Grit (Dirty #6) Page 6

  “You all right?”

  “Better. I puked up the tequila. That will teach me to eat Combos for dinner.” She laughs awkwardly, tucking her dark hair behind her ear. “At least we can get away with taking off early now.”

  I’m irritated that she ate gas station junk food for dinner. We each fended for ourselves tonight since I got ready at my place. I should have made sure she had a suitable meal. Her go-to bowl of cereal would have been healthier.

  “You need to take better care of yourself.” I wrap my arm around her waist and guide her toward the stairs.

  She rolls her eyes, dismissing my concern. “Okay, Joe.”

  “If we’re both saying the same thing, maybe it’s time to listen to one of us,” I retort.

  “Maybe everyone should mind their own business.”

  “You are my business.” I sigh. We’re shouting a personal conversation in a packed club. This is not the time or the place for this. “Let’s just go. I’ll stop and pick you up something real to eat on the way home.”

  “I should let my brother know I’m leaving.”

  There’s no way in hell I’m going back over there with her. Not with the pregnancy question hanging in the air. “I’ll text him when we get to the car.”

  ***

  After picking up the order I called in to the restaurant, Rocky falls asleep. The air in the car is thick with apprehension. I have a hundred different thoughts chasing each other in my head. Over and over, I go back to the main one. Is she carrying my child?

  I pull into a spot in front of her apartment and shift the gear to park. My eyes focus on the rise and fall of her chest. I don’t want to wake her, but I’d like her to eat. My gaze lowers to her stomach. An overwhelming urge to lay my hand there hits out of nowhere. I fold my fingers, forming a fist, and resist the impulse.

  Tucking the bag of food under my arm, I slide out, rounding the front to her side. I unhook her seatbelt and slip my hand under her leg. She startles awake, gasping, and swings blindly at me. A hand connects with my face and I feel her nails rake my cheek.

  “Shit, sorry, shit,” she utters. Her hand cups my unshaven jaw, the gentleness of her action a contrast to her attack a second ago. “I didn’t mean to… You scared me. Are you okay?”

  I gnash my teeth together, grinding them. This isn’t the first time she’s flinched or I’ve frightened her, but it hits harder tonight. I hate when she’s scared. And when she’s scared of me—even though I know it’s not really me she’s scared of—it kills me.

  It fucking guts me.

  “I’m fine. Let’s get you inside.”

  Twelve

  Rocky

  I stretch my arms, skating my fingers over the headboard. Mornings have been challenging lately. I think it’s because Link’s nightmares keep me up so late I have a difficult time leaving the bed come daylight.

  It would help if he woke me in the same way he used to. Coaxed me from my slumber with the hot pressure of his mouth. Ever since he saw the gun in my nightstand, I wake to cold sheets in an empty bed. I don’t think it’s a coincidence.

  The scent of bacon frying is my only motivation today. Well, that and the promise of seeing Link’s sexy ass bent over the stove.

  I pause at the entryway to my kitchen, my head resting against the doorjamb. It isn’t my first time seeing him shirtless—hell, it isn’t my second or third or fourth time either—but the scars on his back always cause a hard knot to form in my throat.

  Eighteen.

  A man stood over Link and plunged a flaying knife into his flesh eighteen times while three other men watched. I know it happened. Each and every scar is a reminder of the pain and suffering he endured.

  Powerful proof of his strength and resilience.

  But I can’t fathom how four human beings could do this.

  People like Link and me, who have suffered physical and psychological trauma, we aren’t really ever okay. We aren’t normal. There are lasting effects. We can find happiness, seconds and minutes and hours of peace… However, the scars—inside and out—are always there, eating away at our sanity.

  But what we can be, what we need to be, is a symbol of human fortitude for each other. A reminder that we made it despite all that. We’re still here.

  Every horrible line marking Link’s back is beautiful to me.

  I step forward and press my lips to them, one at a time, kissing each one.

