Sticky (4 page)

“
H
ave you made progress yet
?”

I’d tell Aaron to go fuck himself, but he hasn’t even bothered to call me. He’s got his fucking lapdog Topknot doing it. “Tell your master I’m working on it.” I put the truck in park outside Sloan’s apartment and study the windows as I speak.

“He wants a progress report.”

“In-fucking-progress. It’s been one day, what does he expect?” I shove open the door and swing my legs out. “Now if you don’t mind, I’m about to make more progress. That is, if you stop fucking calling me every ten minutes to ask what I’m doing.”

“This is an important job,” Topknot replies, his tone dead serious. “We need to make sure you’re handling it as quickly as possible.”

“You want me to do it well or you want me to do it fast?” I slam the truck door, the sound echoing across the empty lot.

“Both, if you wouldn’t mind.” He disconnects before I can give him a more detailed description of where he can shove his thick fucking skull.

It’s like he knew where I was, and what’s been running through my head all day.
I don’t want to do this to her.
I don’t want to lie to her, or put her in this shitty situation. Never mind that her brother’s the one who got her into hot water; I should be the guy getting her out, not turning up the heat.

But it’s not like I have a choice.

My only option is to make sure she learns nothing. After this is all said and done, after this last job is finished, I’ll throw her over my shoulder and carry her off into the sunset and neither of us will ever need to think about this shitty place again.

She’ll never need to know about Aaron.

I jam the phone in my pocket and cross the parking lot to press her buzzer. It only sounds for half a second before the door flies open and suddenly there she is, beaming up at me, every inch as beautiful as she was last night, and I feel it like a punch straight to the gut. Well. If punches also made my cock hard.

She’s put on makeup tonight, not that she needs it. I want to kiss that damn bright red straight off her lips, but I have to admit, it does look sexy as hell when she grins at me sideways and steps out of the apartment.

“I heard you pull up,” she explains, still smiling, so open and innocent. “Is everything okay? Looked like you were a little upset or something.”

Shit. She saw me on the phone. “Just some work shit.” I wave the question away, and try not to let any panic show on my face. “You ready?” I extend an arm, all elaborate and gentlemanly, and she ducks her head with a shy blink before she slides her hand through the crook of my elbow. I slide my other hand up to cover hers, her skin so damn impossibly soft against mine, and we cross the parking lot like that.

“What do you do for work?” she asks as she presses herself against my side, and I curse myself internally for bringing up the question.

“I’m in acquisitions,” I respond, praying she won’t ask
what
I “acquire.” “But honestly, I hate it. My boss is a complete . . . ” I bite back the end of that sentence. I normally don’t mind swearing in front of women, but that one would be taking the dirty mouth a bit far. “Anyway. I’m making a career change at the moment. Moving out and up.”

We reach the truck, and I open the door for her, still holding her hand as she climbs into the seat, her fingers clenching around mine briefly. That touch makes me want to grab her, pull her back down, press her up against the door and take her right here, in full view of the street.

Luckily she lets go a split second later, and the momentary craziness fades a little.

“So, you’re the open-doors-for-ladies type, huh? I wouldn’t have pegged you for that.” She leans against the door as she watches me drive.

“Not most ladies. Only the irresistible ones.” Right now it’s taking all of my willpower not to stare at her. Every little shift of her body, her hip popping up to press against the seatbelt, her hands winding around each other in her lap, makes me think about the way those hips would look gripped tight in my hands, how it would feel to have her soft fingers wrapped around my hard shaft. She fidgets again in her seat, restless, and I wonder if she’s thinking along the same lines I am. “Yeah, well, still. Politeness is a rare thing these days, I’ll tell you that.”

“Yes. But you’re rare too, Sloan.” My eyes dart to her, away again. Gotta focus on the road, dammit.

Still, even out of the corner of my eye, I can tell she’s blushing. “Not really,” she mumbles under her breath.

“If you only knew,” I tell her, and her blush gets worse, but she doesn’t argue with the statement, at least.

If only I could make her see how wrong she is. If I could show her that the woman I’m watching beside me right now, the woman who dealt with all that shit in the diner last night from her bitchy coworkers to her creepy boss, the woman who’s sexy as hell without even realizing she’s doing it, without even trying, I would. I wish she could see herself the way I can see her.

If she knew how hard she’s making me . . . 

