Spitfire Suckerpunch (House of Pain Book 2) (22 page)

Tate pulled his hood over his head, shielding his eyes from her. Then he opened the door for her and took a step back, waiting for her to walk through. She had an urge to touch him, so she let her hand drop over his on the doorknob for just a second. It was all she was going to get, it seemed. Then she walked out the door onto the fourth floor landing. Tate's building was quiet in the morning. The faint scent of coffee and something sweet lingered in the air.

“Brandon!,” Tate barked out and the kid shuffled down the hallway, his knapsack clutched in his hand and followed them out the door. Tate locked up and they all headed downstairs in a quiet group. Shay felt like she should say something, but she didn't know what. The kid didn't seem like he was in the mood for talking, and neither did Tate. To be honest, she wasn't either. She was suddenly grumpy as hell, actually.

It was a mild early winter day, but still chilly. The sun had slipped behind thick white clouds so there wasn't even a hint of sunlight to warm her face. Shay pulled her scarf around her chin and shoved her hands in her pockets. They walked down the street in silence and when they reached the corner where she had to turn to head to the subway stop, she slowed her pace. She didn't want it to be awkward, but with Brandon there, she couldn't do or say the things she wanted to Tate. So she figured a quick exit would be best.

“I'm going to go catch my train,” she announced. Tate shook his head, his brow furrowed in disagreement.

“I said I would drive you,” he said stubbornly.

“The kid's gotta go to school. I can find my way back,” Shay said, throwing up a hand in what she hoped was a carefree wave. “See you around.” She groaned inwardly at her lame words but then she forced herself to turn and hurry away, hunching her shoulders against the cold. She didn't look back and she didn't stop. She just wanted to get back to Harlem and back to her life and back to pretending that she didn't want Tate Grayson's dick every damn minute of every damn day.

***

Tate was pissed.

He didn't know why he was so pissed, but he was.

As he drove Brandon up to the Bronx to his prep school, Tate couldn't help but feel angry. He wasn't angry at his younger brother, well not totally. The kid had cut school before. That was nothing new. Sometimes, the fourteen-year-old wanted to escape his life as a high school freshman and sometimes he didn't. Tate could understand that. But that morning, it wasn't good enough.

That morning, the timing was just too fucking shitty.

"Don't do this again," he said, his eyes on the road. In the passenger seat, Brandon had his headphones on but Tate knew he didn't have music playing. "It may suck but you still have to go."

"Who was that lady?" Brandon said after a moment, tugging on his seat belt.

"Don't change the subject," Tate said, clenching his jaw as he thought about Shay turning her back on him and walking to the train. There was so many things he had wanted to say to her in that moment, but he didn't, because Brandon was there. As it was, everything had been left up in the air. There were a lot of things unsaid, in fact. He didn't even know if he was ever going to see her again. He hadn't decided yet.

"She has purple hair," Brandon said. Tate didn't say anything because there was nothing to say to that. He liked her purple hair. "How old is she?"

"What do you care?" Tate asked. Brandon shrugged, turning his face to the window to hide a smile.

"Is she younger than Gennifer?" Brandon asked, not letting up. He knew that the more he annoyed Tate, the less he would have to talk about what was actually wrong. Tate knew Brandon wasn't doing well at school. He knew he missed his old neighborhood and his old friends. But it didn't matter. He was a part of Big Jimmy's brood now. Eventually, he would get used to it.

Just like Tate had.

"Yeah," he said finally, slowing to a stop at a red light.

"Did you guys fuck?" Brandon asked, throwing out the dirty word so casually that Tate turned to look at him, giving him the exact reaction he wanted. Brandon snickered, like the little shit he was. Tate happened to love the kid, but that didn't make him any less of a little shit.

They rode the rest of the way in silence because Tate didn't want to talk about Shay and Brandon didn't want to talk about school. When Tate pulled up to the curb outside of Brandon's private school, housed in a big red brick building nestled amongst old oak trees on a quiet street in Riverdale, he let the car idle for a few moments, thinking about what he wanted to say. He wanted Brandon to know that he was always going to be there for him but he didn't know how.

