named Crystal, Tiffany, or Sherry. Those are typical stripper names, right?”

“I guess. I’m not in the habit of knowing strippers’ names.”

“Still a Pussy Boy!” Collin laughs at my former nickname. “Didn’t you grow a dick yet?”

“Yeah, I got a dick. And it’s nothing like your TicTac.”

“Hey! It’s not about the size. It’s all about how I use it. I’ve never gotten any complaints.”

“Not that you know of!” I grin.

We drink our beer and laugh at ourselves.

“So this Friday?”

“We’ll see… I’m actually supposed to be heading down to my sister’s this weekend. She’s going through a divorce and she’s got two little kids. It’ll be a chance to enjoy some peace and quiet.”

“Fuck that, bro! I thought we were going to party it up!”

“Dude, it’s my sister.” I give a look that warns him not to test my loyalty. God, family, country. “Don’t worry about it, though. I’ll hook you up with a few guys from work. I’m sure they won’t mind letting your gimp ass and peg leg tag along.”

Collin drags his prosthesis up onto my lap.

“Get that shit outta here!” I swat it away playfully. God only knows I would lay down my life for this man. He’s my brother.

5:39. SHIT! I
roll over and shut off my phone that’s been ringing for the past eighteen minutes every time I hit snooze. I shower and dress quickly before I leave a note for Collin and slip out the door on my way to work. A few beers turned into a few shots and then things got a little rowdy when he starting arguing with fans that the Yankees are way better than the Sox. I dragged his drunk ass back to my apartment and let him pass out before he got us both into a fight. Explaining to Marty that his new assistant principal got into a bar fight and arrested isn’t something I want to do. There are only a few things I fight for and sports aren’t one of them.

I walk faster to get to the diner in hopes of seeing her before the bus arrives. The bell rings when I push the door open, and I glance around looking for the petite blonde who had me jerking off more than once recently. Her back is turned as she faces the cook who is setting plates of pancakes in the window. She stands on her tiptoes and reaches for a container of butter. I can’t help but stare at her. I’ll never look at khaki shorts the same way again.

“Hey. You gonna sit down? Or just stand there and stare at her ass?” Jenna asks as she cashes out at the register.

“Uh… no… I’m running late. I’ll just take a muffin and coffee to go.” I add, “Please.”

Remy turns around, startles and almost crashes into her friend when she sees me standing there. She smiles briefly and continues on her way to a booth to drop off the two dishes.

Jenna returns with a bag and a Styrofoam cup then rings me out. I hand her a twenty and wait for change.

“You owed us a tip,” she smirks and drops the few dollars and coins into the tip jar.

I laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Remy asks, stepping behind the counter.

“Your friend here,” I nod in Jenna’s direction, “just stole my money.”

Her green eyes crinkle when she smirks.

“I left you something a couple of days ago,” I state nonchalantly even though adrenaline is rushing through my body. I reach into the bowl and take out a Wint-O-Green mint. After unwrapping it quickly, I pop it into my mouth.

“Really?” She tilts her head, curiously. “Hmmm…that’s interesting because as far as I remember, you didn’t leave anything.”

I can’t tell if she’s serious or not. She’s hot and cold every other day. I’d have worn my grandma’s old parka had I known today was going to be an Antarctica day.

“I left you my number.” My fingers fidget with the white paper bag.

“Oh, yeah. That.” Sarcasm drips from her sweet lips. “Listen, I don’t need your number. I need money. So unless your cell phone number can pay for my rent and tuition, it’s not really going to do me any good.”

My jaw nearly hits the floor as I stand there in disbelief, wondering if I can possibly feel any more humiliated. I can’t believe that I misjudged this one. The word “bitch” enters my mind until her eyes light up with humor.

“Relax. I’m just messing with you.”

Relief settles over me as I shake my head and narrow my eyes, trying to figure her out. Her eyes are playful, sparkling with mischief as she grins. The words fall out before I give them a second thought. “Let me take you to dinner on Friday night.”

“No—“ she offers a crooked grin and shakes her head.

“Lunch?” I counter quickly, sensing her humorous tone.

“I can’t—”

“Coffee?” I ask quickly, knowing that my time is limited and the bus will be here any minute.

“I don’t drink coffee,” she states plainly.

“Really? I’ve never heard of someone who doesn’t drink coffee.”

“I doubt that,” she replies. “And what I was going to say before you rudely interrupted was that Saturdays work better for me.” Her words hang in the space between our bodies.