If she knew why I asked her out in the first place, my brain counters. She’d fucking storm out of this truck right now, and I couldn’t blame her.

“What are you changing to?” she asks, and I blink, confused. “You said you were changing careers,” she clarifies, and I almost laugh.

I don’t think anyone has ever listened to me as closely as she does before. The usual girls I go out with are the shut-up-and-fuck-me type, or on the rare occasions I choose badly, the listen-to-me-whine-nonstop type. We don’t really
talk.
And they sure as hell don’t listen to anything I say if we do.

I shrug a shoulder. “Haven’t really decided yet. It’s hard to think about a new job when you’re still caught up in the old one, y’know?”

“Do I ever,” she murmurs, and I want to ask more, I want to pry, see where else she sees herself besides serving at Morton’s for all the rest of forever, but it’s clear from the hunch in her shoulders that she doesn’t want to go down that road, so I leave it be for the moment.

Twenty minutes later, I turn into the parking lot of the restaurant I’ve picked out, an upscale Asian fusion place that does some amazing things with Chinese food. Or so I’ve heard, anyway. This type of restaurant wouldn’t be my usual haunt, but I think Sloan will like it. “Here we go.”

Her eyes widen. “
Ching’s
? But this place just opened last month; it’s practically impossible to get a reservation even like a week in advance.”

I may or may not have called in a couple favors of my own, through Aaron’s chain of workers. “It wasn’t that hard,” I bluff.

She’s grinning, in a way that tells me both that a) she knows it damn well was that hard, and b) she appreciates it anyway. As I wrench the gear shift into park, she leans across the seat to press a quick kiss to my cheek. “Thank you,” she whispers, and then she’s already leaning back in her seat, unbuckling, jumping out of the car before I can even think about kissing her back.

It’s both the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever seen and the most frustrating.

More than ever, I can’t wait to get my hands on her, lay her down on my big king-sized bed and eat her out until she can’t see straight. Only then will I fuck her, so long and so hard that she won’t be able to walk the next day.

My cock twitches in my jeans, wanting to get started on that already. But we have work to do first.

I step out of the truck and lead the way into Ching’s. A waitress in a mini-dress so tight I can see every inch of her body greets us with a shit-eating grin and leads us to our seats, her hips twitching deliberately, trying to catch my eye, I’m sure. But I have eyes only for Sloan. I can’t tear them away from her as we slide into opposite sides of a close, quiet booth built for two. I don’t bother to hide my gaze, even when she blushes and ducks her head. She should know she’s the hottest woman in this whole city, let alone this restaurant.

“I don’t do this kind of thing much,” she murmurs like she’s reading my mind.

“What, humor guys like me when we ask you out?” I reach one hand across the table to brush my fingers along her forearm. Her eyelids flutter for a second, before she squares her shoulders and faces off with me.

“Why did you really ask me out?” she says, her voice low and hard, with an edge I’ve not heard before in it.

I like the edge.

“How could I resist?” I ask her, completely honest. Even if I hadn’t been assigned to follow her, I would have. Anyone who notices her couldn’t help but want her.

She rolls her eyes. “Seriously. No one has asked me on a date in . . . ” She bites her lip. “Never mind. I just . . . if you’re only looking for a quick hookup or something, tell me going into it, okay? That’s all I ask. I’m not saying I’m not interested.” Her eyes roam down my chest, resting on my biceps. “I just like to know what I’m getting into up-front.”

A no-bullshit kind of girl. I’m liking her more and more every moment. “I definitely won’t say no to a hookup,” I tell her, keeping my voice slow and open. “But that’s not all I’m interested in by a long shot.”

She seems like she’s waiting for me to say more. But there’s only so many cards I’m willing to show before the big reveal. Life’s a poker game, and I don’t exactly hold a winning hand. I play things close to the chest, just in case. Not going to lie, though, her pale green eyes go straight through my poker face to stab me in the heart. I’d tell her everything right now, if I thought I could. If I thought there was a snowball’s chance in hell she’d ever forgive me for it.

Luckily, I’m not that dumb.

“Tell me about you,” I say, even as the waitress steps up to our table. I barely glance her way, even though she’s angling that bodycon chest in my direction. “We’ll take the skewers and the rolls to start—that’s what you’re known for, right?” I don’t wait to notice her nod in my peripheral vision. “Sloan, do those look good to you?”