"I won't tell them," Tate finally said, referring to Big Jimmy and Maria. "But you're old enough now. You have to be responsible for yourself." He drummed his hands on the steering wheel, picking his next words carefully. "Kids get lost all the time. I've seen it a million times. You don't want to be one of those kids." He clicked his tongue as the now-familiar memory of a chubby, pretty girl sitting in the back of a beauty supply store unfolded in his brain. That girl went from having a stolen lipstick in her purse to serving a six year prison sentence. Life could be fucked up like that. He knew that all too well and he hoped Brandon knew it too. "Right?" he asked, wanting some kind of confirmation. Brandon shrugged, but that wasn't good enough. "Use your words," he said.

"Yeah," the kid said, his voice small and stubborn.

"Good. Now go learn something." Brandon opened the door, cursing in Spanish under his breath but Tate ignored him. He even ignored how the kid slammed the door hard enough to make the car rock. Tate sat at the curb and watched until Brandon disappeared in the front door of the school and then he drove up the block a ways and parked. He sat there for awhile, watching the entrance to the school. It wasn't above the kid to try to ditch even though Tate had gone out of his way to make sure he'd gotten to school. However, when Brandon didn't reappear after fifteen minutes, Tate finally took off and headed home.

As soon as he walked in the door, he could smell her. Her perfume still lingered in the air, somehow. He didn't know how it was possible and he didn't like it. He kicked off his shoes and hung his coat on the hook in the foyer before heading barefoot into the kitchen. He started a pot of coffee, knowing that the invasive smell would soon completely block out her distracting scent. He would change the bedsheets too, he told himself as he opened the fridge and looked for something to eat. On the top shelf was a plastic container with a bright blue top. He remembered immediately the cake she'd brought over the night before. Scowling but intrigued, he grabbed a fork from the drawer, not able to resist a homemade dessert.

She'd made it from scratch she said, and that was enough to make him curious. The only other person he knew that made desserts from scratch was Maria and her cakes were legendary. He usually only had desserts on holidays or special occasions but at that point he was hungry enough to not care.

The second he opened the container, his mouth started watering. It smelled heavenly, like cream and butter and sugar and deliciousness, and it looked just as good. When he sunk his fork into the soft, moist cake and took a bite, he had to close his eyes for a moment to truly appreciate it. It was the best carrot cake he'd ever had and he didn't have to second guess that. He knew it was the truth. He thought about her making it and somehow that turned into a fantasy of her baking something in his kitchen. He'd never found the thought of a woman in a kitchen as sexual before, but suddenly it was.

But it wasn't just any woman who would be sexy in his kitchen. It was only Shay Spears.

As he finished off the two perfect slices of cake she'd gifted him with and licked the remainder of the thick icing off of the tines of his fork, he couldn't help but imagine she was there with him, on her back on the dark stone countertop, legs spread open just for him. He knew it was a mistake, but he couldn't stop himself from letting the fantasy unfold. She would make him suffer, tease him, play with herself and not let him touch. But when she let him, then he would fuck her hard. She would arch her back and purr and clench her pussy around his cock like he was the best fuck she'd ever had in her life.

She was good at that.

He leaned forward, running his hand over the smooth countertop, his mind running free. He imagined sucking icing off her tits, swirling his tongue around her hard nipples and sucking them clean. He imagined her fingernails digging into his biceps as he tasted her, her smooth thighs pulling him in close. His dick was hard and his heart was racing when the the incessant beeping of the coffee machine brought him out of his fantasy. He opened his eyes to the cold hard reality that she was gone and all he had was his hand to relieve the need that was burning in him. He didn't like it. Not one bit. If Brandon hadn't shown up... well he didn't know what would have happened if his brother hadn't appeared on his doorstep that morning. Thinking about it was only torturing him.

Tossing the empty plastic container in the sink, he turned off the coffee maker and told himself he was going to put her out of his mind. He
knew it was just a fling—an ill-advised one, at that—but he couldn't deny that the sex was fire.
It was glaringly obvious that having her in his bed had fucked him in the head. They'd only been together a few times, technically twice, and he barely even knew her. But that didn't seem to matter to his dick.

