Finding Sunshine (9 page)

“Golly! I like the sound of that,” I say excitedly, gliding my hand along his naked side and feeling the hardened muscles twitch beneath my palm.

This was the best first date−
no, the best date, period
−I’ve ever been on. There had been the perfect ratio of conversation and sexy, playful fun.

Now, it’s over.

~ Aaron ~

“Aaron. You’re fuckin’ late.” Troy growls, as I enter the building from the alley and move into the hallway that leads towards the barroom.

I don’t fucking need this shit!

Leaving Nina tonight was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. It’s not easy to walk away when you’ve got a gorgeous, sweet, and practically naked woman underneath you, begging for you to give her pleasure.
Wanting to be fucked. Needing it.

“I’m here now.” I strip off my jacket, ignoring his annoyance and ask, “How are things out there?”

“The usual,” he grumbles, as we walk into the barroom together. I shove my jacket into the cubby underneath the bar and then turn my attention back to Troy, who is cashing out one of the patrons.

“Just to let you know, I’m moving out from upstairs,” I say, beginning to remove empty glasses from the bar.
He doesn’t need to know that I’ve already left.

“What? Why?” Troy asks, turning to scowl in my direction.

“My sister’s husband has been traveling a lot for work. She needs help with the baby.”

“Tell her to get a fuckin’ babysitter,” Troy growls at me, as he angrily tosses several empty bottles into a nearby recycling bin.

Troy clearly doesn’t understand the importance of family.

“I’m also going to have to change my schedule. My buddy is the manager at
St. Andrew’s
, and he needs help for a while,” I say casually. Better to give him all the news at once. Nothing he says is going to change my mind, anyway.

Fuck, I might as well just quit entirely. Make a clean break.

“Good, good. Get the lay of the land.” Troy says, looking over at me with a smile now on his face. “We’ve got you covered here.”

Does he really believe that I’d let him sell there?
If so, he must be using his own product. There is no way in fucking hell I’d give him an in into Richard’s club.

“Thanks. I’m going to grab some more bottles and restock,” I say, turning to head into the back’s cold storage.

“Good. Once you’re done, I’m leaving. I’ve got a meeting with King. He isn’t too happy—we got another surprise visit from the fuckin’ snow frogs yesterday. It was the gimp son, and his black Irish dog this time.”

I can’t help but laugh to myself. The man talks a big game, but Troy would never dare say things like that in front of anyone from the French Canadian, Sauvageaux organization. He and the boss, Luc King, like to pretend they’re big time dealers, managing a burgeoning enterprise, but it’s all bullshit. I would know—I sold for them once. They’re smalltime pimps and pushers who have none of the connections, nor garner the same respect as the Royal Family and their organization do.

I’ve known both Franklin Royal and Teddy O’Connell for years—since I started bartending here at
The
Pint
—and despite their friendly, easy manners, they aren’t men to be underestimated. I witnessed one bar fight where Franklin, who may only have one leg, kick one of King’s men in the chest with his metal prosthetic. The guy didn’t get back up on his own. As for Teddy, he may have a relaxed, outgoing personality, but he’s quick to take you down and remind you why he’s one of the family’s enforcers. They know all about loyalty and family honor—truthfully, in another life I could see being friends with the two men.

“What were they doing down here?” I ask, wondering what would make them drive down from their base in Pinetree, Vermont—for the second time this month.

“Said they were in New Bedford, on family business. Thought they’d stop by for a chat on the way home,” he says derisively, before continuing his rant. “They were fuckin’ checking up on us. Tryin’ to tell us how to run our own goddamn business. Rumor is, the other son’s marrying into a Chicago Irish family, and now the old man thinks he’s untouchable.”

Who’s he fucking kidding?
Mr. Royal, Franklin’s father, has
always
been untouchable, ever since he took over the organization from his father-in-law. Their money and power comes from neither drugs nor prostitution. They run illegal gambling and betting operations for elite tourists and locals, plus who knows what else. It’s no secret that they have the local Vermont cops in their pocket. Law enforcement ignores what they’re doing because they know who’s responsible for keeping the heroin trade out of the county.

Unlike in surrounding areas, they don’t have problems with New York drug traffickers setting up meth labs, or with ambitious Boston-based dealers like Troy and King trying to come in and establish their business.

“Hopefully they won’t be back for a while,” I say, heading into the back to grab more bottles of beer and whatever else is missing from the shelves behind the bar. It takes me several trips before I have everything restocked. It should last me the rest of the evening. If not—
then these drunken fuckers are shit out of luck.

After Troy leaves me in charge of the bar, I begin wiping down the sticky bar top and refilling the bowls of pretzels, again. Once my tasks are done, I impulsively decide to text Nina.

Aaron: R u still wet for me?

I shove the phone back in my front pocket, then make my way to the other end of the bar and pour a few shots for some rather drunk frat boys.

The warm buzzing sensation close to my cock makes me jump, and I reach into my pocket and grab my phone. By the soft glow of its light, I smile as I read Nina’s sassy return.

Nina: R u still hard?

Fuck yes!

Aaron: What do u think?

I don’t have long to wait for her reply.

Nina: I think right now we’d fit 2gether perfectly. ;) xxx

Before I can type out a reply, I’m interrupted by an angry, beer-bellied John bellowing at me from across the bar. “Stop sexting your mom, and get my bitch another drink.”

Fuck, I need to quit.

~:~:~:~:~

“I thought you were going to help me?” Sarah says exasperatedly from where she’s sitting on the other side of the couch, stuffing wedding invitations into envelopes for one of her clients. Somehow, she’d strong-armed me into assisting her. Sadly, it’s a cold, rainy, and generally disgusting Saturday afternoon, and I have nothing better to do than sit inside, helping my sister plan some bridezilla’s dream wedding.

