Spitfire Suckerpunch (House of Pain Book 2) (25 page)

“Shit,” she said, her fingers still roaming. He shrugged, clenching and unclenching his jaw as she continued her assault on his sensitive skin. “So you looked at your own police report?” she said, cocking her head. He nodded, thinking about all of the feelings that had welled up in him the first time he'd read it. After his past being a mystery for so long, it had been overwhelming to read about what had happened to him. But then again, he had Big J and Maria and all the rest, so it didn't seem like he'd actually gotten such a shitty deal in the long run. The older he got, the more he realized how lucky he'd been. “Have you read my police report?” she asked, jarring him out of his memories.

“Yes,” he said as she hooked her fingers on the waistband of his pants.

“Hmm,” she murmured. Then she dropped her hand and pivoted, trying to turn back to the pancake batter. But he didn't let her. He grabbed her hips and forced her back around to face him. He didn't want to talk about past shit anymore. He just wanted to kiss her. So he did. She moaned in shock when he brushed his lips across hers. She tilted her head back, exposing her throat and he took advantage, dragging his mouth down her neck and back to her mouth. He kissed her in earnest then, not aggressively, but firmly. He wanted her to know that he wasn't pissed about waking up alone earlier, but he wasn't happy about it either.

He didn't appreciate feeling like he was something she could just throw away. The thing they had between them was more than that. It was strange and probably not a good idea, but he didn't give a fuck. The time for second guessing was over. He was in too deep. As he dragged his tongue across hers, all he could think about was getting more. More of her taste. More of her body. More of her taunting smiles and her dirty looks and her long, colorful nails.

He hoisted her up on the edge of the counter, setting her on her ass and spreading her legs open wide to accommodate him. But he didn't push. He just wanted to make his point. His dick was hard as hell, but that could wait.  She moaned into him and he circled his arms around her waist, lightly, focusing all of his attention on how she felt against him and her mouth against his. She crossed her ankles behind him, pulling him closer to her and he hissed against her lips. Goddamn, she was too much. He slanted his mouth over hers and kissed her slow and deep and she didn't fight him or try to rush. He wanted to languish and taste her and tease her and she let him.

“You want to fuck or you want to eat?” she whispered against his lips, like she could feel his hesitation.

“I want to eat you,” he said, flicking out his tongue and tasting her bottom lip once more. A wide smile broke out on her face and she threw her head back and giggled, like he'd just said the funniest thing ever.

“You,” she said, snaking her arms loosely around his neck. He dropped his hands to the countertop on either side of her hips and stared down at her, memorizing the way she looked in that moment, laughing and wrapped around him, her ass on his countertop. He would remember her this way, from now on, he decided. “The things you say, I swear.”

“What?” he asked. “What about the things I say?” She shook her head and rolled her eyes, but she didn't stop smiling. He kissed her again, because he wanted to. It was a lazier kiss, a slower kiss. She was there with him and she wasn't going anywhere. Not for awhile, anyway. He didn't need to hurry anything. But he did want to lay down some ground rules. He broke the kiss and she whimpered a bit, like she didn't want him to. The thought that she was enjoying him just as much as he was enjoying her made him feel warm inside and a little loopy, like he'd just taken a shot of 100 proof whiskey. And he hated to drink because hated to lose control. But somehow, with her, he already had lost control. But he didn't care. “When you're with me, don't leave without saying goodbye,” he said, not caring that he sounded like an asshole. She narrowed her eyes at him, like she was trying to decide how to respond.

“But you looked so cute while you were sleeping,” she finally replied.

“I don't look cute. Ever,” he disagreed, not bothering to stop himself from smiling.

“I'm the one that's looking at you and I think you're cute,” she said.

“Get your eyes checked,” he said.

“I have perfect 20/20 vision,” she shot back, her eyes boring into his. He shook his head, seriously debating about pushing her over onto her back and making that smile disappear from her face. Just as he was leaning in closer to make her pay, a loud meow broke through their reverie. It was Char, making her presence known and demanding to be fed.

Shay looked at him, confused and then down at the floor. His scraggly little orange cat sat on the floor, staring up at them. “You have a cat?” Shay said, her eye brows raising like she couldn't believe it. He shrugged, pushing away from the counter and opening the cabinet over the fridge. He pulled out a bag of cat food and dropped a few scoops into the Char's bowl. Shay watched him, a bemused smile on her face. “Of course you're a cat person. Of course,” she said, shaking her head and laughing to herself. Then she hopped down off the counter with a laugh and began mixing the pancake batter again.

***

Shay wasn't quite sure how it happened.

She wasn't quite sure how she ended up spending most of her nights in Tate's bed. She wasn't quite sure how she ended up giggling like a teenager and texting him dirty pictures at work. She wasn't sure how she ended up sneaking out on her lunch breaks for make-out sessions in his car. She wasn't sure how she ended up with a picture of him half-naked as the lockscreen on her phone. She didn't know how, but she didn't really care.

After she made pancakes for him that morning and then he'd fucked her for the rest of the day, something had changed. Neither of them had said anything about it. It was a completely silent development. After a few nights, he stopped asking her to come over. Instead, he texted to ask her what she wanted for dinner, or to ask her if she needed anything from the bodega on his way home. And Shay brought him whatever pastry she was experimenting with—a red velvet cake one night, a lemon torte the next, a failed attempt at a chocolate tart that he devoured regardless of how sad it looked the week after.

Halloween passed and then Thanksgiving and then, before Shay knew it, December snuck up on her. A blizzard hit the first week of the month and stranded her at Gina's apartment for two nights and she thought she was going to go stir-crazy. She made three cakes before she ran out of ingredients and after that, all she could do was lay around in bed and watch TV and text Tate whatever dirty little thoughts came into her mind. She also did something she'd been putting off doing for a long time. It was the elephant in the room and the longer she sat around, the harder it was to ignore it.