He tried to keep busy the rest of the day. Sitting and reading his book in peace was out of the question, so he stripped the sheets off the bed and did the dishes and then he threw on his workout clothes and headed out, intent on going straight to House of Pain. But as he drove downtown, he found himself turning left onto 125th st. He made his way over to the little hole-in-the-wall salon where she worked, not completely admitting to himself that he was actually going there. But then all of a sudden, he was pulling over across the street and draping his arms on the steering wheel and leaning forward, trying to get a better look inside the front of the salon. It was only 4:oo p.m., but the sky was already darkening. The salon was the only bright spot on the gray street, with its bright pink and yellow awning. Every other store front around it looked dull in comparison.

Every time the door opened, he tightened his hand into a fist and wait. For the first few seconds before the person exited, he would anticipate seeing her. He got disappointed three times before he told himself he was going to stop being an idiot. All he had to do was get out of his car and walk across the street and go inside the salon. He didn't know what he would say to her or what he would do, but he was tempted. He just wanted her to know. What exactly he wanted her to know, he wasn't sure. The only thing he knew for sure was that he hated how she'd left him that morning.

When the tall black guy in a brown delivery uniform walked out of the salon door, Tate barely noticed him. It wasn't until he was followed out by a pretty girl with purple hair and tight blue jeans that Tate's heart spiked in his chest. She folded her arms across her chest as she stared up at the delivery guy with a smile on her lips. His eyes drifted from her red high-tops to her heart-shaped face. She looked damn good, he couldn't help but notice, even as she flirted with some other motherfucker right in front of him. She was barefaced and looked her young age for once, but he couldn't help but notice she also looked a little tired. He knew for a fact she'd barely gotten any sleep the night before. That was the only thing that kept his pride from deflating as he watched her giggle and flirt with someone other than him.

Not that she'd ever giggled and flirted with him like that.

Tate flexed his hands, trying to pretend that he wasn't getting fucking pissed that she was smiling and flicking her hair and looking at the delivery guy like he was the only man in the world. She shifted her hips and tightened her arms around her chest. She was only wearing a thin yellow sweater and no coat, Tate noticed. She was cold, but didn't seem to care. She was taking her sweet time talking to the delivery guy, 30 degree weather be damned. He shook his head and bit the inside of his cheek, the urge to punch something very hard flaring up in him. It was becoming glaringly obvious that even though she'd spent the night in his bed, she wasn't thinking about him the way he was thinking about her. She didn't seem to mind the way they'd left things. She didn't seem to care at all, in fact.

He didn't know how long he watched them. Eventually the delivery guy made his way down the street, a spring in his step. He hopped in his box truck and drove away, but Shay stared down at the pavement, her smile fading a bit as she stood there alone. Then she turned and went back inside the salon, her shoulders hunched against the cold. When the door closed behind her, Tate forced himself to pull away from the curb and continue on his way downtown. It was for the best, he told himself as he turned up the radio loud and let the thumping bass push thoughts of her out of his head. Shay Spears was trouble, he reminded himself. More trouble than she was worth. But the annoying thing was that it didn't matter how many times he repeated it. Deep down, he still didn't believe it.

***

“Girlie, you look terrible,” Thalia said when Shay snuck in the salon at 10:15 a.m. Gina was, luckily, nowhere to be seen, but Shay still hunched over as she quickly disposed of her coat, getting rid of the evidence of her lateness.

“Shh,” Shay shushed her, knowing she looked rough and not caring. She'd only given herself enough time to quickly shower and throw on some clothes when she'd gotten back to Gina's that morning. Throwing her hair back in a ponytail and applying a quick coat of lipstick was the only beautification she'd been able to manage. Thalia sucked her teeth and narrowed her eyes, pretending to be offended. It didn't last long though; the girl was biologically incapable of being anything but cheerful. Her smile returned as Shay tossed her purse underneath her desk.