  If it were possible to kiss the memories away, I would do it. Gladly. I would invite him to make mine go away too.

  That’s just not how it works.

  “Good morning,” I whisper into his skin.

  “Morning,” he husks. “How are you feeling?”

  “Tired. Hungry. Horny.”

  He chuckles, his back vibrating with the effort. “I can help you out with two of those.” He turns, placing a plate in my hand. It’s filled with eggs, bacon, and toast. “Food first, orgasms second.”

  “Party pooper.”

  “Speaking of which…” He pauses, sliding his thumb underneath my eye. It comes away smudged in black and I remember I was wearing makeup last night for the first time in…I don’t even know how long. I must look like a raccoon. “No more nausea?”

  I set my plate on the table and answer as I head to the bathroom. “No. I feel good. I’m going to devour my breakfast.”

  I turn on the water and peer in the mirror. Yep, I bear a striking resemblance to the small nocturnal mammal who likes to dumpster-dive out back. Link watches me from the doorway as I scrub my face clean.

  “No dizziness?”

  “A little last night when I got sick, but not now.”

  “Any, uh, cramping or anything?”

  I look at his reflection, confused. “Cramping? Like my period? I don’t get sick like that when I’m about to start. I think it was just the poor dinner choice.”

  He presses his fingers to the back of his neck, massaging the muscles there like he’s in pain. “So it’s on time? Your cycle?”

  I grab the towel, patting my face dry, and turn to look at him straight on. He’s kind of freaking me out. “I don’t mark it on the calendar, but I think so. My pill keeps me pretty regular.”

  “So you aren’t sure?”

  “Where is the third degree coming from?”

  “I’m just asking.”

  “I feel like you’re cross-examining me. And it’s not really your business, Link.” I maneuver around him, grabbing my robe on the way back to the kitchen to eat my breakfast before it gets cold.

  “You keep saying that,” he rasps, keeping up with me.

  I pull a chair out and sit heavily, draping the thin robe over my bare legs. His eyes move over my face, watching me with quiet examination.

  “Why are you none of my business?”

  The fork shakes in my hand. I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to have this conversation. We’ve put it off for so long. I’m not ready to burst the bubble we’ve been happily hiding in, but he seems determined to destroy it today.

  “Why don’t you tell me why you consider me your business? Who am I to you? Your employee? Your student? Your fuck buddy?”

  He cringes. He physically recoils from my questions. His teeth snap together and that muscle in his cheek quivers, Link’s telltale sign that he’s stressed. He drops his head, chin to chest, and I can hear him swallow. It’s the only sound in the apartment—other than the hammering of my heart.

  “You’re more than that.”

  “More than that,” I repeat flatly. “More than what? More than your employee? More than your student? More than your fuck buddy?”

  He lifts his head, his steely gaze settling on my face once again. I wait. I wait for him to say something.

  I drop the fork, the urge to burst into tears unexpectedly overwhelms me. “What am I to you?”

  He shakes his head slowly. “You’re more than all of that,” he croaks. “Don’t I make you feel like more?”

  My fingers feel clammy
as I rub my forehead. He does. He does make me feel like more. But he also makes me feel like less. I don’t know how to explain that to him correctly. I take a deep breath and try anyway.

  “When you look at me, I feel valued. Respected. Safe. When you call my name in the height of ecstasy, I know you’re in the moment with me. I feel a connection with you I’ve never felt with anyone else in my life, and there are times I think you feel it too. But then there are moments when you go quiet and pensive, and I know you’re thinking about her.”

  The shutter falls, and for the briefest second, I see the surprise rush over his face. We’ve never broached this subject. Not really. I never dared. Olivia was, is, and always will be first. I’m second. I know my place. Doesn’t mean I like it. But he asked. He wanted to know, so I’m giving him what he wants.

  “Physically, you’re with me, but in every other way, she constantly has you. Mentally, emotionally, you’re always slipping away with her. I don’t even have your subconscious. I sleep in bed with you, but you dream of her. In those moments, no, I don’t feel like more.”