She counted the money that Sam had left her.

She pulled it out of the manila envelope and dumped it out on her bed. She'd taken a few dollars here and there, but since she'd started working at the salon, she hadn't touched the money. She tried to pretend it didn't exist, honestly, but that was silly. She had a stash of cash at her disposal and she had to figure out what she was going to do with it, if anything. She should probably just give it to Gina, but she didn't think Gina would take it. As she counted it up, stacking it into piles of $2000, she told herself that it didn't matter how much it was. Her father was trying to buy her off, but it wasn't going to work. She hadn't seen the man in six years and she felt so numb when it came to him. She loved her father, she always would, but she couldn't handle thinking about him.

Thinking about him hurt too much and reminded her of the past. The past which was becoming more and more further away every day she spent at work in the salon and every night that she spent in Tate's bed. She was actually building a life, a life that had nothing to do with stealing cars or running numbers or crooks or scams. The money sitting in neat stacks in front of her was dirty money. It was the anti-thesis of her new life. But she kept counting.

When she finished, there were ten stacks in all, with another three hundred on the side. She stood and stretched, careful not to unsettle the careful stacks of twenty dollar bills. She'd guessed how much it was, but now that she knew for sure, it was almost overwhelming. She didn't know if  she'd ever seen that much money up close. Her father always had money lying around, a grand here and a grand there, but she'd never seen so much altogether. That much money could buy a new car. That much money could be a down payment on an apartment.

That much money could pay for school.

The next morning, the roads were finally clear and the trains were running again. The city sparked back to life and Shay shoved the money to the back of her panty drawer again. But this time, she didn't try to forget about it. As she went to work in the morning, she thought about it. As she answered phones and busied herself at the salon, she thought about it. The need to make a decision about the money was weighing on her.

At lunch, she texted Tate, wondering if he was in the neighborhood. She was seriously in withdrawal after not seeing him for two days. She didn't quite want to admit to herself how used to their routine she had gotten, but she definitely wanted to sleep in his bed that night. She missed waking up to the smell of him on her skin. She missed his big kitchen and spacious bathroom. Mostly, she missed him, but she didn't want to think about that too much. She just wanted to hop into his car and nibble his ear and kiss his lips and shove her hand down his pants on her lunch break.

Shay:
Are you close by? ;)

She leaned back in her chair, waiting for a response, her stomach jumping in anticipation. A smile spread across her face when her phone vibrated in her hand, signaling she'd received a new text.

Tate:
I'm at home

Shay:
I thought you had to work today?

Shay furrowed her brow and crossed her legs, wondering if she'd gotten her days mixed up. He usually was off on Mondays and Tuesdays, so it made no sense that he would be home on a Thursday afternoon, unless there was something wrong. She waited what seemed like forever for a response, bobbing her foot impatiently.

Tate:
I'm sick.

Shay was out of her chair and headed toward the bathroom in less than half a second. The bathroom was the only place she could make a call in peace, without her aunt giving her the stank eye for fucking around on the clock. As soon as she locked the door behind her and flipped on the light, she was calling him. She dug her nails into her palm as the other line rang twice, then three times.

Finally, on the fourth ring, he picked up.

“It's a cold,” he said, not bothering with hello.

“Well you sound like shit,” she said, noticing how thick and hoarse his voice sounded. “Are you sure it's just a cold? You were probably out in the snow, weren't you?”

“NYPD doesn't get days off,” he said and then he coughed, the sound muffled like he was leaning away from the phone.

“Do you have medicine?” she asked, running her hand through her hair as she wondered if he was taking care of himself. Was he drinking enough fluids and eating?

“I don't need medicine,” he said, then coughed again. She rolled her eyes, knowing that he was just being a big stubborn baby.

“I'm coming over,” she said decisively, not leaving any room for discussion. She was going to go to him, she decided, whether he wanted her to or not.

“I'm contagious,” he replied, but she wasn't at all convinced.

“I don't care.” She didn't like thought of him all alone in his apartment, without anyone to cook for him or baby him. No, she didn't like it one bit. “Do you want me to come and take care of you?” He was silent on the other end and she knew he was thinking about it. She wondered if he was actually going to refuse her.

“Yes,” he said finally, his voice low like he didn't want to admit that he wanted her. For that, she was going to make him work for it.

“Say please,” she said. He let out a deep ragged breath on the other end and she felt her stomach clench. He liked this game as much as she did, she knew.

“
Please
,” he said, his voice strained with the implications of the word. A shiver of happiness danced down her spine and she smiled wide, even though he couldn't see her pleasure through the phone.

“Okay, baby,” she said, already plotting how she was going to get out of work early and up to Washington Heights as quickly as possible. “I'll be right there.”

***

Tate rolled his head against the arm of the couch, trying to get a better vantage point of Shay toiling away in his kitchen. He was too lazy and sick to move his whole body, so he just tried to angle his head in a better way. Eventually he found a good spot and settled back to watch her. She was barefoot and her hair was loose and curling down her back. She was wearing the tight jeans that he liked the most, and a loose gray sweater that looked so soft it made him want to press his face against her chest. She'd showed up on his doorstep with two big bags of groceries and then made him tea and forced him to lay down like he was on his deathbed instead of suffering from a common cold. Then she proceeded to start making him a big pot of chicken soup from scratch. He watched her cutting the carrots and celery as she roasted the chicken breasts and boiled the noodles. The whole process made his apartment smell heavenly and made his mouth water.