Triple Time (6 page)

“I would.” He held the door open—that gentleman thing again—and waved her inside. “I did. I followed you here.”

He was so close she could practically feel his six-pack pressing against her back. Her stammered response was swallowed up in the chaos of the bar as they made their way toward a crowd gathered across the room. A woman at the center broke from the group when she spotted Devin.

“Chica! You made it.” She gave Devin a quick hug.

“I said I would. And I never break a promise.”

“Who's the
guaperas
?”

Devin coughed discretely. “Ariela, Gabe. Gabe, Ariela.”

He held out his hand. Ariela took it, holding on a little too tight and a little too long for Devin's liking. Not that Devin had any say in it. She and Gabe were friends. Not even. Acquaintances, really.

Who wound up with their tongues in each other's mouths almost every time they saw each other.

“What's a
guaperas
?” he asked. “Should I be insulted?”

“I wish.” Devin crossed her arms in front of her chest.

“Far from it.” Ariela eyed him up and down, the glint in her baby browns telegraphing her appreciation. “It's nice to finally meet one of Devin's friends. She's one of our best volunteers. Every Tuesday, like clockwork.”

Devin shot her friend a look that could have stripped paint. “Ariela's brother owns the tattoo parlor where I work. She's the one who got me involved with Turn the Page.”

“Every Tuesday, huh?” Gabe's normally somber eyes flashed with playfulness.

“Thursdays, too, sometimes, when we need someone to fill in. Devin's a real lifesaver. I wish my other volunteers had half her dedication.” Ariela checked the time on her smart phone. “Time to get this show on the road. I'd better go corral the tour guide. I'll catch up with you both later.”

“Thursdays, too,” Gabe teased as Ariela sauntered back to the group. “That's a lot of Harry Potter.”

“It's hard to say no to Ariela. She's a force of nature.” A pair of fellow volunteers waved Devin over to the bar, and she elbowed her way through the crowd toward them.

“Is there anyone you don't know in this place?” Gabe trailed after her.

“I don't know her.” Devin jerked her head toward a statuesque blonde entering the bar. Way overdressed, probably in designer duds from head to toe. Not a hair out of place. Definitely not someone who'd stoop to associate with a tattoo artist/bartender with an earful of piercings and a piss-poor attitude.

Gabe stiffened and put a hand on Devin's shoulder, stopping her. “I do.” His voice was strained. “That's my ex.”

 

6

F
IRST
F
RANK
'
S
IDIOT
BROTHER
. Now Kara.

“Bourbon. Neat.” Gabe slid a twenty across the bar to the bartender.

In a city of over eight million people, why was it so damned hard to steer clear of the handful he didn't want to see?

“Pace yourself.” Devin shouldered her way into the spot next to him at the rail, waving off her friends. “We've got a long night ahead of us.”

“Make it a double.” He nodded toward Devin. “And whatever the lady's having.”

She ordered a Jack and soda and waited until the bartender returned with their drinks. “Bad breakup?”

He sipped his bourbon. The strong, smoky liquid slid down his throat like velvet, warming him from the inside out. “More embarrassing than anything else.”

“How long ago?”

He eyed Kara across the room. She didn't seem bored now, surrounded by a pack of fawning admirers. Had she seen him? Did he care? “A few weeks.”

“So that night in the park...”

“Yeah.” He nursed his drink. “We'd just split up.”

He didn't bother filling her in on the details of his botched proposal. There was only so much humiliation a guy could take.

“Damn.” She rested an elbow on the bar and stared into her Jack and soda. Then she straightened and snapped her head toward him. He could almost see the lightbulb flash on above her. “Wait a minute. All that bullshit about you being boring...”

Fuck
. The last thing he wanted was for Devin to feel sorry for him because his ex thought he was as exciting as watching grass grow. Bad enough she knew about Holcomb.

“Was that because of her?” Devin's eyes shot razor blades at Kara. “What did she say to you?”

Double fuck.

“Attention, everyone.” Ariela stood in the center of the room and tapped a glass with a spoon, sparing Gabe from answering. With a relieved sigh, he shifted his attention to their host.

“On behalf of Turn the Page, I'd like to thank you all for coming this evening. I'm sure you're all ready to get this party started, so I won't talk long. But I wanted to give a shout-out to a very special donor who's with us tonight.”

Gabe didn't have to be a fortune teller to figure out who Ariela was talking about. She held out her hand, and Kara joined her, flipping her hair over her shoulder and beaming at the crowd, basking in the glare of the public eye.

Why hadn't he noticed that about her before? Now that he thought about it, she had an almost compulsive need to be the center of attention. Restaurants. Theaters. Concerts. The world was her stage, and he'd been nothing more than a bit player in her drama.

Thank God she'd said no.