  He slides into the chair next to me, rotating my seat to face him. He rests his hands on my knees, the warmth of his fingers seeping through the fabric of my robe.

  “I do think about Livie—you’re right. I think about what I lost. I think about the mistakes I made, the things I never got to say to her. I think about what happened that night, how I failed her. And then I think about how I don’t want to lose you. How I don’t want to make the same mistakes with you. About all the things I want to say before I don’t have the chance to say them to you. I think about how I don’t want anything more to ever happen to you, and how, with every breath of my being, I do not want to fail you.

  “You’re the one I dream of at night. You’re the one I’m worrying about when I go quiet. You’re in damn near every fucking thought I have.”

  That impulse to cry flares, but I’m too stunned to shed a tear. He split himself wide open, right in front of me. He said things I never thought I’d hear come out of his mouth.

  “That’s why I consider you my business, Rocky. And you’re going to just have to get used to it.”

  Thirteen

  Link

  “I believe I was promised orgasms,” Rocky says as I’m clearing our breakfast dishes. Her hands wrap around my waist from behind, fingers slinking around to the front. She strokes me through my pajama pants, up and down. My dick jerks against her fingers, ready and willing for her touch as her lips glide down my back, wet and slow.

  She pulls away for a moment, the rustle of fabric the only sound, and when she presses into me again, her bare skin meets mine. I love the way her naked flesh feels. Lush curves mold to me. Soft, smooth, warm, and fully feminine.

  My head falls forward, watching her tug the strings on my pants. As she works her hand inside, I’m struck by how different we are. She’s small and delicate next to my large, hard frame.

  So different.

  Yet so alike.

  When I met her, I never anticipated this. We weren’t supposed to work. I didn’t think anyone could be special to me after Livie. I had no idea I could care this much for another woman. I didn’t realize I was even capable of such a thing.

  It shouldn’t feel right, but it does. She does.

  A moan erupts in my throat when her fingers curl around my rigid length. I turn quickly, grabbing her hips, and hold her flush to me. I trail my eyes over her face, memorizing every feature, before my mouth finds hers.

  She is my second chance at living, at loving. The realization washes over me, settling in my chest like an anchor, holding me in place. Everything I never had with Livie, I could have now with Rocky. All I need is to let it happen.

  ***

  My fingers brush through Rocky’s hair, draped like satin across my chest. She’s been in and out of sleep, our legs woven, her body on top of mine. Her head rests on my shoulder and I can feel each one of her breaths caress my neck.

  We’re not talking. We’re not fucking. We’re not working or training or fighting. We’re being still, enjoying this piece of calm in an otherwise chaotic life. I am wholly in this moment. Breathing her in, owning this feeling of serenity.

  This is me giving into possibility and taking my second chance. Because in the end, wasted chances are the strongest regrets. I know that well.

  I was supposed to be at the gym ten minutes ago, but I have no desire to move from this couch. I’m not sure I’ve ever been this comfortable in my life. She feels good, and…I let myself appreciate her.

  I slide my cell off the coffee table and shoot Augie a text, letting him know I won’t be in for a couple more hours. If I could, I’d take the rest of the day off too, but I can’t keep ignoring my clients. I’ve already done that enough these past couple of months.

  Rocky stirs as I put my phone back. Taking advantage of our proximity, she traces my throat with her teeth. She slips to the side, nipping my jugular. The nap must have done its job because she’s feisty and playful—which happen to be a couple of my favorites of her attributes.

  “You did say orgasms earlier, right?” she murmurs, making her way up to my ear. She sucks the lobe into her mouth, biting gently. “As in multiple? Because I only recall having the one.”

  “I clearly remember two,” I say, my voice gruff.

  She shakes her head, wisps of dark hair caressing my skin. “No, it was just the one.”

  “I think you’re lying.”