“I am. See,” I say, picking up one of the many crazy-looking invitations and putting it into the thick envelope.
Why would anyone want to invite this many people to their wedding?
All I want is my woman, my dog, and maybe Sarah and Richard.

“Don’t forget that the RSVP card and little envelope goes in as well,” she says, watching me like a hawk.

“I won’t,” I grumble, snatching up the other two items and adding them to the envelope.

Did my phone just buzz?

I swear I just felt it vibrating in my pocket.

Maybe it’s a text from my Nina!

I toss the stuffed envelope into the correct pile, and then leaning back into the couch, I dig my phone out of the front pocket of my jeans
.
I grumble audibly when I realize there are no new messages of any kind.

Great, I’m fucking imagining things now.

“What’s going on?” Sarah asks, giving me an amused look. “You’ve been playing with your phone all day. Either the date last night went horribly and you’ve been trying to figure out how to ditch her, or it went really well, and you’re jonesing to contact her.”

“Really well,” I say, unable to help breaking out into a ridiculous smile. “God, Sarah, she’s so much fun and easy to be with. She’s just so—
real
, you know?”

There’s nothing fake about Nina. She wasn’t trying to impress me at all—well, except with her skating, but that was just adorable. What you see is what you get, and I definitely liked what I saw!

“I’m glad she’s not another one of your imaginary friends,” she teases.

“Brat!” I toss one of the couch’s million useless throw pillows at her, and then argue back, saying, “I was three, and it’s very common to have imaginary friends at that age. If I had a picture, I’d show you just how real Nina is.”

“Is she on
Facebook
?” Sarah asks excitedly, and I watch as she sets aside her precious invitations and scrambles off the couch.

“How should I know?”

“I bet she is. You’re the only Luddite I know. Let’s see if we can find her,” Sarah says, plopping down next to me with her open laptop.

“I don’t have anything against technology, per se. I just don’t feel the need to share with the world what color underwear I put on this morning.”

“You know that’s not what most people post about, right?”

“Close enough,” I grumble back.

“What’s her name?”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to look and see if I can find her on
Facebook
,” Sarah says, smiling with mischievous excitement.

“Wait. You can do that?” I ask, surprised. It seems a bit creepy and stalker-ish to me. Why would people put stuff about themselves online for just anyone to find? I definitely don’t want people finding out certain things about me!
Fuck, maybe I am a Luddite.

“Yes, but I need more than just a first name,” she says, looking at me expectantly.

“Her last name is King.”

“Okay.
Nina King
,” she says to herself as she types, and then stares at the screen. “That seems to be a common name. Do you know where she went to college?”

“Bridgewater State,” I reply. “Why?”

“It should help narrow our search down.” Sarah continues to stare at the screen, searching through a list of Nina Kings. Honestly, I’m not sure how I feel about looking her up online. Somehow it feels like a sneaky invasion of her privacy, even though she’s chosen to put herself out there.

“Wait. Wait. Wait!” she says excitedly. “This
has
to be her. She looks like your type.”

I have a type?

“Let me see,” I say, taking the computer from her and pulling it onto my lap.

“Don’t be so grabby,” Sarah admonishes, smacking my arm. I barely notice. I’m too focused on the screen in front of me. I can’t take my eyes off the place where Nina is smiling out at me.

“Yeah. That’s her,” I say softly.

“You’ve got it bad,” Sarah laughs, openly mocking me. She takes the computer back into her lap and begins clicking on buttons.

“Let’s see,” she mutters, before turning towards me smiling broadly. “Robbing the cradle, big brother?”

“She’s twenty-four, that’s only four years younger,” I say, rolling my eyes at her.

“Her profile is set to private, so there isn’t much to see. Wait—I’m friends with Becca. Now that I know what she looks like, I can see the pictures they’re both tagged in,” she says excitedly.

“Stop.” I say, reaching over to fold down the cover of the laptop. “I feel like we’re stalking her. Not really the impression I’m going for here.”

“Please, it’s not like she will know. Everyone stalks each other on
Facebook
. How do you think Ben and I found each other again?” she asks, lifting back up the screen. “So, when was the last time you’ve talked to her?”

“I texted her at work last night. Maybe I shouldn’t have done that. Was it too soon?” I ask warily. I feel like such a fucking idiot. Who needs their little sister’s advice when it comes to dating?

“Did she text you back?”

“Yeah.” I say smiling, remembering her sassy remarks. Just thinking about her responses makes my pulse race and my cock twitch.

“Good. Have you guys made plans for another date?”

“Yeah. Monday night.”

“I really don’t know why you’re so worried, she’s obviously interested. God knows why,” she says, rolling her eyes. Then with a mischievous smile, asks, “So, should I ‘Friend’ her, then?”

“What? No! Fuck! Please tell me you didn’t!”

~:~:~:~:~

“He-hello.”

My heart skips a beat hearing Nina’s soft, breathless voice coming through the phone. I’m momentarily stunned by my reaction. It’s Sunday morning, and I woke up with the sudden
need
to hear my woman’s voice. I was calling her before I even knew what I was doing, like it was the most natural thing in the world. No other woman has
ever
made my heart race and my cock come alive with one simple word—
hello.

Fuck, I’m in trouble.

“Good mornin’,” I reply softly into the phone. “What are you doing?”

“No-nothing,” comes her tentative reply, which has me burning with curiosity. She’s clearly hiding something
.

“Nina. Tell me.”

“I was just thinking about you,” she replies softly. I can imagine her cheeks are bright with color, and her green eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Were you?” I can’t help but smile, knowing that she’s been thinking about me, too. “What kind of thoughts?”