She hasn’t even opened the menu. She nods anyway.

My kind of foodie, too.

The waitress leaves us in peace, and Sloan takes a longer than usual time sipping her water. She seems like she’s thinking, though, not stalling, so I let her take her time.

Finally, she shrugs one shoulder, her head tilted to the side as she studies me in return, almost as closely as I’ve been watching her. “I’m pretty average. I work at Morton’s, as you noticed. I’ve lived in Atlantic City all my life—well, or at least, nearby. I grew up in a beach town a little bit north of here, but it’s still the suburbs. My brother and I worked at the boardwalk here on our summer vacations all through high school.”

My eyebrows inch up just the slightest fraction. “You have a brother?”

“Yeah, just the one. Lemme tell you, he’s enough.” She laughs and takes another slug of water.

I can imagine.

“Is he older or younger?” I ask, with a knowing smile that I don’t have to fake.

“Twin, actually. But if you want to get technical, he
is
five minutes younger than I am.” She rolls her eyes.

I grin. “Mine too. Well, he’s five years younger, not five minutes, but still. Younger is younger. The last-born ones always think they’re such hot shit, don’t they? Little do they know how much work we first-borns do watching out for them.”

“You took the words right out of my mouth.” She lets out another laugh, this one fuller and rounder. Throaty. I love her voice, but I love her laugh even more. She has the laugh of a woman who knows how to have fun, but who never lets herself do that.

It makes me want to remind her how.

“My little brother went straight from rehab to joining a religious cult,” I tell her, my voice low. It sounds true. Probably because it is. I don’t tell just anyone my family history, but if I want to convince her to unburden her woes to me, I’ll need to give her at least a little bit in return.

She purses her lips in sympathy. “Mine went through that. Er . . . addiction, I mean. Not the religious cult stuff.” Her cheeks flame, just the tiniest bit, and the blush is too damn adorable on her plump, pale cheeks. “He’s been sober for four years though. He quit drinking and gambling all at once, when . . . ” She winces. “I’m sorry. This is heavy. We should talk about fun things on dates, right?” She presses a thumb to her temple, letting her shoulders sag. “It’s been a while since I’ve done this, sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” I reach across the table again, catch her hand in mine and draw it away from her forehead to wind my fingers through hers. “Talk about anything you want, Sloan. I don’t believe in all that ‘small talk’ first date shit. Real talk is where you really get to know people. Why bother with the fakery?”

“I know you’re humoring me, but I’m going to let it slide just this once,” she says with a sideways smile. “What about you? You haven’t told me about yourself either, you know.”

“Oh, I’m average,” I reply, my tone sharp.

She snorts. “Okay, I deserved that one. But really. What’s your deal, Mr. Chivalry?” Her eyes lock onto mine, and I want to fall into them and never stop.

S
hit
. I knew he was attractive. I knew he would tempt me into misbehaving in all the right (or wrong?) kinds of ways. But I had no idea he’d be so . . . open, like this. I’ve never been on a date quite like this one.

We barely made it through the appetizers before he started in on the deep stuff. Before I know it, we’re sharing our entrees (something I never do, because I want what I order, usually, but the food here is so damn amazing that I want to try one—or preferably more—of everything) and commiserating about our respective families. As I roll the insanely flavorful sesame orange chicken he ordered over my tongue, he talks about his own little brother, Jacob, who started out with just the occasional line of coke to get him through a long workday in New York banking, but then he dabbled in speedballs, moved from there to heroin because it was cheaper, and it was all a downhill spiral from there.

Since he got clean, he hasn’t spoken to Hunter—
Gage
, as he keeps calling himself—aside from a couple of weird letters written from a “religious retreat” somewhere in the Midwest. He’s the only family Gage has left.

“I wish I could tell you that gets easier.” He’s been hands-on all night, but now it’s my turn to reach out and wrap my hand around his, squeezing just hard enough to let him know I understand what he’s going through. I felt the same way when Freddie was at his worst point. Like there was no one to turn to, no one who could understand me. “But to be honest, you’re always going to want to save him a little too much. And you’re never going to be able to, because he has to save himself.”

Gage curls his fingers through mine. His eyes haven’t left my face all night, which I have to say is a new and frightening experience for me, because I feel naked when he stares like that. Except it’s also hot as fuck. Because I feel like he’s gazing at me, laid bare before him, and he loves everything he sees.