  Her mouth curves into a grin against my neck. “Prove it.”

  “When you get close, you get really quiet and your muscles tighten all through your body. It feels so fucking good it’s challenging to hold back. When you come, you tremble. All over. And then after, you make this breathy sound, like a satisfied sigh. It’s sexy as hell and every time I hear you do that—knowing I was the one who satisfied you—I damn near lose my mind.”

  She lifts her head, large dark eyes drifting over my face. Her teeth drag over her lip. “You can’t say something like that to me and not give me another orgasm. It’s not fair.”

  I chuckle, ducking my head to capture her mouth. Multiple. I plan to give her multiple more orgasms.

  Fourteen

  Rocky

  Saturday is the one day of the week I have several hours to myself. I work Monday through Friday at the gym—acting as secretary, Link and I train at least two evenings, and I attend one self-defense class with my brother per week. Sunday, I get my lazy on, spending ninety percent of the time in bed.

  These few hours when Link goes in on Saturday are my only alone-time. Sometimes I love it. Other times I have no clue what to do with myself.

  I used to pass the daylight hours sleeping, spending my evenings in a total drunken haze. Slowly but surely, my routine has changed.

  Today, I spend the first couple hours after Link leaves scrubbing my bathroom and kitchen. Then, I immerse myself in the tub, soaking my consistently sore muscles.

  As I’m drying off, there’s a knock at my door, and by the lengthiness of the tapping, I know it’s Joe. Of course he would take it upon himself to crash my downtime. I pluck Link’s button-up off the hook on the door, fastening it as I go, the towel over one shoulder. My hair is dripping, soaking the back of the shirt and causing it to stick uncomfortably. I should have just ignored him or let him use his key and finished drying off.

  Though I know it’s him without having to look, I verify it anyway, peering out the window before I flip the lock and tug the door open.

  “You look better today,” he says in way of greeting. His tone is low, voice careful, similar to the inflection he takes when he’s getting ready to give me one of his famous I’m-worried-about-you-Rock speeches.

  I step back, giving him space to enter, though I have a feeling I’m probably going to end up regretting it. I love my brother, but as a lot of big brothers tend to be, he’s a bit of a serial mood killer.

  “Are you saying I looked like shit yesterday?”
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  He shrugs, raking his fingers through his hair. Yep. He’s definitely hear to piss on my good mood parade.

  “Not like shit, but you know, not too good either.”

  I arch a sardonic brow. “So, how did it go with Blonde and Blonder after we left?” I drag my hair to the side, ringing the ends onto the towel. ‘“Second Spring’ acted like a pompous bitch, but Sunshine seemed pretty nice. When does she start high school?”

  “You’re in a foul state today.” He scratches his temple with his middle finger, the way we did when we were kids and didn’t want to get caught flipping each other the bird by Mom and Dad. “You sure you’re feeling better?”

  “Positive.”

  “Her name’s Summer, by the way,” he says as he falls onto the couch. I kind of want to tell him about the dirty things Link did to me a few hours ago in that very spot, but I reign it in. Even I have boundaries.

  “And she’s almost twenty, he adds.”

  “Almost twenty is just another way of saying nineteen. She’s nineteen. You’re dating a teenager.”

  His eyes meet mine, his expression sobering. “You’re dating your boss.”

  “And?”

  “And, what’s going on between you two? You haven’t shown interest in anyone for years, then I take you to the gym one day to meet my boss, and the next thing I know, you guys are living together.”

  So damn meddlesome.

  “We’re not living together.”

  His head tips to the side, disbelieving. “You come into work together every day and leave together every night. And whose shirt is that?” He dips his head toward me, indicating Link’s blue dress shirt that still smells of his cologne. “Whose boots are those?” He nods to the Doc Martins in the corner. “I know that’s not your protein powder I saw on your kitchen table.”

  I don’t reply. I don’t need to.

  “It looks a lot like you guys are living together.”