Out of the corner of his eye he caught Devin, smirking over the rim of her glass. He couldn't imagine her courting the spotlight. Hell, she'd barely wanted to admit she volunteered, and when she did let it slip she'd downplayed her involvement.

“Without Kara Humphries and her family's foundation, none of this would have been possible,” Ariela continued, interrupting Gabe's thoughts before he could analyze the significance of the fact that he was mentally comparing Devin to the woman whom, only weeks before, he'd planned to spend the rest of his life with. “We're so happy to have them aboard as sponsors for the first time this year, and we hope they'll be with us for years to come”

Kara's smile widened and she gave the crowd her best beauty-queen wave. The crowd applauded politely, with the exception of Devin, who made a gagging noise then covered it by coughing into her hand.

Ariela motioned toward a bespectacled young man in a gray herringbone fedora at the other end of the bar. “You've heard enough from me, so I'll turn things over to Josh, our tour guide for the rest of the night. Drink up, and give generously.”

“Kind of a prima donna, isn't she?” Devin drained her Jack and soda and plunked her empty glass onto the bar.

“Your friend?”

“No. Your ex.” She took his arm and dragged him across the hardwood floor toward Josh. “Come on. Let's get closer. I want to hear this. Legend has it Dylan Thomas drank himself to death here, and his ghost still comes back for his favorite corner table.”

The next couple of hours were a blur of new faces, small talk and literary tidbits courtesy of Josh. With Devin at his side as they traveled from bar to bar, Gabe felt more and more at ease as the night wore on. It could have been the booze. But he didn't think so. He'd known to pace himself even without Devin's warning.

No, something else was lowering his inhibitions, making him comfortable navigating a sea of strangers.

Someone else.

Devin.

She'd called Ariela a force of nature, but Devin was the dynamo. She seemed to have an endless supply of energy, bopping from bar stool to bar stool, introducing him to everyone, picking up the slack when the conversation lagged.

“Having fun yet?” Devin asked midway through their third stop on the tour, Kettle of Fish, a basement bar with a divey, bookish vibe frequented by beatniks like Bob Dylan and Jack Kerouac.

“Surprisingly, yes.” He rested a foot on the bottom rung of his bar stool. “Although I don't think I'll remember the names of half these people in the morning. Hell, I don't remember them now.”

“You're doing great, all things considered.” She glared at Kara, a few feet down the bar rail, then looked back at him, her eyes warmer. “There's hope for you yet.”

“Thanks.” He owed her. Big time. And not just for helping him break the ice. He was pretty sure she was responsible for keeping Kara at bay, too. The few times he'd thought his ex was about to approach him, Devin had stopped her with an evil eye and a possessive hand on his arm or around his waist. A hand that felt a little too warm. A little too familiar. A little too comfortable.

Not that he needed protection. Watching Kara holding court all night had only proved that marrying her would have been a colossal mistake. But it was nice to be the protected instead of the protector for a change.

“Just a few more minutes here, and we'll move on to the fourth and final stop on our literary and epicurean journey,” Josh announced. “The Minetta Tavern, favorite haunt of poet E. E. Cummings and home of the famous Black Label burger.”

Gabe's stomach grumbled at the mention of food.

“I need to make a pit stop.” Devin handed him her half-full glass. “Try not to get in too much trouble while I'm gone.”

“I'll wait until you get back to start anything.” He set the glass on the bar behind him.

She sauntered off, her perfect ass swaying hypnotically in her cutoff shorts as she weaved her way through the packed bar. He shifted in his seat and reminded himself—not for the first time—of all the reasons why acting on the obvious chemistry between them would be a screw-up of epic proportions. Sister's best friend. Holcomb's endorsement. The upcoming election.

“Gabe.”

A breathy voice interrupted the laundry list of excuses running through his mind.

“Kara.” He swiveled on the bar stool to face her. “You look well.”

“And you look—” she studied him “—different.”

He shrugged. “It was time for a change.”

“I hope it's not because of anything I said.” She fiddled with the clasp on her trendy bag.

“Nope.” He picked up his drink, swirled, sipped and stared at her. He wasn't trying to be rude. It was just that after weeks of wondering how he'd react if he saw Kara again, he didn't have much to say to her.

He checked the clock behind the bar. Where was Devin? He'd never understood why women took so long in the bathroom. What the hell did they do in there, anyway?

“Seriously, Gabe. I'm worried about you.” Kara pulled out the stool next to his and sat, putting a hand on his thigh. Her shiny red nails were a stark contrast to the faded denim of his jeans. “The clothes. That girl you're with. I wanted to talk to you earlier, but I was afraid she'd come at me with a switchblade.”

Christ, had she always been so judgmental? Yet another flaw he'd overlooked.

“I'm a big boy.” He picked up her hand and removed it from his leg, relieved that he felt nothing when she touched him. “I can take care of myself.”