That’s a new sensation for me. Or maybe not new, exactly—guys have found me attractive before—but I’ve never enjoyed it like this before. It’s never been quite so mutual.

“Is that what you did?” he asks, his voice low and gentle. “Tried to save him?”

I grimace, but nod at the same time. “What else could I do? He’s my twin. The other half of my brain. I didn’t want to watch him suffer. But it didn’t matter what I did; if I hid all the booze in his apartment, he’d go out to bars and blow his entire paycheck getting trashed there. If I tried to play it cool, get him to talk to me about what was going on so I could keep tabs on him, he’d start dodging my calls, avoiding me when I stopped by to visit. He was at the casinos constantly, and then he started getting into debt, and same thing, if I paid it off, he’d just get into worse debt, and if I let him try to pay it off, he’d never save enough money to do it, cause he was too busy drinking it all away.”

He squeezes my hand, and I brush my fingers against his rough, calloused ones. He’s got the kind of hands that have a story all their own, about the places they’ve been. The things they can make you feel. “How did you learn to let that go?” he murmurs. “To let him sink or swim on his own?”

I close my eyes, remembering the last time I really bailed my brother out of shit. I’d spent the whole day taking care of Mom, rushing her to the hospital because her blood pressure dropped and she fainted on the staircase, luckily right at the bottom of it. I had to leave her in the hospital to go and find him, beaten and bloodied and curled in an alley outside his favorite casino at the time, because one of the bouncers caught him trying to bribe the dealer into stacking the Blackjack deck. He told me how sorry he was, slurring, as he hiccupped puke against the stone wall, and I wanted nothing more than to sink down beside him, take the flask from his hand, and down the rest of it myself. Right then, it finally hit me how bad he was, how nothing I ever said would fix him. And how he’d drag me down with him if I didn’t let go.

So I left him a note with the number of an addicts hotline, a place that knew how to help professionally. Then I turned around, got back into my car, and drove back to the hospital alone.

“I guess I just realized that, when you see someone drowning, all you can do is throw them a lifeline. If you try to jump in and save them yourself, you’ll only drown with them.” I open my eyes again, biting my lip. My eyes sting.

It’s been years since that moment. And everything turned out fine, of course. Freddie called the hotline I left him that day. He turned his shit around—it took a long time, and he relapsed a bit at first, especially when Mom passed, but it’s been four years since his last bender, and he’s doing better than ever.

I miss Mom, but she’d be happy to see us now. Stable. Happy. Both of us working hard.

Me on a date.

I swallow past the lump in my throat. “Sorry. That was just . . . an intense time in my life.”

“Don’t apologize, Sloan. Not to me. Not ever.”

I search his sharp blue gaze, my heart pounding. Why do I feel so open around him? Why do I want to trust him, so fast, when I hardly know a thing about him?

It must be those eyes. They’re too clear to conceal anything he’s feeling. And right now, he looks . . . regretful.

I bite my lip. “Enough about me. Your brother will figure it out too, the way mine did. He’s doing great now.” I crack a smile. “He’s working for a shipping company, processing customs documents. Bought his own apartment and everything!”

Gage lifts his eyebrows. “Really?”

“Yeah, it took him forever to save up for the deposit, but he basically gave up his social life for a few years straight, and that paid off.” I grin. I really am proud of Freddie. I don’t tell him that often enough. I just freak out about him possibly going off the deep end again, instead. Like yesterday morning. I should really apologize about that later . . .

Then I forget about my brother and whatever his big secret was, because the waitress reappears, and Gage’s eyes search out mine again. “What do you think, Sloan?” he asks. “Should we order a bottle of wine, some dessert, or . . . should we get out of here?”

My heart pounds in my throat. I feel the beat of it just under my skin, growing stronger with every brush of his skin over mine. Normally I would never turn down dessert, or a nice bottle of dry red, which I’m sure this restaurant would have a delicious selection of. But the way he’s been watching me, I’m craving something else for dessert tonight.

“Depends,” I murmur, low and throaty. “Are we going to your place or mine?”

His eyes light up, and his smile stretches into something dangerous. Predatory. Handsome as fuck. “Definitely mine,” he says, and with a flick of his hand at the waitress, we’re on our way.