“I'm sure you can, but...”

“Hey, babe.” Devin came up behind him and snaked an arm around his waist. Her hand came to rest on his hip, sending a bolt of white-hot desire to his groin. “Sorry I got held up. The line was ridiculous. Miss me?”

She reached up on tiptoe and gave him a down-and-dirty, take-no-prisoners kiss, with just enough tongue to make it borderline obscene in a public place. He barely had time to reciprocate before she broke it off, sliding down his body and giving him a look that said
Sit back and hold on tight. This is gonna be a wild ride
. “That's okay. You don't have to answer. Your hard-on speaks for itself.”

Kara gasped, and Gabe almost laughed out loud at the shocked look on her face.

“Are you okay?” Devin took a half step toward the other woman. “I know CPR. And the Heimlich maneuver.”

“I'm fine.” Kara held up a hand to stop her. “Thanks.”

“Good.” Devin turned to Gabe and laid a palm on his chest. One finger traced the lettering on his T-shirt. “What do you say we skip the last stop on the tour and go back to my place? I've never been a big fan of E. E. Cummings anyway.”

“I don't know,” he teased, finally getting the idea and playing along with her. “That Black Label burger sounded awfully good.”

“I promise I'll make it up to you.” She pressed a kiss to the hollow between his neck and shoulder, making his pulse jump.

“Well, in that case...” He picked Devin's purse up off the bar and handed it to her. “It's been nice catching up with you, Kara.”

The polite lie tripped off his tongue. He gave Kara a dismissive nod and put his arm around Devin, shepherding her toward the door. Devin returned the favor by slipping her hand into his pocket and squeezing his ass. His cock twitched and his mind burned with a question only Devin could answer.

Was she serious about going back to her place? Or was it all an act for Kara's sake?

* * *

P
LAYING
WITH
FIRE
, that's what Devin was doing. But damn if she could stop herself.

Something had snapped when she'd come out of the bathroom and that designer debutante had put her claws on Gabe. Then she heard what that bi...witch had said about her. Devin might have gone after her with a switchblade. If she still carried one. But she hadn't since she was nineteen, when Leo had convinced her that she didn't need it anymore. That she'd found a home. That she was safe.

She didn't feel safe now. She was on edge. Ramped up.

Horny.

What had started out as a lighthearted game had turned super serious when she'd felt Gabe's reaction to their impromptu kiss pressing against her thigh. Then she'd gone and practically propositioned him.

Idiot.

So what now? Was she for real when she'd offered to “make it up” to him? Was he for real when he'd accepted?

There was only one smart, safe thing to do. Pretend it never happened. And if smart and safe weren't normally parts of her vocabulary, well, she wasn't going to dissect the reasons for her change of course now.

“I can't imagine what you ever saw in her.” She shrugged off his arm and pried her hand out of his pocket. He was right. The jeans were tight. She sneaked a peek at his butt.

Delicious.

“Devin.”

She kept walking. Faster. “I mean beyond the perky boobs, flat stomach and long legs.”

“Devin.”

“And I suppose there was her ass...”

“Stop.”

The tone of his voice, gruff and demanding, made her obey.

“Look at me.” He stepped in front of her, swept her hair off her face and tilted her chin up, forcing her to stare into the fathomless gray depths of his eyes. “We need to talk.”

So not part of her game plan. She folded her arms across her chest. “What's to talk about?”

“What happened back there...”

“With your ex?” She was trembling like a tenderfoot getting her first tat, and her cheek burned where his thumb rested.

“No.” The offending thumb brushed her lower lip. “With us.”

“There...there is no us.”

“Don't.” The noise of the traffic swirled around them, her heart beating in time to the rhythmic
thump thump
of the cars passing over a steel road plate.

“Don't what?”

“Act like you're not feeling it, too. Like— Watch out!” He yanked her out of the way of a late-night cyclist and swore. “Are you okay?”

She nodded, her pulse pounding for two reasons now.

“This is ridiculous.” He glanced at the night sky and scrubbed a hand across his face.

“That's what I've been trying to tell you.”

“Not this.” He gestured between them. “This.” He flung an arm out toward Christopher Street. “The fact that we're having this conversation in the heart of the goddamn Village.”

“You're the one who wanted to talk.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I was wrong. Maybe the time for talking is over.” He did a hasty scan of the area then pulled her into a nearby doorway, trapping her there with his body. “Ask me again.”

A hot flush spread up her face. “Ask you what?”

“What you asked in the bar.” He rested his forehead against hers. “About going back to your place.”

So he was serious. They were really doing this.

Hot damn.

“Do you want to go back to my place?”
Bad idea.
Her breath rasped in her throat. She was supposed to be putting out the fire smoldering between them, not dousing it with gasoline.